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Running up auction bids and reassuring Eddie By Peggy Dover Sep 18, 2022 12:30 AM A A After a three-year wait for the Committed Alliance to Strays — or C.A.T.S. — auction, it felt good to enjoy the breathtaking view at DANCIN Winery in Jacksonville again. Denise and I had made this an annual pilgrimage to help “keep the cats dancing,” and we missed it during the virus years. Our job is to run up the bids. I love an auction. I still miss the Red Barn in Phoenix, Oregon, and Duane Brood’s auctioneer patter. There were some hard-core bidders at DANCIN Monday night and enticing packages on which to plunk down my paddle number. Oh, it was a silent auction, all right. We sipped wine, nibbled wood-fired pizzas and acted, as our diffident fur babies have taught us, like we didn’t care. But as soon as the five-minute warning sounded for another table closing, we were up and herding forward to check our bids. Two such auction divas were Sara and Crystal, who sat near us looking sweet and nonchalant. The aspect of sheer determination on Crystal’s face said it all. We overheard them discussing an item Denise wanted. I’d chalked it up as lost. It was an acrylic Erstwilder brooch in the shape of a stack of books with a black cat just like Denise’s Lizzie lounging atop. Perfect. The evening wore on. We shared pictures of our cats with strangers. DANCIN’s resident black kitty, Sadie, padded among the tables strutting her celebrity with this cat-crazed crowd. She endured an abundance of pats and scritches, but held out for the gold, the occasional spot of cheese dropped strategically from a charcuterie platter. We drank luscious Barbera. I tucked into a small chicken Caesar salad, rationalizing the semifreddo dessert later, which is amazing. After the dust cleared and the final table closed, Denise had won her brooch after all, along with wine and a basket of lotions and such. I toddled out with my arms full of wine, a C.A.T.S. T-shirt and a goody basket full of gift certificates for various stores. It was a job well done. Speaking of cats, King Edward (my indoor feline monarch) informs me he’s not receiving the honor due him in this space. It has been a while. Lately he’s been hearing news of the Queen’s passing (may she rest in peace), and he’s wondering how far up the chain of command he has risen. I told him, one complete notch. He purred. Eddie’s thriving and becoming a practiced cuddle bug during naps and nighttime. He’s put out when I leave for a few days, though he’s well-tended. Cricket, the under-deck kitty has not changed his station, since he still prefers the dank and moist atmosphere where spiders and slugs call him Uncle C. However, Cricket does enter the abode of the pampered class and suffers Eddie’s disdain. He jumps onto my stomach and head-butts my hands for nonstop rubs, during which Edward scowls from the hallway shadows. I wish they could be friends. Cricket loves to play and chases his shoelace, “Snake,” with a ferocity that elicits pity for any mouse or vole that crosses his line of vision. My wild boy, Chicory, is gone, alas. I’ve not seen him for months, and I fear the worst. I like to think someone more capable than I pushed forward and gave him the chance I wanted to afford him. I think of him often. Dover Half-Acre remains a refuge from the city racket for wildlife of all fur and feather. This morning two bucks sparred in preparation for rutting season. Teenage turkeys amble through most every day, scratching and gobbling and leaving nasty evidence. Birds, bees and butterflies float through, loving the crepe myrtle and butterfly bushes. Soon after I wrote about the girl picking crepe myrtle blooms a couple of weeks ago, deer came along and put away every geranium bloom from my front porch pots. Stalks alone remain. Deer love a good irony. And the vultures linger, but not for long. May the autumn season linger. Peggy Dover is a freelance writer/author. Reach her at [email protected].