I have a stalker. Two actually.
One is quite a bit taller than me, and likely weighs twice as much as I do. Her accomplice is smaller, but no less intent on following my every move.
What’s more, they are both stalking Catherine, too. And there’s nothing we can do about it.
They are deer — a doe and her fawn who keep returning to our yard and the yard behind us. We’ve never had such persistent animal visitors before; I guess they like Basil’s landscaping efforts.
Yesterday, Basil and I watched the doe nod to her baby, as if to say, “It’s OK, come on.” The fawn — we’ve decided it’s a she and Catherine has named her Priscilla — bounded across the yard lickety-split.
Today, Catherine and I were on the patio, when I felt someone watching me. Sure enough, in the far corner of the yard, still as a statue, was the fawn. All alone.
She stood eyeing us for the better part of 30 minutes. Every time I looked back, she was peering at me, her button eyes glinting in the sunlight as they took in every movement we made.
Catherine feared she’d been a Bambi-style casualty. I wondered if it hadn’t been graduation day and the young thing was on her own.
After a bit, she carefully stepped her way across the lawn, allowing us to marvel at the perfect symmetry of her spots.
Before long the doe joined her. By now, Catherine was inside, but I was in the yard. Hiding in the foliage on the other side of the yard, the two stayed close together, never taking their eyes off me, not when it was fawn bath time or time to eat more leaves.
They’re gone now, but a bit ago, Catherine was alone on the patio reading.
When she looked up, she found that mother and daughter had stolen up behind her, and were a mere 20 feet from the patio, silently staring her down.
Something tells me it’s going to be a long, strange summer.