I got a Super Soaker for my 28th birthday. My mom considered it a safe alternative to the real gun I kept threatening to buy so I could kill the cat hellbent on destroying the plants on my patio. (She was right, of course.)
The purpose of the Super Soaker was to spray the cat whenever he found his way into my garden oasis. The problem is that Prowler - that’s what I call him - does most of his destruction under cover of night and when he does emerge during the day, I’m either elbow deep in the act of grilling or in my living room two stories up out of shooting range.
When I studied my enemy’s trail of destruction, I noticed that he only seemed to dig in the plants that live under the trees (a portion of the patio is tree covered, the other, near the house, is open). I can only assume this is for protection purposes (maybe he heard about my gun), but he doesn’t seem like a fraidy-cat.
Prowler moves all lithe and cat-like, confident. He is hurried by no one and unintimidated by my stomping feet, clapping hands and wild shooing. He looks at me in that slightly amused, condescending way cats do, swishes his tail and leaps effortlessly onto the fence to watch me from above. I can’t wait to shoot the bastard.
I didn’t catch so much of a glimpse of Prowler for several weeks, but he was around. His handiwork was evident in the displaced clumps of plants all over the patio. My inability to catch him in the act and unload the full fury of the Super Soaker was more disappointing than the actual death of my plants. And while I sat locked and loaded, he continued his nightly raids, planting poo bombs and wreaking havoc on the begonias. I wondered what a military expert might do when faced with such an impenetrable enemy: find another means of defense, of course!
My dad suggested a more natural weapon, something to supplement the Super Soaker: marigolds. Apparently, most living things hate marigolds (myself included). They have a strange, pungent odor somewhere between disinfectant spray and Paris Hilton perfume. (Wikapedia calls it “musky” and confirms them as a natural repellent.)
Intrigued by this organic suggestion, I planted marigolds between my other plants, watched and waited. Prowler was still making nightly appearances, but as the dirt evidenced, only in the planters without marigolds. These unpretty little flowers seem to be doing the trick: four tomato plants encased by marigolds went untouched and those begonias that survived Prowler’s previous attacks were recovering nicely in the shadow of their marigold container mates.
Since instating my organic defense, I haven’t seen any signs of Prowler. I’m not so cocky as to call this a victory; I’m sure he’s lurking somewhere in the shadows waiting for a drought or human negligence to kill the marigolds. I’ll remain diligent and keep my Super Soaker loaded just in case.
Poor Prowler–symbolic of all the gritty survivors out there “getting by.” I must say, however, that I had more respect for him before I learned that he was so easily deterred by simple marigolds (an underappreciated flower in my estimation–I have one in my flowerbed; a loner, but he stands proud among his more heralded floral brethren). Alley Cats are supposed to be more “dogged”ly determined than that. I’m going to assume that he simply became bored with the lack of challenge posed by a defenseless tenant and found someone else on the block with more to offer.
He actually struck an ususpecting pansy yesterday. Nearly emptied the pot. I see it as a direct challenge. Game on, Prowler. Game ON!