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Unannounced Visitors in Tigerforest

It’s not every day we get visitors here in Tiger Forest.
Luckily, it’s so remote it doesn’t even show up on any map—as far as we know.
The only sign is the one we put up ourselves, and it’s so worn out that you can barely see it even from up close. Not that it was meant to show the way here anyway—more of a warning sign, really, for wandering cats and other shady creatures.

But today, three black cars entered Tigerforest territory, sloooooowly rolling in single file - the way they usually drive when they’re on Serious Business.

It almost looked like the King’s bodyguards. Or maybe the neighbor’s cat had been granted extra protection.
Or was it the police escorting the local police chief, coming to hand out a fine to Kasper for public urination on a tree?

Or perhaps it was the local mouse protection society, here to chain themselves to our gate with banners and flags, protesting and trying to keep us from leaving the property?

Anyway, Mom said the cars looked like liMOUSEines, so it was probably something along those lines.
Kasper took the hint and bolted under the couch.
He probably felt guilty about both public marking and mouse conquest - including capture.

We stood feline-strong, with an eager woofing Odin in the window, watching the black-clad men step out of the cars.
Crisp trousers. Long coats.
Completely serious expressions. Staring straight ahead. Occasionally upwards. And when their noses pointed to the sky, they babbled something.
They had papers in their hands, we could see that much.

One thing was certain: that wasn’t the mailman.

Mom appeared in the window and grunted something about them being JeMOUS disciples - or something like that.
No clue what breed of mouse that’s supposed to be, but judging by her grunt, they weren’t exactly welcome.
Probably because they didn’t bring cake.

Mom, however, slipped on her Crocs and grinned slyly…I think its time to unleash PartyLion - Odin himself.
Odin is the undisputed chief of the welcoming committee - no matter the reason or purpose of the visit.

His greetings are usually so thorough that it might take a few minutes before all feet are firmly back on the ground.
By then, everyone has been jumped on - high as only he can - and stamped with his personal paw of approval.
Which usually means: you may pass through the gate.

That it’s a bit spring-muddy outside, with creeping sludge and last year’s chicken fertilizer sprinkled in?
Odin couldn’t care less.
So usually, he’s under strict restrictions for guest encounters this time of year.
But not today!

And let’s just say… those black pants and coats got decorated real quick - with proper spring paw prints.
All their desperate waving of paper stacks during the welcome ceremony? Completely pointless.
Instead, what had been stiff, black-clad visitors were now waving their arms like frightened seagulls as papers went flying. It was almost poetic - like a heavenly swirl of chaos.

They tried to save the documents, of course, but Little Brother Odin thought they wanted to play, so he bounced around even harder, chasing after the flying papers.
He’s at least 16 times faster than any man in a coat with a rigid stare and happily snatched one after the other, doing a full-on party lap with each one.

The documents quickly turned into confetti - shredder-mode Odin was in overdrive!
One after another, while the guests desperately tried to save the ones that landed outside the gate.
Anything that landed inside was considered lost forever.

One of the men finally gathered his courage and tried to speak to Mom.
Apparently - if we heard right through the barking and chaos - it was about a court case against someone named Jehovah, and they wanted Mom as a witness.

Now, we don’t like to get involved in other people’s business, so the timing was perfect for Odin to trot over with a half-eaten turkey neck - covered in sand and last year’s leaves - which he proudly leapt up and presented before continuing to chew.

One of the men asked what in the world the dog had in his mouth.
Mom replied that it was the arm left over from the disciple who came by yesterday.

Right before Little Brother and I showed them where we had hidden him...

That was the last we saw of the black-clad ones - they vanished faster than both the magpies and the neighbor’s cat ever have.

Honestly, they looked more like a camo-wearing, terrified squad looked like a scared group of contestants from “Survivor: Boot Camp Edition” as they left the scene.

Now, with a slightly grumpy, cold spring wind, there are white scraps of papers fluttering around the yard and up in the trees.

Maybe they were from the postal service after all, because today we found a letter under the spruce tree by the chicken coop.
It was addressed to the Corinthians.

They definitely don’t live here.

The last letter has been adopted by Little Brother, who’s enjoying it thoroughly…
By tomorrow, he’ll be pooping tiny testaments.

After the visit - and Odin’s grand welcome - we might have to prepare for some sort of cleansing ritual.
But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.