The pastime of star gazing has often been described as a relaxing, almost tranquil experience. I'm sure for many it has fulfilled that role, there is something enchanting about a dark sky full of stars that looks like jewels suspended on black velvet. But there a number of stargazers who can tell you some other stories, about when things went bump in the night!

      There was, for instance, the Colorado stargazer who had just settled in for a calm night with his telescope. He had just moved to Colorado from New York, and was thrilled at the dark skies and myriad of stars overhead. He had just gotten a dim galaxy in his eyepiece that he never could have seen from the light polluted skies of New York. He was nearly breathless with its beauty. About a minute later he was breathless again, but for a very different reason. While still admiring his galaxy he heard some rattling at the trash cans at the side of his house. Assuming  it to be his dog who had an annoying habit of exploring in the trash, he yelled what he thought would be murderous threats at his "dog." Seconds later a hairy form leered around the side of the house. It was not his dog. It was a black bear. Fortunately, about the time the human thought "oh my gosh, a bear!" the bear thought "oh my gosh, a human!" and the bear fled.
 
      Then, on a lesser scale, was the fellow who carefully carried his 14 inch diameter telescope outdoors for an evening's viewing. He sat it down and then noticed the weights must have shifted because the telescope was off balance. Adjusting them seemed to make no difference and soon the fellow became quite frustrated. He was rapidly losing his patience when he heard a distinctive bump from inside the tube. Walking to the front he pulled down on the tube and was rewarded by his cat, who had been sleeping on the primary mirror, jump out and walk away insulted.

       There was the woman who thought stargazing was so relaxing. One fine night she was out doing just that. The skies were nice and dark, she lived in a rural area and indeed, the only light visible was some lights on the cooling towers of a nuclear power plant about 4 miles away. So there she was, relaxing, gazing at a dim nebula through an eyepiece when suddenly a bright flash nearly blinded her. As she leaped back in shock and horror at the thought of a nuclear accident,  she stared at the horizon: nothing. Her heart still pounding she took a timid glance in the eyepiece: the dim nebula. She gazed a second or two longer: FLASH!!! Again she leaped back, and again the horizon was dark. But then, she noticed a flash off the front of the telescope. Walking around to the front she caught the culprit. A lightning bug had happened upon its reflection in the mirror, and was amorously signaling to itself!

      Me, well I've had my own experience but not as harrowing as some of the ones above. I was once owned by a cat named Max, a stray I took in who soon became the executive director of the household. He was also an incredible jokester. Besides riding on cars, climbing onto the porch roof with mice, and tunneling through snowdrifts, Max  loved to stalk people and leap out at them at opportune (for him) times. It never failed to shock people, but I was used to it, so I thought. One evening I was sitting on the ground using my telescope on a low stool. Max,  was in the house, so I figured I was safe. What I did not know was that Max had discovered the ladder propped up to a second story porch  undergoing repairs, and that Max learned quickly to go up and down that ladder.  I was blissfully staring away when suddenly a hairy form leaped on my shoulders and began playfully gnawing at my arm. It totally unnerved me and for several seconds I was breathless: Max! Sadly,  Max died last fall, but I will never forget him, or those Max-attacks in the night!