Two's Company, Three's a Crowd

Dogwood Luxuriates in a Sunbeam

Thisbe on my desk

Rulon with Glasses

Three cats are like three junior high girls, or three jealous old ladies, or well, three cats.  Rulon is jealous as hell, Thisbe has murder in her eye and Dogwood, who (we think) belonged to a crazy cat lady with twenty other cats.  is pretty cool.  Plays "mouse" all day.  Bats her paw at Rulon when he walks by, keeps out of Thisbe's way (when she feels like it) and there is a certain amount of spitting and growling and posturing.  Rulon has been doing male cat behavior and is frequently in the dog house. 

 They eat like there is no tomorrow and the litter box fills accordingly.   Still, it's kind of fun, although Dogwood is in theory a visitor.  We'll see about that.  All are either spayed or "fixed."  Nobody respects his/her own food bowl and there is a constant scrambling for the two window perches.    

I suppose they will all work it out without bloodshed.  


Grapeshot

Sunbeams are Wonderful

Dogwood has found a sunbeam. She's been confined to the house because of foxes in the yard. Hungry foxes. When she sees one, she's lays her ears back. Getting spayed this weekend. Won't much like that.

Writers and their Cats

Tortoise Cat Thisbe  - a 'fraidy cat

Orange Cat Rulon, a power napper

Friday is traditionally cat blog day, but I wanted to offer a link an alert reader sent about writers and cats.  Above are my two.  Rulon thinks a friendly act it to give chase with maybe a few swipes of his paw.  Thisbe thinks otherwise.  Mostly they ignore each other.  He always horns in when I try to groom Thisbe.  "Horns in."  A great expression which has been reinforced by observing the feeding antics of the Highland Scottish cows.  But I digress.

The Masterpiece Mystery last night (Hercule Poirot) showed a flat with a crazy cat lady.    I haven't reached that stage yet.  In my dotage, perhaps.

In the meantime, here is the link to writers and their cats. Writers and Kitties.  
We enjoyed touring the Hemingway House in Key West and seeing all the cats with an extra toe. 

Cat on Desk

The Good Life.

Thisbe on desk in the middle of everything

Saturday: A Day of Rest

Everyone left the house yesterday, and the Interloper was locked in the bedroom, which apparently he likes, lolling on the bed all day like a sultan.  I, on the otherhand, slept on the basement sofa, like the queen I am.  The Interloper was leery about coming down after everyone was home, and I gave him a pass by staying downstairs in the home office, which was cool.  Treats were dispensed, along with what my mistress called "meds," which is some device that she sticks into my hide twice a day.  It doesn't hurt, and I am calm because petting, schmoozing and treats are forthcoming.  A cat would be crazy to object.

This morning, OTOH, I emerged from said home office to find the Interloper sitting in the kitchen, big as you please.  He jumped on a chair.  Rats!  He has enough sense to always take the high ground.  We both spat, and I growled until my mistress calmed me with a back massage.  Then I slunk around.  Yowsa!  We both got treats, and since I was forbidden my drama queen act, I retreated to the coolness of the home office.  The Interloper is still on a chair, and quite comfy in my house.  Grrrr.  And again grrrr.

He uses my litter box and had the audacity to "mark" it, after I had marked it, but someone scrubbed it off.  Being a cat is a hard slog through life and endless difficulties.  My mistress says she would like to "come back" as a cat in her household, whatever that means.  People are very mysterious, and not catlike at all.

Off for another nap.  This patrolling of the house and asserting my rights as First Cat is very wearisome.  

Thisbe

A Strange Cat is In the Storage Room

They think I don't know what's going on, that I haven't seen the bed, the litter box, the food and water in the store room.  And now a scratching post has disappeared.  A new cat smell has appeared downstairs.  I'm playing it cool and hanging out like everything is normal.

I can't go upstairs anyway, because a workman is in the house, the thing I hate most.  Strangers.  Stranger making noise.  Clumping around, disturbing a cat's peace and quiet, her most precious moments. 

I heard them talking about the new cat who was in a carrier for almost 14 hours except when he had to be taken out to go through something called security.  They said he sniffed at the litter, the food and water, snooped all over his new space and found a hidey hole where he settled down for the night.   The visitor is totally traumatized by these new non-desert surroundings and his long journey.  How glad I am not to have had his experience from yesterday. 

I empathize.  Do I look forward to meeting him?  My mistress, who titles herself, "mommy," says I must be a gracious hostess.  Quatch!  Gracious and hostess are not in my vocabulary.  Now it is time for my insulin, known in the household as my "meds."  I get a yummy treat with my meds and sometimes catnip.  Life is not all bad, especially when I am catered to and get my own way.

Moist food, fresh water, cat toys, and lots of brushing and attention.  I do like to be petted.

Thisbe  

Cat Blog Day

Sometimes I blog about the cat, and now it's the cat's turn to do a bit of kitty blogging.  Thisbe will be 11 years old next month.  She is diabetic AND fat.  It takes a long time for her to bathe her vast stomach.  She has recently lost her forever housemate, Annie, and has grieved for a month.  She's getting back to normal, but what she doesn't know if that a house guest is bringing his male cat for a month's stay. And a young guest that Thisbe has never really cottoned to is also coming.  Thisbe has always been a "fraidy cat."  Her world is going to be turned upside down.  Cats hate change.  How will Thisbe greet her new housemate?  Will she be a gracious hostess?  Share?  Is our household going to be topsy-turvy?  Stay tuned.  Rulon, the (neutered) orange male has a 12 hour trip from the West Coast today.  He won't be in a very good mood, although he is a sweetheart.  Yikes! 

Cat Tales

Normally, Friday is Cat Blog Day, but I'm running behind.  Thisbe, who is in mourning for her housemate Annie, has acted strange of late.   She's always been an Extreme INDOOR cat, never venturing further than the garage or the front porch.  We've let her out on the deck a bit lately, and she's been content to sit under the table or a chair, and race into the house at the first sign of danger.  Noises, strangers and who-knows-what are Thisbe's idea of danger.

A couple times she wandered down the stairs and into the yard and seemed to be somewhat clueless about how to get back to the deck.  Once, I met her around the house and let her in the front door, which she found most MYSTERIOUS.
Yesterday, from her perch on the deck, she spied one of the baby chipmunks.  Ahhh!  Cat toys!  She left the deck and gave chase, but didn't even come close.  She returned, and sniffed around the neighbor's deck and seemed, well, confused.  Decided to go back to where the chipmunk was last seen. Went under the neighbors bushes and then their front porch.  Most uncharacteristic behavior.  I was in hot pursuit.  Thisbe jumped onto neighbor's front porch and wanted in the door. 

Listen, the fuzzy imbecile, this is NOT OUR HOUSE.  She sniffed around and acted obtuse.  Don't know where their dog was, or she would have been catatonic.   Finally I picked her up (all 16 heavy pounds) and carried her as far as I could before she let loose with the claws and wriggling and then growls and hisses.  She lay in the grass and sulked. 

I called her from the steps of the deck.  More confusion.  Can this be MY house?  I thought it was the other one.   Hmm.  Guess I'll check it out.  Oh!  It is my house.  Yikes.  I think I'll go inside and chill and think about this business.  Do I have two houses?  Where are the cat toys?  

She lay on the floor in a state of prostration.  Stress is stressful.  Her housemate, Annie, never liked it when Thisbe went outside.  She has no brains and will get lost immediately.  How true.

One of those cats with no sense of direction.  Who knew? 

Poor Thisbe,  I had to give her extra treats. 

From PC to MAC

My old Dell is dying. Various family members have been bullying me to get a MAC, and I have finally consented. Today is the last day on the old Dell, although I will be doing Money on it until I figure out which financial program to use. Of course I have an old Money (2002) and you can't convert Money to the new Quicken with a Money version earlier than 2004, and Money 2004 costs $40.00, which is just another amount to add to the total. A devious idea came to me, and we'll see if it works.

Apple is going to do the conversion and I bought Office Suite for MAC, and cleaned up the computer, did some backups--more to do, and have my list of questions and concerns. Called Verison to make sure this was plug and play, known in my circle as plug and pray. Well, you know. The project manager in me insists on making a plan and raising issues. Once a geek, always a closet geek. Murphy's law and never assume.

So, we'll see how it goes. There will be pain, the only question is how much. And of course I don't know MAC software f rom sh__, but I'm willing to learn. As an early adapter to word processing, spread sheets, project, powerpoint, email, and PC's in general, I am anxious, to say the least. Because my life is pretty much on my computer: email, writing, blogging, finances, address books, Christmas card lists, recipes.

So, again, we'll see how it goes. Big into leftover turkey this week. Lots of desserts still in fridge. Tonight we're having turkey crepes with mushrooms and a yummy sauce. Tomorrow, too. We're been too full of leftover stuffing the last two nights to eat the desserts.

The green bean casserole from scratch was to die for. God, it was good. And the little mini-Halloween cupcakes with the cream cheese frosting were also wunderbar.

Churning through Promiscuous Mode to give it another round. Woke up in the middle of the night thinking of World of Mirrors, but I can't get my arms around a "frame," unless I make it a romance. Seems a bit dicey. Festival Madness needs a total rewrite, a lot of work involved there, and In Flight is presently driving a motor home across Wyoming. Thinking of the plot. Always happens to me before the big denouement. Makes it better. Many literary irons in the fire. Want to write a story about becoming a school teacher in Kansas in the 20's.

And Christmas is coming up like a fast-moving freight train. Baking. Presents. Etc. I have another stalled project, a web site. All my support people have evaporated. Don't know what to do.

Finished reading The Watchman by Robert Crais. He is such a good writer. Enjoyed every page. Lots of good tension. Twists and turns.

Friday used to be cat blog day, and I haven't blogged the cats for a while. Both have health issues and they don't do much except sleep, although Annie was sitting on top of the car when last seen. This photo is of Thisbe, and a kid took it, a kid that has spent 5 years trying to relate to Thisbe. Finally happened.

Onward,

Grapeshot

How do you celebrate a cat's birthday?

Thisbe is nine years old today, a gift from a friend whose cat had a litter of kittens. S.O. brought her home in a cardboard box when she was eight weeks old and Annie, her housemate, has never forgiven me. We thought Annie needed a companion, but she said, "Big mistake! Take her back!" and wouldn't look at me for six months.

Now, they tolerate each other, although Thisbe was terribly upset when Annie had a seizure, and stopped eating for two days.

She has a new mouse and received an extra ration of catnip. We can't have a party because she hates anyone except the people she knew in her kittenhood. Workmen are the worst! A few growls and then zook! under the bed for the rest of the day.

Thisbe likes moist cat food, dry cat food, her special brand (Kookamonga) catnip, furry gray mouse toys, fresh water, cat grass, Mommy, Daddy and sleeping in the linen closet and luxurious relaxed baths on the living room rug, lying on her back and washing her paws and her chest. Bathing to classical music is best.

The life of a cat in this household is the life of Riley. Remember. Dogs have masters. Cats have staff.

Grapeshot

Thisbe comes out of the closet

As everyone knows, Friday is Cat Blog Day

And Thisbe is out from under the bed, too. After years and years, Thisbe has finally accepted our young houseguest who appears three times a year for various vacations. Usually Thisbe spends these weeks sulking under the bed or in a closet, wherever there is darkness and privacy and one can't (Thisbe hopes) be seen or detected.

Annie is the Tabby. Thisbe is the tortoise. She has a cross on her chest, and she hopes that the Pope might visit someday, as she knows he likes cats. But I digress.

When discovered under the bed, Thisbe used to hiss, "Get outta here. My space."

While we were in Europe, we shut the bedroom doors so that Thisbe's caretaker could give her the twice daily insulin she requires. After a few days Thisbe warmed up to the caretaker and didn't hide when the front door opened and the unfamiliar tread was heard in the house.

So on this occasion of our small guest's visit, we shut the bedroom doors again. Thisbe could "hide" behind the sofa in the home office or under my computer desk or in the cedar closet. She made several appearances and let the small guest pet her, a milestone. Then, three nights ago, Thisbe approached the small guest and said, in cat, "I would like to be petted." And it was accomplished. So Thisbe has been hanging out in the home office with the rest of us. The doll house is set up here and the small guest is busy night and day rearranging dolls and furniture.

Thisbe's old terror has abated. Of course sometimes a cat still likes her privacy and a trip to the furnace room or behind the couch or especially the cedar closet is still required.

Annie is always tranquil but has been heard once this week to offer up five mad meows. Don't know what that was about. She also escaped, opening the sliding door with her paw and exclaiming, (in cat) "spring is here; free at last!"

A household with cats is a complicated one, with brooding and sulking and periods of extreme lovingness. Cats are crazy. They fit right in.

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Friday is Cat Blog Day

A well-behaved Proustian cat. . .

We seem to be getting the knack of the injections (Thisbe and I). The secret seems to be don' t
swab her fur with alcohol. I suspect she knows the smell of alcohol from the vet and the Proustian memories it calls up are not the equivalent of tea and cookies in cat.

No, the latest crisis, well, mini-crisis, is the Eating Of The Christmas Cactus. Our Christmas cacti almost never bloom at Christmas. We've already had the Halloween cactus and the Veteran's Day cactus and now the Thanksgiving cactus. I hope these plants save something for the Holiday they are SUPPOSED to bloom for.

We've been out of cat grass for weeks, and both cats decimated the Baby's Breath that was part of a bouquet. I put the Christmas cactus on the library table where said plant will be easy to admire. Ooops! Thisbe admired it and ate a blossom or two. Probably a spent blossom. Eeek!

I don't wish to gross anyone out, but the vomiting from this little snack was profuse and disgusting and lasted several hours. I was beginning to think "Call Veternarian on a Holiday" when the cat appeared to be all right and stopped tossing her cookies, or in this case her cactus. She actually came upstairs and slept on the bed last night, and seems fine this morning.

Today I will brave Black Friday at the pet store (how bad can it be?) and buy cat grass. Yesterday when I mentioned "Black Friday" on this blog, it immediately received a comment which was actually an ad in not very great disguise. I guess that's why some blog sites make you copy the crooked numerals and letters before you can post. Not a bad idea.

So Black Friday! Black Friday! yada yada.

Apropos yesterday's food contributions: The Brussels-Sprouts-Cauliflower casserole was a winner. I took it from the oven just a few minutes before we had to be out of the house, neglecting to take a picture. It was toasty and brown and a little cheesy (in the good sense) and the pine nuts had turned a golden hue. If you ever need a holiday side dish that is not lo-cal, this one is a winner. And the veggies tasted so good.

The cheese cake was to die for and we probably will, with all that cream cheese and eggs clogging ye olde arteries. I dare not get on the scale today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. Maybe Jan. 2nd.

Shop till you Drop, but personally, I'm buying lunch and a couple servings of cat grass.

Meow!

Just A Spoonful of Sugar or Maybe Moist Food

Last Thursday morning, we jammed Thisbe into the cat carrier for a vet appointment. She has been eating and drinking like crazy, and we thought that maybe her diabetes was back. It is.

This means I have the honor and privilege of giving her a shot of insulin every day. Just one.

So, the fun began. First of all, a huge (to me) vet bill for the exam and the test. Then I picked up the prescription which could be filled anywhere. We headed to Walmart, hoping that was cheapest.

Oh God, then the fun really began. First of all, the pharmacy was closed for lunch from 1:30 - 2:00. So we cooled our heels buying potting soil and looking for cat grass, which nobody but the pet stores carries anymore.

The pharmacy opened and the pharmacist was very nice, and he didn't say anything when I blanched at the $100.00 price, and the thing is, the medicine is only good for one month and Thisbe only gets one millileter. I got needles and meds and we came home after an expensive detour to Kohl's where everything was so cheap you just had to buy stuff.

Back home, I did a trial run on the needle and the medication, and all was not well. I couldn't seem to make the plunger take the smallest amount. In the meantime, Thisbe got the wind up(who knows how) and disappeared under the bed.

I decided to call it a day.

Yesterday, I practiced with another needle and water, and became quite adept at getting the itsty-bitsy amount of insulin into the needle. Thisbe disappeared under the bed about the time I was thinking about the first shot. She came out to eat, took one look at me, and disappeared under the bed again, into the basement, anywhere, anywhere but in the vicinity of her mistress.

In the meantime, I had somehow expelled the insulin from the syringe.

Today we decided to take a day off, but Thisbe was not fooled and disappeared under the bed after breakfast. When I went up to get dressed, she usually comes out and we have some Mommy/Kitty time. Not this morning.

The damn cat really does have ESP. We're going to play it cool until tomorrow. Maybe she'll calm down.

The fact that the insulin has to be kept in the fridge and the needles sterile and the cat swabbed with alcohol first add to the complexity, as this point the impossibility. Maybe the smell of alcohol triggered a bad memory. Or a new memory from the vet. Maybe she remembers her former experience, when I used to distract her with catnip or get her while she was eating.

She has the wind up. Don't know what to do. And we have $300+ worth of meds, tests, exams and needles going for naught.

Some days you just want to drown your troubles with a cup of hot cocoa. Or something.,

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Cat Blog Day Rolls Around Again

You were expecting to see cats in costumes, perchance? Fie!

Friday is cat blog day. The cats, Thisbe and Annie, have been adversarial lately, and when we came back from Long Island there were bits of fur all over the house, a sure sign of fighting. Of course the fights are always over in seconds.

Thisbe doesn't take kindly to bullying anymore, and gives as good as she gets. I notice that when they are having one of their confrontations (catfrontations in S.O.'s vocabulary) there is a lack of eye contact. One will look daggers and the other will be examining the ceiling, the chair, whatever there is to stare at without making eye contact with the enemy, so to speak.

Yesterday, for us, not the cats I made goulash soup, which is a cool weather fave, and always tasty. I had a pound of cheap thin steak. That and two onions, a green papper, garlic, canned tomatoes, carraway seeds, broth, and one teaspoon each hot, sweet and smoked paprika. Salt and pepper, natch. Most satisfying--not really spicy, but resonant. I added a potato and some chopped carrot, because we do like our veggies.

I made two loaves of bread, my food processor French bread, and it was not a walk in the park. Didn't add quite enough flour, and I had the stickiest, ickiest mess. Had to add more flour and knead it in. This is a no-knead bread, mind you. Sticky hands, sticky food processor, sticky counter--sticky everything. Yuck! Somehow I was able to form two loaves and they rose nicely, considering that I was afraid I also had the water too hot.

Bread is full of landmines. Into the oven it went, and it came out looking like, well, bread, with that wonderful smell. We attacked a loaf with the soup and ate most of the remainder this morning, leaving another loaf for the rest of today.

I really need (knead?) to branch out into other breads. Tonight we're grilling a pork tenderloin with a smoked paprika sauce. Yukon gold potatoes. Salad. Does that sound good or what?

Lately, I've been writing my novel, a speech, assignments for the food writing class, and soon, before Tuesday, an essay about why I am for Obama.

In the meantime, there are daffodils to plant as the weather should be good today. Frost on the pumpkin this morning.

Oh yes! Halloween. We have to carve the blasted expensive ($8.00) orange thing today. I bought candy at the Lindt outlet in Wrentham Mall yesterday. We had eaten the previous batch put aside for Halloween. Shameless, greedy, chocoholics that we are. Bad!

Boo!

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The Supermarket Dance: Shuffle and Back Step

Note: this post is a whine.

Our supermarket is remodelling, which means no one can find anything anywhere. They had to go "out back" to get us a bag of charcoal today, and brought a big mother of a bag that would last half the summer and now it's October. Any season when you don't have to shovel a path along the deck and brush the snow off the Weber Kettle is Barbecue Season.

Small sirloins were on sale and that sounded good to me, with asparagus from Peru where spring has sprung and acorn squash grown more locally. With a Boston lettuce salad and a big fat mushroom to top each steak. Is that yum or what?

Of course we spent twice a much time in the store as usual, backtracking and trying to find stuff. Last week a woman said, "just think of it as a scavenger hunt and have fun." Some people always have a good attitude.

I remember when Roche Brothers in Wellesley remodelled years ago. I had to change my computerized shopping list, then I changed it again when we moved. Guess what? Another change will be required. In the new new Wellesley Roche Brothers I can't find anything either, except the produce and the cheese counter. And the take home department. Man, for $12-$1400 for dinner, you would never have to cook again. For two, that is. Four or more would be a pricey business, but they do have good looking prepared food to take home.

Of course if the economy continues to go to hell in a handbasket, everyone will be soaking their own pinto beans and making soup and rice and beans and growing herbs on the window sill and pouring the bacon fat into a coffee can in the fridge to reuse.

Oh? You do that already? Me too.

It seems like the prices have risen since the store began to remodel. And I still can't find green salsa made with tomatillos. Maybe I'll make another attempt to grow tomatillos next spring. The prior effort was a disaster, but then I recall it took three tries to grow bleeding heart. The third one flourished and I even moved it and it still flourished. A reliable plant is something you can love.

So we're bringing in the houseplants that summered outside, and the geraniums I carry over from year to year and the little gew-gaws on the deck that make the outdoors kind of homey.

Annie the cat escaped today, but too late for blogging. Thisbe went out and was horrified to find a) the UPS man and b) and neighbor's dog and c) the neighbor. Clawed at the door to get in with her tail as big around as a baseball bat.

I'm deep into my robot fish story and it's humming along swimmingly. :) I just need one more long adventure for the fish to have, then a clever escape and the end. The fish has hard exciting escapes from Somali pirates, sea snakes and a curious shark. Fish can have the most exciting adventures.

Onward and upward. How about those Red Sox?

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Cat Blog Day

Would you believe I posted to the wrong blog? Here is the link. The blog is Reading Proust In Foxborough which has much to do with Proust and nothing to do with cats. The cats did do something of note this morning. Read on to see what.

http://proustwhore.blogspot.com/

The Literary Life

After all the food blogs and the politics blogs, the cat blogs, cow blogs and what have you blogs, you may be wondering if I'm still writing, as in novels.

I am, and now almost 100 pages into the new novel, In Flight, which is coming along all right, and just needs to be written down. I think it's going to be good. Whether it will sell or not is another question. Anyway, it's fun to be in the head of a Columbian drug lord, at least some of the time.

Finally, finally, an agent asked to see some pages of Festival Madness. In the meantime, I have discovered one or two novels about Burning Man are in the works or looking for editors, or what have you. None like mine, of course. What I have to say in defense of my novels is that they are a "fun read," with all sorts of cool stuff. Obviously fun does not make it publishable.

I'm taking a Food Writing course at Brown University. After all the food blogging it seemed a sage thing to do. And there's this short story about a robot fish. Can't tell you anymore, because the fish worked for the CIA. I am not making this up.

Totally 100% afraid to look at the end of the quarter financial statements wending their way to the mailbox. Looked at two, eeeek, and that was two too many. In the meantime, of course, the market has really sh__the bed, and one begins to think of how to scale down expenses rather drastically.

Get thru the winter on the same old clothes. Don't we all have way too many clothes. Maybe it's time to wear some of them out. Yup. Do I dare buy some new pajama bottoms from the Job Lot?

Eat lots of rice and beans and chili. Hey, that doesn't sound so bad. Oatmeal cookies? Yay! Netflix instead of concerts, plays and movies. Yup. Nip out to the 99 instead of the la-di-dah places. I can do that for a while, esp. after a memorable meal at Al Forno.

Shop the sales, yada, yada. I think our TV which is NOT cable ready but we do have cable--anyway the TV appears headed for the great tube tomb. Appliances never crap out at a good time, do they? Usually it's at 5:00 p.m. on the Friday of a three day weekend.

I would not want to give up cable, since that's where the good shows are. Otherwise, one might as well not replace the TV.

Enough gloom and doom. Tomorrow is cat blog day. Will the kitties do something memorable? Bloggable? Or is it the same-old, same-old? Stay tuned.

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It's Cat Blog Day!

Thisbe in repose, after a thoroughly taxing adventure.

Friday is, of course, cat blog day. This morning Thisbe was most accommodating and chased some critter across the yard and ended a foot or so from the street, then freaked out, as in "where am I and how did I get here?" Her tail as big and round as a baseball bat. Definitely surprised by her catlike activity.

Notice the halo effect in the photo. Thisbe has a genuine white cross on her chest, earning her the nickname of "Sacred Kitty." She knows that the pope likes cats and if she weren't scared of strangers, she would like to meet the pope. Maybe if he hung out at the house for a very long time, and spoke softly and never ever clumped around or made noise, she would eventually come out and give him the once over. Annie would be here usualy sluttish self and jump in his lap. But then, Annie not sacred in the sense that Thisbe is.

This morning, when Thisbe realized she was in the yard alone, she saw me open the door and raced in. Gadzoosks, what a close call! Then the UPS man came, necessitating a visit to beneath the bed where everything is safe and known, including the dust bunnies.

The hummingbird appeared today. Haven't seen him/her since we returned from Chicago. Checking out the geraniums and the small blooms atop the big purple flowers, said to attract butterflies.

Tomatoes coming along apace. The lawn care people, we call them the "turtle crushers" because they have mown down big turtles, hell they would mow a cat if it were sitting in the yard, did a number on the neighbors zucchini which was marching across the grass as zucchini are wont to do in August.

My morning glories seem to be on the wane, but the geraniums and the red begonias are still crazy with blooms. Impatience still good. It's the time of year when extra grooming in the garden pays dividends. Hey, there's still at least another month of summerish weather, and a prudent gardener doesn't throw in the towel. I ate the heirloom beets which were delicious.

Baby sparrows chowing down at the feeder. I think the parents show them where it is and say, "go to it, kids." Bluejays, cardinals, titmice, doves, etc. join in the feast.

Tonight we're having a salad with bulgar wheat, shrimp, tomatoes, arugula, mint and feta. Sounds good, no? I keep telling you, an adventurous spirit is good. Go forth and eat strange stuff.

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Thisbe's Great Adventure

It had to happen sometime. Thisbe, the shyest, most scaredy of cats, stepped out onto the front porch to take the air this morning. When she sees a person, car, dog, delivery truck, she wants back inside. Now! Scratches on the storm door, with her tail the size of a baseball bat. I want in now.

Somehow, the front door got closed, and we couldn't hear Thisbe's hysterical scratchings. An hour passed. I had an aha! moment when I realized, eeek, Thisbe was still out on the porch.

Except she wasn't. My tortoise kitty was no where in sight. But I heard meows. Looked around. Couldn't see her. Looked some more. Ye gods! She is two doors down on the neighbor's porch. Neighbors that have a cat but aren't home. Bawling her head off. Looking right at me. Won't budge.

Yell to S.O. to help with the situation while I race upstairs to don something besides immodest pajamas with an uncertain waistband (read, old and stretched out and liable to fall at any moment). Good for cooking breakfast but not for racing around the neighborhood.

By the time I had changed clothes, S.O. appeared with Thisbe. He had to physically deliver her back to the house. Now, Thisbe hates to be picked up. Some long-held antipathy, but she let him carry her (without scratching) back home. She came in (tail as big around as the proverbial bat), and had lovey time. Calmed down. Probably ate a lot to further calm frayed cat nerves.

She's still reposing on the entry hall floor, eyes enormous, but a more relaxed posture. Saturday morning adventure! For all of us.

Cat Blog Day

Thisbe on the desktop.


Ah, the cats, those rascals! Annie escaped from the confines of the house many times, because one of the guests just couldn't remember to shut the door properly. Annie is an escape artist. She sneaks outside and eats grass and contemplates nature for a while. Then someone catches her and hauls her back indoors.

Thisbe is still refusing the high-priced cat food from the vet that she chomped down until the latest bag. Something is obviously different. Annie didn't like it either but has given up the nose-in-the-air business and is scarfing it eagerly. So now in addition to the vet's high-priced kibble, we buy Fancy Feast which has a fancy price. Only the flavors "in gravy" will do.

Thisbe made peace, kind of, with our small guest and did not charge under the bed on sight, even allowed herself to be petted sometimes.

Guest is now gone and Thisbe is out and about the house, begging for catnip, begging for moist food at noon. Ha! Ha! Lots of luck Thisbe. We think you look great with your new waistline and you seem a little more playful, too, not having all that lard to lug around.

Maybe this is why people lose considerable weight on those diets where you have to buy the food. Let's face it. How good could frozen dinners really taste? So the dieters eat less and less and of course lose weight. When the folks where I formerly worked brought the diet meals in for lunch, I would also ask, "how is that?"

The answer was invariable, "it's O.K.," which meant it was edible and would stave off hunger, but that was all. It's O.K. Never a compliment. Reading the ingredients alone was a horror show. Meat Product?

Once I ate Weight Watchers macaroni and cheese and it tasted like it had soap in it. Was nowhere near O.K. Gross is more like it.

Many kids who grew up in households with convenience and prepared foods that are half-chemicals have no palate and would not know real food if they ate it. Pathetic and sad. Once I read answers that people now grown had given when asked, "what, if anything, do you still hold against your parents?" and one man answered, "they never served butter. They never told me about butter."

So don't be one of those parents who hand out the frozen pizza and chicken fingers. Cook real food. Make your kids help. Start the day with fresh fruit and whole grains and scrambled eggs with chives.

That was a pretty long rant. Will rant for pay. Will rant for free. Will rant for any reason.

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