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.

Peace now!

The "Orange Outrage," also known as the Interloper, and lately known as Someone I May Eventually Like.  This cat is so smart.  He's been biding his time, quiet and effacing without being a pansy.  What he would like do to most is to go outside and each all the birds and chipmunks some respect.  He knows enough to take the high ground.  As a fellow cat, I respect these things. I would like to teach the chipmunks respect, too.   Last night we had another face-to-face and after my mistress calmed me, I was pretty cool with everything and we weren't more than a few feet apart and both chilling. We got treats for behaving so well.

  I smelled his food dish and didn't eat it, as he has been respectful of mine, and we share the litter box with no issues.  Well, I have issues about burying, but we won't dwell on those.

His smell is all over the house, as is mine, and it doesn't make me freak anymore.  In fact, I haven't freaked for days and we are no longer kept apart except for one daily socialization.  We're happy to be indoors in the terrible heat that makes a cat shed fur by the carload.  It must make him think of his old home in Northern Nevada where coyotes howl outside of town.  Makes me nervous to think about coyotes.  I would be a meal and a half.  Yikes!  Maybe they would devour the neighborhood chickens first.  I think I'm too big for the fox, but my mistress thinks otherwise.

This afternoon we can enjoy naps, baths and more naps.  I excel at napping.

Thisbe, at peace at least temporarily

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

I made a total ass of myself

So, the strange cat smells continued, but I was pretty cool with that.  The lawn mowers came with their dastardy noisy machines this a.m., and therefore I retreated, as is my wont, to the cedar closet.

My mistress came home and I was just coming to greet her, when our house guest, whom I have known for years, approached with a strange cat!  We rubbed noses, and what can I say, this was NOT the cat I had expected.  I growled and spat.  He retreated.  I raised my fur and fluffed my tail out until I was huge.  I lunged.  I spat.  I growled.  I totally lost control.  Strange cat retreated to a chair in his room.  I continued my advance until herded out of the room.  I growled and spa at the guest.

My mistress said this wasn't what she had expected of a gracious hostess.  Everyone said, "well, back to square one.  We tried to do this too fast."  I sulked for a while.

Later, they opened the storeroom door, and I got another look at the strange cat.  A handsome orange Tom.  Now he spat at me.  I went into the room and climbed into his carrier; that was when he spat.  I sniffed the bedding which smell somewhat like me.  WTF?

We stared at each other for a good long time, in a kind of Mexican standoff.  Everyone seemed pleased and we both received treats.  I feel somewhat better now.

What does the morrow hold?

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. 

Burglars Beware: Cat DNA lurks everywhere

Someone has finally come up with a good use for cat hair.  Our vacuum is full of it and all my dark clothes as well.  Rugs, furniture, it's cat hair uberalles.

Actually, Friday is cat blog day, but what the hell?  http://www.care2.com/greenliving/cats-help-solve-crimes.html

Fresh Peach Ice Cream

Basically, except for my workout, all I have accomplished today is to make fresh peach ice cream and clean off my desk. Get web space for an organization. Answer questions. Clean up the kitchen. Get the ingredients out for potato pancakes. Make David Eyer's Hawaiian Pancake for breakfast, download a printer driver for my MAC that didn't work, decide on a new printer, clean the bathroom, medicate the cat, make a shopping list, send a bunch of emails. Figured out (I think) how to migrate from Money (love it!) to Quicken.

Even on a day when you do nothing, you do lots. Now I have missed my favorite food network programs, but I'm drinking good rum, and both cats are curled up and asleep lending an air of quietude to the home office.

Poor Annie seems to be wearing out. No energy. Sleeps all the time. Can barely jump on her chair. Very sad.

I haven't seen the new calf and her mother and suspect their owner has sold them back to where the mother came from. Major bummer. Iris and Maryann are hanging out and the third cow is in the herd but everyone else is gone, baby gone.

The people from the condo association showed up today and dug a trench through the back yard, trying to find out where the sprinkling sysem stopped working. Always something. Many reasons to drink rum.

The potato pancakes will be wonderful. I love potato pancakes. My recipe is from the Wall Street Journal. Go figure.

The market went up on this day or rain and unproductiveness. A productive day is when you write at least a few pages or do major edits. Not today. Not yet.

Tonight we will watch Oliver (1968) and that will be much fun. Good movie, good cast, good plot, good writer. Thank you Charles Dickens.

Amen

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

The Neurasthenic Go Go Dancer

There's a woman in my aerobics class that I don't much like. She's a backstabber, and has the most unpleasant smile. The always backs up three feet and screws up the rows while whoever has the misfortune (sometimes me) to be standing behind her scrabbles for floor space.



Worse, she doesn't have an honest movement. Her twee little butt shakes and hand flaps drive me crazy. The appears unable to extend an arm or a leg or move with any vigor at all. I don't know WTF she's doing, but it's not aerobics. There's 80 year olds in the class who exhibit more energy than she does.



Why do some people get under your skin? It's not even personal. Usually I like most everyone until there's a sufficient reason not to. Her I didn't like from the day I first set foot in the class. It is chemistry? Hard to say.



Enough about the aerobically challenged one.



Today is a frenzy of cooking I made french bread and a minestrone with Italian sausage. Not vegetarian of course, but muy delicioso. Tomorrow we're smoking some salmon and eating more bread and soup.



Annie the cat has escaped twice today, both times S.O.'s doing. She's enjoying the nice evening and the birds are batshit, esp the catbird. Well, whatchagonna do? She'll come in when she's hungry. Hope the cat-chasing dog doesn't spot her. The whippet.



Going upstairs to watch the Barefoot Contessta. Can't wait to see the new Julia Child movie.



Grapeshot, who expects those in an aerobics class to actually do aerobics.

Typical Day in the Life of a Retiree

Awake at nine and a half-hour in bed with coffee and the still-with-us Boston Globe. Cat comes up for lovey time. Plunks herself down in mid-paper. How sweet it is.

Down to the kitchen and make blueberry pancakes out of yesterday's waffle batter. Two slices of bacon per person, our idea of dieting. It warn't turkey bacon, either.

Clean up kitchen, spot clean tablecloth and throw in a load of laundry. Monday is still washday.

Give Thisbe her insulin shot.

Onto computer for email, blogging, and working on today's reading for the writing group. Wrote 4 pages yesterday. Good for me.

Shower, etc.

Off to Walmart for cat litter, insulin needles, cat food and a few assorted groceries. I used to scorn Walmart, before retirement and the cats many needs.

Looking for rhubard for rhubard bread later in week. Hope it's not $5.99 per lb. again.

Drop off key for cat sitter with instructions.

Baking food processor bread, and freeform blueberry tart. Dinner is a salad with grilled steak (cooked last night) on top.

Watch a little Wimbleton.

Water houseplants.

Print out reading for tonight.

Wine and cheese, then dinner. La-de-dah!

Off to writing group.

Blueberry tart. Maybe a little reading or TV. Insulin to cat again.

Read more of Eat, Pray, Love on Kindle. Lights out!

Back in Beantown

The Symposium was edifying, as usual, and I had many good meals and a great trip to the MOMA to see Into the Sunset:Photography's Image of the American West, a stellar show with some in your face images and not exactly beautiful snow capped mountains and amber waves of grain if you get the drift. But good stuff, and I can't tell you how many times I was brought up short, thinking, "yes, that's exactly how it looked." The shock of the familiar seen on display in a museum. http://www.moma.org/visit/calendar/exhibitions/97

Got stuck in hideous traffic yesterday, and took a break from the drive to piddle down to Old Saybrook (Saybrook Point) and gobble down a lobster salad and some wine.

Cats happy to see us, as always, which they let us know in their inimitable ways. No mad meows. Annie licked S.O.'s beard and Thisbe bit my toe. Love is strange.

Laundry is done, mail picked up, food in the house and the precious sprouts did not die. Think I'm growing a beanstalk. Fee Fie Foe Fum. Better get those suckers in the ground. Bleeding heart blooming. Lots of little seedlings up. Only recognize the mesclun. We are going to be eating well this summer, unless disaster or the rabbits strike. Bad bunnies.

Now I need to get back to writing, don't ya know?

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.

Grapeshot

Oh Wind, If Winter Comes . . .

Yikes, winter is back. Cold wind. Shrivelled rhododendums. Ice on the slough again. Ducks ain't gonna like that. Chives regretting they poked green tips above the cold ground.

Well, it was good to have a break. I think I am officially caught up with my homecoming chores. Now, if only the house were clean.

Today has been a lazy day, which is to say I lay in bed all afternoon and read. Of course, I really could do this every day, but a weird puritan streak keeps me up and about. The cats have NO problem whatsoever sleeping and lazing about all day.

I finished a great book by a woman who became caught up in the cocaine trade in Colombia in the early 70's. The co-author was a wonderful writer who really took you there, and the last 1/3 of the book was a tension-filled pounding adventure. Just what I'm trying to write. I read it as background for the Colombian "stuff." I had not expected it to be so good. The Book is The Last Run by Kay Wolff and Sybil Taylor. Good stuff. Great descriptions. Think I'll write a review for Amazon.

I had done so much research on Colombian for my robot fish short story that I knew where most everyplace was.

They're Baaaack!

The birds are back, as mysteriously as they left. With a turtle dove added. The flock of robins is happy in the cow pasture. I fed the cows the last scraps of fruits and veggies this morning. There's a new young cow (half-grown) bringing the little herd up to five. Iris and Maggie are still rambunctious.

It seems like a week that I've been getting ready to leave, longer than that if you calculate pants hemmed, dry cleaning, lists, cat care and all that good stuff.

The cats know something is up and are bearing up pretty well. Always sad when one's adult's desert one for an unknown period of time. I feel sorry for Thisbe, so sad and sensitive.

My writing group isn't crazy about the last scene. In a sense, it's become drudgery. Last week was fun. Rewriting in store. I'm just feeling my way through the novel, even though I know what's going to happen.

I should hear from a publisher, an agent and ABNA while I'm gone. Could there be good news? Maybe the census will call and tell us we're hired.

Or will sucking it up be required yet again?

Back on the 20th. Stay tuned.

Snowy Sundays

Was it Verlaine or Baudelaire who complained about rainy Sundays? What about snowy ones? Tomorrow is supposed to be a bitch with LOTS of snow. Ah god, I am so sick of the cold and the ice and the snow.

On Friday, we took a nice long walk in the 50+ weather. Hadn't been out since November. What a seige. It was lovely. Fed the cows, too. The cows have a flock of robins in their pasture. I wonder if the robins don't find bugs in the cow manure. No idea, really.

So today we tackled the accountant's tax workbook. The writer must keep meticulous records. Mine were only so-so. I had to do a lot of research to find out what some of the listed expenses were actually for, and changed the categories to better agree with the work sheet.

I was astounded that I spent to much money on writing last year, compared with the really paltry money that came in. I attended three conferences, one out of town. And all the dues and meetings and this and that really add up. The royalty check was laughable. It is always hell on wheels to compute the "beginning inventory." This year I will write the freakin' number down instead of having to back into it.

Doing the tax workbook takes a day out of my life, and I always resent it. Accounting is not my thing, although I do force myself to keep records all year and not just throw receipts into a paper bag. Imagine! Eeek!

Last night we had oregano chicken which was tres tasty. I made a broccoli rabe dish from Cooking Light, which I swiped at the vets. Reminder to self: take a nice magazine back in return. Tonight we have a tenderloin with pepper recipe from the South Beach Diet. I went through all my diet recipes (yeah, as the pie was baking ) and realize most of them are actually salads or veggies. Salad in the snow is really not an option, but there are a few beef or chicken that actually sound good.

Hey, there are still 2 pieces of the chocolate pecan pie left, which will be history after the scanty fare on tonight's menu. We really were very disciplined to eat ten pieces over 5 days. Self control is all.

Thisbe wanted to go for a stroll on the porch all day, but whenever I opened the front door, she recoiled in horror. Once she stood with front paws on the porch and back paws in the house. She complained a lot. Water bowl is low; moist food now; where's the catnip? Do something about the weather, will you?

Off to make dinner. Last night we saw a fun movie from Netflix. Waiting for Guffman. Much of the same cast as Best in Show. Forgotten Indie gems.

Grapeshot

Notes from All Over

Caption: A cats gotta do what a cats gotta do.

Everyone and his brother, mother-in-law, and 2nd cousins was out running errands today, after three days of snow. I have this to report:

More people are shopping at Walmart than Nordstroms, and Walmart had some pretty decent women's tee shirts for $5.00. I buy them for a) workouts and b) pajama tops. Walmart has the cheapest cat litter in the country. And the cats like it!

It used to be that baggers in a super market, unless they were totally out-of-it sixteen year olds, knew how to, well, how to bag groceries. Now, no matter the age, no matter what we say, the baggers still stick two big bottles of cranberry juice and 2 large jars to tomato sauce in the same sack. If you bring reusable bags in, as we do, and there aren't quite enough, the bagger just jams everything together. Do they ask, "Paper or plastic?" for the remainder. Nope.

It can be hard to intuit where in the store grocery items are stored. Sometimes, when you ask, the clerk knows, and sometimes, there's much head-scratching and wandering about, and it's like a treaure hunt with no map until finally, finally, the missing item is located. So far this month, barley has been the most elusive foodstuff.

The main roads are plowed, but major roads are still hard to park on, i.e. poorly plowed at the edges. This was true in Providence, where we damn near died getting across the street, over the snowbank, past the sheet of ice and in the door. Damn! This is living dangerously. My idea of living dangerously is going into town for dinner without reservations, although this year, that is probably not an issue.

Last night, still recovering from the stomach whatever, I felt like chilling on the sofa and watching some nice Christmas show. The only thing I could find was on the Grand Ol Oprey channel. A group, Clay Jar or something like that did a wonderful "Little Drummer Boy," but "O Little Town of Bethlehem" was too much of a "treatment" for me, and I looked for something else. Zilch! Can you believe it? No Christmas music the Sunday before Christmas?

This afternoon Annie gave voice to two mad meows. S.O. was her target. Where were you? Why didn't you take a nap today? She offers no quarter. Besides her tail, a cat's ears give her emotional temperature away. Of course the eyes tell their own tales. Very emotional creatures, are cats. This year they've been respectful of the tree and (most of) the ornaments. Sometimes a cats just gotta do what a cats gotta do.

More anon,

Grapeshot

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.,

Grapeshot

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!

Grapeshot