The Snow is general over Boston

Heard the plows on our street in the middle of the night.  They are backing up more than going forward, and you know what that means. Beep.  Beep.   Of course the paper wasn't here when I  awakened, but it actually came soon thereafter.   What's Sunday without the Globe and the Times? Last week at this time we were trekking home in the snow, ice and rain from Mohonk Mountain house. 

I  made cookies,  wrapped a gift, did 2 loads of laundry--but you don't want to hear about that.  There were tiny paw prints by the woodpile where the chipmunk is hunkered down for the winter, so I put out some seed for him.  The juncos came and feasted, too.  No sign of anyone else. 

Yesterday we went to a lovely Christmas concert of Mediterranean Baroque Christmas music,   played on period instruments. The group was the  Musicians of the Old Post Road, and the venue was the Old South Church on Boyston Street,  and  the church looked tastefully festive with lots of greenery, white Italian lights and even a tree.

The Copley subway station is under construcion which means no escalator, and even seniors and the lame have to heave their bodies three flights out of the earth.  After that one needs sustenance and strong drink, so we hied ourselves across the street to the Back Bay Papparazzi on Dartmouth Street, my favorite of all the Papparazzis.   A half-bottle of wine, a salad, and entrees later, all was well with the world and we went across the street to the concert.                                    

I have really been into people watching lately, and  had two great couples yesterday, one young, one mddle aged.   The subway is always a united nations, and yesterday was no different.  The snow didn't begin here until almost eleven, and we were all snugly indoors.

Thisbe, the junior cat, was horrified his mornng.  Can't you do something about this?  I don't like it all all? Amazing how one's cats give one  omnipotence.    

The soggy cheese twists were nice and crisp after being baked, while still frozen, in a 400 degree oven for 12 minutes.  Yes!  I am planning a holiday buffet with a variety of foods that everyone can enjoy, at least 2/3 of everything.  Catering to picky eaters  is a cook's nightmare.  No cheese, no tomatoes, no meat, no mushrooms, no eggplant, no olives, no capers, no this, no that!   Bummer!    

Mois?  An omnivore.

Stay warm!                                                                                                                           

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.

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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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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.

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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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/

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.

Grapeshot

Friday is Cat Blog Day

Annie gazing at the camera.


And sometimes the cats just aren't very bloggable. I wouldn't gross you out with the description of the hair ball that Thisbe coughed up yesterday, with some weird green plastic in it. She has a tendency to eat twine or anything stringy. This morning she went onto the front porch (adventure time) and saw something rustling in the bushes where the birds (mostly sparrows but sometimes doves) eat the spilled food. Great excitement, but in the end it was Just Too Scary, and she came back inside.

In the meantime, Annie, her housemate had a nap in the garage. No place beats the garage on a cool morning for a private nap. Then Annie came downstairs to lurk in her favorite spot where she can attack Thisbe after she comes downstairs into Annie's territory, the home office.

Actually, Annie has sort of given up chasing Thisbe out of the office, and my feeling is that she is getting used to hanging with her down here.

We have cat birds gobbling up the suet, and ugly blackbirds that I don't like. A cardinal across the street, and the woodpeckers feeding their young. A gazillion little goldfinch battles over the thistle seed feeder. Always the males. The drama in the backyard. Who needs violent movies? All the rain made the tomatoes like, explode, and the sage is still blooming like crazy.

A fresh pot of cat grass in the kitchen, for the kitties eating pleasure. Annie prefers the grass outside, and when she sneaked out this week, S.O. caught her while she was nibbling some. That cat takes her paw and opens the screen door. Freedom now!

Meow!

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A moment to relax? No, It's Cat Blog Day

It would be nice to have a day of "down time," and still be home. Does it ever happen? Thought I had one yesterday, but it didn't turn out that way, so I had great hopes for leisure today. Discovered at 9:15 that Thisbe had a vet appointment at 10:15.

Unfortunately, the vibes perked up through the ceiling into the area under the bed where she was indulging in a power nap. Had the wind up already, and couldn't be lured out with catnip and sweet talk. Kept moving from one side of the bed to the other. I put on gloves and got out S.O.'s now unused crutch and poked at her until she left the friendly confines of the bed. She thought (ha! ha! Thisbe), that she would race downstairs, or perhaps under the guest bed, but I had thoughtfully closed the bedroom door. Grabbed her and shoved her into the cat carrier.

Meows of protest all the way there. Then, as it always happens, she does not wish to egress the cat carrier. Such a safe, cozy place all of a sudden. Nonetheless, the "nice lady" took her out and weighted her. 16.8 pounds, about the same as last year.

"Why is such a big cat afraid of everything?" the vet asked, and I had no answer. If you're a fraidy cat you could be as big as a barn and still cower.

So, exam and shots over, we waited for the presentation of the bill, while a really big dog appropriately named "Moose," eyed the cat carrier with benign curiosity. Home again, but the bedroom door was still closed and the painters were on ladders, able to look in windows, and what's a cat to do? Retreat to the basement, of course, where the windows are small and no one is liable to stare in.

You will remember that Friday is Cat Blog Day. I am publishing a photo of Thisbe for her fans. She still has an unseemly addiction to cat nip, and loves Mommy-Kitty time. If only all relationships were so uncomplicated.

Thisbe's Reply

My mistress made me sound like an indolent creature who lives only to eat and sleep. She neglected to mention my long, vigorous, luxurious baths which I sometimes perform in time to music. Baths burn calories. And speaking of intimate activities, sometimes I "freshen up" with a scratch in the old sandbox. Lots of digging. More calories burned.

When I appear to be gazing out the window, I am really guarding the hearth, keeping track of the vermin who might try to come in. One of them already has gone into the garage which I stand guard at least once a day where said vermin chewed a whole in the bag of bird seed.

It needs to be stated that sometimes the bottom of my food dish is visible, and this causes me great anguish, and I must complain loudly and with vigor (burning yet more calories).

My mistress tends to forget that dogs have masters, but cats have staff.

Thisbe