Suzy Says

Clearly, June knows how to spend a dark, rainy day. Even if her blanket of choice does clash a little with her orange fur.

Here you can see her multi-colored pads, to match her multi-colored fur. One of life’s enduring mysteries is how June can keep her white fur snowy white when our house is surrounded by mud. And I can’t keep the mud out of the house or the car. What’s her secret?

Henry Etta gets comfortable

On the Sunday Megan and I wallowed in “Gone with the Wind”, we noticed that all was not well with Henry Etta.

Though she’s always had a stumbling, arthritic walk, this was really bad. Henry dragged her back leg behind her when she walked, and you would be surprised by the noise the lame leg of a four and a half pound cat can make on a wood floor. It was horrifying to watch her drag herself through the cat door.

As I gazed at my sweet girl in horror, Megan swung into action and called Dr. Karen. Yes, we have our vet’s home number and cell number. And she called us right back. I could hear her family in the background as we spoke.

She suggested metacam, which is basically ibuprophen for cats, and treats with glucosamine and chondroitin called Sea Flex, carefully calculating the dosage for the tiny old cat. She said that she’d be in her old office in Fort Bragg on Wednesday and could dispense the meds there. This wasn’t good enough for the EMT in the family. Before Meg went to work on Monday night, she went to the Feed and Pet and picked up the Sea Flex.

She also stopped by Lu’s house, and it turned out that Lu had some metacam on hand from one of her cats’ past illnesses, and being Lu, gave the whole thing to Meg to give to me.

Anxious about Henry Etta, I slept badly that night, and woke when I heard Meg come in early on Tuesday morning – the same day I was leaving for the city. She dosed Henry Etta and said she’d come by each morning to do so while I was away, and that Rob would keep an eye on Henry Etta while I was gone.

Meg called me on Tuesday afternoon before she went to work to tell me that Henry was already better! And on Wednesday morning, Henry Etta actually ran to the door to meet Megan. Just one dose made such a difference!

Before I left, I put the cuddly bed you see above right next to the heater. This is the same bed I bought her years ago and which used to be under the porch in Oakland. She had scorned it since we moved here, but now it’s her place of choice. I’m happy that June and Audrey have left her alone on it and not tried to take it over or harass her.

Now I give her metacam every 72 hours and Sea Flex every day. She seems well and happy. I feel guilty that I didn’t notice it sooner and worry that she was in pain for a long time before I noticed. I’m just glad that we were able to help her. And I love how my sister is an EMT for animals as well as people.

The new vet office

On Sunday, Megan, Jonathan, a still-limping Lu and I met up to attend Dr. Karen’s grand opening of her vet office in Mendocino. It’s the first time she’s had her very own practice, and she put all her heart and resources into it. She renovated the little house you see on the left, so it now has a reception area, waiting room, and two exam rooms.

A boardwalk leads from the office to a barn, converted to a surgery:

The surgery has a digital x-ray machine which Meg says is better than the one the hospital has. The idea of having the surgery separate is that animals coming in for other reasons won’t have to smell the anesthesia and get scared or upset. The practice offers holistic medicine along with more traditional methods of treatment and care. In time, there will be outdoor kennels so patients can take the air when the weather is nice.

As you can see, the grand opening was packed. There were lines to write in the guest book, and you could hardly walk around in there for all the people wanting to congratulate Dr. Karen. I don’t think she has to worry about making it on her own any more than Mary Tyler Moore did.

I had the genius idea of giving her a gift certificate for a massage at a spa conveniently located a block or two from the office. I figured she was stressed as well as excited at striking out on her own and dealing with the reno, and thought this would be more welcome than a bunch of flowers. We all chipped in and I hope she has a wonderful, relaxing time. To me it’s much like having a friend who’s given birth. Everyone gives gifts* to the baby but nothing to the mother (other than flowers), who has been through hell for almost a year. I think Moms should have something special just for her, and I thought Karen should, too.

On our way home, I noticed some signs of approaching spring, including this flowering vine near Karen’s office:

and a lovely cherry tree beginning to blossom:

*From what I hear, people tend to give newborn sized clothes, so after a couple of months, the baby has outgrown most of his/her wardrobe.

Dazzled with glittery splendidness, I headed to 19th Avenue to start the trip home.

As I sped through the retro tunnel on Park Presidio, I tried (and failed) to remember the last time I had approached the Golden Gate Bridge this way. It was fun to take a different route, though it was sad to bid farewell to the beautiful city, gleaming in the pale, watery winter sunshine.

I have to say that it is so much easier and faster to go from Hooterville to San Francisco than it is to Oakland. Going to the East Bay adds anything from half an hour to an hour to the trip. And it’s much less scenic.

I stopped off in Boonville to give Erica and Jessica their long-delayed Christmas stockings and presents. Being Me, I managed forget my own gift for Jessica. Yes, the one I finally did a good wrapping job on. But she hardly noticed in the blizzard of gifts from Megan and Rob, Jonathan, and Lu. I noticed that she opened each one, spent some time looking at it and showing it to her friends who happened to be on hand, and then went on to the next one.

She also asked her mother if she could have a chocolate coin from her stocking, and then shared the remainder with her friends.

Their schedules are so hectic these days that it’s hard for them to visit. Meg and I are planning on going to get Jessica and keep her for a weekend soon.

Hugged and kissed, I went on my way. I noticed that it was not yet dark at 5:00, and that there were daffodils in the grass by the side of the road. The river had definitely receded.

When I got home, I was disappointed at the lack of greeting committee. Henry Etta didn’t bother getting up, and June and Audrey were nowhere to be seen (they didn’t reappear until 10:00 that night). I called Meg to tell her I was home, and of course her greeting and Rob’s made up for the cats’ lack thereof. Humans: picking up cat slack for thousands of years and counting!

We all enjoyed the extreme pizza delivery extremely. I think I’ll try and do that every time I go to the city.

Exhibit A

Thursday night is my turn to make dinner.

Megan finishes her three, 12 hour night shifts on Thursday morning, so she’s too tired to dream up or whip up dinner. I have to say I’m really glad to take that small burden from her.

I usually start thinking about what to make on Thursday on Sunday afternoon. I look through my collection of recipes and my Dad’s, and if I don’t find inspiration there, I turn to Sunset and Epicurious. I love Sunset because it’s written for a Western audience and knows what’s in season here. And Epicurious has recipes from many magazines, including Gourmet and Bon Appetit, all in one place.

Yesterday’s inspiration for shrimp chowder came from Epicurious, and you can find the recipe here. I left out the fennel seeds, thinking it would be too much, and added the red pepper flakes. I substituted half and half for the heavy cream. It was a big hit. I served it with a simple salad of curly endive and radicchio (in the newly-rediscovered wooden salad bowl my parents used when I was a kid) along with a salad dressing I made with garlic, seedy mustard, olive oil, red wine vinegar, black pepper, and tarragon. Add in a loaf of ciabatta from Costeaux bakery, and dinner’s ready!

As good as dinner was, it was what happened after dinner that was really wonderful.

Audrey climbed up onto my sister’s lap, put her arms around Megan’s neck, and fell asleep with her face cuddled up to Megan’s. She stayed there for at least an hour. In the meantime, Henry Etta had curled up* next to me and fallen asleep. Audrey slowly drooped down my sister’s arm while she slept, her face eventually coming to rest against Henry’s back. She stayed like that for a while, then got up, stretched, and curled up next to Henry Etta (see above). They were actually touching!

This is a first, and I hope it’s not the last. Henry Etta is always cold, and it would be nice for her fragile old bones to cuddle up to warm, strong Audrey.

And speaking of old cats: you’ll be glad to hear that Gertie has moved in with Rose’s daughter and is doing well.

*This is a big step forward. She used to just huddle anxiously, even in her sleep, ready for takeoff if anything happened. Also I can now pet her in her sleep without getting clawed.

Well, my new year’s resolutions, like so many people’s, didn’t last long.

This morning, I tripped over June, who was milling around under my sleepy feet as I came downstairs. This is June’s way of reminding me that she’s ready for breakfast, even if it’s an hour or more before the appointed hour of 9:00, when breakfast is served.

Fortunately, I was only two steps from the bottom of the stairs, so damage to Self was minimal. I’ll probably have a bruised elbow, but that’s it. In the interests of honesty, though, this probably means I’m back to square one on trying not to damage Self. I went half a month injury-free, though, so yay me!

As I fed the cats, which entails stepping carefully onto a little wooden chest, then onto the studio floor, then up a step into the laundry room/pantry/cat dining room, it occurred to me that this is the first time I’ve lived in a house with stairs since I left my parents’ house. Maybe practice makes perfect and I need more stair experience and less experiments in gravity.

The Audrometer failed to go off this morning.

It was confusing to wake up in daylight, at the civilized hour of 8:30, without the usual 4:30 wake-up call. June followed me downstairs, and Henry Etta was peacefully ensconced in her nest on the couch (until I put up the heat and she abandoned the couch to hug the heater). No sign of Audrey.

I went outside and called her, thinking that somehow she must have escaped her nightly prison and thus not needed to wake up the warden. No answer, though June came with me to help.

No sign of Audrey.

I went back inside to make coffee – yes, I was worried enough about Audrey to look for her before making coffee – and while the coffee was brewing, went to get a sweater to ward off the morning chill. When I opened the drawer, there was Audrey, blinking and surprised, though not as surprised as I was. How had she gotten in there and closed the drawer behind her?

Last night, she burst through the cat door with a mouse in her mouth. I chased her into the bathroom and shut the door, then went out to open the other bathroom door, which opens from the back porch (this has proved to be more useful than I originally thought), so she and her prey could go back outside. No mouse in my house, is my motto.

It was a bad day for vermin yesterday. Henry Etta made one of her rare forays into the equally rare sun, and barely five minutes later was happily lunching on a mouse on the sunny bench. I think she ate the whole thing, since I didn’t find any leftovers. Cat sushi.

On my way back into the house, I noticed a dead mole. They are really weird-looking creatures, and apparently there’s something weird about their fur, too, and cats don’t eat them. So that means I get to add “mole remover” to my duties as cat doorman.

I’m beginning to think that I might as well get a cat door that goes from the outside to the inside, as well as the one going from the studio to the main house. I’ll lock it when I go to bed and hope for the best. As my brother says, rather grandly: “I don’t open doors for cats.”

Whoever set the Audrometer to go off at 4:30 – enough already!

This seems to be her favorite time to get up in the morning, even though it’s pitch black out and makes me really crabby. Now I don’t even bother to put on my glasses. I just lurch out of bed, open the door, and crawl back into bed, swearing. June sleeps through the whole thing (on the bed) and so does Henry Etta (on the duvet on the couch).

This morning, I let Audrey out on time and went back to sleep until 8:00 or so. I went downstairs to make coffee, and while I was in the middle of it, I heard the balcony door rattling and squeaking upstairs as Audrey demanded to be let in. I finished the coffeemaking process and went outside to the porch to call her, hoping that she’d come downstairs instead of my having to go back upstairs (this is why I never make a new year’s resolution to be less slothful. Never going to happen, my friend).

Of course she didn’t, since Audrey’s goal is never to make my life easier. While I was calling her, I felt something cold and damp poke my butt. Turning around in surprise, I looked into Lucky’s huge brown eyes. I moved away quickly before she could start eating my pajamas, remembering how she ate the futon filling with evident enjoyment.

I went back into the house and upstairs to let Audrey in.

I have to admit that I’m getting pretty tired of being a cat doorman. The pay is terrible, and they never tip me, even at Christmas. I’ve been thinking about putting in a cat door to the outside – the one I have is between the house and the cold storage – but then the cats could bring in mice and birds during the day, though I’d lock it at night. I saw June catch a mouse today and spend ages playing with the hapless creature*. Needless to say, I was repulsed by the whole thing, and when I told my sister about it, she trumped me as usual. One of her cats had left a dead and dismembered bird right by the bed.

That’s worse than being woken up by the Audrometer.

*It’s a lot easier to feel sorry for mice when they are outside and behind glass. Or in a Beatrix Potter story, wearing little hats and waistcoats.

Sunny June

Like girl, like cat:

I was doing the dishes when I heard a thud. I turned around and saw that June had fallen off the sleeping loft and landed on the floor with a thud.

Unlike Me, she didn’t break the floor or her ribs. She sat up, looking a little surprised, and had an emergency bath – the kind that’s cat for “I’m really embarrassed and pretending it never happened.” I picked her up and cuddled her, and she purred while patting my face with her little white paw, so she seemed to be fine.

Audrey peered over the edge of the loft and pattered quickly down the stairs, then sniffed June anxiously. After joining in the emergency bath, they both went to the sliding doors and I let them out to play.

Later, when Schatzi and I came back from our walk on the logging road behind the house, June was waiting at the entrance to the road. When she saw the dog, she puffed up hugely. Schatzi looked away, and we sneaked past June, with me next to June so she couldn’t jump on Schatzi, who knows all about cats and their claws, thank you very much.

When I sat down to work again, Henry jumped up on my lap instantly. I used to think the shortest possible length of time was between a traffic light turning green and someone honking their horn, but now I think it’s between me sitting down and Henry jumping onto my lap, purring.

As you can see, I’ve had a hard time getting used to “Henrietta”. I’ve called her “Henry” for two years now, and it’s hard to break the habit. I’ve decided that “Etta” is her middle name, and no-one calls me by my middle name. At least, not anymore (why is it that saying your whole name is the international symbol for “You are in a boatload of trouble?”). So her whole name is now Henry Etta James, though she’ll answer to Henry or Henry Etta or any variable.

Or not.

After all, she is a cat.

It’s that feral cat again*.

Here’s Henrietta, relaxing on the duvet in the sunlight. The only thing better than the heater is sunlight in her world. Even when it’s cold outside, the California sun has its warmth.

This evening, she was cuddled up to me, and I petted her as I watched the final, heart-wrenching episode of the latest season of “Mad Men”. I wondered if she had ever dreamed of sleeping safely on a duvet on a couch, with the heater on and petting on demand, and a limitless supply of food. Or did she, in the dark, scary Oakland nights, wish for nothing but safety and warmth, and not sweat the small stuff?

When our journey started, I never imagined that she’d ever sit on my lap, or be so trusting. She’s come a long way in the mere two months that we’ve lived together.

On Christmas Eve, I spotted her sitting on a bench, basking in the sunlight. I rushed out to take a blurry picture of her before she moved:

I was so glad to see her feeling safe enough to go outside and enjoy the sun. As I watched her, I remembered how my father loved to feel the sun when he visited us from England, and recalled one particular Christmas Eve when it was warm enough to have a picnic on the beach at Point Reyes. Somewhere in The Boxes is one of my favorite pictures of Dad, taken that day as he strolled in the surf laughing, lifting his face up to the sun.

*I overheard one vet technician tell another one that when I brought Henrietta in the second time.

A day of naughtiness really takes it out of you.

Audrey has expanded her repertoire of victims to include birds now. By the time I saw her with it, it was too late, and all I could do was shudder and pity the poor creature. Nature, as my stepmother used to point out in her rich, golden voice, is red in tooth and claw, but I can’t change this Nature channel.

If the early bird gets the worm, the early cat presumably gets the early bird. And mice. So Audrey, after about twelve hours of beauty sleep, is ready to go out and hunt in the dark, pre-dawn hours. She alerts me to her schedule by clawing the glass in the balcony door.

I have considerably less enthusiasm for getting up in the dark than Audrey does, and I figure if I get up and let her out, it will only encourage her (not that encouragement appears to be necessary). So last night, I equipped my otherwise elegant bedside table with an ugly plastic spray bottle filled with water. When the inevitable Audrey alarm went off, I grabbed the bottle and squirted in her general direction.

Pause.

Scrabble-squeak-thump-scrabble-squeak-squeak-squeak!!

Squirt.

Silence.

I subsided into my pillows, tensely waiting. Nothing happened, so I tried to go back to sleep. I had reckoned without my annoyance and the cloud of swear words hovering over my sleepy, yet awake head. Sigh.

As I lay there in the dark, debating getting up, I heard Audrey clawing the hand-carved redwood banisters. After I yelled at her, getting up was inevitable.

It was still dark, so there was no way I was letting her outside. Also, I clung to the faint hope that if she gets me out of bed and doesn’t get to go out immediately, she’ll give up on the whole project. She did keep going to the front door and clawing it, though, despite my verbal discouragement.

Around 7:30, I let Audrey and June outside, Henrietta being far too old and wise to leave the comfort of the heater.

Audrey: 532. Suzy: 0.

My sister’s tree

Christmas Day dawned bright and sunny. I know, because Audrey woke me up so I could see for myself.

The first order of business was taking Schatzi for a walk. We went over to our brother’s place, checked on the bees, and let Schatzi run and roam to her heart’s content. It was warm enough that Megan and I took off our sweaters, enjoying the sun on our skin. When it was time to leave, Schatzi was nowhere to be seen. We called her and Megan whistled loud enough to summon a New York taxi, but no dog. Megan was ready to leave without her, but I freaked out, so we gave it one more try. She finally showed up then, covered with mud. Including her nose.

Merry Christmas!

After that, it was time to start on the feast, which somehow took up most of the rest of the day. Rob pruned an apple tree so he had wood to smoke the ham, which was basted for hours with maple-bourbon glaze invented years ago by our brother, a formerly professional cook. While Rob tended the barbecue, I made my famous cheese biscuits and gratuitous stuffing (at Megan’s request). I invented the stuffing and it turned out great: cornbread, multi-grain bread, pecans, apples, celery, onion, herbs from the garden, leftover wine, chicken stock, and butter.

I also made an unnecessarily complicated side dish of cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, and red onions with a seedy mustard vinaigrette. Add in my apple pie and Megan’s pumpkin pie, both adorned with stars in the pastry, and you have a festive dinner!

Unfortunately, Erica was too sick to attend, so that meant no Jessica, either. However, their presents and stockings are still under the tree, so we can have another celebration later.

Jonathan got off work early, so dinner was still hot when he arrived around 7. After dinner, we all opened our stockings. It’s so fun to see the person whose stocking you made opening it. I got Megan again this year, and a couple of weeks ago, she brought* a box from Sephora to my house, commenting that she wished it was for her. It actually was, containing a travel size skincare kit, and I was delighted to finally tell her that. We couldn’t stop laughing.

While we were opening our stockings, the cats were playing outside under the stars. Audrey showed up at the sliding glass doors with a live mouse in her mouth, clearly proud of her hunting prowess. Needless to say, I was horrified, and my sibs were amused at my horror. “Just wait until they figure out how to eat them!” they said gleefully, adding that cats don’t eat the legs or tail, so there’s always leftovers. Yay! I tried not to think about Audrey sitting on my lap later, licking my hand with her mouse tongue and kissing me with her mouse breath.

I didn’t let the cats back in until there was no sign of that mouse, or any other mouse, for that matter.

*We all share a post office box, so we’re always picking up each other’s mail. Also, all the Fed Ex and UPS packages for everyone on the property are dropped off at a little shelter near the road, and whoever sees the package first brings it to its recipient. It’s not unusual to come home and find a package on your table.

Improved tree

I’ve always been terrible at wrapping presents. You’d think I’d be good at it, given my expertise in applying make-up, love of all things sparkly, and generally trivial mindset, but no. The ends bunch up, the paper is unevenly cut and/or is too big or too small for the package, there’s tape all over the damn place, and the ribbons are knotted and bedraggled. I’m the anti-Martha Stewart.

This is another reason why our Christmas stocking tradition is so very kick-ass. Cheap; non-stressful; fun; and nothing to wrap.

Yesterday, I put together Megan’s Christmas stocking, which was made by Erica. Hence its awesomeness:

I’m pleased to report that it is jam packed with goodies. I actually had candy left over (for now).

The only present I had to wrap was for Jessica, and it’s the best wrapping job I have ever done:

I should get extra credit for valiantly giving her the fluffy snowman pen, especially because it lights up, and the snowflake pin, especially since it’s sparkly and would have looked excellent in my hair. Also festive. Don’t say I never did anything for you, kid.

I smugly put the elegantly-wrapped present and stuffed stocking under the tree. About five minutes later, it was brought to my attention that this was an idea worthy of International Stupidity Day. All the cats converged on the present and started playing with the snowman fluff. Sighing, I removed both items and hid them in the laundry room/pantry*. Oh, Nanny, where art thou?

Speaking of the tree, I ended up excavating a string of lights for it. This just encouraged me, so I added candy canes (in a classic flavor). The iridescent tree topper was half-price the last time I was in Rite Aid, so I had to get it. A little out of proportion to a Charlie Brown sized tree, perhaps, but so are showgirls’ headdresses.

*The washer is still leaking, but Rob put up my “Vertigo” poster, so at least it’s well-decorated. A girl must have some standards, you know.

Nanny for three naughty cats. One older, but not mellower, the other two young and willful.

Duties include feeding and watering; letting cats in and out of house on demand several times a day; cleaning litter box; breaking up fights; discouraging cats from jumping on counters and/or in the sink; stopping furniture clawing; and occasional visits to vet. Some tidying up after cat-induced mishaps, such as knocking over Christmas tree or breaking valuables, and trips to the Feed and Pet for cat food. Speaking of cat food, the older cat tends to bulimia, usually on the rug, so that will also need cleaning up.

Any and all attempts to teach manners and good behavior are welcome.

Days may start early due to pre-dawn doorperson duties.

Must enjoy country life and minimal wages. Bonus paid for an incident-free week.

Contact sjpeakall at gmail.com.

I was awakened this morning by Miss Audrey, the dawn alarm clock. I think she’s figured out that I won’t let her out until there’s some light in the sky, so the minute blackness turns to grey, it’s time to wake up the doorgirl and start her day.

She does this by clawing at the door to the balcony. Cat claws on glass = nails on a blackboard. Eeeyagh! It would be better to have Dad yanking off the covers while yelling, “Wakey-wakey, rise and shine!”, his preferred method for awakening slumbering teenagers (parents take note – this is particularly effective in cold climates).

I let Audrey out without even putting my glasses on, and June went racing past as I fumbled for them in my sleepy, semi-blind state.

Like all my family, once I’m up, I’m up, no matter how unfortunate the hour or whether it’s the weekend or a work day, so I went downstairs to make coffee and start my day.

Henrietta wasn’t on the couch or by the heater. I looked around for her and found her sitting under the tree like a little present.

Yesterday, the guilt of the uncategorized became too much for me. The holiday layout makes it blatantly obvious that I haven’t bothered to categorize my immortal writings, so I’ve started to do so. However, I probably won’t go back and categorize eight years’ worth of drivel, but rather, try to categorize from now on. It can be my new year’s resolution, along with trying to be injury-free.

Anyway, I have categorized all the Jessica-related posts, for example, so you can easily read about your favorite girl. I still haven’t bothered with tags, because I really don’t understand them. So you’ll have to settle for categories for now.

When Henrietta was still living in the backyard in Oakland (I wonder if she still remembers that?), I used to always call out “Goodnight, Henry!” when I closed and locked* the back door for the night. Now I put an old duvet on the couch and make it into a little nest for her at night. She is either:

1. Sitting on the couch;
2. Sitting on my lap;
3. Sitting in front of the heater.

She reminds me of my sister’s late cat Agnes, who used to sit so close to the heater that her fur would singe. She’d have to be moved before she caught on fire. I think Henrietta would climb right into the heater if she could.

When I went up to bed last night, Henrietta was curled into a ball, fast asleep. I always pet her and tell her goodnight, so I did so. I startled her out of her sleep, and she clawed my hand good and hard. I was shocked at first, but then I realized that I had been given a little glimpse into her former life. The only way she could have slept outside, alone and tiny in Oakland, would be to go on the attack if someone or something woke her up.

Needless to say, this morning she wasted no time in climbing onto my lap.

*On the news today, they had a piece on what to do if you lose your keys and lock yourself out of your house. I no longer have to worry about this. My doors don’t lock and the car keys are usually in the ignition.

I thought that when we moved to the country, the kittens’ naughtiness would be confined to the great outdoors. After all, they have trees to climb and claw, birds and bugs to chase, and plenty of room to chase each other and the neighbor cats who come by for a visit.

So I bought a little three foot high tree. I didn’t realize until later that I probably could have gone out into the woods and cut one down myself, but given the rate of accidents since I moved to Hooterville, I probably would have cut myself down instead.

I still don’t have a tree stand after all these years, and I couldn’t figure out how to get the wooden X stand off the tree. Rob came over to take care of the cats while Megan and I were in Berkeley, and took the X off the tree and placed it in a clear glass vase, filling it with colored pebbles, glass beads, and water. How’s that for an elegant solution (and a full service cat sitter)?

Even if I knew where my beautiful peacock ornaments are, I wouldn’t have risked putting them on the tree, especially after June showed up with a bird in her mouth the other day. She burst through the cat door with the poor bird in her mouth. I screamed, and she let the bird go. It flew up to the high ceiling, and then unwisely fluttered down within June’s reach. She grabbed the hapless creature again and I called Megan:

“Hello?”

“June caught a bird! It’s in the house! Oh my GOD!!”

~Click~

Megan came over in her bathrobe and got the bird away from June, putting the horrified avian in a patch of sun. Later, it was gone, so hopefully it flew away and stayed away from cats from then on,

So I knew bird ornaments were out.

I figured a birdless tree would not attract the attention of June and Audrey after they’d been playing outside all day.

BZZZ! WRONG!

They’ve knocked it over three times so far, and I’ve caught them playing with it more times than I can count. So much for that theory.

June also enjoys chewing on the Christmas lights, especially when they’re on, and they both like to claw the banisters and furniture, even though they have an entire woods full of trees for manicuring. Last night, Henriettta smashed one of my favorite teacups:

http://www.puffins.com/beehouse04.html

by jumping up on the forbidden counter.

Maybe naughtiness is catching.

It took me more than ten minutes to get the hard frost off the windshield and car windows this morning. Blasting the defrost didn’t do much, if anything, so I found a piece of wood and used that for a scraper, which worked pretty well. The whole car glittered with frost in the bright winter sunshine.

The Ridge was icy, and there was enough frost on the grass at the sides of the road to look like a light dusting of snow. As I approached town, I thought how strange it is to see palm trees lurking among the pines and redwoods when it’s below freezing. Not to mention people mowing their lawns all bundled up!

There was one angry cat in the back seat. Henrietta knew something was up this morning. She hid in the studio, and I had to pull a horrible trick on her by pretending to feed the cats and then scooping up all four and a half pounds of her and sweeping her into the carrier. She howled, spat, and clawed at the bars like crazy.

She was not amused.

She’s spending most of the day at the vet’s, since they’ll have to sedate her to examine her and do blood tests. I’ve used the time by buying Christmas stocking items, groceries, and 200 feet of electrical wire. Apparently the bears have been feeling the cold too and have been eyeing our bee hive, so my brother is going to get the fence surrounding the bees electrified as soon as possible.

I’m multi-tasking here at the Mendocino Cookie Company, enjoying the free wi fi while I participate in a conference call and wait for Henrietta to be ready. I’m looking forward to learning more about her. Stay tuned!

Morning light

The past couple of nights I’ve dared to sleep in my bed, although for some reason it makes my aches achier. But I couldn’t handle the Elephant Man thing of sleeping partly sitting up on the couch anymore. Why is life full of unpleasant choices instead of, say, one fun’n’easy option? Hmmm?

In the morning, I hobble carefully down the stairs, clinging to the driftwood banister to prevent any further fragility and the girls follow me – or precede me – in their headlong rush to the “front” door. If you’re wondering what the deal is with my irritating quotes (at least they aren’t air quotes!), it’s because the door is at the side of the house. But it’s the one we all use to come and go, including the cats. Except when they use the sliding glass doors in the living room.

I let June and Audrey out before going to make coffee and turning up the spectacularly ineffective propane heater. No matter how cold or wet it is outside, they bound out happily, looking for trouble and fun wherever they can find it. Henry, on the other hand, prefers to huddle by the heater or cuddle up with me as I read my fan mail. He is superbly unperturbed by the girls calling him a mama’s boy.

I have come to know who is coming down the stairs by the sound. June busy and bustling; Audrey light and graceful; Henry has a characteristic drag in his back leg, whether he’s walking or running, probably from a past injury.

Lately, Henry has taken to drinking from my ever-present water glass. June used to be the only one who did it; now they all do. It’s as if Audrey is copying her big sister and Henry figures that’s what inside cats do.

The girls come back in for breakfast, which is the usual mêlée, and then I let them out again. And in again. Lather, rinse, repeat. My sister says, “Cats are New Yorkers at heart – they all want doormen.”

Gertie

Henry and Gertie have switched places. And I feel guilty.

Gertie, an unlovely name for a lovely cat, lived in what is now my house for all of her 13+ years. Even after her owners were gone, she stayed. But once I moved in with my herd of cats, she abandoned the premises, though not completely.

She hangs around, meowing sadly, and I put food, water, and a blanket in the shed. After I feed my cats, I go outside to feed her.

Sound familiar?

She’s supposed to be living with her former owner’s daughter, but she can’t understand that they are gone and she has a new home.

She lets me pick her up, and she purrs happily, but she won’t come in the house. I thought she’d venture in when all the doors were open, but no. I’ve picked her up and brought her inside, but she just runs out again as soon as she can. It’s getting colder lately, especially at night, and we’re supposed to get rain this week, so I’m worried about her.

It seems ironic that bringing an outdoor cat inside basically made an indoor cat an outdoor cat. Though I’m glad to have Henry safe and warm (as I write, he’s curled up next to me on the couch), I’m sad that Gertie is homeless because of me.

Any thoughts or ideas welcome! Leave them in the comments or email me at sjpeakall AT gmail DOT com.