Suzy Says

Just look at me!

Mostly, you know, Dodge is like a little angel. He is super affectionate, jumping against my legs asking to be petted – I am so glad he kept that endearing quirk – or pushing his head against me, purring loudly. If you have hands, you should be using them to pet him, is his general view.

He loves to play with Clyde, and Clyde is always glad to cuddle with Dodge or play with him. They enjoy lounging in the sunshine together.

And of course, he is incredibly beautiful. The Medical Director at work often stops by my office to ask how Dodge is.

Pretty much everyone loves Dodge except Audrey, and she has good reason to hate this handsome young interloper.

Dodge has an unfortunate penchant for chasing Audrey. The kindest interpretation of this is that he wants her to play with him, but I suspect he is just messing with her. Maybe because she’s old and more fragile than he is, or maybe he wants to stake a claim on his territory. Who knows?

Whatever his motivation, I am continually shooing him away from her. And for Audrey’s part, she growls whenever she sees him. If she is sitting next to me on the bed and he is at the foot of it, she keeps up a low-grade growl, letting everyone know of her displeasure with his existence.

Not that it deters Dodge any.

So lately I have let her outside on the rare occasions I am home, to give her a break from her hated roommate. Mostly, she sits on the porch and enjoys being in a Dodge-free zone. But on Sunday, I heard the unmistakable noise of an impending cat fight. Audrey and my landlord’s cat Kiki were squaring off on the driveway.

The last thing I need is for one of my cats to injure Danielle’s cat, especially after all the drama we went through, so I scooped Audrey up and brought her inside, where the growling did not abate. I was lucky I could catch her and hold her. Although she is feather light, she is strong and determined.

So, I’m thinking no more outside for Audrey, though it will undoubtedly be a battle of wills. I almost never win those when it comes to Audrey.

A YEAR AGO: Getting to know my new neighborhood.

FIVE YEARS AGO: How to manage working six days a week. I did that for a long time.

TEN YEARS AGO: Watching lots of girl movies while my sister recovered from knee surgery.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Remembering Nana on her birthday.

I have a new addition to the bedroom:

I love the color of the cushion – it’s more of a sage in real life than it appears in these photos – and the clean lines of the wrought iron legs and sides. It’s handy to sit on while putting on or taking off shoes, and I think it makes the room look more finished. Audrey noticed that it’s the same color of her eyes and is quite becoming to her:

My good friend A decided that it needed a sheep fur throw, which was sent to me all the way from Poland. It certainly has an air of 70s glam, like Burt Reynolds should be lying on it. Or Dodge should be sitting next to it:

The Medical Director at the clinic where I work is quite the Dodge fan. Sometimes he stops by my office to ask how Dodge is and to see the latest pictures of him being handsome. This morning, I discovered that Dodge has a new hobby: licking the water off the curtain after I shower. I have also seen him covering up after Clyde leaves the litter box, clearly thinking that Clyde did not do a sufficiently through job of hiding all traces. It’s especially comic, since Dodge is standing entirely outside of the litter box at the time. He is such a character.

Here he is with Clyde, loitering with intent and thinking up some trouble to get into:

They always find it, too.

TEN YEARS AGO: The water trenching project was not without complications.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: I should have known better than to go in the house. Now I do.

Then

Now

My little Clyde turned ten on June 8. According to a cat age calculator, that makes us about the same age in human years, with Clyde at 56 and me at 58. No matter how old he gets – and I am expecting a minimum of another ten years – he will always be my baby boy.

A lot has happened since I first met Clyde and his inimitable brother Roscoe a decade ago. Even at the age of six weeks, their personalities were clear. Roscoe was dignified, sitting quietly at my feet, and Clyde climbed into my arms, purring and asking me to take them both home. How could I say no?

My time with Roscoe was short, but he left indelible paw prints on my heart and five years after losing him, I still think of him every day. I believe Clyde saw what happened to his brother. For days afterwards, he looked out the window towards the woods, and was very quiet and shaken up, way more than he was when he defeated the Slobber Monster. He stopped wanting to go outside after Roscoe vanished, and again, this is not how he reacted to near death himself at the fangs of the Slobber Monster. Just like it’s worse to see a loved one suffer than to suffer yourself, perhaps it’s worse to see your beloved brother killed than to nearly be killed yourself.

Clyde is a sensitive boy at the best of times, and I think we were both strongly affected by Roscoe’s loss. When we moved last year, Clyde and I both hated the chaos, both at the old house and the new one. On Moving Day itself, he was so unnerved by the whole thing that when I left him out of his carrier, he tried to climb back in.

Fortunately, the Moving Mess has long been vanquished, and Clyde is used to his new home. He has a close and loving relationship with Dodge, the stray Siamese I adopted a couple of years ago, after he followed a colleague home from the car dealership in the Big Town. Dodge took one look at Clyde and fell in love with him, just like I did. And it didn’t take long for them to get close and stay that way:

They cuddle and play together, and give each other baths. It’s a joy to watch them.

Happy birthday, little guy! Here’s to the next ten years! I love you, sweet boy.

A YEAR AGO: The boys did the heavy lifting in getting me set up in my new, beautiful house. Still can’t believe I actually live there!

FIVE YEARS AGO: A fabulous Junapalooza.

TEN YEARS AGO: A battle of wills with Audrey.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Fearing Mom’s impending death. We lost her a couple of months later.

The Beautiful Harriet, May 7, 2020

We lost The Beautiful Harriet just two days after Megan’s birthday.

Megan was working, and Rob saw Harriet make a strange movement and then seem to be partly paralyzed. Her pupils were fixed and dilated. He knew there was no hope of recovery, so he held her lovingly until she breathed her last, knowing that she was safe and loved.

Rob wisely waited until Megan got home from her long night shift, meeting her at the car and telling her the news as they walked back to their place together. Although Harriet was 19, her death was unexpected. I was shocked and saddened to hear the news. She hadn’t been sick or in decline, she was just old, about 92 in human years.

I went to the family estate after work that day. We all met at the chinquapin tree where Harriet’s sister Ramona and little Henry Etta are, along with Jed the Wonder Dog. Harriet is in good company in this pretty place:

She was still beautiful and her magic pelt was still magic, even in death. We petted her amazingly soft fur and told her we loved her. Rob had already prepared her resting place, quite deep but narrow enough that she would be safe and snug. Megan and I carefully rewrapped Harriet in a soft lavender towel, and then Megan lovingly settled Harriet in, tucking the towel in around our beloved girl.

We all took turns gently sifting the rich red earth over her, saying farewell and again telling her we loved her. Here is Rob finishing filling in the resting spot:

We covered it with leaves and it looks tranquil and serene:

Harriet had a long and happy life. She and Ramona lived with Megan and Rob from the time they were kittens, and were always loved and cared for. I am glad she had a peaceful end, at home, being held by someone who had loved her all her life, and that we were able to lay her to rest with our own hands with love.
Sleep easy, beautiful Harriet. You are loved and missed and will always be in our hearts.

A YEAR AGO: The great move to my current beautiful abode.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A fantastic birthday party for Megan, including the best practical joke ever.

TEN YEARS AGO: There’s nothing more fun than some quality girl time.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Some quality time with the wonderful, beautiful Rita.

Sunday afternoon with Dodge

Since I don’t know Dodge’s actual birthday, I gave him my American grandfather’s birthday, May 11. Hoho, as we called him for his frequent and distinctive laugh, loved cats, and I have many pictures of him with long-ago cats, especially Smoky, the grey cat he and Nana had when Mom was young. They loved that cat so much that they still had his bed up in their attic when I myself was young, more than 30 years later.

Hoho was always a bit of a rascal too, so I think he would have enjoyed knowing Dodge, the former street cat.

This summer marks two years since Dodge followed my co-worker Susan home from the car dealership and made his way into my heart and home. He was two or three then, so that means he’s four or five now.

He certainly looks healthier and happier now than he did when he first appeared. Then he was painfully thin in both body and fur:

Now he is, as Megan puts it, 100% plush. His fur is so soft and thick!

He is also such a happy boy. I have never had a less neurotic cat, despite his unfortunate start in life. He is not very interested in food, despite being starved. Maybe just knowing there’s always food now is enough for him. He is friendly to anyone and everyone, and still has his endearing habit of jumping up while simultaneously rubbing against you. He has an incredibly loud purr, and is very attached to Clyde.

Clyde loves him right back. When Dodge has escaped from the house, Clyde looked for him anxiously and when he came back in, sniffed him all over carefully to make sure his little brother was safe and sound. They often curl up together:

and play together. I think Clyde is very happy to have Dodge in his life after losing his unforgettable brother Roscoe, and I feel the same way. As soon as Dodge took one look at Clyde, he was determined they’d be friends, and he was right.

As for Audrey….well, she takes a dim view of the interloper. To be fair, she is also not a big Clyde fan, despite his always elegant attire and incredible cuddliness and cuteness. I really think she only tolerates me for the food, treats, and litterbox services I provide. Audrey is nondenominational in her overall grumpitude.

A YEAR AGO: Nothing like a flood in the bathroom to make you feel like it’s time to move!

FIVE YEARS AGO: Attempting to come to terms with the grind.

TEN YEARS AGO: An evening with Audrey.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO A bemused witness to a somewhat surreal fashion show for dogs. Yes, dogs. Yes, with tiaras.

During the week, I get up in the early morning darkness. Most days, I wake up before the alarm goes off, and I am almost invariably disappointed that it’s already time to get up. Sometimes I lie there for a few minutes, wondering why it’s always time to get up, but mostly I just get up, turn off the alarm, put away my sleep mask and earplugs, and get on with it.

The first order of business is always cat care, and I have the invaluable Clyde to remind me of this very important fact. Even though my record of giving the cats food and water twice a day is unblemished, Clyde, like his Staff, tends to fear the worst and feels that it doesn’t hurt for me to get a reminder. Unfortunately, he can’t seem to understand that his getting under my feet and yowling makes it take longer to achieve the desired result. All this before coffee, my friends.

I’m usually out of the house within an hour of getting up, and that includes the application of faux adult armor, including make-up and hair styling.

On the weekends, it’s a different story, though.

I wake up when it’s light out. Cat care still comes first, but then I make coffee, bring it back upstairs, and get back into bed. On Saturdays, I read Savage Love and on Sundays I read PostSecret before attending to my fan mail. These are long-standing traditions.

It’s nice to sit in bed and enjoy the serene views from the windows and the sounds of silence:

I can (and do) spend hours in bed, reading book reviews and recipes, writing, and hanging out with the cats, who are clearly glad that I’m home for a change just encourage this kind of slothitude. People who think cats are aloof and distant have never met my cats.

Audrey generally curls up right next me, somewhat surprising for a cat of her general grumpitude. She even purrs, though she also growls when Dodge is anywhere near. Despite that, there is sometimes a temporary truce, though only when the bed is messy:

Usually, the boys are curled up together, with Audrey growling softly beside me just to remind them that she can barely tolerate their existence.

Eventually, I get up and do some cooking for the week – I like to make things I can heat up after work – but I really enjoy my weekend ritual.

A YEAR AGO: An amazing outing with the girls, learning about female lighthouse keepers – at a lighthouse.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A delightful celebration of Jessica’s birthday, with zebras, giraffes, surfers, and patisserie. What more could a girl want?

TEN YEARS AGO: I can’t believe it’s been ten years since we rescued Star! I’m pretty sure she knew that day that she was home. She was a mama’s girl from Day One! Some things never change.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: An emotional recipe. And a charmimg memory.

We’re perfectly good!

My unauthorized kitties have been driving me a little bit crazy lately. Well, even the authorized one, to be honest.

Audrey, the authorized cat and official cat of the household, hates Dodge, the interloper. I don’t think a day goes by that she isn’t growling and hissing at him, which he tends to ignore. Maybe that just fans the flames of her discontent. I would love to have a day free of cat spats.

Not much bothers Dodge. He likes to sleep touching me, he likes to be petted, and he still does his charming trick of jumping up to push against my legs (or anyone’s, really). His purr is so loud I’m surprised that my unseen neighbor Alex hasn’t complained about it. Surprisingly for a cat who was starved and partly furless from exposure, he is unconcerned about food. Maybe knowing he can always get it has made him not worry about this.

Clyde, on the other hand…

Clyde has always been a food enthusiast, but some reason lately he is obsessed. He starts nagging me to get up and feed him around 3 am, which is not my favorite time to be woken up. He walks around on me making his distinctive Clydesounds™ and is relentless. When I feed the cats, he is always underfoot and I am convinced I am going to trip over him and break my neck. I wonder how long it will be before he starts to eat me if I do.

In an effort to stay alive and less annoyed, I have started giving Clyde and Audrey CBD oil. Dodge is already mellow and does not require further mellowing. I was hoping the CBD would help Audrey’s ability to jump on the bed. She has been sort of climbing up by the comforter (and me) instead. But it hasn’t had the miraculous effect it had on Megan’s nearly 19 year old cat Harriet, at least, not yet.

Of course, Clyde’s food obsession does not extend to canned food, which he disdains. I give Audrey her CBD oil in canned food, and she eats it, but Clyde won’t eat wet food, so I tried putting it on his kibble. He was not happy. So I am now putting three drops on his kibble and mixing it up, and will work my way up to 9 drops. You would think a native Mendocino boy would be happy to ingest hemp, but nothing is simple when it comes to cats.

A YEAR AGO: Taking a little break in town in the midst of an atmospheric river.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Thankful for my friends when I couldn’t get home from work.

TEN YEARS AGO: An enjoyable noir evening. I note that I mention Jessie Royce Landis in the post, and she was also in the episode of Columbo I watched last night.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: I finally got to see the beautiful mermaids at Weeki Wachee Springs. Ever since I was a kid, I thought the mermaids and the Rockettes were magical. I still do.

So…I have a confession to make.

When I applied for this house, I was a little inexact about the exact cat population at Chez Suzy. I felt – correctly, as it turned out – that if I admitted to having three cats, I would be immediately disqualified as a potential tenant. Three cats seemed perilously close to Crazy Cat Lady territory, not a neighborhood considered desirable by most (or any) landlords. So I only admitted to the existence of Audrey, in the belief that she was the most likely to be seen by the landlord.

In my defense, it is almost impossible to find a place that allows any form of pet, and I had been looking for almost a year before I found this place, which also is lovelier than my wildest dreams. I assumed I would just move into another eccentric hippie house. Imagine my surprise when I saw this place, not to mention my desperate wish to live here.

Needless to say, after I moved in, I was constantly worried that my landlord would find out the cats were a trio, rather than a solo act, and of course, it happened. She came in one day when I wasn’t home to check on the septic system. She didn’t call or text or otherwise let me know ahead of time, and I was at work, as she could clearly see, since my car was gone. She knew quite well I wasn’t home.

Of course, she discovered the unauthorized cats and freaked out, which in turn freaked me out, fearing that I would end up either homeless or catless. I discovered this in a series of agitated texts while I was in a library board meeting. I called her after the meeting and she basically said I had to rehome two of the cats.

I called the free legal service provided by my work, and was amazed to discover that I didn’t have a leg (or a paw) to stand on. All you hear is how tenants have all the rights and it’s so hard to get rid of them and everything is in their favor, but the polar opposite is true. I thought my landlord had committed a crime by deliberately entering my rented premises when I wasn’t there and without my permission. Apparently this is only a problem if it’s “a pattern”. The real problem is that I broke my lease by having two unauthorized cats. Oh, and because I’ve lived there less than a year, my landlord only has to give me 30 days’ notice to move out, and take my legal and illegal felines with me.

I sent my landlord an email, apologizing sincerely and basically begging to keep my beloved cats. She was willing to listen, and there was a back and forth between us. She said she would need another $500 pet deposit, which I was glad to agree to (though I had no idea how I would come up with the money), and she wanted to check the premises monthly, which I also agreed to.

The inspection finally happened this past Sunday. I think it was good that we talked face to face. I again apologized and she said her issue was really with trust, not with the cats, and I totally understand that. She told me some personal things, which I took to be working towards rebuilding our trust, and went through the house. She remarked on how nice it looked, which made me feel good, and though she pointed out some scratches on a couple of the redwood beams, I truly believe they are old and not caused by my cats. I said I wished we had done this before I moved in, and she agreed. She took photos of everything.

Audrey is 13, Clyde is 10, and Dodge is 3. As they pass away, I’m not planning to replace them, and will end up with just one cat, and I let her know that.

We chatted a bit when she left, and as she walked toward her house she said, “I’ll get you the paperwork,” which I hope means that everything is all right. I will always be honest with her going forward, and I hope that we can mend our relationship and be good neighbors for years to come.

A YEAR AGO: It was snowing! And I was under the weather.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A gigantic, scary, power-removing storm. I’d rather have snow, thank you.

TEN YEARS AGO: An illustrious former neighbor.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Getting lost is one of my special talents. They are all pretty much useless.

I am pleased to report that 2019 was a vast improvement over the extremely unpleasant 2018. Less crappy! It’s our goal!

The main improvement in my life is that I moved to an incredibly beautiful house, still in Hooterville, but a world away from the drama, weirdness, and strife of the old place.

Books read: A paltry 83, embarrassing compared to last year’s 102, and even more embarrassing considering that I became our local library’s Board President this year. Not exactly setting a shining literary example there.

Rainfall has been on the paltry side too, at a mere 12.5 inches so far this underachieving season. The hills are barely green and it’s nearly January. I hope we aren’t facing another drought.

I lost track of the power outages this year. Given that Their Satanic Majesties (also known as PG&E) feel they can cut us off for days at a time with utter impunity, I think we can expect the beatings to continue.

Here’s what happened to our heroine this year:

January: The delights of the ballet followed by take out Thai food and a Hitchcock movie with the family. The girls were being good and the boys were being bad. The beginning of a three day power outage. Way to start the year! It’s on! It’s off! It’s winter on the coast! Ending the month as it began, with a wonderful evening at the ballet.

February: Thinking about the past. There was snow! Beautiful snow! I love snow! I did not love having the Bug from Hell, however. The dangers of housework.

March: A little vacation in town, in the midst of an atmospheric river. A delightful trip to the past. The combined horrors of dental bills (which I did have to pay, of course), the time change, and yet more dental work. Hoping that the madness of the time change will eventually go away, though the horrors of bills and dental work are eternal. We celebrated Dad’s birthday in style, with home-made cider, good food, a great Hitchcock movie, and lots of love. Brightening my hair and my outlook. Dinner with Erica and Jessica. There are no words for how much I miss them.

April: An unexpected (and unnerving) funeral. Boys will be boys. Especially Dodge and Clyde. So nice to see how much they love each other. Getting crowned. And not in a good way. An unpleasant surprise. My blog turned 18 and Jessica turned 16. Guess which one is more mature? A fantastic trip to the South Coast with Megan and Lu, including a fascinating lecture on female lighthouse keepers.

May: I found a new house to rent! It is beautiful and I still can hardly believe I actually live there. A wonderful barbecue at Rio’s place, with lots of friends and family. The best kind! Wildlife, inside and out. Water, water everywhere. I picked a good time to move. Taking a trip down Memory Lane while going through the seemingly endless supply of boxes. Neither here nor there. Moving Day! And Megan’s birthday!

June: I got internet for my birthday. Just what I wanted! Unpacking. With a vengeance. And without caffeine. My brothers valiantly unpacked the ancient grandfather clock. It’s official! I’m home! Getting to know the new and fancy appliances in my new house. And I have a house key for the first time in 10 years! The cats adjusted to their new home. And speaking of cats: Dodge dislodged the window screen in the bedroom. Fortunately there was no permanent harm done to cat or screen.

July: Natural wonders, from earthquakes to foxes. A delightful evening with the Flynn Creek Circus. Is there any other kind? Jarrett and Kalli are engaged! Wedding will be in the spring of 2021 on the family estate. Hooray! A look around my beautiful new home. It’s like a dream that I actually live here. My commute isn’t bad, either.

August: A fun Sunday without ever leaving Hooterville. Alert the media! I actually went to the movies! It was really fun, too. Hello darkness, my old enemy. And farewell to another lovely library board member, at the ripe old age of 94. Her ashes joined her husband’s at Wage’s Creek and they are together at last. A fairly successful attempt at making Montreal style bagels. A completely perfect day to kick off an extra long weekend.

September: Helping to set up a very successful book sale for the library. A delicious trip to the South Coast. Yet another new appliance in my new house!

October: Bears, bears, everywhere! I somehow became the library Board President. There are far too many speeches and events involved. More bears. And gas. It turns out you can have too much. Only I could turn buying a couch cushion into an epic adventure. The tenth anniversary of my move to Hooterville. A lot has happened over the decade. Moving here was one of the few good decisions I have made as an adult.

November: The horror of a five day power out(r)age brought to us by the corruption, greed, and neglect of PG&E. They should be ashamed of themselves, but they aren’t. You think a long, unnecessary power outage is bad, until you wake up to discover a sink full of raw sewage. The fun and companionship of hula class. And the joy and beauty of the local symphony. There’s nothing more fun than girl night!

December: A stormy, but happy, Thanksgiving. The only thing more fun than the Festival of Lights is seeing it with your friends and their family. The happy tradition of Candlelight Shopping in the Village. And a happy holiday season.

Thanks for coming along with me for the ride. Here’s to the New Year!

Today marks a decade since I moved to Hooterville! Can you believe it? So much has happened since the day my brothers drove the truck full of my things and stuff up the highway and the curving roads while I followed with a howling and indignant Audrey. It was a long drive.

It was a big adjustment, going from city life to country life, and it was hard at first. But now I wouldn’t move back to San Francisco, even if I were the zillionaire such a move would require. I love living in the woods, with the loudest sound the wind in the trees and bird songs. And the San Francisco I knew and loved is gone.

A lot has changed in the past ten years. I lost no fewer than three beloved cats: the exquisite June (Audrey’s sister); ancient, scrappy little Henry Etta, who I brought with me from Oakhampton; and the irreplaceable Roscoe (Clyde’s brother). It’s no coincidence that my current feline line up of Audrey, Clyde, and Dodge are not allowed outside. That’s where the monsters are, and I am avoiding them like the plague they are.

During the time I have been here, my sister lost her beloved Schatzi, our last link to our mother, and her sweet cat Ramona. She still has Ramona’s sister, the beautiful Harriet, going strong at 18 years old. Along the way, we trekked to Colusa to rescue her dog Star, whom Megan ending up adopting, who was later joined by the inimitable Stella. Star is always so happy to see me that I am secretly convinced that she remembers I was there with Megan on the day she was saved and her perfect life began.

My sister moved away from the property we both lived on to the one where our brother lives. Things were never quite the same. My former landlord moved away without letting me know, and I moved a few months later. I love my new, beautiful, and let’s face it, improved house, but I will always have a soft spot in my heart for my quirky old place, despite all its eccentricities, even though I am much happier at the new place. It still seems like a dream after five months of living there.

My brother adopted his adorable and fierce mini cat, Scout, and fell in love with his lovely girlfriend Rio. He is happier with her than I have ever seen him. And she makes up for our lack of reproducing by having four adult kids and three small grandchildren.

Wells were dug at the family estate, and an epic garden and orchard, now an acre in size, were built and fenced (and then electrified to bear proof it) on the inhospitable pygmy soil. It is now a thing of beauty and a wonder to behold.

Erica and Jessica moved away following a family tragedy, and I miss them every day. The good news is that they are in the process of moving a little closer, to Portland, so I’m hoping to see them at least once a year. I miss them.

I finally got divorced after a long separation. I believe that now John and I have been apart longer than we were married. But he still means a great deal to me and I will always love him. We are in touch nearly every day. I am trying to support him as best I can through cancer treatments for one of his beloved cats. And if he called me at 2 am and needed bail, help burying a body, or a ride somewhere I’d grab my keys and be out the door. I don’t consider our relationship to be a failure.

I got a new (to me) car, which carries me to the Big Town nearly every day. I estimate I drive 250 miles a week, just to work and back. I also have a less new job, of nearly five years’ standing, which I acquired when the business my partner and I built and poured all our time, dedication, and money into disappeared, taking my livelihood and career with it. It was hard to recover from that devastation, and in some ways I am still working on it, but I am grateful I found this job when I needed it. Before the job, I had the jobette, which is sadly long gone now, but the friendships I made there remain.

I wonder what the next ten years will bring? Whatever it is, it will be unexpected. Some of it will be great, some of it will be horrible, and through it all, I will have my family and my friends.

A YEAR AGO: A sleepover with Jessica.

FIVE YEARS AGO: My fifth anniversary in beautiful Hooterville.

TEN YEARS AGO: I think you know.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Getting a call from the dry cleaner. Now I live where there is no dry cleaner.

Sometimes when I actually get around to cooking on the weekends, I begin to feel that I may have been overly ambitious in formulating my culinary plans.

Sitting in bed with a cup of coffee and the kitties in various relaxing attitudes, getting up, getting dressed, and starting to cook doesn’t seem all that appealing. Cats are very demotivating.

Most of the time, they just stay in bed while I start cooking and tidying up. Cats quite rightly despise housework and avoid at all costs, wisely leaving it the help.

This weekend, I had the delusion that I could make my own Montreal bagels, despite not having a wood-fired oven and being about 3,000 miles away from Montreal. As I started to assemble the ingredients – one of the drawbacks of my house is that the food is stored in a separate area from the kitchenette – it occurred to me that I could use up some leftover mint and some cucumber by making spa water:

I often have mint left over, and this turned out to be a delicious and refreshing way to use the leftovers.

With spa water at hand and kitties snoring upstairs, I started the bagel construction process. It is lengthy and, to be honest with you, something of a hassle. I used this recipe from the New York Times, and the irony was not lost on me, since Montreal bagels are a very different style from the bready New York ones. They are mostly hole, resembling a bracelet, and are chewy and slightly sweet from being boiled in honey water, just one part of the lengthy process.

My oven is an overachiever – faithful readers may recall how I inadvertently quick roasted a turkey one Thanksgiving – so I overcooked the bagels a bit. Still, not bad for a first attempt:

The oven was quite busy that day, cooking apple crumble to use up the four or five aging apples in the fruit bowl and my Dad’s honey-mustard chicken. Maybe my underachieving is really overachieving!

A YEAR AGO: Dodge joined the family! I am pleased to report that he is now 100% plush and 100% happy.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Hanging out on the couch.

TEN YEARS AGO: Hating the heat. I always have, and I always will.

FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: A little on the sleepy side.

Well, that didn’t take long!

I heard a thump one morning while I was applying my faux adult armor and looked in the bedroom, where the sound seemed to originate. I saw the window screen was torn. Looking out the window, I also saw Dodge standing on the driveway. I closed the window and tried to get Dodge to come back in the house. One thing I have learned about him is you can’t pick him up outside. He will claw you to death and he is one strong boy! It must be all part of his street survival multi pack of skills. So you have to wait until he’s ready to come back in, even if it’s 2 am.

I happened to be lucky that day and got him to come back inside before I left for work, but I was worried about the torn screen. I felt like I had just moved into the house and I had already trashed it. Also my landlord drives past my house any time she goes anywhere or goes home, so I was afraid she’d notice.

I managed to get it taped up until Rob could come by and take a look at the situation. He showed me that it hadn’t actually torn – it was pulled out of the frame and the string that holds it in (you can tell I have a 100% perfect grasp of the inner workings of window screens) was also intact. So he managed to make it look as good as new, which was a huge relief, and also put the errant screen back in its place without a giant ladder, making my house look like nothing had happened when in fact plenty had.

I made another unwelcome discovery while getting ready for work this morning. The cats had in fact snapped off a part of one of the bathroom window blinds and bent another one. Goodbye, $1,000 security deposit! I thought as I applied plum colored mascara. I’m wondering if I can super glue them together or maybe Rob can come up with something. I guess my worst case scenario is replacing the blinds when I move out. They will (I hope) be a lot cheaper than $1,000. In the meantime, I have rolled up the blinds to hide the damaged part.

Those kitties! What will I do with them?

A YEAR AGO: Heatwaves, bunnies, and birds!

FIVE YEARS AGO: A reading at the bookstore.

TEN YEARS AGO: A rude awakening.

A Rare Show of Togetherness

The cats seem as happy in their new home as the Staff is. They staked out their territory early. Audrey is Queen of the Couch, rarely, if ever, venturing upstairs, which is Boys Town. While she lounges on the couch, the boys lounge (and generally cuddle) on the bed. Much like human boys, they are happy with an unmade bed, but their Staff prefers the bed to be made and things to be tidy.

I placed two food dishes and a water dish in the spacious bathroom, along with the litterbox, which I cleverly concealed in the shelving unit there. I was surprised one day to note that both Dodge and Clyde were in the box at the same time, which seemed a little excessive in the way of togetherness.

Audrey’s dish and water are downstairs in her kingdom. It was soon brought to my attention that she did not care to go upstairs to use the facilities, so she now has her own inside the downstairs closet. I don’t love leaving the closet door ajar at all times, but it beats the alternative. Like I always say, compromise means nobody’s happy, though in this case, I’m pretty sure Audrey is.

The front door of the house is mostly glass, as is the sliding door in the kitchen and the door to the back porch, so I expected the cats to use those to look outside. Unfortunately for me, they prefer to sit in the windows, most of which have blinds which they walk through and disarrange. Fortunately, all of the windows also have screens.

However…I did not admit to the actual cat population when interviewing for the house. I only told my landlord about Audrey, who I expected to be the most visible and who might go outside eventually. Even to the owner of three cats, three cats sounds perilously close to crazy cat lady territory, and I didn’t want to jeopardize getting the house by admitting to it. So now I’m worried that she will notice them sitting in the windows and I’m not sure how to respond to that if it happens. I realize I should have told the truth in the first place and I brought it all on myself, but still.

The situation is further complicated by the fact that the landlord’s cat has been stopping by to visit (and, on occasion, leaving dead birds on the front porch). She is a beautiful cat, slim and white, with grey patches and extra toes, making her slim legs look even thinner with the big, bunchy paws.

She is friendly and likes to be petted. However, Clyde and Audrey do not appreciate her visits. They both hiss and growl at her. I am always a bit shocked when Clyde does it, since he is usually such a cuddlebug. Dodge is completely uninterested in the visitor. Maybe he developed this laissez faire attitude while living on the mean streets of Fort Bragg during his formative years.

Maybe I’m worrying about nothing, though worrying is what I do. I’m (in)famous for it. Even seven year olds can tell!

A YEAR AGO: Some minor mysteries on the Ridge.

FIVE YEARS AGO: An eventful memorial service.

TEN YEARS AGO: Those naughty kitties!

The day after I moved, there was The Mess to contend with. I kept fretting over where on earth I would put everything, even though I had given and thrown away tons of things and stuff.

The cats woke me up at 2:30 am one Sunday night, or early one Monday morning, depending on how you look at it, breaking a glass I had unwisely left on the bathroom counter. I discovered this by stepping on broken glass in bare feet. After I pulled the glass out, applied the non fun kind of alcohol to the wound, cleaned up the breakage without benefit of broom and dust pan, which were still at the old house, I tried to go back to sleep. You will be unsurprised to learn that this did not work. I decided to just get up and attack the reason I couldn’t sleep.

Thinking that I might just unpack a few boxes and then go back to bed, I started to work without benefit of caffeine, putting away the kitchen things first. It was nice to see my Dean & Deluca spice containers again, and the peppercorns my good friend Alice sends me when she goes to Cambodia and Thailand. Also the little ceramic blueberry jam jar I bought in Maine as a kid. These are the kinds of things that make a girl feel like she’s home.

Pretty soon I was stashing the 200 year old Wedgwood carefully in an appropriately wedge shaped cabinet and the familiar canteens of Grammie’s ivory handled silver above the cabinets. I had found a place for all the kitchen pots, pans, and et ceteras! There were quite a few et ceteras. I will probably have to tweak it as I use it and figure out what works and what doesn’t, but it looked a little better after my late night adventure:

Note the curious Dodge surveying the new improvements.

Encouraged by this success (though daunted by the rapidly accumulating pile of empty boxes), I started stowing food in the closet under the stairs. This space has some storage, room to hang coats and the washer and dryer, as well as a shelf which is now stacked with cans and dry goods:

Given the limitations of storage space, I should try to be more minimalist and less survivalist when it comes to stockpiling pasta, rice, coffee, tea, and canned goods.

By this time, the sun was up and the cats were interested in breakfast. I made a well-deserved cup of coffee and started going through the boxes of books. The only place I have to put them is Rob’s beautiful book shelf, so I sacrificed still more books – another 6 boxes. All my Jane Austen, Edith Wharton, Richard Ford, Raymond Carver, Evelyn Waugh…everything I can get from the library if I want to re-read it. I kept some sentimental favorites, my Dad’s books, and some cookbooks along with a coffee table book or two.

While difficult on the emotions, it did make an even more serious dent in The Mess:

Once the boys have time to set up the grandfather clock and switch its location with the book shelf, the room will be mostly done and I will finished with most of the boxes. I am hoping that we can unearth the old cherry table we used to have in our dining room when we were kids. It might need some work from Rob, and it will certainly need chairs, but it would be nice to use it again.

All in all, a lot of progress in just two days!

A YEAR AGO: Some delightful discoveries in the Village.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Rob’s amazing bathroom makeover (supervised by Clyde, of course).

TEN YEARS AGO: Wonderful in white.

Moving day – which also happened to be Megan’s birthday – dawned bright and clear. As I took a last carload of things and stuff over to the new place, I noticed what an idyllic morning it was. The ocean was turquoise, the meadows drifted with wildflowers and dotted with glossy horses and cows. I drove past farms and through groves of redwoods, across a narrow one lane bridge that I always worry about meeting someone else on, and arrived at the new house.

After everything was decanted, I went back to the old house. I imprisoned Audrey in the bathroom with her fuzzy bed and the boys in their bachelor pad, which is also known more prosaically as a metal dog crate filled with a comfy quilt.

Jonathan, Rio, and Rob soon appeared, and together we took a trailer load of junk to the dump before starting to load up the furniture. Back at the house, Rob started to construct the box for the grandfather clock to travel in. Then the boys carefully loaded it and wedged it firmly in place with Styrofoam (sorry, planet!) before placing a final sheet of Styrofoam over the glass front of the face.

The first load was the box springs and mattress, with the clock coffin riding on top. We got some strange looks as we drove at a majestic pace down the curvy country roads and briefly on the highway.

The next load included Rob’s beautiful bookshelves and the deconstructed bed. When my brother went to reconstruct the bed, we discovered that some crucial hardware had been lost in the process. I tried at the small Hooterville hardware store, but as expected, they didn’t have it. Of course all the other hardware stores were closed for the Memorial Day holiday, so I have just been sleeping on the box springs and mattress on the floor.

I was saddened to learn that I could not take my fan palms, Japanese maple, or camellias with me. I admit that I cried over them in the privacy of my car on my way to the new house after getting that news.

The last but most important load was the kitties. The boys shared a carrier, since they are always happier together, while Audrey had her own, since she is always happier alone. Happy is relative, however. She howled the entire 11 miles, while the boys didn’t make a sound.

I had been expecting that Audrey would poop in her carrier, since that is her usual MO when going to the vet. I was pleasantly surprised to discover that while she had peed, that was it. I was less delighted to discover that the boys had reacted the same way, so they were all running around with pee paws on the beautiful fir floors.

Clyde did not want to leave the carrier. I expected him to bolt out of it. I upended the carrier, and he was ejected by gravity, but immediately tried to climb back in, even though I was still holding the case upside down. He went and hid behind boxes. Audrey also vanished, while Dodge was Adventure Boy, leaping from box to box.

Here’s a peek at The Mess on Day One:

Impressive, isn’t it? You might be able to guess what my weekend plans were!

It was a wildlife extravaganza on the Ridge on Friday morning. Bunnies, quail, deer – you name it! Fortunately, both they and Wednesday remained unscathed. I can’t say the same for a sizable mountain lion who I came across unexpectedly last week on my way to work one morning.

I had just crossed the sweep of the Big River bridge, enjoying as always the beauty of the river meeting the sea, and was surprised to see a mountain lion sitting by the side of the highway. Across the road were two men on phones, standing by a truck and somehow looking vaguely official. They waved me onwards, and I later learned that the lion had been hit by a car, which explains why he was just sitting there. I wonder what the officials in charge of such things do with wounded mountain lions.

Of course, seeing it made me think of my beloved Roscoe. I have always thought that it was a mountain lion that killed him. Illogically, it makes me sad that I will be leaving him behind when I move, even though I don’t know where his bones are. But being rational has never been one of my few talents.

The wildlife at home definitely know that something is up, as their house fills with boxes and various things are hauled away. It is total chaos, and you know how I love that. I realized today that when things stop being a mess at my current house, they will start being a mess at the new one. I can conservatively expect another month or two of chaos.

Clyde in particular is perturbed by the change in routine. He is underfoot even more than usual, as he tries to stay close to me at all times. He has started sleeping on my head again, like he did when he was a kitten. He also looks beseechingly into my face, looking for answers. And he has been very hungry. Do cats eat emotionally?

Little Dodge, whose birthday was yesterday – I gave him my much-loved American grandfather’s birthday, May 11 – is enjoying the mess very much, thank you. For Dodge, it’s a great opportunity to play with paper, jump into boxes, and explore shelves and corners revealed by things being moved. Having said that, Dodge has started sleeping on my pillow at night, like my wonderful old cat Buddy used to do, so maybe he needs some comforting too.

Audrey has taken to sitting on the very top shelf in the studio. I have put a folded up blanket there for her, and she loves it. It’s the perfect place to sit and despise everyone and all the manual labor going on. Her food and water are on the shelf below, so she can avoid the boys. She appears to be completely unmoved by the whole thing. To be fair, she has moved a couple of times in her life, so she is a veteran at this.

I am hoping to give the new landlord a check on Monday and get an official move date. Stay tuned!

A YEAR AGO: A little garden-inspired road trip.

FIVE YEARS AGO: The beginning of the great bathroom remodel adventure.

TEN YEARS AGO: Ah, the annual optical adjustment from hockey to baseball.

Little Dodge is adjusting well to his new life at Stately Suzy Manor, hopefully a step up from the mean streets of town. It didn’t take him long to stop hiding, or to appreciate two high quality meals a day. He has also learned to love treats almost as much as Clyde does. At first, he didn’t seem to know what they were or what all the fuss was about, but he figured it out quickly and now is right next to Clyde when it’s time for the going to work or the welcome home treats. He has also picked up Clyde’s habit of getting underfoot to the point that I fear a feline-induced Calamity Suzy episode.

Dodge has kept his adorable of quirk of jumping up while he rubs against your legs. I love that. He also looks searchingly into my face when I get home, and carefully sniffs my hands as if trying to figure out where I’ve been. He is very curious and has an endearing way of moving his head around as he observes and tries to figure things out, something like those bobbleheads you see in the back windows of cars.

He was briefly mystified by the cat door to the studio. I showed him a couple of times how it worked, and he was a bit suspicious about what or who was on the other side, as befits someone who lived by his wits for an indefinite length of time. Eventually, he decided it was acceptable, but before he goes through it, he always taps the flap a couple of times, always with his left paw, before committing to go through it. Can cats be left-pawed?

He is also the most playful of the cats. He loves toys, and if there isn’t one, he makes one, happily playing with a piece of paper, a sock, or a rolled up shopping bag. Unfortunately, his playthings have a habit of vanishing. Monica gave him this beautiful embroidered toy, which I found a delightful object:

but it has been played with into oblivion. Same goes for a couple of little catnip mice. I got him these and am hoping the brought color will help me locate them:

When he’s not playing, he is often napping with his adopted big brother Clyde:

or contemplating what trouble they can get into together:

I think having Dodge around has been really good for Clyde. I think he was lonely after losing his brother Roscoe, and I didn’t realize it. He definitely likes having Dodge to play and cuddle with. Audrey despises them both and still growls at them, even though she has lived with Clyde all his life. Audrey will always be Audrey.

A YEAR AGO: More like April storms than April showers.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A lovely evening at the theater. I see that five years later I have still not removed the tinting from Wednesday’s windows. Also the engine light is still on. Inertia, my friends.

TEN YEARS AGO: How I’d like to be remembered.

I have definitely been spending too much time working and not enough time with the kitties or with you, for that matter.

The kitties have rewarded my excess workage by stepping up the naughtiness factor. Really it’s the boys being boys. When I (finally) get home, they greet me with enthusiasm and set to work getting underfoot as the Staff distributes treats and food. Dodge has learned from the best, and his getting in the way skills are almost as good as Clyde’s.

Audrey, of course, disdains this type of behavior and those who are doing the (mis)behaving. She now gets room service treats on her throne, as befits an Empress. Unfortunately for her, a Canadian brought up with the respect due the monarchy, she is forced to share quarters with rabble-rousing California revolutionaries who seem to feel that the French had the right idea back in the 1700s.

During the time I had off over the holidays, I noticed that the boys have developed a disturbing tendency to gang up on Audrey, chasing her all over the house. Maybe I’m putting a negative connotation on their antics and they are just playing with her. To be fair, Dodge and Clyde play by chasing each other and roughhousing in a way that looks like fighting. But Audrey hates it and is pretty vocal about it. Also she has been scarce, hiding under the bed or on her throne atop the armoire, rarely sitting on my lap as she used to. I guess some people might think it’s karma for her terrorizing any dog who ventured into her realm as well as Clyde. Personally, I don’t know what to think, but I rarely do.

The boys were on their best behavior when Megan came by to spend an evening with me recently, showing their cute and cuddly side instead of their Bastille storming one. Dodge did his charming quirk of jumping while rubbing against Megan’s leg and displaying his power purr. I never get tired of that and find it incredibly cute. I hope he never stops doing it.

Megan and I had wine and watched girl movies, pausing frequently for chatting and laughter. We did our laundry at the same time, because that’s the kind of glamor girls we are.

A YEAR AGO: When is a bucket of sand not a bucket of sand?

FIVE YEARS AGO: A seasonal malady.

TEN YEARS AGO: A surprisingly warm day.

When I was a kid, my Dad used to jokingly say, “When things were bad, they told me, ‘Cheer up! Things could get worse!’ So I cheered up, and sure enough, things got worse!” Well, I never did cheer up from the effects of 2017, but 2018 was even worse. I really can’t see it end soon enough.

Besides the horrors nationally and globally, Erica’s mother died suddenly and horribly just days before the equally sudden and unexpected death of the best man at my long-ago wedding. The effects of these losses continue to echo, most notably with Erica and Jessica fleeing not just the county, but the country. There was no Junapalooza this year and there never may be again without the assistance and inimitable presence of my near birthday twin and aesthetic soulmate.

Megan and Rob moved away, too, leaving me the last one standing at the property our brother first moved to 25 years ago. They lived in that little house for 20 years – the only house they ever lived in, in fact. Before that, they lived on a boat at Pier 39, and before that, Megan lived in an apartment with me. Mom spent the last few years of her life in that house, and Dad visited us there, including the Thanksgiving when he had a stroke on the driveway. And don’t forget my Christmas concussion in Megan’s living room! There are a lot of memories in that tiny place. Megan and Rob live just down the road now, but I miss having them here. Another ending.

Add in some expensive and agonizing dental hell and seemingly endless problems and drama on the property where I live, and you have the kind of year where a girl who loves Christmas doesn’t have any decorations up and in fact ignored the whole thing. I didn’t send any cards out this year, so if you didn’t get one from me, it’s not you, it’s me.

It’s probably not surprising in this underperforming year that I read only 102 books versus last year’s 114, and we have only received a paltry 10 inches of rain so far this season.

On the bright side (though not as far as Audrey is concerned), I adopted a little Siamese cat named Dodge, and he’s still alive so far, defying the odds.

Here’s to a less crappy New Year. I don’t think I can take it if I’m back here a year from now, telling you how 2018 looks like the good times.

January: I still had the plague from the old year. Not a good way to start the new one. When is a potato bucket not a potato bucket? When it’s a cat latrine, of course. Watching the surfers and ballerinas in Point Arena. The beauty of the lunar eclipse – and a perfect cocktail or two.

February: Both the weather and the mail were delightfully surprising. It was the Mondayest of Mondays and the smallest of small town days. I note that Wednesday’s engine light is still on, a full year later. A power outage at work, but not at home. Thankfully.

March: Rob’s amazing ceramic art. The most unpleasant time change of the year, and a delightful visit to Angelika’s little salon in the big woods. The beginning of the dreaded mattress saga. Not one of my finer decision-making moments. Celebrating Dad’s birthday. Stormy weather and the continuing mattress saga. Mark repaired some problems at my house. I note that he mentioned then that he was planning to move, and he eventually did.

April: Spring arrived, along with more silliness on my part than usual. Spring fever? A huge storm dumped a bunch of rain on us. Amazingly, the power stayed on. The horror of the mattress saga finally ended. Enjoying some local history and scandal. My blog turned 17 and Jessica turned 15.

May: Considering joining the library Board. A delightful dinner, a creepy play, and the debut of Lu and Rik’s first grandchild. A road trip to Willits to buy plants for the garden, and Star’s 10 birthday! Two sudden and unspeakably tragic deaths in one week.

June: A memorial service right before Erica’s and my birthdays inspired us to skip the celebrations. There was no Junapalooza either. I had taken time off for my birthday and was rewarded by getting the flu again less than six months after having it. The welcome discovery of wood-fired pizza in the Village. Despite everything, I’m grateful for the love and support around me.

July: My DNA test results. The beauty of the annual quilt show. A delightful outing to Point Arena, replete with delicacies from Franny’s and a play streamed from London. Both my back and my heart ached with the news of my former mother-in-law’s death. Rest in peace, dear Marj. The breathtaking Flynn Creek Circus and the terrifying wildfires.

August: Megan and Rob get ready to move from their home of 20 years onto the family estate. Giving away the things that wouldn’t fit in their new place. The seventeenth anniversary of Dad’s untimely and unnecessary death. I will never stop loving or missing him. The arrival of little Dodge, the beautiful little Siamese cat.

September: Megan and Rob were all moved in to their new place, and Dodge was finding his place in his new family. The beginning of Dental Hell, leading to my first (and hopefully last) root canal. The delights of the Fair.

October: The case of the disappearing landlord. Catching you up on some details. A trip to the hospital for my string of pearls. The last sleepover with Jessica. A lovely lunch and an enchanting garden.

November: The annual cider pressing. Swamped in smoke from distant, late season wildfires. In November! More updates about various things around the Manor. Hint: Not many of them are good. Remembering my grandfathers on the 100th anniversary of Armistice Day. Sometimes I feel like John and I are the only people in California who wear poppies for Remembrance Day.

December: A memorable version of King Lear with the amazing Sir Ian McKellen. The great escape. The always delightful festival of lights. A lovely evening, including a live (and lively) 1940s style radio play. The Christmas that wasn’t.

A YEAR AGO: Looking back at another bad year.

FIVE YEARS AGO: Lots of trips to San Francisco, a shiny new divorce, a new car, and the arrival of Stella, among other good things.

TEN YEARS AGO: Adjusting to life in Oaktown.

Christmas Day dawned bright and sunny after a night of heavy rain. It may have been the loudest and heaviest rain I remember hearing here. It was a little scary, and I’m pretty sure even Rudolph couldn’t have made it through that storm. I also acquired a new leak, in the foyer, which I discovered by stepping into the icy puddle in my habitually bare feet. Because when it’s sunny or starry in the winter, it’s cold, since the insulating layer of clouds are gone.

I could see my breath in the house, and the cats approved my decision to put the heater on, Dodge sitting on top of it and Clyde right in front of it, Audrey remaining in her mystery spot™. She has been scarce these days, either nowhere to be seen or scowling from her throne.

It was a hot water only shower on Christmas Day, and even then the water was perched perilously on the edge of acceptability. But at least there was water. Ever since my brother took over managing the well, we have not run out of water. A girl could get used to this.

I had meant to watch “A Charlie Brown Christmas” and the Grinch, but when it came down to it, I didn’t want to. I also didn’t do my annual reading of “The Box of Delights”, watch NORAD’s Santa Tracker or the Queen’s Speech, or any other Christmas traditions. It was too depressing, especially since I had to work the next day, and who can truly enjoy the day before work? Especially in your chilly and resolutely undecorated house all by yourself.

Maybe next year will be different.

A YEAR AGO: Little did I know this would be our last Christmas together.

FIVE YEARS AGO: A sunny and delightful Christmas. With Gucci shoes, yet.

TEN YEARS AGO: Christmas at Megan’s old house. Those were the days.