Suzy Says

Holiday candlelight

Henrietta got an excellent report card, though she doesn’t play well with others.

Dr. Karen told me that Henrietta is at least 10 years old, but her test results were perfect. She excitedly showed me the results, pointing at things which of course meant nothing to my uneducated eye, and kept saying “I’m amazed!” She tested for low thyroid and anemia in particular, since Henrietta is such a lightweight, but there’s nothing wrong with her at all, other than a broken tooth and a bad ‘tude.

I have to admit that I was a little worried that she’d end up having something horribly wrong with her, or something complicated and expensive, so it was a huge relief. Also the final bill was actually less than the estimate, and when does that ever happen? Merry Christmas indeed!

Though heavily sedated, Henrietta was still pretty darn crabby during the proceedings, and expressed her displeasure. When we got home, she started clawing at the bars of her carrier until I let her out, whereupon she ran to her food bowl, meowing in her harsh, yet muted way. I couldn’t feed her until 5:00 that evening, and the vet said she probably wouldn’t be hungry, but she’s a tough little cookie from the mean streets of Oakland. She chowed down enthusiastically and showed no signs of sedation. I’m pretty sure she’s been through a lot worse than a trip to the vet.

When I first started feeding that little stray cat, I never thought the day would come that she’d sit on my lap and purr (or that she’d turn out to be a girl). We’ve come a long way together, and despite her age, I like to think our adventures are just beginning. It makes me so happy to see her sleeping beside me, safe, warm, and healthy. And she’ll stay that way for the rest of her life. The best really is yet to come.

It’s a good thing we enjoyed the sun and warmth of Berkeley, because the weather here in Hooterville’s been more North Pole than Northern California since we got back.

It was 27 fun-filled degrees this morning when I woke up and shivered my way to the heater, where Henry(etta) was firmly ensconced, soaking up every one of the 54 degrees I allow for overnight. I turned it up to 64 and peeked out at the thermometer, which showed a below-freezing temperature in the bright, ironic sunshine. I’m pretty sure there was a light dusting of snow on the hot tub* cover and the wooden platform beside it. My brother said there was a dusting over at his place, and the papers are full of photos of snow on the hills in the Bay Area, such as this one at Mt. Diablo:

It’s supposed to be even colder tonight. At 2:00 in the afternoon, it’s still only 41 degrees. I know those of you who live back East and in other areas where it’s freeze or fry, depending on the time of year, are laughing at me and thinking how pathetic I am, but unless you’ve experienced the stupidity of California building first-hand, you can’t imagine how uncomfortable it is. For some reason, insulation is an unknown concept, so it’s basically like living in a tent.

Even though I’ve visited here many times over the past several years, I never really “got” how cold it was. It was 45 in San Francisco this morning when it was 27 here – a pretty big difference. I honestly think that San Francisco may be the only climate this princess can tolerate. Its entire range of temperature is from say, 40 to 80 at the most. Don’t forget the ocean breezes and fog, the natural air conditioner for the summer.

At least it won’t be unbearably hot here in the summer. Will it?

*The hot tub kind of works. I think. But it works by a combination of electricity, which Mark pays for, and gas, which I pay for, and neither of us want to pay for anything that isn’t strictly necessary. So let’s guess it will remain unused, other than a place for the cats to pounce on each other.

Yesterday, I took Henry to the vet.

Partly a fact-finding mission, partly because Henry has been having…issues. He often rents his food very briefly, to the detriment of the living room carpet (why do cats always vomit on carpets instead of the much more easily cleaned wood floors?), and as for the bedroom carpet, well, let’s just say he frequently mistakes it for a litter box. Needless to say, the carpet is a very light beige and shows every spot and stain.

I tried moving all the food bowls up there, on the theory that cats don’t poop where they eat, but apparently this theory is incorrect, or Henry never heard of it. I then moved the bowls back to their original location and borrowed an extra litter box from my sister (there is also a litter box in the cold storage section of the house) and put that in the bedroom. This met with slightly more success, though sometimes Henry decided to treat the carpet and the litter box with equality.

I’m not sure if it’s the stress of moving, or living with two other cats, or an attempt to alert me to a health issue, but what with that and knowing nothing about Henry’s shady past, I made an appointment with Dr. Karen, who has served my brother and sister well for many years.

Henry was much less enthusiastic about the carrier than he was when we moved. There was hissing and clawing madly at the bars and growling in an “Exorcist” type manner. It was kind of unnerving. I feared for the vet’s safety. So did she, because she unscrewed the carrier top and lifted it off so she wouldn’t have to reach in. Henry was a puffball of rage as the assistant covered most of him with a towel and the shots were administered (rabies and FVRCP). Dr. Karen was barely able to get a peek at Henry’s derrière, but the peek revealed that he is in fact a girl (big surprise) and also old.

Henry weighs all of four and a half pounds!

In order to examine Henry properly and take blood to find out if her near-weightlessness is caused by thyroid issues or something like that, she will have to be sedated and then kept at the vet’s for half a day to make sure she recovers properly. Yesterday’s escapade, including topical wormer*, cost $138, and next week’s estimate is in the neighborhood of $265. You’d think I was living on Park Avenue instead of Hooterville.

Henry: the world’s most expensive stray cat.

I figure I’ll just keep calling her Henry. I’ve been calling her that for almost two years, so it’s kind of late to change it now. I can tell the curious that it’s short for Henrietta, and anyway, she’s clearly a tomboy (if not an actual tom).

I thought she’d hate me for the Great Vet Adventure, but when we got home yesterday, she came and sat on my lap as usual. How’s that for forgiveness?

*Henry is so light that the vet called the medicine’s manufacturer to find out the correct dosage. It was about a third of the whole dose. Dr. Karen put it in a syringe for me and I applied it while Henry sat on my lap last night. I don’t think she noticed.

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.

Yesterday, Megan and Rob came by, bringing Princess Schatzi for the first time.

Henry declined to appear – he has a dim view of society in general and visitors in particular – and June retreated to the top of the stairs so she could look down on the intruder.

Adventurous Audrey, on the other hand, sat on the leather bench in front of the couch, where Schatzi was sitting between Meg and me. The cat and the dog sniffed each other, but there was no growling or clawing. Possibly all we need to do to settle that little problem in the Middle East is to have the Palestinians and Israelis come to my house. No fighting ever seems to go on here. It’s like a Mystery Spot of peace.

Later, Audrey sat on my lap, napping and purring, with Schatzi right beside me, just inches away.

It took a while, but Henry finally decided to venture outside. The weather’s been gorgeous lately, sunny and in the 70s, and I’ve had every door in the house open. I guess Henry finally couldn’t resist. He’s been slinking in and out all day and enjoying the sun. I saw him playing with June, too.

I was surprised that it took him so long to go out, but maybe he felt that he had both been there and done that. Or he thought that if he went out, he wouldn’t be allowed back in. All I know is that we’ve made great strides in our relationship.

When I woke up in pain the other night, I went to sit on the couch, unable to risk the risky stairs (I haven’t been up them since, though Rob is working away at Suzy proofing them). Henry took the opportunity to ask to be petted, which I was happy to do, despite the fact that he kept bumping his head into my book. Eventually, he crawled into my lap and sat there for at least half an hour. Can you believe it?

Well, the adventures in gravity finally caught up with me.

Last night, I woke up in horrible pain on my right (non-bruised) side, around my back lower ribs. I managed to crawl carefully down the stairs, practically howling, and called Megan, who was at work. She asked me a series of questions, and I guess I answered them correctly, though she called our brother (also at work) to double-check with him. They think I might have bruised or even broken a rib or two in my fall, or maybe done something bad to a muscle or two.

It was a long night. Meg called to check in with me several times, and came to see me as soon as she got home, setting me up more comfortably on the couch and giving me still more of her stash of pain meds. She looked at it and couldn’t see any breakage or “lack of symmetry”, so it’s not as bad as it could be, but it sure ain’t fun.

I’m marooned on the couch until she wakes up this afternoon to check on me. Notice that I’m still blogging despite the pain, so maybe I really do have a problem. Is there blogging rehab?

The cats kept me company all night. Henry even sat on my lap for an extended period of time, sleeping and purring. Maybe they were worried about me, or knew something was up. Animals can surprise you. And comfort you.

I have to wonder if there’s some lesson here for me, something I’m supposed to learn from the constant pain and accidents ever since I moved. Any ideas?

Downtown

Yesterday, I ventured to the big town (aka Fort Bragg, not to be confused with the military installation of the same name on the opposite coast). Fort Bragg is where they keep the non-scenic things which must not be permitted to mar the quaintness of Mendocino, but which are necessities of life, such as the Safeway and the DMV.

I was surprised to discover that the Safeway is bigger than the one in Oakland, though of course it’s lacking in Ray. Once I got Suzy chow, I headed to the Feed and Pet to get feed for the pets.

It’s been kind of a conundrum for me. The girls used to get fancy expensive food, and Henry got cheapo Safeway food. But now they’re all being fed together, and presumably eating out of each other’s bowls (you know how cats always suspect the other cat has something better and must inspect to make sure), I had to find some middle ground. Like wine for a party. You can’t afford to provide the best for all those people, but you have to drink it yourself, and of course you have your wine connoisseur reputation to consider. The middle ground can be a challenge.

I ended up getting a 16 pound bag of Max Cat for the same price as a 5 pound bag of the fancy food. It was well-received by all. I have to say that feeding time is much harder now, with three cats milling around underfoot and complaining about how hungry they are and how slow I am. I keep stepping on Henry, who is both the skinniest and the most insistent. He was much more blasé about the whole thing when he was outside, for some reason.

After that, it was time for a successful foray to the library, which was closed* when I went to renew my car registration and when I pointlessly interviewed. I got a shiny new library card:

The coast; the wine country; the redwoods

and used it both immediately and later – when I got home, I requested 28 books from my waiting list. Something – well, a lot of things – to look forward to!
*These cutbacks are saving about half of what was originally projected. So librarians and other government workers took a pay cut for nearly no reason.

Early morning in my garden

Today was one of those frustrating days.

The internet was crawling at a pace which would have made a snail laugh as it zipped by (and still is, even as I write), and it was impossible for me to access my work database and get anything done, even though I had a deadline. The phone mostly works, depending on where I’m standing or sitting, so I could call our IT person back in civilization and my boss in Detroit and alert them of the problem.

I tried to do some of my laundry while I was waiting for the internet to be restored (a girl can dream). Among the lovely items needing to be cleaned are the poo carrier and the cloths I used to acquire the housemaid’s knee (which is bothering me today). I washed the regular laundry first, and put it in the dryer. Though the dryer went, it didn’t dry anything, so I spent an hour’s worth of propane for nothing.

I found the clothesline and fastened it to a couple of handy trees, then hung the laundry on hangers on the line, since I couldn’t find the clothespins. Hopefully that will work. I’ll have to alert the landlord about the non-dryingness of the dryer before I attack the rest of that chore.

Add in some wrangling with the credit card people and you have a really excellent day.

On the bright side, Henry purred for the first time today. He was sitting next to me on the couch and I was petting him when I heard a strange sound. It was a rusty and rumbling purr. I petted him until he got overwhelmed and bit me gently. He really just catches my hand in his mouth to tell me to knock it off. Much better than The Claw.

The girls ventured outside today and explored the garden. It was fun to see them looking around. They are definitely cautious – my sister says they know they are both predator and prey – but I think they had a good time. They came to the “front” door and waited until I let them in this afternoon, and they’re safely in now, so this may work out just fine. I’ll be thrilled to get rid of the litter box, let me tell you!

It’s one of life’s enduring mysteries: why do cats always do something cute when the house is a mess? Forgive the untidiness, and note that Henry and June are both on the bed at the same time. Amazing for cats who have only been roommates for a few days, especially considering that June has been dying to get her claws on Henry for months now. Maybe he’s lost his mystique now that she’s seen him up close. I think most girls have experienced that at one time or another.

• Housemaid’s knee is receding, but still making its presence known. It has been joined by an unpleasant tingling sensation in my right leg, running pretty much the length of it. I have not yet regained my usual graceful gait, but I promise to be thankful for being able to actually walk once I can. For at least five minutes. And if this is a preview of being an old lady, I’m really not looking forward to that now.
• Besides wishing I could walk, I wish I could unpack. Actually, I’m wishing for Samantha Stephens or Jeannie to twitch or blink the house in order, no manual labor required. Besides being dreary and manicure-destroying, manual labor is what led to the limp in the first place.
• The cats have been getting along surprisingly well. There’s been the odd hiss or two, but no fights that I’ve seen or heard. Yesterday, I found them all asleep on the bed. Henry’s still skittish, but the girls are clearly happy and notably less naughty. They haven’t been racing through the house or breaking things at all. I think they’re enjoying going up and down the stairs and exploring their new house.
• I have no fewer than five doors in my house, but no locks. Today, one of the doors wasn’t latched properly and drifted open while I was out. June and Audrey were outside, but came in pretty easily when I called them. Henry was still inside – I suspect that years of being a stray have made the great outdoors a lot less appealing to him. My original plan was to keep them all in for a week, so they know it’s their house, and then let them out on the balcony from the bedroom, so they get used to the whole outside thing. After a few days, I’ll let them out the door downstairs. I’ll be curious to see what they do, how far they go, and whether I can get them in at night.
  

Well, this will be my last post from Oakhampton.

I’m ending as I began, camping in my house with weirded out cats. Though now there are three instead of two. Henry is in the pantry, a marked improvement over being stuck in the cat carrier all day (the landlords insisted that I remove the screening, so we did that first). He was so patient, and never made a peep.

The girls are wandering around the nearly-empty house, wondering where The Boxes have gone. Presumably they’re all wondering what the hell is going on around here.

The giant moving truck is occupying the entire driveway. I hope that no-one decides to snip off the padlock and help themselves.

We’re hoping to get out of here at 7:00 tomorrow morning. We’ll be a convoy: Jonathan in the truck; Rob in Jonathan’s car (they drove down together this morning); then Self and cat cargo. Jonathan brought little radios, sort of like walkie-talkies, in case we lose sight of each other on the way or someone wants to stop. Much easier than cell phones, and not illegal.

Wish us luck!

Are we there yet?

Yesterday, I trapped Henry on the screened-in porch by the simple expedient of removing the concrete block propping the screen door open. I closed it carefully and locked it. I poured some litter into the top of a banker’s box and placed it as far away from his food and bed as I could, but in a sheltered area so a gentleman has some privacy.

He got up from his cozy bed and started looking around and sniffing. I have no idea what his former life was like, and whether it included litter boxes or not, but he seemed a lot less concerned about having no way out than I thought he would be. I briefly imagined him clawing his way to freedom through the thin screening, but instead, he just went back to bed.

A wise friend suggested that I try putting his food in the carrier, which is lined with a soft, fleecy blanket and awaiting him with the door open on the porch, in case he felt like exploring. I fed the girls, and while they were distracted, brought a packet of treats out to the porch.

Henry sniffed the open packet, and then I sprinkled them liberally in the carrier. He jumped in and ate them, and after he was done, he hung out in there for a while. So that problem may be solved: Maybe all I’ll have to do is put a few treats in there on Thursday and close the door!!

I really think he knows something is up, and he wants to make sure I don’t forget him. As if I ever would.

Further update: Guess where he was when I looked out the window this morning?

It’s simply tipping it down outside, as my late, great stepmother used to say, in her rich, plummy voice. It’s giving me flashbacks of the Highway to Hell last week. Just looking at the car is making me nervous.

The girls are trapped in the house, and Henry is the King of the Porch again. It warms my Grinchy little heart whenever I peek out of my bedroom window and see him all curled up on his cozy bed, fast asleep as the rain beats at the windows. I wonder if he’ll like living in a house?

I hope it doesn’t rain on Wednesday, when we’re packing the truck, or Thursday, when we’re unpacking it. Operation Escape Oakland has been slightly modified. Rob and Jonathan are going to leave Albion before sunrise, and we’ll all troop over to the U-Haul place sometime around 9:00 or 10:00 on Wednesday morning. I’m planning to pick up a couple of rental boys, since Rob is forbidden to lift anything heavier than 20 pounds, and that’s about all I can lift, anyway. Also, there’s my new manicure to consider.

When I went to the U-Haul place on popular murder destination International Boulevard to get a price list a couple of weeks ago, I was swarmed by men before I even got out of the car. You’d have thought I was Megan Fox in a teeny bikini. They were disappointed, because not only did I fail to be a gorgeous starlet, I wasn’t hiring. For a low, low price, they’ll help you pack your truck, mow your lawn, and pretty much any other odd job that isn’t too odd. So I think we’ll pick up a couple when we pick up the truck. Cash for them, help for us. What’s not to love?

Note to self: do not make jokes about what could be in the grandfather clock’s coffiny box, or how heavy it is.

So we’ll pack up on Wednesday, grab dinner at the taqueria, and the boys who are related to me will sleep on an inflatable bed in the living room, and I’ll sleep on my mattress in the empty bedroom, both the pull-out couch and the bed being safely packed in the truck. Then we’ll take off on Thursday morning.

So I’ll come full circle in this house. I started out camping here, waiting for my furniture to be delivered, and I’ll end up camping here, with my furniture in the truck. There’s something poetic about that.

Henry on the front steps

When I talk on the phone, I always pace. Since the house is small, and clogged with boxes, I usually walk up and down the sidewalk in front of my house. Lately, Henry’s been following me on these meanders, meowing his harsh, yet muted meow. I’m not sure what he wants, but maybe pacing annoys cats, since Audrey tends to bat the blinds and mew loudly when I do so. Not that it stops me.

Yesterday, I finished a call and went back in the house. A few minutes later, I noticed both June and Audrey were at the front door, staring out with their tails switching back and forth. I went over to see what was so fascinating, and there was Henry, sitting on the steps. He has never done this before.

I wonder if he knows I’m moving and wants to make sure I don’t forget him.

I may be a crazy cat lady*, but I think animals pick up on our emotions and changes in our patterns of behavior.

Many years ago, when my brother moved, he was almost finished packing up the truck when Jed the Wonder Dog started trotting into the surrounding woods and appearing with a ball in her mouth. She dropped the ball by the truck, and went back into the woods. When she had collected all her balls, she sat beside the pile, looking up at my brother and wagging her tail. It was as if she was trying to say, “You’re bringing your stuff, and I’m bringing mine.”

*And it’s only going to get worse. Rose and James’s cat, Gertie, can’t understand that they’re gone, so she spends a lot of her day at their old house/my new house. I’m not sure if she’ll flee in horror at the invasion or stand her ground. Then there’s Fiona, who lives nearby with Rose’s daughter Catherine, but comes over whenever she feels like it. So instead of two and a half cats, I’ll have three and two fractions. I think that’s definitely crazy cat lady territory.

Dear June and Audrey,

You are more than two years old now, so you are practically grown up. Since there seem to be no cat boarding schools or nannies available, it falls to me to explain a few things to you which will hopefully make our lives together more harmonious.

Clanging the blinds behind the bed in the morning will not persuade me to feed you immediately. If anything, it makes me annoyed, and I want to make you wait a few extra minutes. And when I do feed you, milling around underfoot slows down the process rather than speeding it up, and also puts your paws and tails at risk of being stepped on.

Racing around the house and breaking things, particularly full glasses of water, does not endear you to me. Nor does clanging the blinds and meowing loudly when I’m on the phone. I also happen to dislike having the bed skirt clawed, whether I am in or out of bed. Same goes for the thick wool rug in the living room. And the washing machine beside the litter box. Have you ever noticed that clawing the metal not only creates a shrieking noise, which should be as unpleasing to the feline ear as it is to the human, but completely fails to cover up the poo? That’s what the litter is for. Litter. Box. Get it?

Speaking of litter boxes, the bathroom is mine, and I’m not a big fan of you squeezing onto the tank behind me, destroying the roll of toilet paper, or playing with toiletries in a vain attempt to speed up the feeding process, or just because you’re bored and there’s nothing to do. You wouldn’t enjoy it if I invaded the privacy of your litter box, so let’s go for some reciprocity here, ‘k?

In a couple of weeks, we’ll all be moving to the country. The good news for you: you can play outside to your hearts’ content, and hopefully burn off some of that naughtiness energy. The good news for me: I won’t have to worry about your escaping or search for you with a flashlight and treats while trying not to scream. The less good news: Henry is coming with us, and you’ll have to share the house and garden with him. And there will probably be some visitors, like the elderly cat who used to live in our new house, and a tame deer. Given how good you girls are at adjusting to changes, and your friendly, outgoing natures, I’m sure you’ll adapt beautifully. And I’ll always be there to help you and keep you safe.

Love,

Your Girl

Henry hangs out

Here’s a first: Henry was more interested in being petted than eating this morning. He came running to greet me as usual, with his gruff yet muted meows, but after I put the food in his dish, he followed me when I went to put the measuring cup back into the food container. I petted him, and he pushed his head against my hand, and when I went to leave, he followed me again. I petted him more, and led him back to his dish, where I petted him until he started eating. I have to say it made me really happy, even though the girls were glaring furiously from the porch at this disgusting PDA.

In other news, it appears that the Mexicans have moved out, taking their incessantly yappy dogs with them. A moving truck appeared on Saturday, and yesterday, they seemed to be packing up the last of their things, including the aforementioned yappers. They actually swept up the poo from the ce-ment back yard, so it must be official. And the quiet was blissful! I hadn’t realized how hard the constant barking was on my nerves until it was gone.

It’s strange having the house next door dark and empty. It reminds me of the eerie stillness following a power outage, the background hum of appliances suddenly extinguished.

They cut every single flower from their garden before they left.

Hi! I missed you, too!

I’m not sure if it’s because the girls missed me so much, or because their naughtiness streak has expanded to take over most of their furry little bodies, but they really outdid themselves during my most recent absence. When I came into the house and dropped my bags on the couch, I immediately noticed a little cat figurine on the floor. It’s one of the few ornaments not Museum Waxed to the mantel, and it’s the only cat one, so maybe it was practice prey for the Terrible Twosome.

In the kitchen, I was shocked by a) the mess; and 2) the fact that the kittens had eaten all the food I left, which I had foolishly thought was enough for three or four days (I left on Thursday morning and came back on Saturday afternoon). The litter box was a mute, yet pungent witness to the immoderate feasting.

When the food was exhausted, they apparently went foraging in the cupboards. Their food is safely ensconced in plastic containers for this very reason, but they had managed to knock open boxes of pasta, crackers, etc., onto the floor.

Welcome home.

Henry, too, had eaten all his food, and his water was mysteriously full of dirt. As I cleaned up his dishes and set out fresh food and water, he happily got in the way and pushed his head into my hand. He doesn’t seem to get grumpy when I go away now.

The trip started off as inauspiciously as it ended. I missed the exit for the Richmond-San Rafael bridge. I got off the freeway at the next exit and turned around to go back, only to find that traffic was horrendously slow in that direction. All in all, it took me a good half hour to make up for that mistake. Sigh.

I stopped off to see Erica and Jessica, and my traffic-induced crankiness vanished as Jessica ran toward me yelling my name and jumped into my arms. I swear she’s even taller than she was when I saw her last month. She was happy to see that I was wearing “her” necklace, and as I put it on her, I told her that I’d worn it just for her, which delighted her.

I asked about her trip to San Francisco, whether she liked the hotel and the dinner with her mother and her Mom’s friends. She said “The hotel was the nicest one I’ve stayed at in a long time” and confided that “The lamb was a little disappointing. And by the way, it was too salty.”

The six year old epicure.

Later, I was eating some delicious raspberry sorbet and asked Jessica if she’d like some. She said she would, but she’d have to ask her mother. She waited until her mother finished serving a customer, then asked. When she got permission, she bounced over and had a bite. I have to admit that I would have just taken the bite without asking when I was six.

Up next: puppies!!

Yesterday afternoon, I was eating hummus and watching a re-run of Monk when my landlords appeared at the front door. Since the doorbell doesn’t work, they actually said, “Knock, knock”, though I failed to ask who was there, being fully occupied by being totally surprised.

They had come to operate on the poor, sickly lawn. They brought a sprinkler with a timer and a bunch of seed, so I guess the already insane water bill will go up. Hopefully the transfusion will help the grass regain its youth and vigor. Plastic surgery is never cheap.

I was completely taken aback by their sudden appearance. I also had to admit to them that I had inadvertently killed the hose for the front lawn by mowing it, but they didn’t seem to mind and just used the hose from the back yard instead. I imagine Henry fled the scene of such unaccustomed industriousness, especially in the afternoon heat. The girls were fascinated, running to the back porch to see what they were doing in the back yard, then racing to the front door to try and see what they were up to there. Guard cats!

It just figures that they decided to fix the lawn now, when I’m probably moving. I felt weird talking to them, like I was cheating on them or something, and guilty for not watering the lawn more or enough or whatever.