Suzy Says

Henry was lounging on the garage roof this morning, the way he used to when I first noticed him. He hardly ever does that now, even though it’s sunny up there pretty much all day. Lately, he’s been scorning both his plush bed and the tent under the rosebush, preferring to sleep on the dry grass or somewhere else entirely. Sometimes I only see him when it’s feeding time.

Now he comes running partway down the driveway to meet me, and even lets me pet him before putting the food in the dish. He’s recently taken to butting his head against my hand, which I see as huge in the progress of our relationship. Maybe he wouldn’t take me out on Friday night, but I’d probably see him at some point during the weekend.

Today’s breakfast was especially challenging.

About a month ago, I got fed up with June and Audrey hanging around the kitchen, waiting to get their Henry kibbles before I took the food out to him. It was OK at first, but then they turned into vultures, and on top of that, started hanging out in the kitchen in case there was extra food, even though there never was and they drove me crazy getting in my way. So I cut them off and put Henry’s Tupperware-esque food container under the porch.

This morning, I found it overturned and in the far reaches of Underporch. I got a rake to drag it out of the depths, and I think it’s a testimony to Henry’s trust in me that he didn’t run away from the rake. He used to run away when I emptied the water out of his dish to replace it, and any lawn implement made him flee. On the other hand, he also hampered my rescue efforts, and I ended up pulling the container off the lid. I carefully pulled the food-filled lid toward me, but I won’t lie to you: there was spillage.

I fed Henry from the rescued food, and when he was out of the way, put it into the container and added the spilled food I could salvage.

All this before coffee.

Later in the morning, Henry was, as I mentioned earlier, lounging on the garage roof. The girls were of course completely mesmerized, and it was a three-way staring contest. I probably could have walked out there with a steak and they still would have kept staring at each other.

In the end, Henry showed the girls how cool he really is by yawning, turning his back on them, and strolling slowly across the roof and jumping down lightly without looking back. They watched him out of sight, and then had a nap.

The kittens’ mother, Quince

I couldn’t resist posting this photo of Quince yawning.

The girls were glad to see me when I got home. I could hear them galloping to the door when I put the key in the lock. They sniffed me and my baggage suspiciously, possibly smelling Other Cats, or just the country smells. Hours of fun! And an excuse not to unpack.

Before I hopped in a cold shower and enjoyed my new Lush gifts, I went out to see Henry. Usually, he’s grumpy when I get back – actually, he’s pretty much a grumpy old man all the time – but this time, he came running to see me, and even bumped his head against my hand when I bent down to pet him. Progress!

While I was away, I only checked my email once, when I ran that report for my boss. Like most people who take a break from the online world, I found I didn’t miss it at all, though I spend a lot of time in that realm when I’m at home. When I did check my email, I found a message from my landlords, saying they’d be by on Sunday to check on the lawn, though they didn’t say when.

You may recall that I’ve been trying to get them to do something about the grass corpse for several months. I was hoping we could talk about it and maybe get some native grasses or something more drought-tolerant than a resource-hogging lawn, but they either didn’t show up, or did an examination without me. Now I just have to wait for the diagnosis and prescription.

Sunday was the day of no-shows: my boss was also supposed to drop by, and he didn’t call or appear, either. I’m beginning to feel unpopular, even though I smell simply mahvellous.

Since a summer vacation is out of the question, I thought I’d try a new concept: Life Swap. You get to be Me, and I get to be you. It’s a limited time offer, though I’m sorry to say you won’t get a free gift* if you call now.

Here’s what you’d get:

• Bijou residence in East Oakhampton. Conveniently located near the BART station of death, Highland Hospital (last stop for most local gunshot victims), and popular homicide locale International Boulevard.
• Three gas stations within one block. Only $40 to fill up a Ford Taurus at any given one of them! You can also buy milk there if you are so inclined.
• Walking (or staggering) distance to the liquor store and cracketeria.
• Friendly locals who come right up to your house and take that unwanted recycling or trash right out of your bins!
• Other friendly locals who try to convert you to their extremely unusual religions.
• Front row seat to minor crimes and misdemeanors, such as neighbors dousing themselves with gasoline and others burning stolen cars.
• Convenient freeway underpass where old sofas and other refuse that doesn’t fit in the bins can be easily dumped.
• None of that horrible, un-green air conditioning. “Awesome” cross breeze according to landlord, though so far, it seems as likely to appear as the Loch Ness Monster.
• The world’s cutest and naughtiest kittens. Adorable and challenging! Also slightly grumpy, stray-ish outdoor cat who might possibly tolerate your presence as long as you bring him food and water once a day. Occasional treats are welcomed by all.
• Unlimited trips to the library and the Safeway.
• All the barking dogs your heart could ever desire.

Any takers?

*Because, you know, you usually have to pay for gifts. That’s why they call them “gifts”.

I stopped in at the (un)Lucky after depositing my paycheck at a nearby bank. It was around 6:00, so the lines were long. I should have known better, and I did, but I wanted to pick up a bottle of wine, and Lucky is less expensive than the liquor store and cracketeria (though no-one at Lucky has ever given me free incense).

As I waited my turn, I couldn’t help but notice that the guy in front of me was buying forty cans of cat food. Nothing else. I pondered his imminent purchase and whether he had a house full of cats or was, horror of horrors, planning to eat it himself. Later, I gave the girls and Henry some canned food for their birthday dinner (I decided Henry will celebrate his birthday along with the girls from now on, though I have no idea how old he is), and all I can say is, if he’s going to eat it, he’s a braver man than I’ll ever be. Just dishing it out for the girls and carrying it outside to Henry made me nauseous. ~shudder~

My thoughts drifted from the cat guy’s possible dietary habits to other aimless notions. Am I the only one who’s sick of hearing about Michael Jackson? Why did the Other SJP name one of her twins Marion when Marion Broderick is so clearly an old maid librarian name? Did Karl Malden ever read the fan letter I sent him? When’s the last time I actually left California?

It was finally my turn, and as I bought my wine, I thought that someone stocking up on food for his beloved cats might think a girl just buying wine was just a little odd.

The two brain cells I have left have melted. It’s been mind-numbingly hot yesterday and today, especially in the convection oven known as Chez Suzy. Here’s what I’ve done today:

– Crawl out of sweat-soaked bed. Drink cold coffee. Kind of gross, but better than the alternative of putting something hot into already overheated body.

– Notice that it’s only 10:00 am. Hours of increasing heat to come! Even the cats are too languid to eat much or do much of anything. Audrey walks away from her food completely, though June and Henry are their ever-greedy selves.

– Take cold shower. Begin to feel human. Sensation abruptly departs before towelling-off process is complete.

– Sit by fan in bedroom window and read through materials for tomorrow’s conference calls, making notes of questions to ask. Set alarm for an alarming hour.

– Eat some pineapple juice which I had frozen. Pour more in, put it back in freezer for later attempts at cooling Self from the inside out.

– Douse face, hands and poitrine with cold water. Drink a glass of water. Lie on couch reading The New Yorker and cursing the Evil Star. Consider that a black leather couch was really an extremely poor furnishing choice. Wonder how hot it is in, say, Alaska. Try closing eyes and envisioning glittering snow and sparkling ice bergs.

– Doesn’t work. Get up, repeat frozen juice/water/dousing routine. Pee for approximately the millionth time (all that water, and possibly frozen juice and cold coffee) today. Wish for central air conditioning and the means to run it, preferably at meat locker temperatures.

– Avoid the weather section of the newspaper, on line and otherwise. Ditto the thermostat in the hallway. I really don’t want to know how hot it is, on the grounds that if I see it’s 95 degrees, I will actually feel worse, though I’m not sure this is humanly possible.

– Once again resolve to get that heat-reflecting paint and paint roof with it, assuming 1) I ever have the money to buy paint and roller and whatever else I’ll need to buy to actually do it; 2) I can borrow a ladder from my aged and helpful neighbor W to get up there; 3) I don’t fall off or paint myself into a corner.

– After Routine repetition, take bag of frozen mixed vegetables (how did they get in there?) out of freezer. Flop on couch, apply bag to neck, head, and belly in turn. Consider inventing a freezer sleeping bag, like those eye masks you put in the freezer, only you could slip your entire heat-struck body into it until your core temperature lowers enough for bearability.

– This could be my million dollar idea! Too bad Billy Mays is no longer around to promote it.

– Look at clock. It’s after 5:00. It should start cooling down soon, right? Maybe if I take everything out, I can squeeze myself into the refrigerator in the meantime. The freezer would obviously be better, like all penthouses, though unlike most of them, it’s clearly too small.

– Time to pour some vodka into that pineapple juice.

Friday was finally sunny after weeks of fog and clouds. Though we don’t get rain this time of year, I do find day after day of overcast skies depressing. I don’t know how people who live in notoriously cloudy and rainy locales like Seattle can stand it.

So the sun had definitely lifted my spirits as I made my way home from the bus stop. I picked up a bottle of wine at the liquor store and cracketeria, and admired the fairy-tale white blooms on the trees as I walked down the street (not for the first time, I wished I could rehabilitate my camera and share a picture of them with you – undoubtedly, the garden-savvy could tell me what they were). I was feeling all sunny and careless, as Christopher Robin would say.

When I got home, there were no (overdue) bills in the mail. Yay! I tossed my lovely silver handbag onto the couch, along with my few keys on their adorable Louis Vuitton keychain (one of the few remaining relics of more prosperous days), and looked for the kitties. Instead, I saw my teapot lying smashed on the kitchen floor. No wonder they were nowhere to be seen.

I took a closer look, thinking maybe I could repair it, but no. I picked up the pieces and went to throw them in the garbage bin outside. June took this opportunity to race outside while I was otherwise occupied.

I tossed the former teapot into the newly-emptied garbage bin and started to look for June. At times like this, it’s really hard to sound all nice when calling her. I saw her under the car, and tried to coax her out.

The process was complicated by Henry’s appearance when he heard my voice. He came running up, meowing his harsh, yet muted meow, and June took off. I chased her, and she ran into the yard next door. You know, the one with the TWO DOGS who bark all the livelong day.

She was immediately cornered by the dogs. I couldn’t get in because the gate is locked. I screamed her name and the son of the house appeared, looking quizzical. He soon saw how it was, and kindly captured the terrified June, who repaid him by scratching him horribly, and passed her to her terrified owner, who was horribly embarrassed. He was really nice about it, and to the dogs’ credit, they didn’t try to attack the intruder. They are apparently all bark and no bite.

I was so glad I’d bought a bottle of attitude adjuster on the way home. Little did I know how much I’d need it!

Lately, I’ve been catching up on the most recent season of Damages. Yes, it ended in April, but I usually wait until a TV series ends, then download it, so I can watch two or three episodes at a time instead of having to wait a week for a new one. Not to mention avoiding commercials, particularly those for boy problems* and girl problems and various syndromes (why is everything a syndrome now?). Patience is not one of my few virtues, so pretty much the only things I watch live are sports and sometimes the news (though I think the news can be summed up nearly every day by saying the messed up parts of the world are still messed up, someone shot someone, and there’s a missing kid somewhere).

Anyway, everyone on “Damages” is spying on or secretly taping everyone else, and I couldn’t help thinking how insanely bored someone would get staking out my house.

“The car hasn’t moved in four days.”

“She’s coming out of the house…oh, she’s picking up the paper and feeding that stray cat.”

“Leaving the house…going to BART. Must be going to work. She never leaves the office except to go straight home.”

“Car heading in different direction from BART. Oh, it’s the Safeway and the library** again. (They’re right across the street from each other.)

“Can anyone’s life really be this boring? It must be a cover.”

*The number of Viagra ads during the last World Series made me wonder if it was a comment on the players, the viewers, or both.

**A guy was found dead outside my library branch a month ago, though I didn’t hear about it at the time.

Some things never change: June front & center, Audrey wandering off. They are two days old.

The cats’ vocabulary is slightly limited. Now this may be because they aren’t quite two years old yet, and who among us (except possibly Oscar Wilde) can boast that their vocabulary was at all impressive at such an early age? But there are definitely a few important words and phrases they understand.

The girls get fed around 9 am and 6 pm. One of the best pieces of advice I ever received was from the kittens’ first vet, Dr. Jill. Dr. Jill impressed upon me the importance of not feeding the kittens as soon as I got up, no matter how plaintive their tiny mews. Her point was that if you feed them as soon as you stumble out of bed, they’ll take your daily rising as a signal that the food will be instantly in their bowls, and they will go to great and annoying lengths to wake you up. Just ask my sister.

So even if you just spend fifteen minutes making coffee and reading your emails, it will be worth it. And it’s true – the girls just sleep or play or do whatever it is cats do when we’re asleep until I say it’s time for breakfast. I usually ask them the purely rhetorical question “Are you girls hungry? Do you want some breakfast?”, which prompts them to scamper into the kitchen and get underfoot as much as possible. Nothing seems to convince them that this delays the food delivery. Henry does the exact same thing. I guess it’s a cat thing and we wouldn’t understand.

They know that I will also be scooping out Henry’s cheap and therefore desirable food, so they keep an eye on me. They generally stick their heads into the tupperware-ish container of food (I have to store the cat food in separate plastic containers – the cupboard doors don’t close properly and if the food is in the bags, the cats will be, too. I learned this the hard way.), so I put a few pieces of Generic Chow on the floor to distract them and then put the container away before going outside to have Henry get in my way all the way to his dish.

The life of a cat maid is not an easy one.

While the girls’ vocabulary may be on the small side, they do seem to be able to tell time fairly well. Around, say, 5:20, they start hanging around the kitchen. June in particular will try and convince me that it’s dinner time. She also likes to sit right in front of me and stare at me unblinkingly with her great golden eyes, as if to say, “Have you forgotten something? Hmmm?” June is much more interested in food than Audrey, and always has been. When the litter was a day or two old, she was stepping all over the others to get milk (see photo above). Audrey never finishes her food, so I have to keep an eye out and put it back in the container; otherwise, June will eat it.

When I tell them it’s supper time, they race into the kitchen again.

At night, when I’m ready to bring the girls in from the porch and close and lock the back door, I tell Henry goodnight and then ask the girls if they’d like some treats, which brings them in right away. It may be bad parenting, but I used to have to go out there and chase them and try to keep one in while I chased the other, and it was a lot easier to just give them a couple of treats when they came in at night. So now they expect the question, and I’m pretty sure they know what the words “hungry”, “breakfast”, “supper” and “treats” means – even if their understanding is limited to “The Girl is finally going to feed us! Yay!”

Clever kitties.

I made it home in good time, and was warmly welcomed by the girls. I’m always relieved when I get home and find no-one has broken in and nothing untoward has happened – leaving your house with all the blinds closed and no car in the driveway for a few days seems to be asking for trouble when you live in Oakland.

I may be slightly bitter about having the GPS stolen out of the car and the bicycle out of the back yard.

But I digress…

The girls milled around my feet and told me how much they missed me. When they started sniffing the bags I brought back, with their interesting smells of Other Cats, I went out to see how Henry was doing. He still had lots of food and water left, but was pretty snippy with me. He always gets mad at me when I go away, which leads me to believe he enjoys my scintillating conversation almost as much as his bargain basement food. But seriously – I do think he likes having the company and attention. He usually forgives me the next day.

Back in the house, it soon became apparent that the usual naughtiness continued apace while I was gone. One of the two water bowls had been overturned, creating a nice, slippery mini flood on the kitchen floor. The candle holder in the fireplace had similarly been knocked over, merrily scattering votives, even though the cats know they’re not allowed in there.

In the bedroom, my jewelry box had been tossed onto my desk, spilling jewelry all over it and creating hopeless tangles. The TV remote was hiding nervously under the couch. I could just picture them racing all over the house, frustrated that they couldn’t go outside. And maybe missing me. A little.

It looks like the girls are outside and unattended, but actually the porch is screened in. It does give them the best of both worlds: they can be “outside” and keep an eye on Henry, while staying safe. It also keeps them from fighting with Henry, though they hiss at him when he walks by.

Henry seems to be remarkably peace-loving for a cat with a torn ear and scarred nose. He disdains arguing with the girls, displaying a splendid indifference to their insults, and when other cats eat his food, he lets me shoo them away.

I wonder if Henry misses living on the porch the way he does in the winter. I thought about leaving the door open for him at night, so he could sleep on the couch, but decided it would be too confusing. All or nothing is probably best in this case.

If it isn’t one headache, it’s another…

The big pain in my tiny brain has receded, leaving a strange bruised feeling. I finally got to sleep well after midnight last night, and was awake barely in time for a conference call scheduled for this morning. I certainly wasn’t at my best, such as that is.

When the call was finally over, I went outside to collect the garbage cans, which were piercingly (for the headache challenged) emptied earlier today. I didn’t realize June was right behind me, and she shot out of the house as if fired from a catapult (pun intended). I chased her, saying words that no well-brought up young lady should, as she headed under the porch.

Henry was not pleased to see her. Not only was he trying to take a nap, he knows perfectly well that she has usurped the porch and hisses at him and claws at the glass whenever she sees him. He vanished, leaving me to try and coax her out, while actually wanting to scream at her. I noticed that Henry hadn’t finished his food, so I lured her with that until I could grab her and bring her back into the house, threatening reform school or a mean Mary Poppins like the one in the books. She seemed completely unconcerned.

I thought having access to the porch would quell the wandering craving, but apparently not. Maybe she wanted to see things up close. Maybe she wanted to chase Henry. Maybe she wanted to drive me crazy.

Mission accomplished.

Now that the heat wave is gone and my mind is more or less back in working in order, I’ve been thinking a lot about the great house hunt.

It’s probably just as well that I didn’t get that house. I’m not sure I could handle the stress of sudden packing, giving notice, having to pay for two places at once, and the cost of moving. Also, I didn’t get a good feeling from the landlady. She was pretty cold and distant, and immune to my charm, which may well be what bothers me the most. My current landlords may be flaky, but at least they’re nice.

The biggest problem with that house was no outside access for June and Audrey. They spend a lot of their time on the screened-in porch, sniffing the air and keeping an eye on Henry. It’s the best of both worlds, since they can be outside while still staying safe. It would have been really hard for them to adjust to being inside all the time again, and I want my girls to be happy.

I also wonder if Henry would have run away or stayed at the new house. We had a breakthrough today. I was talking on the phone and walking around the back yard. He saw me and came running up. I reached out, and instead of clawing my hand or running away, he sniffed my hand and then let me pet him. I think he may have actually purred. It’s the first time this has happened, so he must really trust me.

Maybe it’s all for the best if I stay here for now.

View from my porch

The heat wave has gone back to hell, where it definitely belongs. Probably good practice for me, though. It’s nice to be able to open the blinds instead of living in the strange, hot gloom, feeling besieged by the relentless sun.

The sun is feeling kinder and gentler today, possibly sorry for its earlier temper tantrum and trying to make up for it by being nice, even though we all know it will be back to its old tricks again soon enough.

The kitties are celebrating the return of the cool. Henry is lounging openly on the grass, instead of hiding in whatever shade he can find. The girls are chasing each other around the house instead of lying exhausted on the porch or by the front door, seeking an errant breath of air. So we’re back to normal. For now.

Henry in his tent under the rose bush

June & Audrey on the porch

All the cats are enjoying the sunny day more than I am. It’s supposed to be 85 today, which is just too hot as far as I’m concerned. Especially in April, when some people are still waiting for Spring to spring. It’s supposed to be even hotter the next few days.

I faced the inevitable and put away my duvet until next winter, when I can once again enjoy its cuddly embrace. I’d better go and drag the fans out of the shed.

It’s going to be a long summer.

Update, Monday, April 20: It was record-breaking heat yesterday and today. It’s supposed to ease off in a couple of days, though.

Here’s the baby girl, interrupted during her post-prandial bath on the porch. Cats have no problem bathing in full sight of the neighbors, or, in this case, other cats. You can see Henry’s rose bush in the background. He has a tent under it and his dishes are next to it, and he also has his bed under the porch until the winter rains start again.

I felt bad about evicting him from the porch, with its futon couch and blanket, but now the rain seems to have really gone away, it’s only fair for the girls to be able to sniff the air and get some sun, or breezes when it gets hot again, which I’m sure will be sooner than I’d like. And since the weather has improved, I hardly see Henry other than at breakfast, when I make the most of my opportunity to pet his soft fur and have a little chat.

It’s been almost a year since I started taking care of Henry, and sometimes I question the wisdom of blunting his survival skills by giving him food and water. But other times, I’m so thankful that I could help him and make a difference in his life. He definitely trusts me, though I can never pick him up or cuddle him. And it gladdens my heart to see him running toward me in the morning, or sleeping peacefully, knowing he’s safe.

There were sun and showers today. Take your pick! The traffic goddesses smiled upon me, other than the usual slow spots (Berkeley and that construction place when you pass San Quentin). The sun was shining in Petaluma as I arrived at the house with the white picket fence.

The owner was a nice guy, and showed me around the little house. I’d say it’s a little bigger than my current digs in Oakland, but it has a garage big enough to hold all the boxes taking up my living room and all the stuff in the Oakland storage. It has a lovely back yard, a side yard, where the current tenants have a table, chairs, and umbrella set up, and a small front garden. Everything is professionally landscaped in drought tolerant plants, which I think is important. It’s also beautiful.

Inside, the kitchen is essentially a corner of the living room, being completely open to it without even a breakfast bar. The counter and cupboard situation is about the same as here, though the cupboard doors actually close. There is beige carpet everywhere but the kitchen and bath. It doesn’t look like my bed and bed side tables, none of which are very big, would fit in either bedroom, but there is a huge walk-in closet in one, and a regular closet in the other.

The owner mentioned that temperatures get into the three digits in the summer, though it cools down at night. And you know how I love the heat.

So there are a lot of pros and cons:

Pros:

• Beautiful town. Can walk to historic downtown, and transit to San Francisco is only two blocks away. Neighborhood is quaint Victorians* and tall trees.
• Much safer and no audible barking dogs or visible depressing dogs marooned outside.
• Beautiful, drought-tolerant landscaping. No sad, dead lawn to mow and bemoan. Nice yards for Henry to play in, though will have to come up with some kind of shelter.
• Pretty house with use of bathtub and doors, cupboard and otherwise, that actually close.
• Lots of closet space, and, more importantly, lots of storage.
• Rent is cheaper than current abode, and I wouldn’t have to pay for storage, making it cheaper still. Also water is about half the price it is in Oakland, and car insurance will be cheaper.
• Could probably put the grandfather clock in the front hallway (and finally get it out of storage).
• Much closer to my brother sister and so much easier to get there.

Cons:

• The owners want first month’s rent, last month’s rent, a security deposit, and an unspecified pet deposit. This would be in the neighborhood of $3,500+ dollars, and I doubt if I can afford that neighborhood right now.
• I’d have to move in about two weeks!
• Beige carpeting with cats. Beige carpeting.
• Not much improvement, if any, in the kitchen situation, though at least I could close the cupboard doors.
• The current tenants are taking their washer and dryer with them, so I’d have to buy used ones to replace them, adding to moving costs. Then there’s the U-Haul.
• Sliding screened door in the laundry room, which looks onto the back yard, so the girls could hang out there, but is that a real substitute for a screened porch with sun and shade?
• Would have to come up with some kind of shelter for Henry. And how can I be sure he’ll understand about the move when I can’t have him in the house with the girls?
• It didn’t look like either of the bedrooms was wide enough to accommodate queen size bed plus two IKEA bedside tables (yes, nothing but the best for me). I could have one table, though.
• 100 degree weather for part of the summer. It does cool off at night, but 100 degrees is too hot for a delicate flower like Self, not to mention girls in permanent, always-stylish fur coats.

Any thoughts, advice, opinions and spare change gratefully accepted.

*The house’s owner kept referring to the house as “Victorian”, though it was built in the 1920s.

I was startled awake by an unexpected (and unexpectedly heavy) shower this morning. I dashed outside in my pajamas, to the detriment of my velvet slippers, and grabbed Henry’s dishes and bed. By the time I got to the back porch, I would have won the neighborhood wet PJ contest. I propped the door open, fed and watered Henry, then called him until he appeared. He seemed a little nervous, maybe because the girls have been lounging on the porch and now it feels like enemy territory, but at least he can get out of the rain. As I write, he’s lying comfortably on his newly spring cleaned couch, possibly thinking “It’s mine now, girls!”

It’s been a little like Florida today: torrential downpour, followed by sudden sun, then another downpour. I dashed between the raindrops to (literally) run some errands, including the post office, where the guy ahead of me was getting a $2,000 money order. I definitely Coveted that beautiful pile of money.

Remember the house with the white picket fence? No-one rented it on Saturday, so I’m going to look at it tomorrow afternoon. Hopefully traffic will be kinder to me than it was this weekend (when I finally got home, I learned that there had been no fewer than three accidents. No wonder it was such a mess). I’ll keep you posted, rain or shine.

It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood

The winter rains appear to be over, so I moved Henry’s dishes to the back lawn. He loves to dine al fresco, and now the weather’s warm and sunny, I hardly ever see him except at breakfast time. I rescued his bed from his summer quarters and put it in the newly-repaired washer, along with the blanket from his winter quarters. After I took the blanket off, I noticed that the couch cushions (it’s actually a metal-framed futon rejected by my boss’ youngest daughter) could use a spin in the washer, too, so off the covers came, creating another load of wash.

Henry feels the same way about housework as I do, so when he saw me pulling his bed apart, he retreated to a safe distance, where he could keep an eye on me but not have to be involved in the actual chorishness. I think I was a cat in a previous life (and apparently a really mean one, if you believe in all that karma stuff).

Once I had the cushions off, I noticed how grubby the floor was, so I went to get my trusty bottle of Mrs. Meyers (basil scented) and my cute gloves which should inspire me to do housework more often, yet somehow don’t:

While the bucket was filling, I saw the porch windows were in serious need of spider web removal (sorry, Charlotte), so I did that before swabbing the porch floor like an exceptionally well-accessorized pirate. Everything is in the dryer now, which I feel so guilty about using, and once I put the couch back together, I’ll replace Henry’s bed in his original bachelor pad and shut the porch door so the girls can get some fresh, sunny air.

Whew. I’m exhausted. Bring me a cocktail, will you? And put an umbrella in it.

Buried treasure

I had a date with Plumber* Robert today. He arrived early, which a girl always appreciates, and brought an end to my washing machine woes, which I think we can all agree is better than flowers (though not better than chocolate or wine). Apparently, the problem is that all roads to lead to Rome, or in this case, all pipes lead to the same place, somewhere in the mysterious crawl space under the house. This is not a good plumbing idea, but 85 years ago, it seemed to be.

I finally couldn’t take any more of the yowling and whining of the poor red dog across the street, and dashed off a desperate missive, begging the owners to do something about their dog, or I’d call the Humane Society. I had to put the note between the slats of their fence, because Red Dog, on closer examination, is huge and intimidating, and attached to the door by a mighty chain. The note was gone today, and when I went out to get the paper, I saw the owners bringing Red Dog inside, where he has remained for the rest of the day. Coincidence?

Spring has been very springy lately, with temperatures in the 60s and cloudless blue skies. I’ve even been sleeping with my window open. I think the girls have spring fever. They’ve been racing around the house like mad. I made the mistake of picking a yellow rose and bringing it inside, and it was shredded within the hour. Henry, on the other hand, has been scarce. He does appear for his breakfast in the morning, but instead of lounging on his couch all day, is off playing somewhere. I like to think he’s back on his couch at night, since I always tell him goodnight when I close the back door.

It’s been a Magical Mystery Tour going through the boxes from storage. I do have two boxes of books to sell or otherwise remove from the premises, but that’s just a drop in the box ocean in which I am valiantly trying to stay afloat. There have been some fun discoveries, though, like the stereoscope (seen above) and its tin box of images.

I have to admit to a pang of pity for my niece and nephews, who will have to face all this lot after I’m gone and wonder why the old lady didn’t just throw this crap out already. Sorry, kids!

I passed on looking at the fourth house this week. It was one of those box-filled days when the drive to Petaluma and back in rush hour traffic was an impossibility. Someone else rented that house, so I figure it wasn’t meant to be and that something else will come along.

Or not.

*Maybe becoming a plumber or mechanic is a better idea than going to college. People always need their plumbing and cars fixed, recession or no recession.

My father, who loved birds and kept a list* of every single one he had seen since the age of five, used to joke that the birds who frequented his garden must tell all their friends about the excellent cuisine to be found there, since it was a feathery Grand Central Station. Sunflower seeds, breadcrumbs, cake, peanuts, suet, birdseed – even the pickiest avian could find something to delight his or her jaded palate. When I visited, we always ate breakfast overlooking the garden, watching the birds at work and play. Once, we were lucky enough to see some nestlings take their first flight from the nest – we were mesmerized for over an hour.

I’m beginning to wonder if the word is out among the stray cats in the neighborhood that Henry has it pretty darn good. Food every day! Fresh water! They whisper among themselves. “I heard he has a cushy couch all to himself,” gossips one. “Well, I heard he has a blanket and hasn’t felt a drop of rain in months,” huffs another. I guess it’s not surprising that they wanted to see for themselves.

Recently, two new cats have been invading the back yard. I knew I shouldn’t have mown the lawn** and made it slightly more alluring to visitors. One is a bouncer-sized tabby and white number, and the other a more modestly scaled black and white. Tabby is more persistent than Blackie, who tends to lurk around the yellow rose bush and runs away if he sees me. Tabby, on the other hand, has the nerve to actually come up on Henry’s porch. I’ve caught him there and on the steps. Despite constant shooing, he keeps coming back like a marauding boomerang.

Oddly, Henry just sits calmly on the couch and lets me defend his food and water, if not his honor. I wonder if all my coddling has eroded his street skills. His rakishly torn ear and scarred nose tell me that he’s an experienced fighter. Maybe he’s older and wiser enough to let someone else fight the battles now.

*After he died, we found his incomplete bird sighting list of the week on his desk, under his reading glasses.

**It’s not just my inherent idleness that keeps me from mowing the lawn. It looks equally terrible mown or unmown, winter or summer, being rough, clumpy, and with huge brown patches whether it’s been raining or not. It really needs to start over or go to rehab.