Suzy Says

Meet Digit, the office cat!

My co-worker Erin and I have been (subtly) campaigning for an office cat at the jobette, facing opposition from our dog-owning colleagues. Finally, Erin was able to persuade the CEO that we needed a cat, for mouse hunting purposes as well as decoration and purring purposes. And, you know, giving a homeless animal a home.

We went to the shelter at lunch, and explained our requirements. We needed a cat who could be alone at night and most weekends without being sad or lonely, yet could tolerate visitors. (S)He would have to stay inside, since we are on one of the main streets in the big town. So: friendly, yet independent.

They immediately recommended one of their cats who has been staying at the local thrift shop while waiting for a home. They felt she would be perfect. But we wanted to see the other cats as well. We were pleased to hear that they did not have many cats to place, especially since it is a no-kill shelter.

We spent some time with the available cats, and then decided to go and see the recommended cat. She was lounging on her cat bed, and it was pretty much love at first sight. She is about three years old, and was a stray, so her past is shrouded in mystery. She has extra toes on all four paws, and her name is Digit! She is now our office cat. Here you see her relaxing in her new home:

The thrift store employees were all sad to see her go, and said she was the most amazing cat ever. We said that they can always come and visit her, and they were really glad. I imagine Digit might get more visitors than the office does!

Well, my last day in the City did not go exactly as planned.

I packed my bags and the car and otherwise managed to kill a couple of post conference call hours in the early morning. Around 9:30, I set off for Swan Oyster Depot, knowing that they open early. What did not know is they don’t start counter service until 10:30, a new and unwelcome scheduling change.

I walked back to the modest motel, stopping in at Bob’s doughnuts on my way:

I checked out, packed the final few things in the car, and headed back to Swan’s, parking the car in a garage around the corner. It was about 10:45 at this point, so I was kind of shocked by the length of the line at Swan’s. It used to be that if you got there before 11, you’d be OK, but apparently that has gone the way of early morning counter service.

Figuring on a half hour’s wait, I was wrong – it was closer to an hour, but by then, I’d invested so much time, there was no way I was going to leave. Eventually, I perched on a tiny, uncomfortable stool, elbow to elbow with total strangers, and ordered a half cracked crab, which comes with sourdough* and butter and a smile.

It was sparkling fresh, as always, and I enjoyed the ballet behind the counter, as the brothers cracked crabs, shucked oysters, poured wine, and rang up bills – one of the charming things about eating there is telling your server what you had, which he rings up on an old cash register – in the narrow space.

After that, I picked up some extreme take-out from Victor’s:

and headed to the Legion of Honor to the Cult of Beauty exhibit:

where the views of the Bridge:

and the City:

and Sutro Tower:

were lovely.

Inside, not so much. Another line to buy a ticket, much like an airport check in line, where those ahead of me took forever and I took about 30 seconds. How can it take so long to buy a ticket? Arriving at the exhibit, another line to get in, and then I was awash in hordes of tweens, chasing each other around, screaming, giggling, texting – anything but actually looking at the priceless works of art. Not for the first time, I congratulated myself on steadfastly refusing to reproduce.

Despite the tweenage horrors, the exhibit was full of lovely things. My favorites were a chair designed by Sir Lawrence Alta-Tadema (who knew he designed furniture as well as being a painter) in 1884, much more fabulous than any photo could capture:

A remarkably modern tea set made by the gifted Christopher Dresser in 1879:

And of course, Whistler’s Battersea Bridge Nocturne.

By the time I got on the Bridge, the Giants’ home opener was already in progress, and I listened to Matt Cain pitch a one hit shutout, 5-0, against the PIttsburgh Pirates as I headed back to Hooterville.

The sun vanished when I was a few miles over the County line, and there were some showers before I arrived home and greeted the kitties. They definitely missed me. Yesterday, the boys chose sitting with me over playing in the sun, and Audrey, never the most demonstrative of cats, sat on my lap all evening instead of going outside. I’m officially more fun than the Great Outdoors!

*It’s from Boudin’s Bakery, but they bake it longer for Swan’s, so the crust is dark and crispy. I highly recommend it. And remember: you pronounce it Bo-DEENS.

Maybe I need a reminding sculpture. Or a whole pad of neon Post Its. Or a personal assistant. Or a brain transplant! If Dick Cheyney can get a heart transplant, it just goes to show that you don’t have to have the original organ to get it replaced…

Lately, my brain has not been functioning at peak capacity. Or maybe this is peak capacity, and I’ll have to get used to it. The new normal: not fun.

This week has been less than fabulous. It’s been pouring, for one thing – I fully expect the Ridge to be flooded tonight or tomorrow – which is always depressing. And for another, I seem to be making one mistake after another.

I locked the keys in the car when I was at the jobette, far from home. This was mitigated by the fact that I knew I’d do something like that, so I already had an extra key sitting in my desk drawer, but still.

I bought the kitties a fifteen pound bag of cat food instead of a five pound bag, to minimize time and gas spent on going to the feed store. I bought a different flavor since I thought they’d be bored of the old one. Well, they seem to hate it. Even Clyde the Food Monster sniffed at it (in all three bowls) and walked away this morning, an unprecedented feat of disdain on his part. I’ll see if they have eaten any when I get home from work tonight. If they still hate it, I’ll buy the original flavor and sell the rejected bag to Megan, whose kitties are less picky than mine.

I was supposed to join a conference call today, and discovered that my cell phone battery was dead, so I couldn’t. My boss was not happy, and neither was I.

Worst of all, I worked all weekend on a proposal to provide services on behalf of my real job, only to discover that I had mistaken the due date. By the time my boss alerted me to the fact that the due date was Monday, not Tuesday, it was Monday night and officially too late.

I realize that he should have noticed the due date as well, but still…I feel pretty stupid right about now.

Oh, that Audrey. The most stubborn cat in Hooterville. Or any other ville, for that matter.

Ever since Le Bug descended upon me and I more or less moved into my bed full-time, Audrey has been keeping Megan hours. And keeping me company.

She curls up neatly on the bed and naps all day. I don’t think anyone, cat or otherwise, can look quite so cozy as Audrey as does when she’s asleep. You can tell she really enjoys that beauty rest. When I pet her, she makes little bird-like noises and sometimes stretches, but that’s it.

At first, I was flattered by this. But I soon realized it had its down side, which is that she wants to go out at night and stay out, which is against company policy. All cats have to be inside, present and accounted for, before I go to bed.

But after sleeping all day, Audrey wants to go out and play all night. And since she is the most stubborn cat in the world, she refuses to come when she’s called, and of course, she totally disdains treats, as you would expect from her supermodel figure.

So for the past few nights, I’ve had to go outside repeatedly, shivering in the darkness and coughing up a storm until she appears. My paranoia has not been assisted by reports of mountain lion sightings in Hooterville, though Megan assures me that they are pretty much always around. Either way, I want my kitties inside at night.

Eventually, Audrey shows up, and trots gracefully inside. When she’s good and ready. It’s the Audrey way.

Update: I actually put her outside, in the 65 degree sunshine, a couple of times. She complained bitterly about being picked up – Audrey hates the indignity of being picked up at the best of times, and in the middle of a nap definitely doesn’t qualify – and then came back in about half an hour later and resumed her interrupted program.

You can thank Roscoe for the title. He just walked across the keyboard. Pretty good for someone who isn’t two years old yet, though his spelling does leave something to be desired.

It’s also what I was thinking last night when the power went out. I was afraid that it was going to happen after hearing the reports of 25-30 mile an hour winds as well as rain. The windchimes, always a cheery harbinger of the outage, were ringing merrily when I got home last night.

I was concerned enough to set the alarm for 5:30 am on the battered old travel alarm clock that usually lives in my bedside table’s drawer, but too optimistic to make coffee.

When darkness fell both inside as well as out, I regretted this foolish hopefulness. Who needs a glass that’s half full when you really need a coffee pot that’s half empty?

As I pondered these dark thoughts in the darkness, Rob appeared, with his headlamp on, and helped me to haul the generator so kindly donated by the Generator Fairy last fall outside. I paused partway through the process to capture the curious cats and strand them in the bathroom. The thought of them vanishing into the darkness scared me more than the darkness itself.

Rob got it going, showed me the on/off switch, and plugged a giant extension cord in. After we got the thing going, I immediately realized that it was a predator repellent. Even with the door closed and inside, it was LOUD. I later learned that sleeping with a generator on, even with earplugs firmly installed and a feather pillow over my head, is a near-impossibility.

Why do these things always happen when I have to get up early and work, pretending to be a responsible adult?

At least I could make coffee.

The cats cuddled up with me, probably thinking “Things are weird. We’d better stick together.” When I called PG&E, I was the first one to report the outage, news which saddened me, since I knew that it would be ages until a crew could get there and start working on whatever downed tree/power line was the problem.

Sometimes being first isn’t good.

Also inside. Let’s put it this way: when I got up this morning, Audrey leapt gracefully on top of the propane heater instead of madly clawing at the door to go out.

The propane heater has a thermostat, which tells you how warm it thinks the room is and also how warm it has (supposedly) heated it to. There’s also a little thermometer on the barometer by the front door. Both agreed that it was a very chilly 40 in the house.

After putting on coffee and the heat, I grabbed a flashlight and ventured outside to check the thermometer there, which read a somewhat shocking 25 degrees. This may be the coldest I have ever experienced here in Hooterville.

I’m glad I left my tap dripping last night, and so were the cats – they wasted no time in drinking from it, even though there is fresh water for them daily inside and outside.

The long string of sunny days and freezing nights is coming to an end, though. We are slated to get at least eight days of rain, possibly heavy, which means there may well be landslides and flooding, the banes of a Californian’s winter existence. At least it will be warmer, as it always is when it rains, the clouds providing much-needed insulation. The high today is supposed to be 40. The low tomorrow, after the rains start, is supposed to be 43.

We haven’t had any significant rain since Thanksgiving, and I read an article in the San Francisco paper which said that this was the third driest winter since 1850. Also that there is more snow in Texas than there is on Donner Summit in the Sierras, a place notorious for snow and requiring chains to drive on in the winter.

Seems the weather is mixed up everywhere, doesn’t it?

New Year’s Palms

It is January, right? New Year’s Day? Because it’s 60 sunny degrees out. I actually have the sliding glass doors open! The boys are outside playing, Audrey is napping under the Christmas tree like the little gift she is:

Here’s a close-up of her Christmassy cuteness:

And there are flies buzzing around like it’s summer. It’s a little confusing.

I’m also confused by the fact that the Winter Classic, the outdoor hockey game which is always played on New Year’s Day, is being played tomorrow, when I’ll be at work. Before I learned that the game would be played on Monday, I was annoyed that the two teams involved were boring ones (New York Rangers and Philadelphia Flyers). Then when I couldn’t watch the game, I got bitter about that.

If I ran the hockey world, things would be different, I tell you what.

1. No corporate name arenas. Maple Leaf Gardens? Yes. Rogers Arena? No, no, and no. Sure, Rogers can sponsor the team or own the park, but they’d have to do the classy thing and keep their name and logo out of it.
2. No ads on the boards or in the ice. Just the team logos in the ice, and nice, clean white boards. No distractions from the play.
3. Same goes for “Coors Play of the Game” and “Molson Canadian Three Stars of the Game”. You see where I’m going with this.
4. For the love of Don Cherry, no more stupid team names (Atlanta Thrashers and Nashville Predators, I’m looking at you). And certainly no team names that have anything to do with movies or cartoons. Anaheim (Mighty) Ducks, I’m looking at you.
5. Better uniforms for everyone! We’ll start with the egregiously hideous, like the Minnesota Wild, and take it from there. Also retro jerseys would be worn at least once a month. It’s unfortunate that Mr. Blackwell is dead. He would have been a lot of help with this project. I’d settle for Erica and Tim Gunn, though.
   
6. The original “Hockey Night In Canada” theme is back. I don’t care how much it costs or how much you have to apologize. Just do it. And reinstate the fabulous animation that went with it, too.

7. The cheesy organ music is back, baby! No more snippets of Queen or Journey or creepy pedophile Gary Glitter. If possible, there would be a live organist.
8. The national anthems are out. The teams come out, skate around, and the puck drops. This would enable games to start on time at 7:00, instead of 7:10. The whole anthem thing takes up too much time, especially when you have to suffer through both the US and Canada’s. At least the Canadian anthem is singable and makes sense (Canada is great! We love our country!), whereas the American one is impossible for mere mortals to sing and is about an obscure incident in a mostly forgotten war. Shouldn’t it be “America the Beautiful” or something instead?

   But I digress.

9. Every team would have Ice Girls, like the New York Islanders do. They would make the game so much cuter!
10. People who pound on the glass would be turfed out of the game. Why do they do this? To get the attention of the players? ‘Cause if they’re paying attention to you, they’re not paying attention to the game. And no, they aren’t going to become your buddy and hang out with you after the game if they notice you through the glass. Face it and sit down.
11. People who have the insanely expensive luxury seats, especially at Maple Leafs home games, but can’t be bothered to get their sorry butts back in them by the time the period starts after intermission will just have to wait in the hallway until the next intermission. It’s disrespectful to the players to value your overpriced beer more than the game you have come to see.

I think the world would be better if it were a Suzy-er place.

Suzy Hockey League. Not to be confused with the National Hockey League, its much less attractive cousin.

This year was about change: getting the jobette; swimming lessons; having to make peace with driving a lot more. Change is good, right?

One deleterious effect of working more is reading less. I read 118 books in 2011, vs. 140 in 2010. The favorites of the year were Sue Grafton’s “V Is for Vengeance” and Candice Millard’s tour de force, “Destiny of the Republic”.

We are also getting a lot less rain this season. Last year, we totalled about 60 inches (or 153 centimeters), and already had half of that by December 31, 2010. This year, we’ve gotten about 11 inches (28 centimeters) so far. I don’t think I’m going out on a limb here by saying there’s probably a drought in my future. Number of power outages: 3. So far this season: 1, and an early one at that.

It was a great summer, though: lots of sun, little fog, no heat waves.

As far as last year’s resolutions went: not bad. I did a lot of work on the garden, though there are more things I’d like to do, given time and money, always in short supply. I still worry about the cats, and probably always will, to some extent. The loss of the beautiful and beloved June was traumatic, and, as Jessica pointed out to me, I’m a worrier. Maybe I should just embrace my inner (outer?) worrier.

This year’s resolutions are to reinstate Thursday dinners for my overworked sister – they fell by the wayside with the increased busy-ness of my schedule – and to spend more time with my brother when there’s no project to be done or special occasion to be celebrated. I always have a great time with him, but I don’t see him often enough.

And, you know, keep working on the garden and trying to minimize Calamity Suzy episodes.

Let me know what your resolutions are. And thanks for reading yet another year!

January:

How to plant tulips. Logging road walk. A check-up for the kittens. A walk with Schatzi. The beginning of A’s life-threatening illness. Another vet visit. A walk through the Village. A surprise visit from Jessica! Falling off a log really is easy. Dealing with two broken fingers: not so much. They still look freaky and witch-like. A brief trip to San Francisco. A is improving.

February:

Back in touch with the outside world. A finally gets out of Intensive Care. And I get the jobette! The boys make a windmill. Week One at the jobette. A’s slow recovery continues. Beautiful new garden chairs. A rare and magical snow day!

March:

A quick tour of the jobette. A graduates from Intensive Care to the HIghly Dependent Unit. Tragedy strikes our sister city in Japan. Doin’ it Rob style. Signs of spring. My beloved father’s 80th birthday. It’s not snow this time, it’s hail! The painting saga. Flooding. The week in pictures. Spring arrives in the garden.

April:

The painting problem is solved – at least, for now. Power outages. Little salon in the big woods. A is finally in a regular hospital ward, while Clyde is a little limpy. A nice little burn to go with my broken fingers. Jessica’s birthday! My blog’s 10th birthday! First BBQ of the year. A sad and loving farewell.

May:

The fabulous circus. New contact lenses. A walk through town. Star’s birthday. My tulips in bloom. Countrified. Fabulous garage sale finds. Girls’ night out. A short visit to San Francisco. The magnificent Balenciaga exhibit. Back home. Megan’s birthday. Car troubles – and a birthday celebration.

June:

Car trouble and bad weather. Truly rural. Bi-coastal. Rainy birthday to me. Happy first birthday to the boys! Rob is scheduled for more surgery. An evening with Erica and Jessica. Rose’s chicken curry. Unveiling the clock of ages. Rob’s surgery is rescheduled. The operation. Back home. Houdini lives!

July:

Audrey turns four. Found poetry. Both Rob and A are on the road to recovery. Kitty updates. Home improvements. Jessica visits the jobette. Musical contrasts. Erica and Jessica move to Portland (~sob~). The last Harry Potter movie ever.

August:

Propane prettifying. Encore de car. A change of address. Garden updates. The tenth anniversary of my father’s untimely and completely unnecessary death. I love you and miss you, Old Bear. More car fixing (or not). The bliss of Brian. Star meets quail.

September:

Mark’s seizure. He has epilepsy and is taking meds for it. So far, so good. Thank goodness. Free palms. The Houdini dog expands her repertoire. Planting the palms. The joys of aquafit. The delights of the County Fair. Clyde takes it on the chin. A visit from the generator fairy. A total meltdown.

October:

The car is finally fixed. I hope. Swimming clinic doesn’t go quite as swimmingly as I’d hoped. Car-share begins (and is still going on). The plague descends. My second anniversary of moving to Hooterville. The arrival of Turbo, Mark’s horse.

November:

Pool problems. Feeding the family. Meetings in San Francisco. Too tired to shop. A delightful day. Back home. The lowdown on high beams. Star and Megan are both stars. Thanksgiving Eve. A happy Thanksgiving. An early season blackout.

December:

Sunny days and sparkling nights. A look around the garden. An amazing experience. Girls’ Night In. A sudden loss. Up with the tree! An adventurous evening. And a tree adventure. Christmas cheer. A magical evening. The wit and wisdom of Jessica.

That’s it for 2011. Wishing you all a happy and healthy new year!

Clyde in a tree

At first, the kitties ignored the tree. Seriously. They came in from their outdoor play, sniffed at it, and repaired to their usual evening spots: the couch by the heater (Clyde); the bed in front of the heater (Roscoe); nested into the pillows on the bed (Audrey).

But as time went by, they got more interested. Most mornings, I’d wake up to find an ornament or two rolling around on the floor. Maybe it’s because yesterday I added a star, some clear snowflake ornaments, and a string of white lights:

Here’s a close-up of the snowflake ornaments:

The star and snowflakes were half price at Rite Aid, probably because they figured most people weren’t still decorating their trees a few days before Christmas. But they reckoned without my amazing procrastination talents.

This morning, while waiting for it to get light enough outside to let the boys out, Clyde decided to get in some indoor tree climbing practice. I think it’s a credit to Rob that the tree stand could stand this.

The dynamic duo

Once again it’s 44/6 degrees in my little tar-paper shack. The boys and I are huddling by the heater while Audrey prances around outside in her fur coat and my thimble of coffee gets cold almost as soon as I pour it.

The coffee maker is in the bathroom this morning. Why, you ask? Well, last night was a little more of an adventure than I would have liked.

When I put up the blue icicle lights on the back deck, I installed a doohickey that screwed in where the lightbulb used to be, and plugged the lights into it. It worked, but it meant there was no light at night in the backyard, other than the icicle lights. So I put a lamp out there and plugged it in the outlet beside the sliding glass doors.

Now, this outlet had been repaired by Mark this summer when it alarmingly sparked, though there’s still a burned looking area peeking out. Last night, it sparked again and stopped working. Something must have shorted out, because the outlet in the kitchen for the coffee maker also stopped working, which is why I relocated it to the bathroom.

Of course, the back yard was plunged into darkness, which plunged me into horror, since all three cats were outside. In fact, I was already somewhat horrified, because for the first time in his life, Clyde hadn’t come home for dinner. I hadn’t seen him for three or four hours, and I am a Worrier.

Granted, it had been a beautiful sunny day and it wasn’t cold then, but after the June Bug Trauma I am not rational when it comes to my cats.

I got an extension cord, plugged it into a working outlet, then moved one of the lamps by the couch outside, where it remains. I went out and called Clyde, walking down the driveway and part of the haul road, but it soon became obvious even to the most paranoid that finding a black cat in the country darkness is the real Mission Impossible.

Clyde ignored me, but Audrey and Roscoe appeared. Unfortunately, they also brought a mouse to guest star, and started chasing the poor thing all over the house. I shooed them outside and went back to calling for Clyde.

Still nothing. I checked on John’s flight and saw that he had arrived early to SFO, though the flight itself was a late one. It seems he missed the Customs cutoff at the Ottawa airport by minutes, along with several other passengers, and had to take a later flight. He was most upset by the fact that he would be too late to get his three cats from the boarding place. He also said that he had a lot of late nights with the family and was exhausted.

I went back out again and there was Clyde. My heart leaped to see his little white bow tie in the darkness. Everyone else came running, mouseless, when they heard the distinctive crackle of the treat bag. Everyone was in, everyone was safe, including John. Whew.

I called Mark to tell him about the outlet. He’s heading to Santa Rosa today, but will come by and fix it on Wednesday, hopefully for good this time. After we talked about the outlet, he asked me if I had found Clyde – he had heard me yelling from his house! Maybe I should just embrace my inner (or outer) Worrier and just accept that’s who I am.

It’s not even 7:00 am and it’s already been a really excellent day so far.

My excellent day started last night, with a triple feature of nightmares. Have you ever noticed that when you’re having a great dream and get woken up from it, you can never get back into it when you go to sleep, but if it’s a bad one, no problemo?

Rob says that dreams come from things you see during the day, but these were: a tsunami where I was in the Fontana Towers* in San Francisco; a repeat, where I was climbing to the top of a building in Chinatown via fire escape to escape tsunami re-run; and being trapped in a high school with a bunch of other people.

Sometimes I really worry about that crazy gene.

I woke up to the alarm clock flashing and could not believe it was time to get up and masquerade as a responsible adult after that marathon of terror and weirdness.

I went grumpily downstairs to find the boys hunting a mouse. Not even a mouse hunt could stop Audrey from catapulting out the front door into the darkness, and as I put the outside lights on, I saw that it’s very foggy out. Great. Worst. Driving. Ever.

Back in the house, I made coffee and the boys caught the poor mouse. I opened all the doors and tried to shoo them outside. Eventually they went out, at which point the coffee was hardly necessary.

It’s going to be a great day!

*Home of Eddie Fisher. John worked with a guy who met him in the elevator and invited him to a party, but the guy didn’t go. Talk about a missed opportunity! Worth it for the Liz Taylor gossip alone.

Audrey relaxing

It’s a beautiful, sunny day here in Hooterville. Audrey is basking on the back porch – surely a grandiose name for a bunch of unfinished wood slats nailed together over the dirt – in the sunlight. No-one knows how to relax like Audrey. And look good doing it.

We all had a good Thanksgiving, even the kitties. It already seems so long ago, even though this morning, I was using up leftover cranberries by making cranberry mustard (excellent for turkey sandwiches).

Jarrett arrived on Thanksgiving afternoon. One of the great things about traveling on Thanksgiving Day itself is the fact that almost everyone else is already where they’re supposed to be, already in a turkey-induced stupor. We eat dinner at a civilized hour, holidays or not, so we were still conscious and happy to see Jarrett when he arrived.

Dinner turned out great, though, as usual, I didn’t want to eat it once the time came.It must be smelling it all day that puts a girl off. However, the boys pitched in to make up for that, and I did try everything. The beans were good, though it made me laugh to think that we took the only healthy thing on the menu and fried it. The batter was really light and crispy, and I’m already thinking of other things to fry in it (Zucchini! Shrimp!).

There wasn’t even a mess to face the next day. My kitchen is so small that you pretty much have to clean up as you go along. I have seen New York City apartment kitchens that are bigger. So we all piled into Miss Scarlett and headed out to the annual craft fair in the Village. We did our best to support the local economy and get a jump on Christmas shopping.

We persuaded Jarrett to stay one more night, so we happily ate leftovers after the craft fair and he headed back home on Saturday morning. It was great to see him, and he’s planning to come back for Christmas. It should be a good one!

The trip ended as it began – with work.

Right before I left, I got an emergency call from my boss/partner to set up a conference call for 6 am on Monday morning (there goes aquafit). As I stood by the car in the motel parking lot, the wild parrots flew overhead, calling out farewell and waving their wings goodbye.

After the traditional Extreme Takeout stops (Bob’s Doughnuts; Victor’s PIzza), I headed for Best Buy to buy a new printer. Mine is on its last legs and I figured I might as well replace it while I was in civilization.

I arrived at the Best Buy mall, but couldn’t find the Best Buy itself. I ended up at Office Depot, where I found the printer I wanted and a couple of other work-related things, like paper and labels. It’s going to be quite the expense report.

After I loaded up the car, I tried to go to the Legion of Honor. I did. But even with the GPS, I got lost. On the other hand, I noticed a Trader Joe’s, which I had no idea was even there. I managed to get in the crowded parking lot – they actually had a guy whose entire job was to wave in cars when other cars left – and fought my way through the maddening crowds. By the time I finally got out of there, I was sure of two things:

1. I am no longer used to crowds and traffic; and

2. I was not going anywhere else except home that day.

So I headed for the Bridge, got stalled in traffic in Petaluma and Santa Rosa, and thanked my lucky getting lost skills for not having to stop again in Santa Rosa.

All was well when I finally arrived at my little house. Rob had watered the garden and the ficus, tied up the passion flower vine and the trellis with the potato vine, taken the recycling to the dump, and, amazingly, re-hung (again!) the painting which Clyde knocked down about six weeks ago for probably the sixth time.

It was lovely to be greeted with the sight of the City after leaving it earlier that day.

He also cleverly attached the shelf (which he had removed to try and keep Clyde out of the painting) to the lower part of the frame to block Clyde from getting in:

So far, so good.

The kitties had managed to break one of their bowls, and after I swept that up, I fed them and petted them. They were far more interested in the food than they were in me, but I was glad to be home anyway.

In contrast to the snow back East, we’ve been experiencing a string of sunny days and starry nights. It may well have been like this all month. Rob borrowed my thermometer for some project, so I can’t tell you exact temperatures, but it’s been somewhere in the 60s during the day. Warm enough to have the doors open after the chill of night/early morning (basically indistinguishable at this time of year) has worn off, anyway.

Nights are chilly, always the case when they are starry – and you should see all the stars around here! Everything in life is apparently a trade-off. It’s about 50 degrees in the house when I get up in the morning, so it’s somewhere in the 40s outside.

The kitties are much easier to get in at night now. Even Audrey usually shows up by 9:30. The boys are sleeping with me more – Clyde on my head, Roscoe curled up against my chest.

We’ve been lucky to have such a beautiful fall, especially after such a great summer. Yesterday, I went to hang out my bathing suit and towel on the balcony after swimming class, and thoroughly enjoyed the feeling of my bare feet on the sun-warmed wood. I thought, “I’d better enjoy every sunny day we get this time of the year.” The winter rains will start soon enough.

Beauty Sleep(s)

Really, is there anything cozier-looking than a sleeping cat?

Even if they are responsible for The Plague.

Last month, I noticed that Audrey was scratching a lot. I also noticed that my legs, never my best feature, looked as if I were experiencing a third round of chicken pox*, itchiness and all.

I spent about a million dollars on Advantage – hey, it made a change from spending money on the car – and applied it to the cats. Their reactions to the cure were the same as their reactions to the cause. Audrey: scratching and furious. Roscoe and Clyde: whatever, dude.

Then I took the bed apart, washed everything that could be washed, and hung it out in the clean sunshine to try while I sprayed the bed, featherbed, and carpets with some stuff that is supposed to kill fleas and keep them that way for 140 days.

Toxicity all around!

Problem solved, I thought. But, as usual, I was wrong. Besides being death-defying, these fleas seemed to be some kind of mutants, equipped with Super Itch**. Even after I scratched the bites until they bled, they still itched. They still itched when scabbed over. I had bruises from the scratching. Audrey was super scabby under her soft fur. The boys: nothing.

One evening, I actually saw a flea on the bed. I crushed it, and ordered more disAdvantage on line. Exactly a month after the first application, I gooed everyone again, hoping for the best. So far, so good. Let’s hope that the fleas are gone for the rest of the year. Pretty soon I’ll need to spend my flea allowance on propane.

*I got it when I was nine and again when I was 15. I got out of mid-terms the second time. Woohoo!

**One of life’s enduring mysteries is why anything that drinks our blood leaves an itch behind. They’d be welcome to the blood if they were itchless. Definitely a design flaw.

Well, today did not go exactly as planned.

I left the house at the dark and starry hour of 6:30. By the time I got to the store, the sky was brightening, and even at that hour, the ocean was blue. The ocean was also feeling particularly frisky and beautiful today, and it was so hard not to stop and just watch it for a while, especially at Van Damme beach, which may well be my favorite view around here.

As I pulled into the parking lot at the pool, I suddenly couldn’t steer. The steering wheel was locked, and an ominous red battery sign was lit up on the dashboard. Uh oh.

Fortunately for me, I meet Megan on Wednesday mornings for aquafit, and she was already there waiting for me. I was so glad to see her! She managed to maneuver Miss Scarlett into a parked position across two spots. Then we noticed a strange smell, and smoke curling from the left side of the hood. Never a good sign.

Closer inspection showed that the belt had come off its moorings, and had melted slightly in its unmoored state. I grabbed the towel I keep in the back seat to mop the morning fog from the windows – this time, to extinguish the smoldering belt goo on the hood roof.

Megan called Jonathan and woke him up, and then called Rob and woke him up. We decided that the best thing was for me to go home with Megan, and Rob would take Megan’s car back in to town to fix my car. On our way home, Megan and I bought a replacement belt.

When we got there, Rob was drinking coffee and waking up. Undoubtedly he was once again considering the “for worse” part of his wedding vows twenty years ago and remembering several in law jokes that now had an alarming ring of truth.

Megan went to bed, Rob went to fix my car, and I went home to get some work done. Clyde decided to welcome me home by climbing up inside the painting again, this time bringing it down on my unsuspecting head. Surprisingly, no-one was damaged, though Clyde broke the wire holding the painting in place and now it’s leaning against the stairs. He wisely disappeared for several hours after that.

Rob just called and said that he replaced the belt and whatever went wrong was the simplest thing it could be under the circumstances. When Megan goes to work tonight, she’ll drop me off to get Miss Scarlett. Hopefully, we will get home in one piece.

Audrey’s busy being Audrey these days. Staying out all night and wandering back in when I get up at 6:30. Or not.

When she’s in, she’s either demanding canned food or insisting on sitting on my lap and licking me until she’s bored and leaves, or goes to sleep, whatever comes first.

I think her weight is just about right, though on the occasions when I pick her up (to her eternal annoyance), she still feels light as a feather. I think I’ve created a kind of monster by trying to feed her up over the summer. Now she expects the disgusting canned food twice a day, and makes a big fuss about getting it.

Audrey surveying her realm

Oddly, the boys don’t try to eat it, though they do inspect the dish after Audrey has finished and stalked off. They seem to think that there are different rules for Audrey (staying out later; sitting on the table) than for them (not) and they don’t seem to mind at all.

Clyde’s chin is healing up. Megan inspected it yesterday and said it looked pretty good, as such things go. I have to admit that I’m a little concerned it will get re-infected and require another trip to the vet, but hopefully it won’t. Apparently it will take a while to heal. It was likely caused by a cat bite, and I wonder if it was from playing with Roscoe or from fighting with a neighbor.

Matched set

Being the bad cat parent I am, I failed to keep Clyde in yesterday. It was sunny and warm and he was raring to go. It’s hard to keep one cat in while letting the other two out. And Clyde seemed to feel fine, even though his chin was pretty gross to look at. I will spare you the visual on that one.

Also being a bad cat parent, I failed to put the warm compresses on him. I admitted this lapse to Megan, who said he should be fine anyway. When I confessed to guilt about this (how can I compress him when I’m at the jobette all day?), she said, “You’re not a bad mother. Just a working one.”

Clyde slept on my pillow/head last night and the night before. He still does his patented smother snuggle, but he has expanded his repertoire to sleeping beside my head on the pillow and taking up almost all the room. When Roscoe sleeps with me, he prefers to cuddle up to my chest. He always seems more dignified and grown-up than his little brother.

So there you have it. So far, so good. I’ll keep my eye on Clyde and hopefully a return trip to Dr. Karen will not be necessary. Between fixing my cat and fixing my car, I’ve been doing my bit to improve the local economy lately.

The patient

On Saturday night, I was watching “The Hoodlum” (with Lawrence Tierney, on a brief hiatus from jail, and his real-life brother, Edward) with Clyde cuddled up to me. Clyde’s cuddling style is to stare at me, then jump on my lap, climb up my body, and collapse with his head on my shoulder, giving a big sigh before starting to purr.

Both he and Roscoe like to be rubbed under their chin. But this time, something was wrong. There was a huge bump. I felt the other side of his chin. Bump-free. Uh oh. However, it didn’t seem to hurt him and he was acting normally.

In the morning, Megan investigated and said it was an abscess. By then, Clyde had scratched at it and it was wet and much ickier-looking. Being the excellent sister she is, she also called Dr. Karen on the dot of 9:00 on Monday morning, when I was arriving at the jobette. She not only got him an appointment at 11:00, but also caught him and took him there.

I am proud to say that by all accounts, my brave little Clyde did not complain or fuss while having his chin shaved and getting an antibiotic shot. Dr. Karen was impressed with his courage and cuteness. Apparently both were remarked on often. My little guy weighs 8.7 pounds!

I am supposed to keep him in today as well as yesterday. When I came home yesterday, Clyde was sleeping on the bathmat and Audrey was sleeping nearby on a (white) towel she had pulled off the holder just for this purpose. Roscoe, of course, was nowhere to be seen.

The house was like an oven, since all the doors were closed except the sliding glass ones in the living room. Rob installed a found screen in that one last summer, so that was open. I had to put the fan on in the sleeping loft, which becomes unbearable if it’s over 60 degrees outside and the balcony door isn’t open. Naturally this is the warmest part of the year, and it was the warmest day we’ve had in a while.

Clyde was pretty sleepy all evening. Today he seems like his old self and I’m not sure if I can make him stay in all day on such a lovely, sunny day. Stay tuned!

Am I the only one who is sick and tired of trying to come up with a title for each post? Sometimes it’s harder than writing the post itself. Or balancing a checkbook. Or opening a jar if there’s no boy handy. I always leave it until last. Why can’t I just use the date? Maybe I will, and strike a blow for freedom.

We’re stuck with the twice yearly madness of the time change, but this I can do. Take that, powers that be!

Sometimes three times isn’t the charm. For example, seeing your cats with the third bird they have caught in one day. The last of the series was still peeping horribly as they ran off into the woods with it. I know my stepmother always said in her rich, plummy voice that “Nature is red in tooth and claw”, but I practically cried. I hate it when they kill birds. Mice? Fine. Feel free to rid the house of vermin. But birds? Those hollow-boned beauties who give us nothing but pleasure, in plumage and voice? No way.

Old habits can be hard to break, especially when you’re emerging from kittenhood to catness, the way Clyde is. You may remember that when I removed the litter box from the house, he expressed his displeasure by peeing on the bed. I thought I shouldn’t confuse him by bringing the box back in, so I let it go, being careful to bring him in after 9:30 at night. I figured he’d be OK until 6:00 or so.

But for the past couple of days, he’s mewed at the door and clawed at it Audrey-style, so I’ve let him (and Audrey) out at 3:30 or 4:00 am, which I do not enjoy, and hoped for the best.

Nothing has happened yet, but I figure it’s crazy to let something happen to Clyde because I don’t feel like cleaning out the box every day. Better safe than sorry. So I reinstated it this evening, and Clyde wasted no time reuniting with his old friend. He even sat by it afterwards, basking in the glow of once again having an indoor bathroom. I can’t say as I blame him.