Suzy Says

Snow kitten, February 26, 2011

On Wednesday night, the kittens woke me up around 3:00, racing around like mad and knocking things over downstairs. I went to investigate. Audrey stayed at the top of the stairs, glowering. Maybe she was woken up from her beauty sleep, too.

I went into the bathroom and discovered one of the kittens with a mouse in his mouth. Remarkably, after all these months, I have a hard time telling them apart. Basically, if I can’t see Clyde’s little white bowtie, I’m at a loss, even though Roscoe is slightly bigger and Clyde has slightly longer fur.

I shooed whoever it was out of the bathroom, reflecting on how far I’ve come in the year I’ve lived here. The sight of the mouse didn’t even make me scream. On the other hand, the fact that it was 3:00 am and I couldn’t shoo them outside means that there’s a dead mouse in the house somewhere. I’ll probably find it by the smell in a few days. Oh, well.

Later on, when the sun came up and got to work, it was warm enough to have the door open a little to let in the spring-y air. I might be imagining it, but it seems to me that the birds sound a little louder lately. One of the kittens (again unidentifiable) came racing through the door with a bird in his mouth. I hate it when they kill birds. This time, I chased the little murderer outside and shut the door on him.

I’ve been lucky so far that they haven’t dropped their victims on the bed (or on me, for that matter). Yesterday, Megan told me that when Rob had his first spinal surgery and was lying helpless in bed, their cat, the beautiful Harriet*, clearly thinking that Rob was too infirm to feed himself, brought him a mouse and dropped it on his chest. The mouse scurried all over Rob’s body. Harriet decided that Rob wasn’t well enough to kill his own mouse, either, so she did it herself and gave it to him again. Rob had to get Megan to remove Harriet’s gift.

So it could have been worse. And speaking of mice: last week, I noticed a mouse trap on my co-worker’s desk. I asked her if she’d ever caught one. “Oh, yes!” she laughed. “There’s mice poop everywhere!”

Now they tell me. At next week’s staff meeting, I’m voting for an Official Office Cat.

*Harriet is acting as if nothing happened to her leg. It looks funny, but she’s doing fine with it. It’s amazing how animals adapt. The other day, I met a three-legged dog who ran and walked as if she had all four. I didn’t even notice at first.

Winter Wonderland

I woke up this morning to a winter wonderland. I set the coffee to brew, then grabbed my cute boots (which were magically turned into snow boots from rain boots) and my coat, threw them on over my kitty PJs and ran outside to take pictures.

The moon was winking at me in the early morning (about 6:30) light:

The tulips were snowy. Megan says it’s barely cold enough here for them, so they were probably enjoying their frosty blanket:

Audrey, the intrepid Canadian, was unconcerned by the unexpected snowfall:

Which turned the rain gauge into a snow gauge:

And little paw prints in the snow:

I was so excited that I heartlessly called Megan at 7:45, waking her up. She and Rob good-naturedly came over for coffee, partly so we could share the fun of the snow together and partly because they couldn’t find their own coffee (it was later discovered, covered with snow, on a shelf on their back porch). By then, the sun was beginning to melt the snow:

It was fun while it lasted!

Last night was definitely a three cat night. Or at least this morning was. I woke up to below-freezing temperatures and a discouraging forecast of 38 degrees for the daytime high.

Roscoe was lying on my legs, Audrey next to them and Clyde was on the pillow. As soon as I sat up, though, they ran eagerly downstairs, so perhaps they were just keeping tabs on the food dispenser instead of staying warm or keeping me company.

The living room is cluttered with plants which do not enjoy sub-freezing temperatures (the budding orchids; the aloe vera clipping Lu gave me; the fuchsia) and the cats find them a lot more entertaining inside than outside, where they totally ignored them. The aloe vera was uprooted this morning and one of its branches broken off. I wonder how people handle it when their cats are inside all the time and don’t have the opportunity to use up their naughtiness outside.

Yesterday, it rained steadily all day, so none of the cats wanted to spend much time outside. But they were bored inside, so got up to all kinds of antics. I tried to catch a shot of Roscoe playing in the alcove above the counter where the microwave lives, but this was the best I could do:

No-one looks good in a mug shot.

It’s no secret that Audrey is not the kittens’ biggest fan. She stares at them in disgust from her perch on the stairs, and whenever they cross her path, they are greeted with the growl’n’swipe. I’ve seen them get the G&S when they’re all outside and the boys are nowhere near Audrey.

But when it really counts – say, keeping the Girl awake when she has to get up at 6:30 and go to work on the following day – they are willing to put their differences aside and work toward a common goal.

Take Tuesday night, for example. While Roscoe slept peacefully in the bed by the heater (his usual spot, unless it’s a three cat night and he’s under the covers), Audrey and Clyde tag teamed me.

Audrey clawed at the balcony door, squeaking her claws against the glass and thumping the cat door. It’s remarkable how much noise that little cat can make. Also how totally relentless she is. She did her usual thing of going downstairs and clawing on that door, then running upstairs to try the balcony door. When all else fails, she claws at the bedskirt and bed, and then starts reaching under the blankets to claw Me.

Told you she was relentless.

While this was going on, Clyde did his patented Smother Snuggle. He stands on the pillow with his back paws facing my face, and then drapes himself over me, making sure that his fuzzy fur goes up my nose. Bonus points for scratching my face while getting into the correct position. I also have to be sure my hands are hidden, or he’ll scratch them, and he also enjoys biting my nose, usually right after I’ve finally drifted off to sleep.

He’s been doing this since he was two months old, but now he’s nearly nine months old and eight pounds, it’s a little less comfortable for Self. Amazingly, though, I can usually fall asleep, listening to him purr. His purr gets slower and spottier, then stops. And with a big sigh, he’s asleep. I find the sigh particularly charming for some reason. And somehow, I can never stay mad at the kitties. Even when they’ve kept me up half the night and it’s time to get up in the early morning darkness.

The storm seems to have blown out of here for now, leaving ragged clouds in a windswept blue sky and an inch and a half of rain in the rain gauge.

It rained so much and so steadily yesterday that the kitties had little to no interest in going outside. They did venture out a couple of times, returning soaking wet with their fur all spiky. Audrey however seems to have perfected the art of being outside in the rain without getting very wet. I doubt if she’ll share her secret with the hellions, though.

The boys found novel ways of entertaining themselves on a rainy day. Clyde climbed up onto the top shelf in the living room, shoving aside the antique stereopticon and the silver (which I see needs polishing) and started clawing at the curtains:

After I removed him, Roscoe picked up the baton in the relay race of naughtiness and kicked it up a notch. He climbed onto the shelf above the couch and into the painting. Yes, into. He is small enough to crouch on the frame from the back. For a heart-stopping moment, I could see the shape of his body against the canvas. I could just picture his little paw smashing through it.

I have to admit I screamed, which had no effect on the little miscreant, and was finally able to retrieve him with no harm done to picture or kitten, though my heart was racing.

Later, when I saw one of them perched on top of the case with the grandfather clock in it, about seven feet off the floor, it didn’t faze me in the slightest.

Spot the kitty, Thursday edition

It’s been a wild weather trip this week, my friends. Yesterday featured rain, wind, hail, sunshine, and thunder. It actually snowed on the higher elevations. My neighbor Jim was driving back to Hooterville from a shopping expedition to Santa Rosa when it started to snow. He took the opportunity to pull over, set up his camera on the dashboard, and take this movie of snow on highway 128 yesterday afternoon.

Oddly, on the way home last night I was thinking of how I’d like to do the same thing so you could enjoy my commute with me, beside the ocean, through the redwoods and quaint villages. Great minds think alike!

Snow seems to be on everyone’s minds lately here in Northern California, probably because it’s such a rarity. This morning, the San Francisco Chronicle ran an article with some truly delightful photos of snow in the city from the past century.

As for me, I’m still in my pajamas in the late morning gloom, glad I don’t have to drive to town in the pouring rain. It will be nice to curl up with the kitties and read with the rain pattering against the roof/walls.

The kittens have been enjoying the sunny weather as much as I have. Maybe more. I often don’t see them for hours at a time. But when I do, they’re usually doing something funny. Or at least photogenic.

The rare Tree Clyde in his natural habitat:

This is the best picture I could get before he shimmied down the tree. His claws kind of scared me as they dug into the bark. The boys are armed and dangerous!

Logging road Roscoe:

On Sunday, Roscoe came bouncing out of the bushes by the logging road to meet me. He was joined by Clyde. Then they chased each other somewhere. Just another day in the life of kittens!

A bucket o’ Clyde:

I discovered Clyde relaxing in the bucket of sawdust we used to plant the tulips. He seemed perfectly comfortable and hung out there for quite a while.

Rooftop Roscoe:

I went out to water (!) the tulips, and felt a claw on my head. This happens often when I clean out the litterbox, since it’s under a shelf, but I didn’t expect it on the side deck. I looked up, and there was Roscoe. You just never know where those kittens will be.

Not surprisingly, they are sleepy in the evenings. It’s the perfect time to cuddle by the heater:

Clyde takes a sunny bath in the garden

I was on the Golden Gate Bridge by 3:30 yesterday afternoon, leaving the city behind in a blaze of sunshine. The Bay looked like a postcard, with Alcatraz presiding grimly over blue water dotted with white sailboats. Traffic was fine, except for a minor slowdown near Santa Rosa. They’re adding a lane to the freeway there, so it’s a bottleneck during the construction phase.

The green hills of Sonoma were aglow in the sunset, touched with pink and gold as the sun left them behind. By the time I reached the majestic stands of redwoods, it was very nearly dark, and deep in the trees, it was dark enough to make me think uneasily of horror movies and things that go bump in the night. By the time I got to the ocean, though, I could see that it was still just barely pink at the very horizon.

When I got home, I discovered that Rob was there, working on another project. He was apparently more pleased to see me than the kitties were. Audrey seized the opportunity to run out the door, and the boys acted like they’d never seen me before and they weren’t too thrilled to be seeing me now. Rob told me that he’d had to wait hours for Audrey to come home the night before – she finally showed up around 9:00 pm. And one of the boys caught a mole and kept bringing it into the house. Both the kittens wanted lots of fussing and attention from their sitters, whereas Audrey barely tolerated their presence.

The usual.

I woke up this morning to still more sunshine and cloudless blue skies. At 3:00 in the afternoon, I’m still not wearing a sweater. Time to go and water the tulips!

Home away from home

Somehow, I managed to go to the vet’s office two days in a row.

Yesterday, I went with Megan to consult with an orthopedic surgeon about Schatzi, and this morning, I took Clyde and Roscoe in for their final kitten shots. Does this mean they’re all grown up?

Dr. Carl, the orthopedic surgeon, was a really nice guy. He examined Schatzi and her x-rays, and said that she has extremely bad arthritis in her hips as well as a problem with her spine. The spine problem, as my non-medical mind understood it, is that the discs between her vertebrae have worn away, and her body has built a bony bridge along them to keep them together. Apparently the problem will be if/when the bridge breaks, which can happen from something as simple as jumping out of the car. Or not.

To top it all off, she has cataracts.

So basically Schatzi is like Dorian Gray – all youthful on the outside, but messed up on the inside. Both Dr. Carl and Dr. Karen were surprised by how bad the arthritis and spine were, considering her activity level and lack of complaining. When Dr. Carl was testing her range of motion, Megan and I were both flinching, but Schatzi was stoic as ever. Dr. Carl was pretty impressed, and it was clear he was taken with her.

It’s going to be painkillers and carefulness from now on, though Megan is looking into alternative treatments, and I’ll keep you up to date on that.

The boys hopped into their carrying case on their own, which made things easier:

They threw up instead of pooping on the way there, which was a nice change. Clyde is now 8 pounds and Roscoe 9 pounds, which explains why the carrier felt so heavy. They were so good while they had their shots! Now that we’re home, Clyde is sleeping it off and Roscoe is out doing something in the sunshine.

I can’t help thinking how important the first year of life is. Schatzi’s was so terrible, and I believe that the ill treatment she suffered as a puppy, along with the lack of proper nutrients and having a litter way too young, has come back to haunt her in her old age. Whereas the boys are shiny and happy, have the best food possible, and have never known a day’s unhappiness. I’m glad that Schatzi is so loved and cared for now, but it seems so unfair that she’s still suffering, or suffering again, from what happened to her when she was young.

Audrey takes a nap

I really liked the typewriter theme, but the text didn’t wrap properly around the pictures, and it drove me crazy. So I went back to this old theme while I look for something new and fabulous. It’s always so hard to find form and function in one place, isn’t it?

It was raining hard this morning. I woke up to the rain drumming on the roof, Roscoe stretched out at my side and Clyde curled up on my pillow. Suddenly, they were galvanized into action and raced downstairs. I listened carefully, and through the racket the rain was making, I heard the distinctive sound of Audrey’s claws squeaking on the panes of glass in the front door. She always picks the door where I’m not, so it’s good to have the boys be the doorbell, especially early in the morning.

She is growling at them more than ever lately. It’s been five months now, and my hopes of her taking to them are beginning to evaporate. Maybe when the boys grow up and are less naughty she’ll approve of them a little more.

Last night, I let them out after dinner for about an hour, even though it was dark. It’s all part of my “worry less about the cats” resolution, but I have to admit that I was relieved when all three of them were in for the night. They may be happiest when they’re outside, but I’m happiest when they’re inside.

Clyde gets ready to look his best at the vet’s

You know, I’m really proud of the kittens. They were excellent hosts at Christmas, friendly and polite to the guests (Roscoe cuddled with Erica through most of “A Christmas Story” and charmed her into staying later than she intended). And today at the vet, they were relaxed and happy, charming Dr. Karen all over again as they explored the office:

I suspected that Roscoe was bigger than Clyde – and I was surprised by how heavy the carrier was with both of them in it. At nearly seven months old (on Saturday!), Clyde weighs 7 pounds, 15 ounces, and Roscoe is exactly a pound heavier. They’ve come a long way from the 3.3 pounds they weighed on their first trip to the vet’s back in August.

What are those for?

They had a rabies shot and an inoculation against feline leukemia, since they venture into the great outdoors. I’m proud to say that they didn’t make a peep or complain about the shots or the indignities of the exams. In two weeks, they’re going back for their final shots, and then they should be set for a while. It’s good to know that they’re healthy and happy.

Per Dr. Karen’s orders, they’re staying inside until tomorrow. As I write, they’re curled up together in their little bed by the heater, dreaming.

Christmas Roscoe

Christmas Clyde

If the kittens’ new year resolution was to drive me crazy, they’re off to a great start.

Although they know they aren’t allowed on the counter, that rarely, if ever, stops them from venturing up there. Clyde in particular likes to jump from the counter to the top of the cupboard, perching on the chest holding my grandmother’s silver while he bats at the (paper) lampshade. Another favorite spot is the top of the refrigerator, where fun can be had by tossing the box full of plastic wrap, tin foil, and other items to the floor, where they can be played with in comfort.

Today, they started things off with a bang by smashing a champagne glass*. I cleaned up the pieces, though undoubtedly I’ll be finding more weeks from now, when I least expect it. One less dish to wash!

My Brita pitcher is too tall to fit under the kitchen faucet, so I fill another pitcher with water and then pour it into the Brita. This morning, there was too much to fit in the Brita pitcher all at once, so I left the remaining water in Pitcher A and went to the bathroom. The boys seized the opportunity to jump on the forbidden counter and knock Pitcher A over, soaking counter, shelves and dishes beneath, and the floor, for good measure.

At least they didn’t knock the Brita pitcher over.

Later, while I was cleaning out the litterbox, Roscoe clawed merrily at my head from the shelf above.

He and Clyde were summarily ejected and haven’t been seen since.

I’m beginning to understand Audrey’s attitude.

While washing the dishes in the kitten-free peace and quiet, I cut my finger on a piece of broken champagne glass, embedded in the sponge.

Update: I tried Lisa’s suggestion of tin foil on the counter, but as she suspected, they are too naughty to be deterred:

It was worth a try!

*I have a theory that last year was so lousy because I didn’t welcome the new year and it got huffy with me. So this year, I had champagne and watched a couple of old movies, taking time out to see the festivities in other countries and on the east coast. Somehow, the New York celebration always seems like the “real” one to me.

I’m not the problem

It seems to have actually gotten darker out since I got up this morning.

This is getting up, Part III. Part I was letting Audrey out at 5 am (more or less), to do whatever it is she absolutely, totally, must do at that dark hour. Part II was letting the boys out a couple of hours later so I could sleep a little more and hopefully not dream. My dreams have been so weird for the past week that I wish I could climb up inside my head and clean it out. There’s obviously a lot of junk in there which needs to be gotten rid of once and for all.

When I finally got up for real-real, as Jessica would say, none of the cats were in sight, so I figured this would be my opportunity to set out the boys’ food without being harassed and mewed at, and to fill Audrey’s dish and put it away until she deigned to show up. Then I could drink coffee and read my fan mail in peace while thinking of something entertaining to write about.

Needless to say, it did not work out like that.

Clyde, who has turned out to be the howler and yowler around feeding time, was at the glass doors, peering in. I let him in and he raced to the dishes. I put Roscoe’s away, and went out and called the kitties. Nothing. I poured a cup of coffee and sat down. A few seconds later, Roscoe appeared, with a mangled bird in his mouth. I hate it when the cats kill birds. I know, I know, Nature and everything and it’s my fault for letting the cats out, but still.

Then Audrey joined him. For once, no growling as she inspected his handiwork. There was no way I was letting Roscoe in with that thing, but I couldn’t let Audrey in without letting Roscoe in.

This was too much thinking before coffee, especially since my brain remains cluttered and uncleaned.

I finished the coffee and let Clyde out the side door. Audrey came in and I put away the kittens’ food and put hers out. While she ate – she has a way of pushing her dish across the floor as she eats – I answered some work emails and completed the caffeination process. Then I let Audrey out and the kittens back in, putting their dishes out one more time. Part III, or Part CXI?

It’s been a busy morning.

It’s getting a little crowded. Clyde is on the top.

Roscoe and Clyde are six months old today! As you can see in the picture above, they are bigger than ever. I wonder how much longer they will both fit in Henry Etta’s old bed.

The other day, I caught all three of them sleeping on my bed. I’m willing to bet that Audrey was there first, and the kittens came up after she was asleep. She still growls at them several times a day and probably spends a lot of time plotting their demise. Not that you can tell from this:

It’s hard to tell that the boys are both there, unless you count ears, so here’s another angle:

When they are asleep, it’s hard to believe that they are as naughty as they are when they’re awake. Last night, I woke up to a crinkling noise. At first I thought that it was the kittens playing with the Christmas lights on the banister, but a bleary closer inspection revealed that they had somehow managed to open the drawer with the treats in it and bite the bag open. I had to remove them from the drawer no fewer than four times while relocating the treats to an undisclosed location. I have to admit I kind of admired their ingenuity and tenacity, though.

They still come racing into the house to use the litterbox, even though the whole outdoors is their salle de bains. I think they are still too young to get through the night without it, though. And it’s going to be hard to wean them off it when it’s cold and wet outside. I would like to be free of it, though. I had to keep it for Henry after we moved (since she rarely went outside) and then had to start it all over again when I got the boys. I think we all know who’s in charge here, and it’s not the humans.

I wrote this whole entry with my right hand, since Clyde is curled up purring with my left arm around him. I don’t think Clyde will ever be too grown-up to cuddle me. And I hope the boys don’t outgrow sleeping and playing together.

“You know, deck them halls and all that stuff.” — Lucy Van Pelt

Today the traditional three hour tour took four. And I still didn’t get everything done.

At the feed store, my order of kitten food and cat food were tantalizingly on the truck, which had not yet been unloaded. They weren’t sure when the unloading would take place, so I gave up on that and went across the street to buy a hose and an emergency light. I’ve lost one, and want to replace it before it’s needed. They looked at me like I was nuts and kept trying to sell me a flashlight. I have two flashlights, and I know where they are. I want a lantern-type battery powered lamp to read by when the power goes out.

And yes, I do know the difference between a flashlight and a lamp.

On to the hardware store, where I found a passable lamp, and bought Megan and Rob a coffeemaker on sale. Not for Christmas, for now. Rob came over this morning with the sad newses that the coffeemaker had irrevocably broken (and when Rob says that, you know it’s true) and that one of his ceramic projects had also been irrevocably broken. I had just admired it yesterday. He was putting it up on a shelf to keep it out of harm’s way when it fell to the floor and shattered. Sigh.

So I figured he wouldn’t want to wake up to no coffee tomorrow, and that Megan wouldn’t want to wake up to no coffee this afternoon. I got home around 1:00, so I was home well before she’d need caffeination. Though it also meant that the pharmacy was closed for lunch (it closes between 12:30 and 1:15, and the post office closes from 12:00 to 12:30), so I’ll have to try again another day.

I did, however, manage to buy some outside lights for the balcony, and put them up as soon as I got home. I love how the rain looks like snow in the picture – so festive!

If I can get over myself – and I think we can all agree that this is the hardest kind of recovery there is – I’ll risk climbing up the ladder to the weird storage space above the bathroom to get the wreath for the front door and the lights for the banister. I’m not even daring to think about a Christmas tree this year, though we could take bets on how long it takes to knock it over and which kitten does it first.

Late afternoon shadows on my house

Those of you who were perturbed by my Grinchy attitude toward Thanksgiving this year (and there were more of you than I would have thought) will be glad to see that I have already started my holiday decorations, at least around here.

I also started the Christmas card process today. I put on the Beach Boys’ Christmas sessions – what, I ask you, could be more festive than the Beach Boys on a chilly winter day – got out my green pen and the cards I bought on sale after Christmas last year, and my decaying address book. OK, decayed. I admit it. Dad bought it for me at the National Gallery many years ago, and it is now held together with a rubber band and hope. I can’t bring myself to buy a new one, though, mostly because of the names I’d have to leave out of it.

I started by addressing the non-American cards, since it takes at least a week for cards to reach our Northern neighbors, and presumably even longer for Europe. I then began to match the cards with the envelopes, only to discover that the cards required some assembly, as if they came from Ikea instead of Minnesota.

The assembly included tying on teeny pieces of red satin ribbon, which, when tied by Me, look nothing like the demonstration card which was on the top of the packs of cards and led me to believe that all the cards looked the same.

The assembly was hindered by the kittens, who had to jump up on the table to see what I was doing, and then “help” me by batting the ribbon onto the floor and playing with it into oblivion, when they weren’t assisting me with the tying itself. I ejected them into the woods, thinking of how our parents used to send us outside with instructions not to come back until lunch time, or bother them unless emergency services were required.

I now understand the wisdom of their ways.

After assembly was completed, I realized that I had to pull them apart in order to write my holiday greetings on them, and then put them back together again before putting them in the envelopes. The hard-won ribbons tended to peek out at odd angles, so I mostly ended up kind of slamming the envelope shut and hoping for the best. Note to Self: just plain letterpress next year, please.

It’s a sunny morning, and you know what that means. It’s still barely 32F/0C outside. I’m drinking hot, black coffee from my tiny, as yet unbroken cup. The kittens are sharpening their claws on the records (a few days ago, I discovered the damage they had done to the Martin Denny section and walked away, counting to a thousand and reminding myself to be zen). The kittens have an amazing ability to tell which things are really important to me. A few days ago, they broke one of my grandmother’s antique wine glasses, and I finally packed up my birthday lamp and put it away when they knocked it over eight too many times.

Audrey has left the house in kitten disgust, as she does after every meal, and Schatzi just strolled by in her bright blue sweater.

I used to try and bring her back home, but mostly, by the time I’d put on shoes and another sweater, she had wandered off again. Now I look forward to her brief, tail-wagging visits in the morning.

Perusing the local newspaper, which is published once a week, I came across the following classified ad: “GOATS WANTED for brush control not for eating. 9xx-xxxx”

Country living.

Saturday morning hail

Ah, twenty-nine degrees. Bilingually unpleasant, both in Fahrenheit and Celsius. It happens to be the F version here in Hooterville this morning. We knew there was a freeze warning through tomorrow, so I brought in the orchid, fuchsia, geraniums, and marigolds, which were still valiantly blooming.

I also left the heater on at 52 degrees when I went to bed last night – about the temperature it usually is in the house in the morning if I leave the heater off, which I usually do. I heard it come on four times during in the night, meaning it was warming up the house to 52. And that’s just the times I heard.

Roscoe stayed Henry-style in the cozy bed by the heater all night, while Clyde (now being held in my left arm) slept on my pillow and Audrey slept beside me. As an aside, I think Clyde likes her and really wants to be her friend. He’s getting closer. Here they are a couple of days ago:

I’m up so early because I let Audrey out and didn’t want to leave her out there in the freezing cold for hours while I slept and didn’t hear her asking to come in. As I write, the frosty, almost-full moon is shining through the skylight, and I have a blanket around me. And she’s still playing around out there, so I may have once more been The Worrier.

It’s been a wintry kind of week. On Saturday, we had first hail of the season, and of the kittens’ lives. They were fascinated by the sight and sound of the hail, which was accompanied by thunder. I couldn’t see any lightning, but my sister, working an extra twelve hour shift, called me from work to ask me to check on Schatzi (Star was with Rob), and she said they had lightning in town.

I ran over there with a nearly-pointless umbrella, wearing my waterproof sneakers, and Schatzi was asleep, one of the benefits of losing one’s hearing, or nearly so. She was still happy to see me, though, so I petted her for while until she went back to sleep and I slid back home.

Welcome Home!

Note: Looks like the Doc fixed the comments. So comment away! Don’t be shy!

My last morning in San Francisco was nothing but a foodapalooza. I started out with breakfast at Polker’s, where I had eggs scrambled with fresh herbs, zucchini, and tomatoes, and enjoyed the parade of passers-by. I walked back to the motel in the sunshine, packed up the car, and headed back to Polk Street. First stop was Bob’s Doughnuts, with its perennially cheerful cashier, and next was Victor’s, where I picked up Thursday Night Dinner. Not exactly new, but the first time we’ve had it this year.

The last stop was the gas station, where it cost $41 to fill the car. Gas in the big city is $3.31 a gallon, instead of the relatively modest $3.03 in Fort Bragg. Good thing I can expense it.

I set off across the familiar Golden Gate Bridge, feeling a pang as always as the dreaming spires of San Francisco dwindled in the rearview mirror. I don’t think I’ll ever really feel that it’s not home.

I stopped off at Gowan’s fruit and vegetable stand. Here you can see some of their many apple trees:

This is the view across the road. I love the rolling hills and the live oaks.

When I got home, the cats were definitely happy to see me, even though Rob and Megan had spent time with them and petted them while I was gone. They have all slept with me every night since. This morning, I woke up to Roscoe sleeping against my chest (I sleep on my side, and he stretches out full length along my body), Clyde curled around my head with his head on my ear, and Audrey at my feet. I love hearing them purr until they fall asleep. The purr gets slower, then patchy, then there’s a big sigh and it’s dreamtime.

It turns out that I was over my quota, and that’s why the pictures wouldn’t load. So I did overdo it with the new camera. Fortunately, my fabulous friend (and hostess with the mostes’) Candi* doubled my capacity and fixed the problem. Let’s see how long it takes me to use it up!

The cats are completely undeceived by the madness of the time change. This means that Audrey thinks any time after 4:00 am is the perfect time to wake me up so she can venture out in the cold darkness to do whatever it is that’s so important for her to do. I will never understand why she wants to go out in the cold and/or rain instead of staying warm and cozy in the house. Aren’t cats supposed to hate water?

They all tell me how hungry they are starting at 7:00 am (the new 8:00) and again around 4:00 (the new 5:00). Maybe we should listen to animals and our own instincts and make the madness stop. Are you with me?

The boys have figured out that I’m actually available all night, and not just after Audrey goes out on her early morning prowl. Clyde in particular likes sleeping on my face or on my pillow. Roscoe tends to just curl up next to me, while Audrey is either on the foot of the bed or in her chair. So far, there hasn’t been much intra-feline growling and spitting, though there is the occasional bite to my nose and hands, thanks to the kittens. If I hide my hands under the covers, they just go under the covers to pursue the biting, which results in their ejection. They just boomerang back, though.

They have also become inventive in their choice of toys.

The other day, Clyde appeared with something in his mouth, making that “Hey, I killed something! Aren’t you proud of me?” noise. On closer inspection, it turned out to be half of a battered mussel shell. I have no idea where he found it.

He enjoyed the clattering sound it made when he dropped it on the wood floor and batted it around much more than I did.

This morning, Roscoe showed up with something unidentifiable in his mouth, which was one of my woolen gloves:

Apparently, he found the basket where I store my gloves, hats, and mittens and helped himself. No matter how many times I put the glove away, he still finds it.

Finally, here’s a picture of Clyde relaxing on Sunday afternoon:

Doesn’t every basket of clean laundry need a nice, healthy dose of cat hair? Black is the new black.

*You can blame Candi for my blogging in the first place. She set it all up and got me started almost ten years ago, saying, “You have things to say and should have a place to say them.”