Suzy Says

My sister’s car was parked in my driveway this morning, and I’m sure it wasn’t there last night.

She was so stressed and sleep-deprived yesterday that Rob took her to work last night and Jonathan picked her up this morning, bright and early at 6 am, once again making him the best brother ever. So the car’s presence here was even stranger.

Later I found it was because Lu thought she might drop off a load of wood at Megan’s so Rob moved the car to make way for the potential transaction.

And I thought it was because being seen in my driveway had such cachet.

Less mysterious, but still delightful, was the dozen Betty eggs she left on my table. Betty’s hens are laying again now that spring is closer.

In other mysteries, whenever I go to town and pick up an armload of books from the library, as I did yesterday, I almost invariably find more have arrived by the time I get home or check my library holds the next day. How do they do it?

And why do the cats claw the hell out of the wood on either side of the door when they have a woods full of trees all around them? It isn’t just Audrey clawing frantically to go in or out, either, since that is done by clawing the glass in the door for extra squeak. June claws the house, too, and Megan’s cats do the same thing at their house. Why? Why?

The ways of cats are inscrutable. I love it when I let them in one door and they walk straight to another door and ask to be let out of that one. Just because they can, I guess.

Perfectly innocent

So are the cats of our lives…

On Thursday night, I made yet another unnecessarily elaborate dinner at my sister’s house. My sis happens to have a much better equipped cuisine than I do, even though she – if you can believe this – has even less counter space. In fact, my very act of choosing to cook at her place led to a flurry of cleaning off the old wooden table in her kitchen to give me a little more operating room.

After the long-awaited dinner*, Harriet showed up with a mouse in her mouth. I opened the front door but she ran upstairs. Later, we discovered that Harriet had left the (dead) mouse under the coffee table Dad made out of an ancient door. Meg’s first step, unsteadily, was taken from that table, which she held onto before letting go and walking into her life. She never looked back.

Fearing for Jinx and my brother in almost equal measure, I went over to his place last night and called the cat with no real hope of success. I left an open can of very good quality cat food on an outside table for him, and called him for almost an hour with no results. As I walked around the bushes and the shipping container and the shed and the trailer with my flashlight, I thought, “Well, there’s a million places he could be.” I didn’t even raise Twilley, who was undoubtedly thrilled to be released from his unaccustomed prison.

I called my brother and told him of my lame efforts, and he was really touched. I told him how surprised I was to be so upset by the loss of a cat I never knew, and offered the hope of a Hav-A-Hart trap baited with something really good. The truth is, my brother does so much for me, and I can do so little for him. This was all I could do, other than locking the gate when I left, which he appreciated.

That’s another story, and it’s not a nice one, having to do with the kind of people who will knock down your gate and steal your redwoods for profit.

When I got home, I horrified June and Audrey by sweeping them into my arms and hugging them, making them wiggle frantically to escape my maniacal clutches. I was just so glad they were safe. All night my thoughts kept turning to Jinx, out there in the deep country darkness.

Henry Etta distracted me from these morbid thoughts (and the finale of “Monk”, which was excellent) by jumping onto my lap. I petted her messy fur and was glad she was safe forever from the perils of the Oakland streets. When the heater went on, she dumped me in its favor as usual, but she left a not so lovely parting gift. Unwisely putting my hand on the couch cover, I discovered an even bigger gift there. I took off the couch cover, changed into my pajamas, and threw the whole mess into the washer.

Then I got a paper towel, dampened it with warm water, and wiped Miss Henry’s butt with it. After I threw out the paper towel, it occurred to me how remarkable it was that she actually allowed me yank up her tail and undignify her like that without resorting to hissing or clawing.

I am now keeping a tea towel on my lap at all times in self-defense.

Note to Self: better throw that cat bed into the wash, too.

*It was manicotti, stuffed with turkey sausage and fresh spinach, etc. I deviated freely from the recipe. It turned out well, but stuffing the manicotti is a skill I didn’t pick up when I lived in Italy for a few months. If only I’d thought to ask!

Dear Readers,

At the best of times, the inside of my head looks like a particularly untidy attic. And since I seem to be coming down with a cold or similar (it’s hard to tell when you have allergies; they’re like an unending cold), it’s not the best of times for my two little brain cells.

My brother woke me up from weird dreams this morning (the kind which convince you that you are, in fact, secretly psychotic) to ask me what to do about his cats. Twilley is annoyed at being kept inside and may also be annoyed by the invasion of his petite domain by the new cat.

The new cat is still hiding in the shower, which, apart from hygiene concerns, is concerning.

I think new cats can hide for much longer than 48 hours, but does anyone have any experience with this?

Also, should we let Twilley out? I’m afraid he’ll be all annoyed and take off, but he does know where he lives now and where his food is, so hopefully his little tabby nose isn’t too much out of joint to come back home.

My brother was on his way to work for a 12 hour shift, so I said to leave them both in and I’d check on them later, so that’s what we did for today.

Do let me know your suggestions/thoughts/ideas as soon as you can, either in the comments or by emailing me at sjpeakall AT gmail DOT com.

Thanks from the kitties and the people who love them,

Suzy
Update, Friday, 7 pm: Well, they managed to get out while my brother was at work. ~sigh~ I just went over with a can of food and called them, but needless to say, no response. Left the open can of food on an outside table and hope Jinx will find it. Hope he isn’t too scared to reappear. I’m so sad and I never even met this cat!

As you know, I’m getting pretty tired of being the cat doorman. Well, Audrey’s doorman, especially several times in the middle of the night. As a family, we tend to sleep poorly, so being woken up multiple times by the Audrometer in addition has led to chronic sleepiness for me. Last night, I decided to leave the balcony door slightly ajar, so Audrey could come or go as she liked. I expected to find the door blasted open in the middle of the night, but no. And it was great to get a real night’s sleep, such as it was. I imagine parents feel the same way when their baby finally sleeps through the night.

In other cat news, my brother has adopted a young black and white male named Jinx. He used to have two adorable tuxedo brothers named Thing One and Thing Two, but they disappeared (in order, actually). After One disappeared, he adopted Twilley, a handsome tabby who agrees with Audrey about the importance of hunting at all times. Twilley and Two spent a lot of time together until Two also vanished. Twilley has been very lonely, especially when Jonathan works overnight, so getting a companion seemed like a good idea.

Jinx was quiet all the way from the animal shelter to Jonathan’s place. Released from his box, he went crazy, racing back and forth in the (very) limited confines of the trailer, leaping up on the counters, spraying pots and pans everywhere. I just called to check on him and he is now hiding in the shower while my brother attempts to restore order to his domain. Twilley is bemused. Keeping them inside for the prescribed two weeks is going to be…interesting.

By the way: I forgot to mention that I finally remembered to bring Jessica her nicely wrapped Christmas present (either really late or really early – you decide) on Sunday. She was so impressed with the wrapping that she was reluctant to open it, probably a first for both of us. As soon as she took off the snowflake pin, she put it on her coat (and later, when it warmed up at the fair and she took her coat off, she put it on her t-shirt). I’m glad I was momentarily mature enough to give it to her instead of keeping it. The light-up snowman pen was a big hit, too. She used it to write down all our cell phone numbers and put them in her pocket in case we got separated at the fair. This was her idea. What else would you expect from a six year old who reads at an advanced sixth grade level?

*If I had been old enough to have my own place in the 1970s, I would have had an “etc” sign on the wall, just like Rhoda. I loved her apartment on the first couple of seasons of “Rhoda”. The terrace alone! I also loved MTM’s little studio apartment. I love mentally redecorating both of them when I watch those shows, too.

I do too fit!

Last night, Megan and I had a girls’ night in. Schatzi came, too, sporting a cute new collar* which unfortunately doesn’t really show up in this picture. Also it kind of gives her demon eyes, but it was so funny I had to post it anyway. After a couple of glasses of wine, Megan observed that it really was a girls’ night, since all three cats and the dog in attendance are girls. Coincidentally, Megan’s cats, Ramona (the Pest) and Harriet (the Spy) are sisters, but our brother has only ever had boy cats.

As we binged on “Sex and the City” and junk food, it soon became apparent that Henry Etta likes Schatzi.

Yes, this is the same cat who was so spooked by hearing dogs bark in a movie that she fled the room just a couple of months ago. Now, if Schatzi is curled up next to Megan and not me (dogs are always welcome on my couch), Henry will sit on her lap to be closer to Schatzi. She has sat close enough to touch the dog. If Schatzi is sitting or lying on the floor, Henry approaches her and sniffs her carefully. Schatzi is always polite to cats, so she takes this attention in stride, but I still think it’s funny that my stray cat has a crush on a pit bull.

When Henry went for a snack break, Schatzi seized the opportunity to try on Henry’s bed for size. Being a dainty-sized dog, she sort of fit, and clearly found it as comfortable as Henry Etta does. Though she gracefully gave it up when its owner returned. No wonder Henry has a crush on her!

*Just in time for Fashion Week**. It’s a soft yellow, and patterned with little flowers which might be daisies or might be sunflowers. Either way, it brings out her brindle coloring very nicely.
**Rest in peace, Alexander McQueen. So sad.

Every morning, I make coffee and then clean up the cat barf. It’s quite the glamorous life.

Maybe part of the reason Henry Etta is so tiny is that she pukes so much. Is bulimia popular among neurotic cats of a certain age?

Feeding the cats has changed quite a bit since we moved. June is still generally the most interested, and often reminds me when feeding time is as close as an hour away, but just as often lies there languidly when I put food in the dishes. June and Audrey used to only eat out of their own dishes, but now it’s a kind of free-for-all. Audrey spends so much time outside now that I rarely see her eat in the house, though I’m sure she does.

Henry has taken up the slack and is almost always the first one there, though she just nibbles a little and then retires to her cushion. Although I’m glad that she’s finally enjoying the cushy bed I bought her almost three years ago, the down side is that she doesn’t sit on my lap as much. However, she does have an uncanny ability to sit with me right before the phone rings or I have to get up for some other reason, and then I feel guilty about moving her fragile little body to deal with whatever I have to deal with.

The Sea Flex and metacam have worked wonders, and Henry Etta can run and jump better than before. But no matter what I do, her fur is always scruffy, her whiskers bent, and she is still less than five pounds.

Audrey the Adventuress has been worrying months off my rapidly diminishing life. As you know, my original plan was to keep the cats in after dinner, but my original plan failed. Plan B was to have everyone in before I went to bed, and that’s been partially successful. June is almost always in at bed time, and busy getting her 18 hours of beauty sleep (which I’m convinced is the secret to her loveliness), and Henry Etta rarely bothers with Nature, but Audrey is usually out and about, even when it’s raining, cold, and completely unappealing to Self.

Those of you who have cats in your lives will know that calling them is futile. Not that it stops me. But I hate going to bed without all the cats safely in the house. A few nights ago, Audrey went out at 8 pm and didn’t come home until 4 am, which I greeted with any parent’s enthusiasm. I was up every hour that night, calling her, and I left all the outside lights on, thinking that it would deter predators, though maybe it would just make it easier for them to see a little brown tabby at night.

The thing is, if I let her out during the night for an hour or so, I just go back to bed. So even for a neurosis, it’s completely irrational. But Megan has had one cat vanish into the woods, and Jonathan has had three over the fifteen years he’s lived here, so the odds may not be all that much in Audrey’s favor.

Still, I think my brother is probably right, and if I could sit Audrey down and explain all the risks to her, she’d still pick the uncertainty of outdoors over the certainty of indoors. And she wouldn’t have become her total Adventurous Audrey self if she’d been kept inside. I guess everything really is a trade-off.

Yesterday, Megan met up with Lu in Mendocino. I was planning to make dinner* at Meg’s house that evening, and she called me from town to see if there were any last-minute ingredients I needed.

She called me from Lu’s phone, though, because her own had decided to jump suicidally into a public toilet.

Lu, in the next stall, heard Meg’s vocal despair and asked what was wrong. When she heard what it was, she said, “You’re on your own, kid.”

You really are in a situation like that.

Meg retrieved it, dried it off, and treated it with hand sanitizer that she always carries with her, just for occasions like this. Lu reminded her to remove the battery.

I’m sorry to say I laughed when my sister called me and told me about her potty phone.

On the bright side, they were able to assist at a car accident until the ambulance came. Nothing gladdens the heart of an off-duty EMT more. And they demoted my brother to traffic duty at the scene, which made it even more fun. When he arrived for dinner, bearing home-made cinnamon rolls, the first thing he said was, “Hey, you bogarted my call!”

I made chicken with cornmeal dumplings, and we had wine and talked. It was great having Lu there. Her schedule makes it really hard to get together, but now she’s convalescing from her ankle injury, we get to see her more often. She had just had a “cold laser” treatment, which magically removed the swelling and made it much easier for her to walk. Amazing.

As I walked home with my bag – when I go to my sister’s house, I pack an extra sweater, and a flashlight, along with any ingredients needed, borrowed books, Tupperware, etc.** – my flashlight spotlit June, who walked me home under the stars.

*We usually decide what to make by comparing the contents of our refrigerators, freezers and pantries and going from there. The dish with the least ingredients to buy and/or the easiest to make is the winner. Though sometimes we try new things. It’s always more fun together.

**My dream is to have one of those Radio Flyer red wagons to carry things in. But they’re surprisingly expensive. And anyway they’d probably flip over on the puddled, rutted dirt driveway. But a girl can dream, especially at night.

Clearly, June knows how to spend a dark, rainy day. Even if her blanket of choice does clash a little with her orange fur.

Here you can see her multi-colored pads, to match her multi-colored fur. One of life’s enduring mysteries is how June can keep her white fur snowy white when our house is surrounded by mud. And I can’t keep the mud out of the house or the car. What’s her secret?

Henry Etta gets comfortable

On the Sunday Megan and I wallowed in “Gone with the Wind”, we noticed that all was not well with Henry Etta.

Though she’s always had a stumbling, arthritic walk, this was really bad. Henry dragged her back leg behind her when she walked, and you would be surprised by the noise the lame leg of a four and a half pound cat can make on a wood floor. It was horrifying to watch her drag herself through the cat door.

As I gazed at my sweet girl in horror, Megan swung into action and called Dr. Karen. Yes, we have our vet’s home number and cell number. And she called us right back. I could hear her family in the background as we spoke.

She suggested metacam, which is basically ibuprophen for cats, and treats with glucosamine and chondroitin called Sea Flex, carefully calculating the dosage for the tiny old cat. She said that she’d be in her old office in Fort Bragg on Wednesday and could dispense the meds there. This wasn’t good enough for the EMT in the family. Before Meg went to work on Monday night, she went to the Feed and Pet and picked up the Sea Flex.

She also stopped by Lu’s house, and it turned out that Lu had some metacam on hand from one of her cats’ past illnesses, and being Lu, gave the whole thing to Meg to give to me.

Anxious about Henry Etta, I slept badly that night, and woke when I heard Meg come in early on Tuesday morning – the same day I was leaving for the city. She dosed Henry Etta and said she’d come by each morning to do so while I was away, and that Rob would keep an eye on Henry Etta while I was gone.

Meg called me on Tuesday afternoon before she went to work to tell me that Henry was already better! And on Wednesday morning, Henry Etta actually ran to the door to meet Megan. Just one dose made such a difference!

Before I left, I put the cuddly bed you see above right next to the heater. This is the same bed I bought her years ago and which used to be under the porch in Oakland. She had scorned it since we moved here, but now it’s her place of choice. I’m happy that June and Audrey have left her alone on it and not tried to take it over or harass her.

Now I give her metacam every 72 hours and Sea Flex every day. She seems well and happy. I feel guilty that I didn’t notice it sooner and worry that she was in pain for a long time before I noticed. I’m just glad that we were able to help her. And I love how my sister is an EMT for animals as well as people.

The new vet office

On Sunday, Megan, Jonathan, a still-limping Lu and I met up to attend Dr. Karen’s grand opening of her vet office in Mendocino. It’s the first time she’s had her very own practice, and she put all her heart and resources into it. She renovated the little house you see on the left, so it now has a reception area, waiting room, and two exam rooms.

A boardwalk leads from the office to a barn, converted to a surgery:

The surgery has a digital x-ray machine which Meg says is better than the one the hospital has. The idea of having the surgery separate is that animals coming in for other reasons won’t have to smell the anesthesia and get scared or upset. The practice offers holistic medicine along with more traditional methods of treatment and care. In time, there will be outdoor kennels so patients can take the air when the weather is nice.

As you can see, the grand opening was packed. There were lines to write in the guest book, and you could hardly walk around in there for all the people wanting to congratulate Dr. Karen. I don’t think she has to worry about making it on her own any more than Mary Tyler Moore did.

I had the genius idea of giving her a gift certificate for a massage at a spa conveniently located a block or two from the office. I figured she was stressed as well as excited at striking out on her own and dealing with the reno, and thought this would be more welcome than a bunch of flowers. We all chipped in and I hope she has a wonderful, relaxing time. To me it’s much like having a friend who’s given birth. Everyone gives gifts* to the baby but nothing to the mother (other than flowers), who has been through hell for almost a year. I think Moms should have something special just for her, and I thought Karen should, too.

On our way home, I noticed some signs of approaching spring, including this flowering vine near Karen’s office:

and a lovely cherry tree beginning to blossom:

*From what I hear, people tend to give newborn sized clothes, so after a couple of months, the baby has outgrown most of his/her wardrobe.

Dazzled with glittery splendidness, I headed to 19th Avenue to start the trip home.

As I sped through the retro tunnel on Park Presidio, I tried (and failed) to remember the last time I had approached the Golden Gate Bridge this way. It was fun to take a different route, though it was sad to bid farewell to the beautiful city, gleaming in the pale, watery winter sunshine.

I have to say that it is so much easier and faster to go from Hooterville to San Francisco than it is to Oakland. Going to the East Bay adds anything from half an hour to an hour to the trip. And it’s much less scenic.

I stopped off in Boonville to give Erica and Jessica their long-delayed Christmas stockings and presents. Being Me, I managed forget my own gift for Jessica. Yes, the one I finally did a good wrapping job on. But she hardly noticed in the blizzard of gifts from Megan and Rob, Jonathan, and Lu. I noticed that she opened each one, spent some time looking at it and showing it to her friends who happened to be on hand, and then went on to the next one.

She also asked her mother if she could have a chocolate coin from her stocking, and then shared the remainder with her friends.

Their schedules are so hectic these days that it’s hard for them to visit. Meg and I are planning on going to get Jessica and keep her for a weekend soon.

Hugged and kissed, I went on my way. I noticed that it was not yet dark at 5:00, and that there were daffodils in the grass by the side of the road. The river had definitely receded.

When I got home, I was disappointed at the lack of greeting committee. Henry Etta didn’t bother getting up, and June and Audrey were nowhere to be seen (they didn’t reappear until 10:00 that night). I called Meg to tell her I was home, and of course her greeting and Rob’s made up for the cats’ lack thereof. Humans: picking up cat slack for thousands of years and counting!

We all enjoyed the extreme pizza delivery extremely. I think I’ll try and do that every time I go to the city.

Exhibit A

Thursday night is my turn to make dinner.

Megan finishes her three, 12 hour night shifts on Thursday morning, so she’s too tired to dream up or whip up dinner. I have to say I’m really glad to take that small burden from her.

I usually start thinking about what to make on Thursday on Sunday afternoon. I look through my collection of recipes and my Dad’s, and if I don’t find inspiration there, I turn to Sunset and Epicurious. I love Sunset because it’s written for a Western audience and knows what’s in season here. And Epicurious has recipes from many magazines, including Gourmet and Bon Appetit, all in one place.

Yesterday’s inspiration for shrimp chowder came from Epicurious, and you can find the recipe here. I left out the fennel seeds, thinking it would be too much, and added the red pepper flakes. I substituted half and half for the heavy cream. It was a big hit. I served it with a simple salad of curly endive and radicchio (in the newly-rediscovered wooden salad bowl my parents used when I was a kid) along with a salad dressing I made with garlic, seedy mustard, olive oil, red wine vinegar, black pepper, and tarragon. Add in a loaf of ciabatta from Costeaux bakery, and dinner’s ready!

As good as dinner was, it was what happened after dinner that was really wonderful.

Audrey climbed up onto my sister’s lap, put her arms around Megan’s neck, and fell asleep with her face cuddled up to Megan’s. She stayed there for at least an hour. In the meantime, Henry Etta had curled up* next to me and fallen asleep. Audrey slowly drooped down my sister’s arm while she slept, her face eventually coming to rest against Henry’s back. She stayed like that for a while, then got up, stretched, and curled up next to Henry Etta (see above). They were actually touching!

This is a first, and I hope it’s not the last. Henry Etta is always cold, and it would be nice for her fragile old bones to cuddle up to warm, strong Audrey.

And speaking of old cats: you’ll be glad to hear that Gertie has moved in with Rose’s daughter and is doing well.

*This is a big step forward. She used to just huddle anxiously, even in her sleep, ready for takeoff if anything happened. Also I can now pet her in her sleep without getting clawed.

Well, my new year’s resolutions, like so many people’s, didn’t last long.

This morning, I tripped over June, who was milling around under my sleepy feet as I came downstairs. This is June’s way of reminding me that she’s ready for breakfast, even if it’s an hour or more before the appointed hour of 9:00, when breakfast is served.

Fortunately, I was only two steps from the bottom of the stairs, so damage to Self was minimal. I’ll probably have a bruised elbow, but that’s it. In the interests of honesty, though, this probably means I’m back to square one on trying not to damage Self. I went half a month injury-free, though, so yay me!

As I fed the cats, which entails stepping carefully onto a little wooden chest, then onto the studio floor, then up a step into the laundry room/pantry/cat dining room, it occurred to me that this is the first time I’ve lived in a house with stairs since I left my parents’ house. Maybe practice makes perfect and I need more stair experience and less experiments in gravity.

The Audrometer failed to go off this morning.

It was confusing to wake up in daylight, at the civilized hour of 8:30, without the usual 4:30 wake-up call. June followed me downstairs, and Henry Etta was peacefully ensconced in her nest on the couch (until I put up the heat and she abandoned the couch to hug the heater). No sign of Audrey.

I went outside and called her, thinking that somehow she must have escaped her nightly prison and thus not needed to wake up the warden. No answer, though June came with me to help.

No sign of Audrey.

I went back inside to make coffee – yes, I was worried enough about Audrey to look for her before making coffee – and while the coffee was brewing, went to get a sweater to ward off the morning chill. When I opened the drawer, there was Audrey, blinking and surprised, though not as surprised as I was. How had she gotten in there and closed the drawer behind her?

Last night, she burst through the cat door with a mouse in her mouth. I chased her into the bathroom and shut the door, then went out to open the other bathroom door, which opens from the back porch (this has proved to be more useful than I originally thought), so she and her prey could go back outside. No mouse in my house, is my motto.

It was a bad day for vermin yesterday. Henry Etta made one of her rare forays into the equally rare sun, and barely five minutes later was happily lunching on a mouse on the sunny bench. I think she ate the whole thing, since I didn’t find any leftovers. Cat sushi.

On my way back into the house, I noticed a dead mole. They are really weird-looking creatures, and apparently there’s something weird about their fur, too, and cats don’t eat them. So that means I get to add “mole remover” to my duties as cat doorman.

I’m beginning to think that I might as well get a cat door that goes from the outside to the inside, as well as the one going from the studio to the main house. I’ll lock it when I go to bed and hope for the best. As my brother says, rather grandly: “I don’t open doors for cats.”

Whoever set the Audrometer to go off at 4:30 – enough already!

This seems to be her favorite time to get up in the morning, even though it’s pitch black out and makes me really crabby. Now I don’t even bother to put on my glasses. I just lurch out of bed, open the door, and crawl back into bed, swearing. June sleeps through the whole thing (on the bed) and so does Henry Etta (on the duvet on the couch).

This morning, I let Audrey out on time and went back to sleep until 8:00 or so. I went downstairs to make coffee, and while I was in the middle of it, I heard the balcony door rattling and squeaking upstairs as Audrey demanded to be let in. I finished the coffeemaking process and went outside to the porch to call her, hoping that she’d come downstairs instead of my having to go back upstairs (this is why I never make a new year’s resolution to be less slothful. Never going to happen, my friend).

Of course she didn’t, since Audrey’s goal is never to make my life easier. While I was calling her, I felt something cold and damp poke my butt. Turning around in surprise, I looked into Lucky’s huge brown eyes. I moved away quickly before she could start eating my pajamas, remembering how she ate the futon filling with evident enjoyment.

I went back into the house and upstairs to let Audrey in.

I have to admit that I’m getting pretty tired of being a cat doorman. The pay is terrible, and they never tip me, even at Christmas. I’ve been thinking about putting in a cat door to the outside – the one I have is between the house and the cold storage – but then the cats could bring in mice and birds during the day, though I’d lock it at night. I saw June catch a mouse today and spend ages playing with the hapless creature*. Needless to say, I was repulsed by the whole thing, and when I told my sister about it, she trumped me as usual. One of her cats had left a dead and dismembered bird right by the bed.

That’s worse than being woken up by the Audrometer.

*It’s a lot easier to feel sorry for mice when they are outside and behind glass. Or in a Beatrix Potter story, wearing little hats and waistcoats.

Sunny June

Like girl, like cat:

I was doing the dishes when I heard a thud. I turned around and saw that June had fallen off the sleeping loft and landed on the floor with a thud.

Unlike Me, she didn’t break the floor or her ribs. She sat up, looking a little surprised, and had an emergency bath – the kind that’s cat for “I’m really embarrassed and pretending it never happened.” I picked her up and cuddled her, and she purred while patting my face with her little white paw, so she seemed to be fine.

Audrey peered over the edge of the loft and pattered quickly down the stairs, then sniffed June anxiously. After joining in the emergency bath, they both went to the sliding doors and I let them out to play.

Later, when Schatzi and I came back from our walk on the logging road behind the house, June was waiting at the entrance to the road. When she saw the dog, she puffed up hugely. Schatzi looked away, and we sneaked past June, with me next to June so she couldn’t jump on Schatzi, who knows all about cats and their claws, thank you very much.

When I sat down to work again, Henry jumped up on my lap instantly. I used to think the shortest possible length of time was between a traffic light turning green and someone honking their horn, but now I think it’s between me sitting down and Henry jumping onto my lap, purring.

As you can see, I’ve had a hard time getting used to “Henrietta”. I’ve called her “Henry” for two years now, and it’s hard to break the habit. I’ve decided that “Etta” is her middle name, and no-one calls me by my middle name. At least, not anymore (why is it that saying your whole name is the international symbol for “You are in a boatload of trouble?”). So her whole name is now Henry Etta James, though she’ll answer to Henry or Henry Etta or any variable.

Or not.

After all, she is a cat.

It’s that feral cat again*.

Here’s Henrietta, relaxing on the duvet in the sunlight. The only thing better than the heater is sunlight in her world. Even when it’s cold outside, the California sun has its warmth.

This evening, she was cuddled up to me, and I petted her as I watched the final, heart-wrenching episode of the latest season of “Mad Men”. I wondered if she had ever dreamed of sleeping safely on a duvet on a couch, with the heater on and petting on demand, and a limitless supply of food. Or did she, in the dark, scary Oakland nights, wish for nothing but safety and warmth, and not sweat the small stuff?

When our journey started, I never imagined that she’d ever sit on my lap, or be so trusting. She’s come a long way in the mere two months that we’ve lived together.

On Christmas Eve, I spotted her sitting on a bench, basking in the sunlight. I rushed out to take a blurry picture of her before she moved:

I was so glad to see her feeling safe enough to go outside and enjoy the sun. As I watched her, I remembered how my father loved to feel the sun when he visited us from England, and recalled one particular Christmas Eve when it was warm enough to have a picnic on the beach at Point Reyes. Somewhere in The Boxes is one of my favorite pictures of Dad, taken that day as he strolled in the surf laughing, lifting his face up to the sun.

*I overheard one vet technician tell another one that when I brought Henrietta in the second time.

A day of naughtiness really takes it out of you.

Audrey has expanded her repertoire of victims to include birds now. By the time I saw her with it, it was too late, and all I could do was shudder and pity the poor creature. Nature, as my stepmother used to point out in her rich, golden voice, is red in tooth and claw, but I can’t change this Nature channel.

If the early bird gets the worm, the early cat presumably gets the early bird. And mice. So Audrey, after about twelve hours of beauty sleep, is ready to go out and hunt in the dark, pre-dawn hours. She alerts me to her schedule by clawing the glass in the balcony door.

I have considerably less enthusiasm for getting up in the dark than Audrey does, and I figure if I get up and let her out, it will only encourage her (not that encouragement appears to be necessary). So last night, I equipped my otherwise elegant bedside table with an ugly plastic spray bottle filled with water. When the inevitable Audrey alarm went off, I grabbed the bottle and squirted in her general direction.

Pause.

Scrabble-squeak-thump-scrabble-squeak-squeak-squeak!!

Squirt.

Silence.

I subsided into my pillows, tensely waiting. Nothing happened, so I tried to go back to sleep. I had reckoned without my annoyance and the cloud of swear words hovering over my sleepy, yet awake head. Sigh.

As I lay there in the dark, debating getting up, I heard Audrey clawing the hand-carved redwood banisters. After I yelled at her, getting up was inevitable.

It was still dark, so there was no way I was letting her outside. Also, I clung to the faint hope that if she gets me out of bed and doesn’t get to go out immediately, she’ll give up on the whole project. She did keep going to the front door and clawing it, though, despite my verbal discouragement.

Around 7:30, I let Audrey and June outside, Henrietta being far too old and wise to leave the comfort of the heater.

Audrey: 532. Suzy: 0.

My sister’s tree

Christmas Day dawned bright and sunny. I know, because Audrey woke me up so I could see for myself.

The first order of business was taking Schatzi for a walk. We went over to our brother’s place, checked on the bees, and let Schatzi run and roam to her heart’s content. It was warm enough that Megan and I took off our sweaters, enjoying the sun on our skin. When it was time to leave, Schatzi was nowhere to be seen. We called her and Megan whistled loud enough to summon a New York taxi, but no dog. Megan was ready to leave without her, but I freaked out, so we gave it one more try. She finally showed up then, covered with mud. Including her nose.

Merry Christmas!

After that, it was time to start on the feast, which somehow took up most of the rest of the day. Rob pruned an apple tree so he had wood to smoke the ham, which was basted for hours with maple-bourbon glaze invented years ago by our brother, a formerly professional cook. While Rob tended the barbecue, I made my famous cheese biscuits and gratuitous stuffing (at Megan’s request). I invented the stuffing and it turned out great: cornbread, multi-grain bread, pecans, apples, celery, onion, herbs from the garden, leftover wine, chicken stock, and butter.

I also made an unnecessarily complicated side dish of cauliflower, Brussels sprouts, and red onions with a seedy mustard vinaigrette. Add in my apple pie and Megan’s pumpkin pie, both adorned with stars in the pastry, and you have a festive dinner!

Unfortunately, Erica was too sick to attend, so that meant no Jessica, either. However, their presents and stockings are still under the tree, so we can have another celebration later.

Jonathan got off work early, so dinner was still hot when he arrived around 7. After dinner, we all opened our stockings. It’s so fun to see the person whose stocking you made opening it. I got Megan again this year, and a couple of weeks ago, she brought* a box from Sephora to my house, commenting that she wished it was for her. It actually was, containing a travel size skincare kit, and I was delighted to finally tell her that. We couldn’t stop laughing.

While we were opening our stockings, the cats were playing outside under the stars. Audrey showed up at the sliding glass doors with a live mouse in her mouth, clearly proud of her hunting prowess. Needless to say, I was horrified, and my sibs were amused at my horror. “Just wait until they figure out how to eat them!” they said gleefully, adding that cats don’t eat the legs or tail, so there’s always leftovers. Yay! I tried not to think about Audrey sitting on my lap later, licking my hand with her mouse tongue and kissing me with her mouse breath.

I didn’t let the cats back in until there was no sign of that mouse, or any other mouse, for that matter.

*We all share a post office box, so we’re always picking up each other’s mail. Also, all the Fed Ex and UPS packages for everyone on the property are dropped off at a little shelter near the road, and whoever sees the package first brings it to its recipient. It’s not unusual to come home and find a package on your table.

Improved tree

I’ve always been terrible at wrapping presents. You’d think I’d be good at it, given my expertise in applying make-up, love of all things sparkly, and generally trivial mindset, but no. The ends bunch up, the paper is unevenly cut and/or is too big or too small for the package, there’s tape all over the damn place, and the ribbons are knotted and bedraggled. I’m the anti-Martha Stewart.

This is another reason why our Christmas stocking tradition is so very kick-ass. Cheap; non-stressful; fun; and nothing to wrap.

Yesterday, I put together Megan’s Christmas stocking, which was made by Erica. Hence its awesomeness:

I’m pleased to report that it is jam packed with goodies. I actually had candy left over (for now).

The only present I had to wrap was for Jessica, and it’s the best wrapping job I have ever done:

I should get extra credit for valiantly giving her the fluffy snowman pen, especially because it lights up, and the snowflake pin, especially since it’s sparkly and would have looked excellent in my hair. Also festive. Don’t say I never did anything for you, kid.

I smugly put the elegantly-wrapped present and stuffed stocking under the tree. About five minutes later, it was brought to my attention that this was an idea worthy of International Stupidity Day. All the cats converged on the present and started playing with the snowman fluff. Sighing, I removed both items and hid them in the laundry room/pantry*. Oh, Nanny, where art thou?

Speaking of the tree, I ended up excavating a string of lights for it. This just encouraged me, so I added candy canes (in a classic flavor). The iridescent tree topper was half-price the last time I was in Rite Aid, so I had to get it. A little out of proportion to a Charlie Brown sized tree, perhaps, but so are showgirls’ headdresses.

*The washer is still leaking, but Rob put up my “Vertigo” poster, so at least it’s well-decorated. A girl must have some standards, you know.