Suzy Says

Nanny for three naughty cats. One older, but not mellower, the other two young and willful.

Duties include feeding and watering; letting cats in and out of house on demand several times a day; cleaning litter box; breaking up fights; discouraging cats from jumping on counters and/or in the sink; stopping furniture clawing; and occasional visits to vet. Some tidying up after cat-induced mishaps, such as knocking over Christmas tree or breaking valuables, and trips to the Feed and Pet for cat food. Speaking of cat food, the older cat tends to bulimia, usually on the rug, so that will also need cleaning up.

Any and all attempts to teach manners and good behavior are welcome.

Days may start early due to pre-dawn doorperson duties.

Must enjoy country life and minimal wages. Bonus paid for an incident-free week.

Contact sjpeakall at gmail.com.

I was awakened this morning by Miss Audrey, the dawn alarm clock. I think she’s figured out that I won’t let her out until there’s some light in the sky, so the minute blackness turns to grey, it’s time to wake up the doorgirl and start her day.

She does this by clawing at the door to the balcony. Cat claws on glass = nails on a blackboard. Eeeyagh! It would be better to have Dad yanking off the covers while yelling, “Wakey-wakey, rise and shine!”, his preferred method for awakening slumbering teenagers (parents take note – this is particularly effective in cold climates).

I let Audrey out without even putting my glasses on, and June went racing past as I fumbled for them in my sleepy, semi-blind state.

Like all my family, once I’m up, I’m up, no matter how unfortunate the hour or whether it’s the weekend or a work day, so I went downstairs to make coffee and start my day.

Henrietta wasn’t on the couch or by the heater. I looked around for her and found her sitting under the tree like a little present.

Yesterday, the guilt of the uncategorized became too much for me. The holiday layout makes it blatantly obvious that I haven’t bothered to categorize my immortal writings, so I’ve started to do so. However, I probably won’t go back and categorize eight years’ worth of drivel, but rather, try to categorize from now on. It can be my new year’s resolution, along with trying to be injury-free.

Anyway, I have categorized all the Jessica-related posts, for example, so you can easily read about your favorite girl. I still haven’t bothered with tags, because I really don’t understand them. So you’ll have to settle for categories for now.

When Henrietta was still living in the backyard in Oakland (I wonder if she still remembers that?), I used to always call out “Goodnight, Henry!” when I closed and locked* the back door for the night. Now I put an old duvet on the couch and make it into a little nest for her at night. She is either:

1. Sitting on the couch;
2. Sitting on my lap;
3. Sitting in front of the heater.

She reminds me of my sister’s late cat Agnes, who used to sit so close to the heater that her fur would singe. She’d have to be moved before she caught on fire. I think Henrietta would climb right into the heater if she could.

When I went up to bed last night, Henrietta was curled into a ball, fast asleep. I always pet her and tell her goodnight, so I did so. I startled her out of her sleep, and she clawed my hand good and hard. I was shocked at first, but then I realized that I had been given a little glimpse into her former life. The only way she could have slept outside, alone and tiny in Oakland, would be to go on the attack if someone or something woke her up.

Needless to say, this morning she wasted no time in climbing onto my lap.

*On the news today, they had a piece on what to do if you lose your keys and lock yourself out of your house. I no longer have to worry about this. My doors don’t lock and the car keys are usually in the ignition.

I thought that when we moved to the country, the kittens’ naughtiness would be confined to the great outdoors. After all, they have trees to climb and claw, birds and bugs to chase, and plenty of room to chase each other and the neighbor cats who come by for a visit.

So I bought a little three foot high tree. I didn’t realize until later that I probably could have gone out into the woods and cut one down myself, but given the rate of accidents since I moved to Hooterville, I probably would have cut myself down instead.

I still don’t have a tree stand after all these years, and I couldn’t figure out how to get the wooden X stand off the tree. Rob came over to take care of the cats while Megan and I were in Berkeley, and took the X off the tree and placed it in a clear glass vase, filling it with colored pebbles, glass beads, and water. How’s that for an elegant solution (and a full service cat sitter)?

Even if I knew where my beautiful peacock ornaments are, I wouldn’t have risked putting them on the tree, especially after June showed up with a bird in her mouth the other day. She burst through the cat door with the poor bird in her mouth. I screamed, and she let the bird go. It flew up to the high ceiling, and then unwisely fluttered down within June’s reach. She grabbed the hapless creature again and I called Megan:

“Hello?”

“June caught a bird! It’s in the house! Oh my GOD!!”

~Click~

Megan came over in her bathrobe and got the bird away from June, putting the horrified avian in a patch of sun. Later, it was gone, so hopefully it flew away and stayed away from cats from then on,

So I knew bird ornaments were out.

I figured a birdless tree would not attract the attention of June and Audrey after they’d been playing outside all day.

BZZZ! WRONG!

They’ve knocked it over three times so far, and I’ve caught them playing with it more times than I can count. So much for that theory.

June also enjoys chewing on the Christmas lights, especially when they’re on, and they both like to claw the banisters and furniture, even though they have an entire woods full of trees for manicuring. Last night, Henriettta smashed one of my favorite teacups:

http://www.puffins.com/beehouse04.html

by jumping up on the forbidden counter.

Maybe naughtiness is catching.

It took me more than ten minutes to get the hard frost off the windshield and car windows this morning. Blasting the defrost didn’t do much, if anything, so I found a piece of wood and used that for a scraper, which worked pretty well. The whole car glittered with frost in the bright winter sunshine.

The Ridge was icy, and there was enough frost on the grass at the sides of the road to look like a light dusting of snow. As I approached town, I thought how strange it is to see palm trees lurking among the pines and redwoods when it’s below freezing. Not to mention people mowing their lawns all bundled up!

There was one angry cat in the back seat. Henrietta knew something was up this morning. She hid in the studio, and I had to pull a horrible trick on her by pretending to feed the cats and then scooping up all four and a half pounds of her and sweeping her into the carrier. She howled, spat, and clawed at the bars like crazy.

She was not amused.

She’s spending most of the day at the vet’s, since they’ll have to sedate her to examine her and do blood tests. I’ve used the time by buying Christmas stocking items, groceries, and 200 feet of electrical wire. Apparently the bears have been feeling the cold too and have been eyeing our bee hive, so my brother is going to get the fence surrounding the bees electrified as soon as possible.

I’m multi-tasking here at the Mendocino Cookie Company, enjoying the free wi fi while I participate in a conference call and wait for Henrietta to be ready. I’m looking forward to learning more about her. Stay tuned!

Morning light

The past couple of nights I’ve dared to sleep in my bed, although for some reason it makes my aches achier. But I couldn’t handle the Elephant Man thing of sleeping partly sitting up on the couch anymore. Why is life full of unpleasant choices instead of, say, one fun’n’easy option? Hmmm?

In the morning, I hobble carefully down the stairs, clinging to the driftwood banister to prevent any further fragility and the girls follow me – or precede me – in their headlong rush to the “front” door. If you’re wondering what the deal is with my irritating quotes (at least they aren’t air quotes!), it’s because the door is at the side of the house. But it’s the one we all use to come and go, including the cats. Except when they use the sliding glass doors in the living room.

I let June and Audrey out before going to make coffee and turning up the spectacularly ineffective propane heater. No matter how cold or wet it is outside, they bound out happily, looking for trouble and fun wherever they can find it. Henry, on the other hand, prefers to huddle by the heater or cuddle up with me as I read my fan mail. He is superbly unperturbed by the girls calling him a mama’s boy.

I have come to know who is coming down the stairs by the sound. June busy and bustling; Audrey light and graceful; Henry has a characteristic drag in his back leg, whether he’s walking or running, probably from a past injury.

Lately, Henry has taken to drinking from my ever-present water glass. June used to be the only one who did it; now they all do. It’s as if Audrey is copying her big sister and Henry figures that’s what inside cats do.

The girls come back in for breakfast, which is the usual mêlée, and then I let them out again. And in again. Lather, rinse, repeat. My sister says, “Cats are New Yorkers at heart – they all want doormen.”

Gertie

Henry and Gertie have switched places. And I feel guilty.

Gertie, an unlovely name for a lovely cat, lived in what is now my house for all of her 13+ years. Even after her owners were gone, she stayed. But once I moved in with my herd of cats, she abandoned the premises, though not completely.

She hangs around, meowing sadly, and I put food, water, and a blanket in the shed. After I feed my cats, I go outside to feed her.

Sound familiar?

She’s supposed to be living with her former owner’s daughter, but she can’t understand that they are gone and she has a new home.

She lets me pick her up, and she purrs happily, but she won’t come in the house. I thought she’d venture in when all the doors were open, but no. I’ve picked her up and brought her inside, but she just runs out again as soon as she can. It’s getting colder lately, especially at night, and we’re supposed to get rain this week, so I’m worried about her.

It seems ironic that bringing an outdoor cat inside basically made an indoor cat an outdoor cat. Though I’m glad to have Henry safe and warm (as I write, he’s curled up next to me on the couch), I’m sad that Gertie is homeless because of me.

Any thoughts or ideas welcome! Leave them in the comments or email me at sjpeakall AT gmail DOT com.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Downtown

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

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

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

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

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

The coast; the wine country; the redwoods

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

Early morning in my garden

Today was one of those frustrating days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The road home

Operation Escape Oakland hit a few snags, as many elaborate maneuvers are wont to do.

Rob is an insulin-dependent diabetic, and had some issues with his sugar count early on Wednesday morning. We applied soda and waited for him to feel better. At times like this, it’s great to have your EMS trained brother at hand.

While Rob was recovering, Audrey decided she’d get a head start and escaped from her carrier. The girls’ carriers are cloth and close with zippers that meet in the middle. Audrey must have poked her nose or paw through the place where the zippers met until she made a big enough hole to slip out.

Unfortunately, I had left the car window open to give the girls some air while we completed the packing process.

Fortunately, Audrey ran into B’s garden, which is enclosed, so trapping her was (relatively) easy.

Unfortunately, I had learned nothing from this experience since Audrey repeated the escape, though this time remaining inside the car (with its windows closed).

Fortunately, my brother had a bit of string in his pocket, as boys often do, and tied the zippers together tightly.

It seems that Audrey does not enjoy driving any more than I do, since she did an encore of the carrier poo. When I finally decanted her, she was literally covered in it. Megan immediately put her in the sink and washed her, which Audrey took remarkably well, after meowing for pretty much the entire four hour drive. June had thrown up in her carrier, undoubtedly due to the proximity of the carrier poo. Henry didn’t utter a peep and all his bodily fluids stayed in his body.

I expected a series of boos, hisses, and claw to claw combat when all three cats met, but so far, so good. They have walked past each other without remark, though fights may still ensue. They do seem happy to be here, and are enjoying the view from the glass doors and exploring a new place. This is definitely a much more interesting house from a cat’s point of view.

As for me, I now have proof positive that housework is very, very bad for you.

After we finished most of the packing on Wednesday, we cleaned the house, which entailed grovelling around on hands and knees. Not for the first time, I reflected that cleaning is a job best left to the professionals. I’m pretty sure that this unnatural activity resulted in my knees going on strike. By the time I caught Audrey the second time, I noticed that the inside side of my knees (if you follow me) hurt. By the time we stopped for gas, I could hardly bend them. By the time we got home, Megan took one look at me and put me on her couch with ice packs and painkillers.

So while my family was unpacking all my things and stuff, I was lying on Megan’s couch watching “Gilmore Girls” and whimpering. The guilt was definitely worse than the pain. I feel better today, but have been ordered to take it easy so that hopefully tomorrow I’ll be able to get a few things done around my new house.

It was an adventure, all right. Would you expect anything less from Calamity Suzy?

Well, this will be my last post from Oakhampton.

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

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

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

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

Wish us luck!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Henry was nowhere to be seen when I went out to feed him this morning. I called him and called him, but he didn’t appear. I could have alerted the TV networks, but decided to go and pack some more and then look for him again. While I packed, I worried about not being able to find him on Wednesday. My plan was to lure him onto the screened-in porch with food in the morning, so he can stay there while we’re packing up the truck, but what if he isn’t there to be lured?

Henry was lying on his bed as if nothing had happened when I went to look for him again. He gave me a hushed meow of acknowledgement, but didn’t bother to get up. Cats need their beauty sleep, after all. I think I’ll try and get him onto the porch on Tuesday and just keep him there with his food and a litter box until my brother can wrestle him into his carrying case on Wednesday.

He’ll have to get used to the litter box in the short term anyway, since all three cats will have to stay inside for the first few days after we move so they know it’s their house. After that, I’ll let them all out and hope for the best. I’m planning to bring them in at night, but they may have ideas of their own.

At night I lie in bed and fret about things like whether the cats will fight all the time and hate each other, or how on earth I’ll get rid of all the boxes after I unpack, or whether I should buy a bunch of bottled water for my moving crew instead of having glasses to wash up and pack after we’re all done. These minor details which are probably making you laugh are making me sleepless.

I haven’t heard back from the people I risked life and limb to interview with, and since they said they’d decide by the end of the week, I’m thinking that no answer is a no. Looking for a job in the midst of moving really does add to a girl’s stress.

When the day’s packing is through and I’ve washed my ink-stained hands, I settle back with a glass or two of wine and an episode of Columbo. They are intriguing enough to keep my mind – or at least the surface of it – off my worries, but are delightfully lacking in the graphic grossness of the CSI franchise or the sadness of the Law & Orders, which make me despair of humanity much of the time. Also, they were shot in sunny LA in the early 1970s, and I have never much enjoyed the present. And then there’s the considerable charm of Peter Falk. I smile every time he introduces himself as “from the police”.

I’ve had to cancel all my Oakland library holds and return all the books I had checked out. So I’ve been digging in The Boxes for escapism. I can only read children’s books (Edward Eager*, E.L. Konigsburg, and Zilpha Keatley Snyder) and light fiction (Barbara Pym, Peter Mayle, and Miss Read). I can’t wait to get a library card when I move, and I have a list of books to request when I do. That’s a happy thought for sleepless nights. Or any time of day.

*Megan just bought Jessica her first Edward Eager! Also some of the delightful Great Brain series. She’s reading at a fourth grade level at the age of six.

Henry on the front steps

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear June and Audrey,

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

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

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

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

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

Love,

Your Girl