Suzy Says

I slept in until 10:00 yesterday! And when I finally woke up, it was raining. Ever so lightly, but rain nonetheless.

I posted about my excitement on Facebook, and everyone seemed to think I’m a big fan of the precipitation. It wasn’t the rain per se that had me all excited, it was the surprise of the rain (it rarely, if ever, rains between April and October or November) and the fact that we hadn’t had any for more than five months. That, and the release from the hideous heat. Believe me, I’ll almost certainly switch my heat complaining for rain complaining once I move up north.

I dashed outside to check on Henry. His bed was a little damp, and his food was wet, so I took care of that while he milled around under my feet. He hasn’t been eating that much lately, which does concern me a bit. I need to catch him and get him checked out at the vet’s before he officially joins the family. Another item for my ever-lengthening To Do list.

I can’t tell you how blissful it was to be able to cook (corn soufflé, using up leftovers) make the bed (lavender and blue eucalyptus scented sheets), and just walk around without sweating. I could even sit still without sweating, and the air was completely breathable, instead of stifling. I didn’t have to put a fan on all day. And I had all the blinds open, letting in the pale, pearly light, instead of living in hot gloom with the blinds closed against the sun’s glare.

It was thrilling.

All day, I luxuriated in the blessed, blessed coolth*, and in the evening, I watched Laura, one of my favorite movies, admiring Gene Tierney’s breathtaking loveliness while sipping a nice Sonoma County sauvignon blanc. Life is good.

*From the inimitable Edward Eager’s “Magic By the Lake”. I can’t wait to introduce Jessica to his books. And E. Nesbit’s.

Hi! I missed you, too!

I’m not sure if it’s because the girls missed me so much, or because their naughtiness streak has expanded to take over most of their furry little bodies, but they really outdid themselves during my most recent absence. When I came into the house and dropped my bags on the couch, I immediately noticed a little cat figurine on the floor. It’s one of the few ornaments not Museum Waxed to the mantel, and it’s the only cat one, so maybe it was practice prey for the Terrible Twosome.

In the kitchen, I was shocked by a) the mess; and 2) the fact that the kittens had eaten all the food I left, which I had foolishly thought was enough for three or four days (I left on Thursday morning and came back on Saturday afternoon). The litter box was a mute, yet pungent witness to the immoderate feasting.

When the food was exhausted, they apparently went foraging in the cupboards. Their food is safely ensconced in plastic containers for this very reason, but they had managed to knock open boxes of pasta, crackers, etc., onto the floor.

Welcome home.

Henry, too, had eaten all his food, and his water was mysteriously full of dirt. As I cleaned up his dishes and set out fresh food and water, he happily got in the way and pushed his head into my hand. He doesn’t seem to get grumpy when I go away now.

The trip started off as inauspiciously as it ended. I missed the exit for the Richmond-San Rafael bridge. I got off the freeway at the next exit and turned around to go back, only to find that traffic was horrendously slow in that direction. All in all, it took me a good half hour to make up for that mistake. Sigh.

I stopped off to see Erica and Jessica, and my traffic-induced crankiness vanished as Jessica ran toward me yelling my name and jumped into my arms. I swear she’s even taller than she was when I saw her last month. She was happy to see that I was wearing “her” necklace, and as I put it on her, I told her that I’d worn it just for her, which delighted her.

I asked about her trip to San Francisco, whether she liked the hotel and the dinner with her mother and her Mom’s friends. She said “The hotel was the nicest one I’ve stayed at in a long time” and confided that “The lamb was a little disappointing. And by the way, it was too salty.”

The six year old epicure.

Later, I was eating some delicious raspberry sorbet and asked Jessica if she’d like some. She said she would, but she’d have to ask her mother. She waited until her mother finished serving a customer, then asked. When she got permission, she bounced over and had a bite. I have to admit that I would have just taken the bite without asking when I was six.

Up next: puppies!!

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

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

Today’s breakfast was especially challenging.

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

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

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

All this before coffee.

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

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

The kittens’ mother, Quince

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here’s what you’d get:

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

Any takers?

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

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

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

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

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

I always have a hard time getting to sleep when I know I have to get up early the following day, yet I have an amazing ability to be able to sleep right when the alarm goes off (like most of my few talents, this is not a lucrative one). Somehow, once I’m yanked out of sleep by the tyrannical peeping of the clock, the pillows are in just the right position and the bed is a haven of comfort and bliss instead of the arena of insomnia it was just a few short hours earlier. Maybe I should try setting the alarm to go off at bed time.

This morning, however, I had an awakening ruder than the alarm clock. And to add insult to injury, it was before the alarm was set to do so, robbing me of precious minutes of beauty sleep (and a really good dream about shopping in Paris). A resounding crash, followed by lesser noises, abruptly cancelled the rest of my napping program. I pulled off my Marilyn Monroe sleep mask to find the room basking in the cold, pearly light which means early morning fog. Looking at the clock, I saw that I should have had ten minutes more of unconsciousness – not enough to attempt an encore.

Sighing, I got up to see what the noise was. The kitties were sitting innocently by the closet, looking like they belonged on a sappy greeting card in their fakely innocent cuteness. They had found their way into the closet, knocked the suitcase onto the clackety hardwood floor, and in doing so, crashed the closet door resoundingly against the window frame, topping it off with a few pairs of shoes cascading onto the floor from the shoe rack hung inside the door. I tripped over a lavender suede Manolo Blahnik mule as I shoved the suitcase back into the closet and slammed it shut, scattering kittens across the room.

As I went through the living room on my way to the coffeemaker, I noticed that the paper bag I use to collect newspapers and other recycling was unaccountably on the couch instead of in the kitchen. Not surprisingly, its contents made a little trail from the original location. As I collected them, the alarm went off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– Time to pour some vodka into that pineapple juice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clever kitties.

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

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

But I digress…

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

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

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

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

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

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

I was making dinner, and I heard someone calling what sounded like my name, louder and louder. You know how it is: one minute you’re peeling garlic* and the next minute some guy’s going all Marlon Brandon on your ass. I dropped my pungent peeling and went out on the porch to investigate.

The girls were all agog as a young man chased his red pit bull into the backyard. “Excuse me, miss”, he gasped as he ran past the porch, calling his dog again. Her name turned out to be Sadie, not Suzy, and as he walked past me with her, I said how beautiful she was. “She sure is!” he laughed, relieved to have her safe again.

I went back to my interrupted dinner preparations, smiling and thinking how a dog can make your whole day by just being, when I heard June making her unmistakable “Look at me, I caught something” noises. Though the inconveniences of my tiny residence are many, mice aren’t among them, so what June usually “catches” are her toys and sometimes a stray moth, so I figured it was nothing to stop zesting lemons over.

When I heard something clunk on the floor, I looked over and saw June standing victoriously over an avocado. I had put it in the sun on the porch to ripen, or at least soften up, and June had seen it, gone after it, and then brought her kill to show me. It’s so funny how wild instincts are still alive and well in house cats, no matter how tame their existence.

*I often wonder how many hours, or possibly days, of my life have been spent peeling garlic. Maybe it’s better not to know.

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

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

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

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

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

Mission accomplished.

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

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

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

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

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

View from my porch

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

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

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

It’s 96 degrees as I write at 5:30 pm. The sun can’t get its ass out of here fast enough for me today. I’m kind of offended that it chose my blog’s birthday to be so unreasonable, since my dislike of heat is so well-known, but perhaps the sun was just being extra unreasonable in my honor.

Audrey is stretched out on the table on the porch, trying to catch an errant breeze. I left the girls in charge and went to Wal-Mart to buy a cheap barbecue* today, since the fancy propane one that came with the house (surprise!) doesn’t work. It’s way too hot to cook, and even if everything I could have delivered didn’t suck, I couldn’t afford it, anyway (hence shopping at Wal-Mart). Since I can’t take the heat, I’m getting the hell out of the kitchen.

On the menu tonight: grilled lemon-garlic shrimp soft tacos with fresh cilantro and a salad of field greens with my fabulous shallot vinaigrette. Come on over – you can help do the dishes!

*Which I had to assemble. You can imagine.

Henry in his tent under the rose bush

June & Audrey on the porch

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

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

It’s going to be a long summer.

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

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

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

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