Suzy Says

Rhododendrons in my garden this evening

The calendar may say April – just – but summer has come to Hooterville.

In the usual way of summer, it made a dramatic entrance, hitting its unsuspecting audience over the head with a sledgehammer of heat while giggling wickedly. When I came home from the cool climes of the jobette yesterday evening, I was surprised to discover that it was 80 degrees both inside and outside my house.

Before removing work wear, accessories and make-up, usually the first things I do, I dragged out all the fans – the upstairs, the downstairs, and the portable one which can be positioned to blow air directly on Self – and placed them throughout the house, as well as turning on the ceiling fan, even though it’s really more of a whisk stirring the hot air around than anything else. As usual, the outside cooled down long before the inside, and I slept with the balcony door open and the screen door closed, sadly coated in a sheet and dreaming of blankets.

That was once I got to bed, though. On the first warm night of the year, Roscoe was scarce. I kept calling him, even though I knew it to be pointless. He finally swanned in just after midnight, had a fashionably late dinner, and then went to bed.

We were all awakened at 6:30 by Mark’s rooster crowing loudly and repeatedly. I gave up and got up, releasing the cats into the garden, not to appear again until dinner time.

I had quarterly calls scheduled all day today (and tomorrow, and all of Friday morning), and I did them in the shady parts of the garden, moving my chair as the sun shifted. It gave me time to notice the damage done by Mark’s rabbit, Changa (it means “monkey”) on her frequent visits. It occurred to me that the rabbit ornament on my “front” door may in fact be a secret sign to rabbits everywhere that there’s an all you can eat buffet on the premises, much as hobos used to leave coded symbols scratched on people’s front doors during the Great Depression.

So really, I may have brought it on myself.

Garden Audrey

I’m back home in Hooterville. The cats definitely missed me. Both boys sat on me simultaneously on Thursday night while I watched the hockey playoffs – which did not end satisfactorily – and Audrey sat on my lap when I went to bed to read. Both she and Roscoe slept with me, though the baby boy was up in his club house (my grandiose name for the storage space over the bathroom). That’s been his favorite spot lately.

It’s funny how different they all are, and how unpredictable. Clyde is the mama’s boy, yet he’s been sleeping in his own room lately. Roscoe is independent and dignified, yet he almost always sleeps with me. Audrey is…well, Audrey. Difficult, demanding, horrified if you dare to pick her up, but when she wants to be petted, she wants to be petted. Or is it worshiped? They are all such characters.

Megan was less than charmed by them while I was away, since they decided to drive her crazy in turns. I told her that they are often in the house when I get home from work, even though the door is open, so it might be easier for her to shut them in and feed them before she goes to work at 5:00 in the afternoon.

Needless to say, it did not work out this way. At all. They were nowhere to be seen, and in the end, Rob had to come over about a million times to find them all and get them in, leading to this text exchange between Megan and me:

Megan: What was that about them being in the house in the afternoon?

Me: I’m sorry.

Megan: I think they’re bored when you’re gone so they amuse themselves by torturing me.

Me: It’s entirely possible.

Megan: They’re in the woods snickering.

Me: Plotting how to drive you crazy tomorrow.

Megan: I don’t doubt it.

I stayed up late on Wednesday night and was rewarded by a midnight power outage.

I was mystified by this, since it wasn’t rainy or windy, and annoyed by this, since I love the accoutrements and comforts of civilization.

Fortunately, I still had a flashlight by my bed, and headed downstairs to call my buddies at PG&E. As usual, I was the first one to alert them to the situation, so I resigned myself to a long night. I had a hard time sleeping, especially after an update informed me at about 2 am that the power would be out until 2 pm.

I texted Megan and she was the coffee fairy, with room service, no less. She also had the news that someone had driven into a power pole on the Ridge (apparently, it is not the first time this has happened, and when I drove by the location later, I could see why. It is located right near a curve, and I can see that someone could easily miss it in the foggy, inky, midnight blackness.) and supposedly been arrested, though no one came to visit Megan in the ER that night, so the driver must have been unscathed.

It was foggy and grey out, so the house was dark and freezing. Although the heater burns propane, it needs electricity to turn it on, thus rendering it a useless plastic box during power outages, which only occur during the cold months.

Of course.

Unfortunately for all concerned, I was slated to take Rob to the Big Town for dental surgery that day, when I was both sleep-deprived and cranky. It took both of my brain cells to get us there in one piece. I dropped him off at the dentist’s office, wished him luck, and headed to the grocery store for a few last minute items for Jessica’s birthday party this afternoon.

After that, I went to the library for the usual book exchange and to attempt to deal with my work emails, which rapidly overload my inbox if not handled quickly. I couldn’t make the wifi work on my creaking, aged MacBook, though I could on my iPhone. Go figure. I packed up all my stuff and headed to the Company Store, where I was able to access the wifi and deal with the most urgent work things, though by then I was in an even less lovely mood.

I was still having a better time than Rob was. Arriving at the office more than two hours after dropping him off, they were still working on him. I settled in to wait with my new library book, a fascinating read about the Kitty Genovese case. About an hour later, there was a loud noise, and it appeared that the huge aquarium in the waiting room had developed a fatal flaw in the glass. It began leaking with increasing rapidity, and the nurses and receptionists applied towels and called for reinforcements in the shape of boyfriends, who appeared with a ShopVac.

The fish were relocated to a bucket, but not before the exiting water shorted out a fuse, taking the computers with it and flushing the dentist out from wherever he was torturing Rob. Inspection from across the room revealed no dripping blood on his hands, which I took to be a good sign. He was not pleased with the destruction of his office decor, however, including the new laminate flooring, or the patient who asked if she could post about it on Facebook.

Eventually, the remains of Rob appeared, semi-frozen and even less chatty than usual, about four hours after I left him there. We were both glad to get home, though my happiness was tempered not only by Rob’s discomfort, but by the sight of a slim black cat leaping from the Ridge to the haul road which runs behind my house.

At my house, I saw Clyde, but Roscoe didn’t appear until several minutes later, so he might have been the cat I saw. The thought of my cats playing on the road fills me with horror, though they may have been doing it for years without my knowledge. Ignorance really is bliss.

In decanting the groceries from the car, I discovered that the six pack of Strongbow cider** I had bought for today’s gala was missing in action. It was listed on the receipt, so I must have left it in the cart in my sleep-deprived haze. I hope one of those poor schmos who keep rounding up the carts from all over the parking lot find it and enjoy it after a long day of thankless tasks.

At least the power was – and is – back on.

*To quote the great Iggy Pop. You can enjoy the fun version of No Fun here.

**I always enjoyed drinking cider at the pub with my Dad, and trying out the artisan ones when we were in places like Somerset and Herefordshire. I was looking forward to that Strongbow!

Clyde rests up from a day of naughtiness

No cold water was needed in the shower on this chilly morning. The water never gets that hot on cold days, since the flash heater is located outside rather than inside, as the manufacturer wisely suggests. Even Whoosh! couldn’t clear the cobwebs from my head (or the ones on the drafty window in the shower).

I blame Clyde. The new Audrey.

Lately my little outlaw has been waking me up around 4:00 am with his distinctive meowing coupled with walking (literally) all over me. The next move is to sit on my bedside table and start messing around with things – my latest library book, say, or the little bronze cat I brought back from Paris – while meowing. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Once I finally get up, Clyde still rushes to the food bowls (if there is a bare spot in any of them, he makes sure to bring it to my attention). He has yet to learn that milling around under my feel actually delays the feeding process and may lead to being stepped on by sleepy Staff.

As soon as he’s eaten, he races to the glass door and starts asking to be let out. He emphasizes his point by clawing at the drapes (which are only there to block drafts in the winter and the sun in the summer – the doors look out on the garden and endless trees). When that doesn’t work, it’s on to the sofa. I have had to take the screens off the speakers in the living room since he decided they looked like nothing so much as giant scratching posts.

Sound familiar? I’m not sure I can handle two out of three cats driving me crazy before coffee every day. it makes me appreciate Roscoe all the more. He comes in at night, slinks over to the food dishes, and then wends his way upstairs and goes to bed, where he stays until the heater goes on in the morning – assuming that the weather is up to his high standards. Then he goes outside and plays, including shocking athletic feats like jumping from the post* where the old hot tub used to be onto the roof. He does have a habit of collecting lizards, but that’s about the worst I can say about him. I hope he’s not the next one to start breaking bad!
*Yes, it’s still there.

The rain is really trying to make it up to us. According to my friend and neighbor Jim, we got more than three inches of rain yesterday, and I emptied more than five out of the rain gauge this morning, and five is as high as the rain gauge goes.

I can believe it – it was pouring last night when I drove home from the Village. I went to see a play of the beloved film The Breakfast Club, which made its début thirty years ago this week.

This production was my friends’ daughter Maya’s senior year project. She wrote the play script based on the movie, designed the set, chose the actors, acted in it, and directed. Did I mention that she is sixteen and is going to college in the Fall?

Maya did a great job. I was surprised that the minimal set worked so well and that Maya was able to effectively capture scenes like the chase in the hallway and the dance in the library. I really enjoyed it, and on my way out, I told the kid who played Bender what a great job he did. He ducked his head with embarrassment and thanked me.

I ran to the car, but was soaked anyway. When I got home, the kitties greeted me happily. This morning, though, they didn’t care that I got to bed late. Audrey insisted on going out at 6:30, and I fed the insistent Clyde and went back to bed. Clyde had other ideas, though, and kept making his distinctive ClydeSounds™ while walking all over me. I gave up and got up and let him out into the rain. I guess the cats have their own Breakfast Club.

Always where he shouldn’t be

Megan and I were planning to have a girl night, starring the delightful Call the Midwife and some cocktails, but plans went somewhat awry…

The Gro has a little deli with delicious things, and Megan had heard they had grilled chicken marinated in tequila and lime. Our work-saving thought was to add some hand-made (not by us) tortillas, salsa and black beans and call it dinner. On arriving at the Gro, I ran into Mark, who had in his truck a replacement for the sliding glass door at my house which has refused to slide for about a month. He headed to my house to install it (fortunately before dark), and I headed to the deli, where I discovered that all the chicken had been sold.

Hmm. There were no obvious substitutes, and I already had all the other stuff in my basket. I set it down and tried to call my sister’s cell from the pay phone (there is no cell or texting service in beautiful downtown Hooterville). No answer. I later learned that this was because she was helping the boys in their well digging endeavor, which tends to be both loud and dirty, so she didn’t hear my SOS.

One of the deli employees helpfully found some pre-made chipotle and lime sauce, so I decided to just buy everything I had and thaw some chicken in the microwave when I got home.

When I got home, I put the bowl for the chicken on the counter and once again tried to reach my sister. I went outside to increase the chances that I’d get cell reception* and as I listened to the fruitless ring, I heard a smash from inside.

Ckyde scampered out as I scampered in, and I was sorry to see the broken clear glass Corningware casserole broken in a zillion pieces on the floor. It had been my parents’ and I remember it from my increasingly long-ago youth. I was really sad to sweep it up and put it in a paper bag. I know we shouldn’t be too attached to things, but we don’t have much left from our parents, and I used it often.

Clyde’s hobbies include jumping up on the counter and even the bookshelves beside the (now) sliding glass doors, as you see above, where he doubles as a statuette. Sometimes he shows off his athletic prowess by slinking across the curtain rod above the doors:

It’s hard to believe that this spectacularly naughty kitty is the same innocent one who I found sleeping cutely behind my bed along with Audrey earlier in the day:

I imagine it’s pretty warm back there with the corrugated plastic stuff. As I write, he is in cute mode again, which is probably how he gets away with stuff like this.

In the end, I got the chicken thawed and made dinner for my tired and filthy sister, who went straight to the shower without passing Go or collecting $200, which she probably should have for her day’s work. The insta sauce was pretty good and we all enjoyed a nice evening together.

*My siblings’ cell phones are long distance, even though we have the same area code. Go figure. So I use my cell to call them since it’s free. On the other hand, the iffy cell reception can make things frustrating. I had a work call drop out three times that day for example. No wonder I have been spared the iPhone addiction everyone predicted when I finally got one.

Or, sweepings from the corners of my life…

The big moment!

In just a couple of hours, my boss from the jobette (third from the left, or the rebel with the long hair, as my co-worker phrased it) will be meeting President Obama. Can you believe it? Instead of being at his desk in our office (a converted JP Penney store), he will be standing in the Oval Office with the most powerful man in the world. He might even get to shake the president’s hand! The occasion is the President’s signing into law an act making the Stornetta Public Lands on the beautiful south coast part of the California National Monument, protecting its breathtaking views and sensitive ecosystem forever.

I’ve been participating in the twice monthly conference calls dedicated to this project for a year now, so I feel that in some small way I am part of this success for our county. My father (whose birthday is less than a week away) would be proud.

So, yeah…health insurance.

Jarrett’s been helping me find my way through the labyrinthine maze of health insurance. As I suspected, I make “too much” money to qualify for assistance with the premiums. You’d think I’d be used to being squeezed like a lemon as a member of the rapidly dwindling middle class, but I’m still bitter about paying $250 a month for it, especially since I’m still paying off Wednesday for the next two years or something.

I get to pay $250 a month and the cost (“co pay”) to see the doctor is about the same and the prescription cost is more than I pay now, without insurance.

Sigh.

Speaking of Jarrett, there was an earthquake on Sunday night, centered 50 miles out in the ocean from the town where Jarrett lives, which is a two hour drive north of Hooterville. Jarrett was fine and there was no damage. I didn’t feel it, though Megan did. She said it was the longest one she could remember in quite a while, and Jarrett agreed.

I think even the earth is revolted by the hideousness of the time change. I know I am.

Megan came home yesterday to find Audrey in her – that is, Megan’s – bedroom. At first Megan thought it was her cat Ramona, who is also a tabby but is much bigger than Audrey, until she got one of Audrey’s patented Stinky Looks before Audrey vacated the premises.

I wonder how often my cats go over there and what they do when they are there. Maybe it’s because Megan is their Staff when I’m away and so they think of her house as kind of their other house?

It’s raining petals

We got about six inches of rain since I last checked in with you. It was wonderful to hear the rain pattering against the roof/walls in my little house. You could practically hear the garden saying “Aaahhh….”, even though it still looks pretty terrible*. The power even stayed on!

The kitties were less delighted than I was, coming home soaked to the skin with their fur all spiky, except, of course, for Audrey, who has the ability to come in out of the pouring rain with magically dry fur. Roscoe got bored with the rain and napped, whereas Clyde perched on the porch and watched the weather for a while before giving up and joining his brother in a rainy day snooze.

The dogs hated the rain even more than the cats. And Stella finds the rain even more objectionable than Star does, which I didn’t think was possible. Megan literally had to drag them outside. As far as they were concerned, the call of nature could stay on hold or go straight to voicemail. I still remember how Schatzi actually pretended to pee once when I was taking care of her one stormy winter night in San Francisco so that she could go back inside.

Unlike the cats, the dogs were bored out of their minds, while refusing to go outside and play. Megan took advantage of breaks in the downpour to take them out, but another storm is slated to move in tonight or tomorrow and last for a few days. I don’t think Star and Stella will greet the next downpour with the same enthusiasm as their Staff.

*Basically whatever the bitter cold snap didn’t ruin, the drought did. When the County is asking everyone to cut back on water usage by 20%, you can’t really justify watering your garden, no matter how sad it looks. I was planning to do more in the garden this year, but it looks like that will have to be on hold unless the weather changes dramatically.

Cuddling Cats

Yesterday, I woke up to the delightful and unfamiliar sound of rain on my curved roof. I knew it wasn’t enough to banish the drought which was recently declared in our County, but I enjoyed the sound. We got half an inch, but now we’re back to sunny skies (or clear, or fair – what’s the difference?) with a faint chance of rain on Friday at the earliest.

As for me, I’m better, but still tired, coughing, and using enough Kleenex to make me wish I’d bought stock in the company. Is it insider trading if you know you’ll be using the product by the gross for an extended period of time? Come to think of it, that’s probably the definition of insider trading.

Anyway, I’m sick of being sick and disappointed that I’m not completely better after more than a week. Of course, I’m still well enough to work, just not to do anything fun. Megan and I were planning to see a live broadcast of the National Theatre’s production of “Frankenstein” at the beautiful Arena Theater on Saturday, but we both reluctantly agreed that I wasn’t well enough. I really wanted to see it – it stars the delightfully named Benedict Cumberbatch, also the shining star of the BBC’s stellar series Sherlock* – not to mention the proximity of Franny’s of the magic coffee and cuteness.

But cooler heads prevailed, and I ended up watching the trashy soap operatics of Reign** (picture an even less historically accurate The Tudors crossed with the frothy, costumed delights of Gossip Girl) with the cats. Above you can see a non-great picture I took with my iPhone***. That’s Roscoe in the back. The boys hardly ever cuddle, so it was a nice treat.

*It’s finally back! And I’m not the only one who’s excited.

**Which has yet to ruin my life.

Inland snow

The record-breaking cold snap is finally beginning to lose its grip, though it’s still a lot colder than it should be. It’s beginning to feel like the White Witch is running things around here – always freezing, no rain. At least it’s stayed above freezing the past couple of nights and the pipes have stayed unfrozen, which is the way I like them.

Yesterday I took a walk around the garden and I must say it was dispiriting. Anything that wasn’t zapped by the extended deep freeze had been eaten by Mark’s rabbit. I’m finding it a lot less cute right about now. At least the indoor paper whites are beginning to bloom.

As for the Christmas tree, every morning I collect the ornaments from the floor and put them back on again. Maybe the woodland theme was an especially bad idea. Today I found all of the acorns on the floor, and most of the snowflakes had fallen, not as pretty a sight as the picture above, taken in the county seat last Friday.

It seems that I forget every year about the cats’ propensity for playing with ornaments and attempting to take down the tree until it’s too late. Then it’s a six week battle until I put the tree and ornaments back in the box, swearing never to do this again. And just plain swearing.

It’s 11 am. Do you know where your kitties are?

If you’re Roscoe, you are still asleep, curled up in your nest of pillows. Roscoe is very appreciative of my pillow fetish. When he comes in at night, he has dinner and then goes right to bed, cuddling comfortably in feather pillows until it’s time to get up.

If the weather is not up to his high standards, he just stays in bed, or goes back there after inspecting climactic conditions and not finding them sufficiently attractive to warrant venturing outside. Today it’s cloudy or foggy or both, so Roscoe isn’t giving the day the time of day.

Eventually he will come downstairs. I can always tell who it is without seeing them. Roscoe has a majestic, deliberate step, whereas Audrey bustles manically and Clyde scampers.

Clyde is currently cuddled up against my shoulder, alternately purring and sleeping and generally doing his best to help me in the procrastination process. How can I possibly write reports when I have a cat who thinks he’s a kitten sprawled over half of my body? Even though I can apparently still blog. Procrastination, like most (or maybe all) of my special skills, is not particularly useful. I can also accurately identify the most expensive piece in antique jewelry ads in “The New Yorker” and tell if someone really is a guy or girl no matter what they are wearing, a skill honed from years of living in San Francisco. None of these are remunerative, however.

Audrey is sitting on the back porch, controlling me with the power of her mind. She has an amazing ability to make me do what she wants without making a noise or doing anything much other than gaze at me with her huge green eyes. If Audrey were a girl, I think she’d look like Ida Lupino. Notice the resemblance:

The two lovely ladies share sassiness and smarts as well as beauty. Right now, Audrey is telepathically commanding me to give her some canned food. I give her a spoonful most days, after which she takes off to terrorize the local dog population and other pressing matters.

I wish she’d terrorize Orange Cat. I’m almost sure The OC is responsible for Roscoe’s torn ear and the bald spots over Clyde’s eye and the nape of his neck. Needless to say audacious Audrey is untouched. Now when I see Orange Cat I chase him away, even though I never thought I’d be the kind of person who chased cats. I guess love makes protectors of us all.

Apparently, I am more exciting than a beautiful Fall day. The sky is a cloudless blue, the doors are open, and the cats…are all sitting with me instead of playing outside. Such is my considerable personal magnetism. Or maybe I have just been away too much recently.

Before I left San Francisco on my way home from my whirlwind trip, I made time for some fun. I stopped by Swan Oyster Depot and was pleasantly surprised to be the third person through the door. It was the first time in the ~mumble~ years I have been going there that I didn’t have to line up.

I perched on a stool and watched the ballet behind the counter: fresh oysters being plated on a bed of crushed ice; a smoked salmon being filleted; a delivery of the specially baked sourdough bread from Boudin’s. I ordered a half cracked crab, but the guy who served me (in the photo above) pointed out that I could order crab cocktail and not have to do the work. Good point! So I did. It was delicious and my hands remained (relatively) clean. I enjoyed the sunshine, Sinatra on the radio, and memories of my father, who loved Swan’s, along with the crab.

After the usual errands, I headed to Golden Gate Park to enjoy the dual delights of Hockney:

and Bulgari*:

at the De Young Museum.

My favorite part of the Hockney exhibit – which was on two floors – was his exploration/documentation of the seasons changing in his native Yorkshire. In this painting, you can practically feel high summer:

There are few places as beautiful as England on a summer day.

Another part of the exhibit had film of the actual locations in the paintings in all four seasons projected onto multiple screens so you could compare the paintings to them.

I also loved watching the iPad paintings take place as I watched, and the glass case of sketch books. I feel closer to the artist seeing the drawings sometimes than the finished work. It’s like you can see his vision and inspiration taking place and feel part of it.

The high point of the Bulgari exhibit was definitely Elizabeth Taylor’s stunning emerald and diamond set, along with two “tremblant” brooches, one of which she is wearing in the photo above. These are sprays of flowers designed to move with the wearer. And no-one could wear jewelry like the legendary Elizabeth Taylor.

I took the time to go to the top of the museum’s tower for the first time. There is a stunning view of the city from there:

It was fun to walk around and enjoy the panoramas and the beautiful day.

It was time to head home. It was a good trip.

*The poster quotes Richard Burton: “The only word Elizabeth knows in Italian is Bulgari.”

The handsome and agile Roscoe

One of the many great things about being in LA was the ability to sleep in until the sun was up – and it was always sunny. Back here in Hooterville (and probably in LA), it is the unlovely time of the year where 6 am looks just about the same as 12 am.

I hate getting up in the darkness as much as I like sleeping in it, and the worst part is having to keep the kitties in until that slacker Sol gets his butt up and going. I know the time changes this weekend, but will that make it better or worse? I can never remember and the mere thought of it is too mathy for my two brain cells, much like splitting a restaurant check. Whatever way it is, I will be discombobulated – more than usual, anyway – by the overnight flight to Atlanta.

I think this is how we humans cope, by forgetting how cold and dark the winter is and how hot and sunny the summer is and the fact that we all have an expiration date. Every year I seem to be surprised by how “early” it gets cold and dark.

This week, it has been cold enough for me to put the heat on when I get up, and it serves as something of a pacifier for the cats as they bask in front of it and stop asking to go out. Even Audrey is not immune to its charms, though it palls on her faster than it does the boys and I cave in to her insistent insistence. That’s Audrey. Yesterday I happened to catch her rearing up on her back legs and chasing poor Luna away. It was like a real life cartoon as the 75 pound dog fled in horror from the tiny, stripy cat.

Even Audrey has been sleeping with me at night, though at the foot of the bed. The mysterious Mr. Roscoe loses his usual aloofness and cuddles right up to me all night. Sometimes he doesn’t bother to get up if it’s too cold for his taste. Surprisingly, Clyde, the mama’s boy, has been sleeping on the couch, though he does climb up on me for cuddles while I drink my coffee.

The boys seem to have been going through a rowdy phase. You may be able to see that Roscoe is missing some fur above his eye, and also sports a slightly torn ear on the same side. This morning, I noticed a chunk of fur missing on the back of Clyde’s neck. I guess boys will be boys!

I gave myself about the same amount of time to drive to LAX, return the rental car, take the shuttle to the airport and go through the dehumanizing process that is required of those who have the temerity to fly as I did to drive all the way to Santa Rosa from Hooterville.

I also avoided the freeways en route to LAX, a wise choice since every time I passed one, it looked like a parking lot as far as the eye could see. Arriving at the rental car place, I unloaded the car and waited for a minion to make sure I hadn’t wrecked it. Fortunately, the wait was much shorter than the wait to pick up the car. Then it was on the shuttle, to be next to last decanted.

By the time I had undressed and dressed and gotten to the gate, there was about 20 minutes to wait. I had given myself three hours, and if there had been a delay at the car rental place or Security, even that might not have been enough time.

Fortunately, all the hassle was on the LA end. At the Santa Rosa airport, there is one luggage belt, about 10 feet long, and it only took a few minutes for my luggage to appear. Then it was a short walk to reclaim Miss Scarlett and be on our way.

Needless to say, the traffic seemed like a total breeze. Driving through the Valley, it was wonderful to breathe clean air and admire the rolling hills ablaze with yellow, red and orange vines, our version of fall colors.

I got home in time to see Megan before she headed off to work. She told me that the kitties had taken their birds to her house, and also hung out on her car while I was away. They certainly missed me – the next day, they hardly played outside, despite the sunny weather, and they have slept with me every night since I got back. I feel kind of guilty about the upcoming Atlanta trip.

The (Im)Patient

Little Miss Audrey was at it again…

Not closing herself in the dresser drawer all night, or madly clawing at the door to go out, or refusing to come in at night, or terrifying the neighborhood dogs*, though she does all that. After all, she is Audrey. She was allergic to fleas again, just like she was around the same time last year.

She was scratching all the time, losing her fur, and all scabalicious again. The boys were fine and I didn’t have any bites (other than this year’s plague of mosquitoes), but a flea must have hopped onto Audrey or breathed on her or something, so a trip to the vet was in order.

I was prepared for the evil ways of the Evil Genius, so I had extra towels and a garbage bag to carry the towels that would inevitably bear the poop of wrath back home to wash. However, Audrey surprised me by not pooping, though she did howl the entire way to the Village. Not even Springsteen could cheer her up, or cover up her dolorous chorus.

I think we all know who the real Boss is.

She had a ZZ Top style foam beard when I arrived at the vet’s, and the bars of the carrier were festooned with extra foam, just for extra fun. I made quite the entrance with a howling, foamy, balding, scabby demon cat. Exorcist, anyone?

The kind technician cleaned Audrey up and did the initial check up (Audrey is the exact same feathery weight as last year). She told me how very sorry the entire staff was about Schatzi, and added that they were glad that they had not had to do the deed. She said she would not have been able to hold back tears, and thought that Dr. Karen might not have been able to, either. They care for all their patients, but some are special. Schatzi, she said, was beloved by all of them.

Dr. Carl once again worked his magic on Audrey. I don’t think he believes my tales of the Evil Genius, who is fuzzy putty in his capable hands. He gave her a steroid shot and some antibiotics, and did a blood panel to make sure there was nothing else wrong with her. Fortunately, she is fine other than her flea intolerance – why not, she’s intolerant of everything else – and that was a relief.

Needless to say, she howled all the way home. A few miles from home, on a particularly curvy stretch of road, we came across an accident scene**, and were stopped in our tracks for so long that I almost turned the car off. Audrey did not turn off the entire time we were sitting there, and when we got home, I discovered that she had thrown up in the carrier. Still better than poop, though. She was also foamy again, but before I could wipe it off, she ran away, not to be seen until dinner time, when she acted like nothing had happened.

*Schatzi’s boyfriend Yellow Dog still comes around looking for her after two months. He always gives me this pleading look like, “Where is she? Where are you hiding her?” He’s such a nice dog. It is heart-breaking, but it’s also really sweet.

**I later learned that someone had swerved to avoid an animal and their car ended up on its side, as often happens in these cases. The people inside were OK, the car less so.

Halloween San Francisco Style

I’m back home with the kitties and it’s a beautiful day. It’s warm enough to have the fans on – summer’s last hurrah. I can tell the cats missed me. They came in on their own yesterday evening and took turns sitting on my lap. As I write, they are all nearby.

Yesterday, I packed up the car, had breakfast at Polker’s, and checked out of my home away from home. I headed to Victor’s to pick up the traditional pizza, and discovered that I didn’t have my debit/credit card.

Uh oh.

I retraced my steps to Polker’s, and as I walked through the door, the waitress came up with my card. “I know why you’re here!” she said cheerfully.

I was much more cheerful as I went to Trader Joe, got gas for the car, and headed toward the iconic Bridge in the brilliant sunshine. Even though I really just worked on this brief trip, it was a good one. I listened to the baseball playoffs on my iPhone until cell service gave out, picked up some fresh cider at Gowan’s, and arrived home to be greeted by Clyde.

While I was enjoying my extreme takeout pizza, there was a knock at the door. It was Mark’s wife with a bag full of kale grown by a friend of hers. Welcome home!

Here’s a quick recap of what happened around here lately besides the Great Schatzi Search. I have to admit that I still drive our part of the Ridge really slowly, scanning the roadside, even though I know perfectly well that Schatzi is gone. My heart is even more underachieving than my head (and that’s saying something).

Clyde:

Even though my heart-broken sister was spending almost every hour of every day looking for Schatzi, she managed to find time to tend to Clyde and check on his progress. After a week of house arrest while the horrifying Slobber Monster wound drained and finally healed (he still has a bald spot the size of a quarter on his neck), I let him out before taking Star to the beach, with stern warnings to pace himself. There’s no need to use up all nine lives at once. Don’t fill up on bread before the entrée arrives! He really put me through the mill with the Mystery Illness and the Attack of the Slobber Monster occurring within a three week period.

He seems to be staying closer to the house lately, and I’m hoping that he is avoiding the Slobber Monster’s lair. I thought that the constant spraying and medicining would damage our relationship, but he is as cuddly as ever with both Megan and me. Last night he fell asleep on me while I was watching the final couple of grueling* (yet gripping) episodes of The Killing and I could hear him snoring.

Megan:

Besides getting a pay cut, the hospital no longer allows its employees to cash out their accrued vacation time, which Megan used to do every year. To make it more fun, they are so understaffed that it’s really difficult to take the time off that you can no longer cash out.

However, Megan managed to take two weeks off, during which Schatzi disappeared and her car was out of commission until a couple of days before she had to go back to work. She spent most of her hard-won time off looking for her lost dog and borrowing rides. As she said, “Worst staycation ever!”

Friends:

Our friends (and my sibs’ land partners) Jennifer and Dave came for a visit. They are planning to start building a house on their part of the property and are slowly working toward that goal. They brought their horses:

and two miniature ponies with them. That’s a lot of weight to haul on our narrow, curvy roads!

Megan was able to spend some time riding Bella, the spotted horse on the right.

We had a really nice dinner down at their place, admiring the view:

They are such wonderful people.

After dinner, we played Bananagrams, a sort of free-form Scrabble without a board. I discovered a hidden talent for this game. Like most of the things I’m good at (accurately guessing the price of antique estate jewelry in The New Yorker, for example), it has no practical application, but fun all the same. I never said I was practical.

Megan and I ventured to lovely Anderson Valley on a lovely summer day:

We meandered past vineyards and farms, stopped in at the farm stand looking for Megan’s favorite Pink Lady apples (not ready yet), and poked around the cute little shops. We met up with Erica and Jessica at Libby’s for dinner:

I finally gave Jessica her Secret Society of Paper Cuts book as well as a copy of the cult classic Pee Wee’s Playhouse, just what a girl needs when recovering from limb breakage. As it happened, Jessica had just gotten a walking cast, which looks something like a giant ski boot, that very day. She prided herself in her ability to get around with crutches and accomplish things like getting in and out of the car by herself – no easy feat.

It was great to see them. Erica was a great comfort to Megan in her time of loss, and Jessica was as delightful as ever:

We are planning to go to the County Fair in mid September. I’m hoping to switch my work schedule so I can go to the Sheep Dog trials on the Sunday – it’s the most exciting part of the fair!

Mark and his family are back home after a year in New Jersey for Mark’s job, dismantling a factory and shipping it to Mexico. He said if he ever gets offered a job like that again, he won’t move his whole family to do it.

While in New Jersey, they survived Hurricane Sandy and an epic winter. They took Route 66 home, and had lots of adventures along the way. They went to Toronto so the girls could see Justin Bieber, and fell in love with the city, its diversity, culture, friendliness, and energy.

They stopped in Flint, Michigan and a Good Samaritan, eying Mark’s out of state plates and family of women, advised him to stop elsewhere for the night. Later they learned that Flint is the most dangerous city in America. They settled for the less hazardous Detroit that night.

The highlight of the trip was the Grand (or as Mark called it, the “Great”) Canyon. When they described it, you could see the look of awe on their faces.

We sat in my garden and had some wine and caught up. I’m glad they’re home.

I love our friends. What would we do without them?

*Episode ten was the most harrowing thing I’ve ever seen on TV.

It’s been all Clyde, all the time this week.

If I’m not fussing over him in person, I’m worried about him while I’m at work.

I’m lucky that Megan is off this week, so she has time to pay house calls to her fuzzy patient several times a day. By the time I came home on Tuesday night, Clyde had been washed off and compressed as well as dosed with antibiotics. Megan also fed him probiotics in wet food, which is supposed to help with the intestinal side effects of the antibiotics.

I had difficulty getting him to eat the wet food this morning, but in this case, the antis are more important than the pros, much like it is in Congress these days. He was notably improved this morning, brighter eyed and more alert, and grooming his fur, which was notably less caky and gross.

Clyde was also more interested in outside, sitting by the sliding glass doors instead of hiding under the bed.

The whole episode has been a strange mix of good luck and bad luck.

Bad luck: Clyde was attacked by a mysterious slobber monster in broad daylight.

Good luck: He got away. Looking at the wound and its location, the monster was clearly trying to kill Clyde. I’m thankful for whatever or whoever distracted the monster or scared it off.

Good luck: Megan is not working this week, so she’s available to take care of Clyde while I’m not there. Not to mention calling the vet and dealing with medication and all that.

Bad luck: Part of the reason she is on cat call is that her brakes are being uncooperative so she has no car until the boys can operate and check it. So she’s been grounded for her “vacation.”

Bad luck: It’s been foggy all week and doesn’t look like we’re going to see the sun any time soon. Audrey and Roscoe are stuck outside in the fog while I’m at work and they have no doorman.

Good luck: It’s cool, so I don’t have to worry about the house being stuffy and hot when I get home.

I have decided that the mysterious slobber monster is a one off and will not bother us again. After all, my sister’s cats are 12, my brother’s cat Mars lived into his 20s, and Rose’s cat Gertrude lived to be almost as old on this property. I’m sure it will be a little worrying when Clyde ventures out again, though I’m pretty sure he will avoid wherever he ran into the monster.

I’m just glad the little guy is recovering. I feel like I can breathe again.

Who needs Bonnie when you’re Clyde? He can get into enough trouble on his own, thank you very much!

I had the day off on Saturday, time to hang out with the kitties and catch up on my reading and watching mindless TV. About noon that day, I noticed that I hadn’t seen Clyde in a while. Normally, the cats come in and out during the day, even when it’s sunny. They have a snack, get some pets, and have a nap. Audrey in particular is a notorious daytime sleeper. The other day she meowed in her sleep and woke herself up, then looked around all confused before going back to sleep, thinking it must have been a dream.

About an hour later, I noticed a lot of noise from crows and turkey vultures. The only reason for crows and vultures to be partying is because they are excited about eating. And the only thing they eat is dead animals. You can see where I was going with this.

I put on shoes and ventured to the haul road, where I saw the sad remains of a fawn – nothing but skeleton, head and legs, bless his little heart. The birds took off in horror at my arrival. Roscoe appeared, making his plaintive sounds, but no Clyde. I called Clyde a few more times during the afternoon, but no response. Roscoe followed me inside and napped on the armoire while Audrey dozed on the bed.

Megan came by around 3:00, and I said, “There’s still no sign of Clyde.” She said, “He isn’t that black cat?” pointing into the garden. It was. I picked him up, so happy to see him, and thought, “Wait a minute.”

The fur on one side of his neck was wet and slimy and spiky and smelled weird. Megan investigated and found a big bite on his neck. She went home for Vetericyn, and when she came back, she put him in the sink and washed him down like she did with Audrey when I first moved up here and Audrey pooped and peed in the carrier and then rolled in it.

She toweled him off and sprayed the wound with Vetericyn. He was immediately grounded, so I went and closed the many doors. Clyde hid under the bed, but emerged for treats when Audrey and Roscoe came in for the evening. He sat on me and purred, and slept on the bed that night. He seemed fine in himself, and unconcerned about whatever had happened, but Megan thinks he used up one of his nine lives.

Cats really need to work on their communication skills. I still have no idea what his mystery illness was only three weeks and $200 ago, and then there was the chin abscess. None of us can figure out what would have caused all that foul-smelling goo and slime, which is weirder than the bite itself.

Clyde was still grounded on Sunday. I felt bad that he was trapped inside and also that Audrey and Roscoe were stuck outside, with no access to food or the comfy bed. Megan came by before I left for work on Sunday and washed him off again. The wound was draining into the fur and making it all sticky and gross. It’s good that it’s draining and getting the bad stuff out, though. Megan made a couple of more house calls during the day to hot compress the wound and respray with with Vetericyn. She has done the same thing yesterday and today, and also called the vet, who is prescribing antibiotics for my bitten boy. He still looked pretty sad when I left for work this morning. Think good thoughts for the baby boy to get well soon!

How It’s Done

I have come to the conclusion that my cats do not approve of my sleeping in.

And by “sleeping in” I mean “getting up later than 5:30 am”, which is the default time for most of the week due to one reason (aquafit) or another (conference calls). Even in the dark depths of winter, I let Audrey out around 6:00. Now it’s light, even on foggy days, at that early hour, so one day earlier this week, I opened the doors and went back to bed.

Roscoe ignored the outdoors, and instead walked all over me. Literally. Eventually he settled heavily down, simultaneously pinning down the covers and making it hard to breathe with any ease. I tried to get him to cuddle with me, but he climbed back on my side and sat there staring at me. I gave up and got up.

Today I tried opening the doors and feeding them before going back to bed, figuring that Roscoe’s sit in was a protest against their unfairly delayed breakfast. They were eating when I headed back up to the sleeping loft. I was just dropping off when both of the boys climbed up on me and started kneading and jockeying for position on the coveted real estate of my body. Then a mosquito whined by my ear and I gave up on the whole thing.

As soon as I was up and making coffee, the boys took off. Mission accomplished!

Audrey doesn’t concern herself with such petty things as sloth and schedules, and as you can see from the picture, she has an advanced degree in R’n’R. In fact, she likes to hang out and nap for much of the afternoon after whatever incredibly urgent business she has to attend to first thing in the morning. But she can and does control me with the power of her mind. Call her Carnac the Magnificent.

Audrey, being Audrey, gets special privileges, which the boys understand and don’t seem to resent. They are definitely wary of her, though, and seem to expect her to be in charge. She’s the one who growls at Yellow Cat when he cruises by and chases away dogs and chickens with equal determination despite her diminutive size. The only thing that’s small about Audrey is her body. Her personality and stubbornness are huge.

For some reason which I cannot now remember, my brainette looking pretty much like Miss Havisham’s attic and full of useless things like 1970s pop song lyrics and the difference between “carat” and “karat”, I started giving Audrey a spoonful of wet food in the morning. She has come to expect this service, and will sit on the back porch and stare at me with her huge, clear green eyes until I give it to her. She never makes a sound. She doesn’t have to. She is Audrey the Magnificent, controlling me with the power of her sleek, Scandinavian loft furnished mind.

She also has superpowers of stubbornness. Yesterday she was napping on the bed in keeping with her daytime snooze schedule. I moved her off it to make the bed, to her vocal disgust. She jumped right back up. I put her off again, and before I could even drape the blanket over the sheet, she was on the bed again. I ended up making the bed over and around her. When I was finished, she emerged from under the covers and went to lie down again on the exact original spot I have moved her from, staring at me in disgust before settling down to resume her interrupted beauty sleep.