Thursday, July 17, 2003 It’s been a week today, since Lucky was sent to the bridge. Things got back to normal pretty quickly. It helped that Lucky wasn’t an in your face cat. That she spent most of her time by herself in a quiet place. The past few years have been on the stove. We had to make modifications to how we stored stuff on it, wanting to keep her safe. We had the pilot lights covered so that she couldn’t accidentally get burned. On one we had a heat safe ceramic spoon, on the other we had a tea kettle balanced on the two burners, the pilot light in the middle. There was always water in the kettle and being over the pilot light kept it warm. We’d often find her snuggled up against that for warmth, sleeping soundly. We rarely woke her up, we’d let her sleep. The only times we woke her was when we wanted to cook something. After, we’d replace all of the safety devices and she’d be able to resume her sleeping. Habits die hard. Brian made himself eggs earlier this week and I saw that he’d put the tea kettle back on the pilot light. *sigh* There’s no longer any need to do that.
Becky called yesterday from the vet’s office, Lucky’s ashes are back. I’ll probably pick them up tomorrow. I’m just not ready to go over there and get them. Just another box for the pile in the shop. *big sigh*
Mickey has been yowling incessantly since Lucky died. Yow, yow, yow, yow all day long, except when he’s sleeping. When I yell at him to stop, or to ask what’s wrong, he quiets. For about fifteen minutes, then starts up again. I go in there to see him and he’s as sweet as can be. Purring and loving up a storm. He’s even started helping me to make the bed again, something I’d rather he didn’t. Because his favorite part is helping my push the spread under the pillows. And he does it with his claws out, right behind my hands. Ye-ouch! As if that’s not enough, he also follows (chases) me as I walk around the bed. At least, he’s on top of the bed when he does that. Not so, Oliver, who ambushes me from below. And he’s not nearly as careful with claws and teeth as Mickey is. (There he goes again, yowwing.) Mickey seems to be healthy, he’s not acting sick. Just yappy. I wonder if Lucky is speaking through him from the beyond. *lol*
Speaking of signs from the beyond, I’m sure many of us have done this. “If you’re okay, if you’re well and happy, if you know how much we miss you, please, please, leave us a sign,” we’ll speak up to the heavens. Well, I’ve been doing a lot of that the past week. And this past weekend, I found a white whisker on the stove! Where Lucky used to lay! A sign! Isn’t that kewl? Well, it was until the next morning I found someone had been up there and peed. I know that wasn’t Lucky leaving a sign. It was obviously some other kitty. So, I wondered about the whisker. Maybe it wasn’t a sign after all.
Gee, thanks, cats.
Brian told me this morning that Pete doesn’t like SpotTee anymore than Repete does. We’re always going outside to tell Repete to back off, leave SpotTee alone. Okay, I guess not all brain cells were firing on all cylinders at this time. Huh? Pete doesn’t like SpotTee? How do you know? Well, Pete is hanging on the fence, growling at SpotTee through the wire and on the other side of SpotTee, Repete is making his dislike of SpotTee, who is laying on top of the fence, known. That’s kind of funny, ya know? We always thought Repete was Pete’s brother, they look so much alike. Poor SpotTee.
Last Saturday, I checked on my first tomato of the season (there are plenty more on the vine now), to see if it was ready to pick. Yep, it was finally ripe enough. I figured I’d pick it later in the day, after we got home from Brian’s mom’s house (his nephew is home safe and sound from the Gulf war). Now, the area where the tomato plants are is enclosed, but the bottom of the gate is pushed out enough so that the cats can go in there and play in the nip. No biggie, right?
Now, the last time I grew tomatoes, only one plant grew and it got only one tomato for the entire season. And it was planted close to where the ones I’ve got now are planted. And a couple of the branches were outside of the little fenced in area, one of those branches having the only tomato. Well, the day I was going to pick my lone tomato, it was gone. Disappeared. And it came to me that one of the dogs got it. I hope whoever it was enjoyed my lovely vine ripened tomato. I’m sure I would have. Anyway, we get home from the gathering, I go to look at my tomato. My eyes aren’t as sharp as they were when I was younger. My ripe tomato didn’t look right. Not at all. Had it burst? I looked closer, between the leaves. My mouth dropped open. I uttered an expletive. I looked around my little garden. I saw dog fur in the garden. I cursed the dog. I picked the tomato. My luscious vine ripened tomato was half eaten. Grrr….. I’ve fixed the gate so that the dog can’t get in to the garden. Neither can the cats, but I really would like to try one of my tomatoes this year. Can you blame me?
And Junior just looked so sweet and innocent. “I didn’t do anything!” *sigh* Eh, what’s a tomato, anyway? I just hope Junior appreciated it.
Well, that’s it for now. I’m gonna take some bubble stuff outside and let the cats chase.
 |
