Grant rose indecently early this morning. He blamed the cats, but I think he just forgot to change his clock. It has made for a long morning during which I have tried (unsuccessfully) to keep at bay the pre-election anxiety which seems to permeate the very air I breathe. We live in extraordinary times.
This is one I shall not soon forget. One way or the other.
It seems like hundreds of years ago when John Kennedy was running for president. I was with my parents in Thailand at the time and my dad had American friends. One of them was very worried about the possibility of a Catholic president. I can’t help trying to picture how that particular American would be reacting to what we’ve seen in 2020!
Determining to concentrate on other things, I decided to change my bed linen and realized that this chore is probably a marker for aging. At least for me.
When changing the bed takes a whole morning, it’s a sure sign the body is beginning to degenerate!
Poor Patches came to help and I stepped on her foot.
But she just rolled over and asked to be petted.
If only everyone was as nice-natured as she.
Sweet Patches gets bullied, by almost all the others.
So, to protect her, I created a mini-apartment for her.
It makes her harder to get at and gives her security.
Does it look nice? Oh no.
Everything in the house is geared to the comfort of cats.
My cat boudoir:
I have a proper bed cover now. It’s waterproof. It used to be plastic-covered. Someone liked to pee on it.
Who would live this way? But then, who cares?
Those chairs and boxes are just in case anyone wants to sit on them. First, I had a chair, a chest and a box.
But Willow won’t sit on anything Lucy has sat on.
So Lucy sits on anything she thinks Willow might like.
And choices were added…
…and more choices.
Sometimes I really think that’s “M” come back.
Today, Lucy chose the chest.
But with the arrival of winter, Willow is more interested in warmth:
As are Blackie and Sophia.
Penny decided to favour a basket on the table, (OK, yes, it’s the dining table. We don’t use it.) Grant worries about her climbing up with her wonky arthritic legs. Now I’ve got to find a pet ladder.
Toby took himself off to the window in the litter-box room (!) He longs to be outside, so Grant takes him out for walks on a harness. Sikkim likes to go for a stroll as well.
So that’s the cats sorted out..
Remember I said Grant had moved the bird feeders back down where I could see them?
Not a bird in sight yesterday. Nope. Not having it. “She might take a photograph.“
“‘er be g’wen t take yar piktur.”
(They’ve morphed into West Country)
(Yes, I know, I’m cracking up. Humour me.)
So this morning, just to prove my theory, I put the feeders back up again.
You see, I’ve come to the conclusion that it isn’t just cats that can read minds. I think all creatures can, including my little feathered friends. The moment I fetch my camera, they all bog off.
But they are greedy little buggers and I can be stealthy at times. (Don’t fall over laughing.)
And there they all were, back in droves:
“Aw bloddy ‘ell, t’is ‘er agen!” Busted.
Lily spent the morning on top on Patches’ condo. She doesn’t care who else sat there…
…and she’s bored with the whole thing.