Another notch

Weather up here changes in a heartbeat, but for once it settled in and rained solid for two days causing floods in parts of the Northeast. Perched on the side of a hill, we are safe from such things although we did once come home to a flooded garage, but that was due to a blocked drain.

Living beside a river is lovely in fair weather, but I’ve never thought it advisable. Crossing the Hudson yesterday, we were impressed at how swiftly it had climbed up its banks. Two days before it had been flowing lazily, much further down the banks.

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We expected Thursday to end as it started, but in late afternoon the clouds broke and by early evening, this is all that remained.

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A rapidly travelling and quite splendid cloud.

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That soon disappeared over the southern horizon.

No rainbows or dramatic sunset.

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But as I rose from my desk to retire with my book, I saw that a damp fox was feasting nervously on the walkway.

It does not appear to be the one was called Torn Ear who we’ve not seen since Spring. Her injury was not the sort of thing that would heal, so she is clearly elsewhere. Safe, we hope.

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After dark I took a picture of the just-past-full Moon.

It was shrouded in mist, but irresistible.

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Like cobwebs. I always feel the need to photograph them too.

Even when they are not particularly pretty, they strike me as works of art and such a wondrous thing.

A spider’s 8 creepy legs still give me the shivers and I would run a mile if I came upon a tarantula or wolf spider, but mostly I’ve got over the phobia I once had.

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Living in the country, you need to make adjustments and I’d already made many after my home became a multi-cat residence.

It doesn’t do to be house proud in either of those cases. I was never quite that, but I used to be what people described as a neat freak. Daily dusting and lining things up just so. The latter of course went out the window with the first cat. Cats do not tolerate neatness.

As my household grew, standards dropped and since my only visitors were close friends who did not need impressing, – well, to be honest, I don’t think I that was something I’d ever attempted, in any case.

Till I moved to the country, 8 years ago, I’d almost never experienced a mouse in the house, although saying that reminded me that my parents were sometimes annoyed by them when they lived in Barbados.

My father wrote to The New Statesman, a British magazine he subscribed to:

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Years after, my parents had adjusted their attitudes as well. Once, while I was with them for a few days, a mouse came to sit on top of the fridge and it was so cute, there was no talk of mousetraps. How far they had come.

While I was not afraid of mice, I did not fancy the idea of having one run across my feet – not that I imagine it was very likely, but I was always just a little jumpy if I knew there to be a mouse in the room.

Living in the country soon cured me of that.

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Lily and Dee Dee were always our main mousers. In her dotage, I think Lily lost her interest in such pursuits, but Dee Dee used to spend hours on watch in the cellar at night and she made many killings.

Sometimes, she brought her prey upstairs where I suspect she allowed it to escape. Then I was treated to the sound effects of the chase.

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Willow soon joined in and there was much crashing and banging and squeaking.

One memorable night, I was subjected to the sound of crunching, followed by loud vomiting and had the charming experience of cleaning up the unfortunate, regurgitated rodent.

When I was able, I rescued the mouse and managed to escort a few out, though as Grant pointed out, they very likely found their way straight back in and mostly I ended up hot, bothered and unsuccessful.

So now, I just let the cats get on with it. Mice are very destructive, so much as I hate the goings on, I accept that it is better to keep the numbers down.

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And we have a new man on the job. Little Man is young, fast and very efficient, so Dee Dee has handed over the title of Main Mouser, though she and Willow still join the hunt.

Somewhere, we think the boy is carving notches to keep track of his killings which he sometimes eats, but often leaves lying around for a bare foot to find, or…

Willow likes her medicine and takes it willingly, but – it must be administered when she is quite ready, which means in the right location. This often involves circling the room two or three times and I can always count on Little Man coming by at just that moment to upset things by giving Willow the eye. Then we’re off to do the circuits again which sometimes expand to include the living room.

Yesterday morning I had an early appointment, so had no time for messing around. Luckily, Little Man had not yet appeared and Willow went under the chair from beneath which she usually creeps to accept her medicine, but no – an object lying on the floor distracted her. It was the latest vomit, I thought, but squinting in the grey light of dawn, I realised it was Little Man’s latest killing.

Another notch!

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