I have a guest cat for a week (Giblet). My niece, nephew, and their kids are going on a Christmas cruise. The day before they left, their cat sitter fell through. This is a fairly young cat, known for doing things like managing to tip the lid and fall into the reserve water tank for their salt water aquarium, or getting tangled up in the Christmas tree lights. So they couldn't just leave him at home and have someone come into feed him. They needed someone to take him.
So Thursday night I took things out of the back room to cat proof it - most notably my flying squirrel Dingo, but also my puppets, and the patchwork velvet quilt that my mother made. I set up a litter box and a food station. Friday morning on the way to the port they came and brought the cat. As long as my great-nephew Dane was there, Giblet was fine, poking around the room. When they left - he disappeared. I checked on him that evening - he was under the bed, in the back, and hissed at me. No problem - he's in a strange room with a strange person. This morning I got down on the floor to look under the bed to check on him - and he screamed and launched himself at me. Fortunately all he did was hook a nostril. I've gone in a couple of times today (once because I wanted a book) but I tiptoe in and listen for the growling to tell where he is.
It's gonna be a long week.
To show willing for the season, I put bows on the gargoyles today. I feel rebellious when I do this; I had always wanted to, but for some reason Bob was really against the idea. Firmly. If I'm honest, I'll admit that he rarely said "No" to me, so I let him win this battle. But about three years ago, I decided to do it. It felt a little strange and sad but I knew that he was beyond caring (or even knowing) about it, and I liked the whimsy of it. So I do it, with only a soft whisper of "I'm sorry."
Today was beautiful. Cool, clear, brilliant blue sky. I thought I would *finally* build a fire (we had those days of rain, so the fire ban has been lifted) and get the piles of brush burned off and do a bit more clearing. But then I thought of RedBug, huddled in the dark under the bed for the last month. So instead of working outside, I blocked off the back deck catio to the other cats and carried him out. He used to spend a lot of time out there in the past, and when I put him down he hopped around, checking out the old familiar place. I didn't want to leave him out there on his own, because there are tables for the cats to get on, and I was afraid that if he did and tried to jump off he might lose his balance and hurt himself. So I sat and did some reading, and thought that after an hour or so I would put him back inside and still be able to go do some yard work. But this happened.
There was no way I was going to wake him to put him back in the bedroom (where he would return to under the bed). A few posts ago I wrote about some projects-in-process, so I sat out there and knit for awhile, and then did some handsewing until he woke up. Tomorrow is also supposed to be nice and we'll do this again. This *has* to be better for him than sitting under the bed.
I was able to get outside for a little while, to let the chickens out to free range for a bit and cut back some underbrush that's been taking over my walking path. The fires will have to wait for some cold gray day; getting Bug out into the sunshine is more important.
I've been smiling about a hat that I lost and then found. The mornings have been chilly lately (like in the low 30s) so a hat is necessary. I couldn't find the one I usually wear to the museum - a brown wool beanie (I still like to call it a watch cap) with cables that I spun and knit a few years ago. I checked all my winter bins, but it wasn't there. No problem; I do have other wool hats. But Wednesday I noticed that Heather (one of the keepers) was wearing a snug brown fuzzy beanie that somehow looked familiar. I surreptitiously took a closer look when she turned her back, and saw a hint of cables through the fuzz. Yep, it was my hat, and I knew what must have happened. When it warms up during the day, I take my hat off and shove it in my pocket. Some time last year it must have fallen out. Heather is a frugal sort - if she found a nice warm hat, she would probably take it home, wash it, and wear it. A wool hat + a washing machine = a smaller and fuzzier wool hat.
I didn't say anything. She probably would have felt compelled to give it back, and apologize for shrinking it. But she's one of those people who feel the cold very acutely, and I would have been happy to give it to her at any time. So I kept my mouth shut, and I'm just happy I can keep my friend a little bit warmer.
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