After I bicycled home this afternoon, the house smelled stale to me, so I marched from room to room, opening windows. I was opening the window below when the kitten threw herself at my dainty rump. Fortunately, I was still a little sweaty, so her claws penetrated my jeans and my epidermis. All I could do was stand there, gasping, until Darla got bored with hanging from my hamstrings. Man, I love her.
WHAT is that GODDAMN kitten DOING?
Those potato plants look a little piqued to you?
I feel drab and uninspired. These golden beets, however, look like they could dance until dawn.
I am a champion fretter. I have medals for fretting. I’ve been fretting for weeks about the potato plants as about half of them died back. Half the plants are still green and look like ridiculous weeds, but the plants around the garden’s edge died back and I worried. I waited and I worried. Every day for a few weeks, I looked at them and fretted. Finally, last night, I could stand it no longer and did what modern people do: took a picture, put it up on Facebook and asked for advice. Wendy the Good Witch said to stick my hand in the dirt and pull up something. It was well past dark, so Pete grabbed a flashlight and out we went to find out what was up.
Left to right: last night’s potatoes, this afternoon’s, shift supervisor Topaz, who reminds you tardiness will not be tolerated.
In a startling turn of events, potatoes actually grew beautifully. Last night in the dark, we dug up the spuds in the colander and did a happy dance in our kitchen. We were also sure there would be more if we checked today, so after work, I ran my hands through the soil again and out came over a pint more of potatoes. I’m thrilled! Not failing to grow potatoes is great! In even better news: we still have half a dozen plants to go.
Have you ever seen greens so glam? Of course you have not. These are the Hedy Lamarr of hardy greens.
Where I live, no one does this. Pete said, “Idiot doesn’t even know a real redneck would be driving a Ford or a Chevy.”
This grape mourns for the death of afternoon. Topaz gazed at it for a moment, but their love was not to be.
Darla and Drusy. The kitten is now larger than the other black cats and completely pushy. Last night, though, Darla lay her head on Drusy’s back and Drusy did not storm off. It was a sweet moment, shortly followed by the usual fight about who loves Justin Bieber more.
After my six-month appointment at the Hospital For Special Surgery, Pete and I walked around and around the Guggenheim. The uneven surfaces proved difficult and challenging, but ultimately, we saw wonderful canvases and had a wonderful time. At home, we collapsed on the couch and wished we could sleep for a week.
Left: sugar plum chutney; right: pickled beets.
I am too depressed to talk. Between the sudden death of Tunch, the George Zimmerman acquittal and a strange turn of events in my family, I feel a little broken. Maybe tomorrow will be better.
At 11 pm on a school night and in the space of ten minutes, max:
My phone rings. It’s the upstairs tenant from the other side of the house. Her voice is trembling.
Kathy: Is Pete there?
Tata: He is!
Kathy: I caught a mouse under a wastebasket in my bathtub. How did he get in my bathtub? I don’t know how it got there, but it’s there and I’m terrified –
Tata: We’re on it! [To Pete] Kathy caught a mouse in her bathtub.
Pete: [Reading juicy gossip on Facebook] Goddammit!
Kathy: – if you guys weren’t home I didn’t know what I was going to do. What if you guys were away for the weekend? Was I going to leave it there? I didn’t know –
Pete: Grrrr grrrr grrrr….
Tata: [To Kathy] Oh, I know! Oh, I know! [To Pete] Get up, I’m goddamm Sybil Fawlty!
Kathy: – how I could take showers and what if mice were in my closets and can he come up here and help me?
Tata: He’ll be up in a minute.
Kathy: Okay.
Pete got up and made for the basement. Over his shoulder, he said, “Tell her I’m getting gloves,” which seemed mysterious until I heard a door slam on the other side of the house. Out in the hall, Kathy was sweating and nearly hyperventilating. Makeup formed generous rings around her eyes. I ushered her into our house.
Tata: Pete’s gone to get gloves. Come in, come in, please! Can I get you a glass of water?
Kathy: No, thank you.
Pete marched past us grimly, gloved hands in front of his face like a surgeon on his way to the operating theater. I opened the door for Ben Casey and Kathy cycled through her story again.
Kathy: I caught a mouse under a wastebasket in my bathtub. How did he get in my bathtub? I don’t know how it got there, but it’s there and I was terrified –
Tata: How about a glass of water?
Kathy: – if you guys weren’t home I didn’t know what I was going to do. What if you guys were away for the weekend? Was I going to leave it there? I didn’t know –
Tata: You really don’t want a glass of water?
Kathy: – how I could take showers and what if mice were in my closets? How would a mouse even get into my bathtub? Did it come through the pipes? After I found mouse droppings in my kitchen, I put everything into plastic containers. There’s nothing for the mouse to eat, so how did it get there –
I got up, put ice into a rocks glass, poured cool, filtered water and handed it to Kathy in the living room. She took a sip and noticed three black cats had come to see her. The blind kitten scampered off, breaking Kathy’s concentration.
Kathy: She just walked away! How does she know where to go? She’s in the kitchen!
Tata: She runs, jumps and plays. She’s really smart.
Kathy: How does she know where the furniture is?
Tata: She remembers.
Kathy: Who is this one?
Tata: That’s Topaz. She normally doesn’t engage with new people but –
From the other side of the house, we both hear BAM! BAM BAM! BAM! Neither of us flinches.
Tata: – she likes you a whole lot. Drusy over there is our hunter. We’ll be happy to lend you a cat if you have this problem again. Drusy and Sweetpea would make short work of any mouse problem.
A door slams, then the front door slams.
Kathy: Drusy? She seems so tiny.
Tata: Yeah, but she’s ferocious.
The front door slams again. Pete walks through the front door.
Pete: Well, next time, we’ll lend you a cat. They love this stuff.
Kathy: They catch mice?
Pete: Yep. Sometimes, Drusy runs by with a victim in her mouth.
Tata: It’s hard to hear, what with all the screaming.
Kathy: The mouse?
Tata: No, me.
Pete: I cleaned up the tub and took the mouse out to the garbage.
Kathy: Thank you, thank you!
Cats: Amateur!
Poor Impulse Control 