In my mind, I'm five years old having a high old time wandering and wondering. In reality, I'm now in my late 60s, wowza! I tell you a lot of creativity is still to be found in this old young self. In you, too, whatever your age. Welcome to my barefoot world!
I've been digging. Here a little dig. There a big dig. All over the yard, both front and back. The last several days I've focused on finding shady spots for potted succulents in the backyard. Those parched guys looked so happy and relaxed after a few hours in the shade absorbing a long drink of water. I've also been digging beds for the extra bean, tomato, and pepper seedlings that sprouted. I can't bring myself to throw them out. They deserve a chance to produce fruit, too. The Husband built a trellis for the beans to climb. Pretty cool, huh. Mama would've given him a giggle, grin, and an extra nod of well done. This morning I dug the biggest bed for the tomato and pepper seedlings. Double dig, work in soil amendment, turn soil one more time, and let rest for tomorrow's planting. Daddy would've been proud, by golly, by gee that I paid attention to how he prepared the land for his vegetable garden. That's a story for another day. Digging, shov
This is Silver. Aren't his blue eyes amazingly blue? Old Silver lives on good friends Missus and Mister H's ranch. He's a Persian mix, methinks. He rules the cat roost on the ranch. Molly Girl doesn't know a thing about him. I think she prefers to not know about any cats that The Husband and I know. "Miao, miaooo! That's right!" exclaims Molly from down the hall.
A cute huge puppy lives next door. Whenever his humans go to work, they put him in his kennel outside. That is near our kitchen window. Bark, Bark! Hooooooowwwwwwl! All day. The puppy has gotten better about barking and howling less. And, as long as I'm on the other side of our house, I can tolerate his whines and demands to be brought back inside the house. But, there are times when my patience wears thin. The Mama told me to be nice and not tell them about the barking and howling. What about them being nice, I said. His humans are nice people. A young couple. The Husband and I talked with them a couple of weeks ago. It turned out they are aware of the puppy's barking and howling. We were the third neighbor to inform them. The puppy's humans are doing their best to resolve the problem. At least, I hope so. I do feel sorry for the puppy being out in the elements during the day. Still. Bark, Bark! Hooooooowwwwwwl!
"Maybe Molly needs a table," said the Mama, eying the barely touched breakfast plate of food on the floor. "She wouldn't be able to reach her food," I said, envisioning Molly the Cat sitting at a little kid's table. "She has too bend so low to eat," Mama said. Molly the Cat circled her plate, sniffed it, and walked away. Molly had to have been hungry. She tried to climb on my calves (yeah, I have big calves) while I was spooning her food onto her plate, which was her sign of saying "Hurry up, Human!" I set the plate down. She took a few bites and walked away. She'd been doing that for a couple of days. Maybe the Mama was onto something. I went into the hallway where a whole bunch of nothing rested and found a cardboard carton to hold take-out coffee. It was the perfect size for the plate to rest on. So, I tried it. "Come here, Molly." Molly approached her breakfast. She sniffed her makeshift table. She sat dow
Today is all about Molly the Cat. The gorgeous girl has been shepherding us for two-and-a-half years. The Mama, the Husband, and I all agree -- how ever did we manage before she came into our lives? Sometimes I like to work on the computer before breakfast. On some mornings, Molly jumps up on the desk and stretches out. "Hurry up," she says. "How can I?" I ask her. "I can't see the screen. I need to use the mouse." "Mrrrr," she says. "That's your problem." Most mornings before we eat breakfast, Molly and I head out the front door. I fetch the newspaper while she checks the grounds. Some days, Stewie, from down the street, sits beneath our car. Molly scowls intently from afar and when she decides Stewie is too slow to take the hint, Molly approaches in attack mood. Stewie has learned from past encounters that it's best to just leave. After breakfast, the Mama opens the screen door for Molly to
Our sweetie-cakes is bored. How do I know Miss Molly by Golly is bored? "Break time," she mewed. She hopped up on my desk, walked back and forth on my keyboard, and checked out what was on the computer, then plopped down in front of me, insisting that she be petted. Molly rarely comes upstairs into the office in the morning on her own volition. ( Ooooh, big word. Could my ability to recall vocabulary be coming back? Take that Menopause! ) And, the only reason she normally doesn't care to seek out my attention at this time of the day is because she's enjoying herself in the Mama's garden. So, why wasn't she there on this gorgeous summer day? Unfortunately, summer brings back her seasonal harasser—the mockingbird. Every time, Molly the Cat goes outside, the bird suddenly appears and screeches at her. Molly just sits and looks at it, as if saying, "What's your problem?" The mockingbird then swoops at her and as Molly retreats to the hous
See the flowers outside. The Mama snips off dead blossoms every few days to make sure the flower bushes are bright and cheery for everyone to look at. And, Molly the Cat makes sure she sniffs them every time she is out there to show her appreciation. Check out other A to Z Challenge participants by clicking here .
"Outside, please," says Molly the Cat When we adopted Molly the Cat a few months ago, we were told that she had always been an indoors cat. Only once in her life did she ever live outside. Molly's previous adoptive humans had taken in Molly and her brother who had special needs. The humans didn't understand what that meant because after a few weeks, they tired of cleaning up after the brother and dumped both Molly and him outside. Poor babies. We were upfront with Molly's foster human. We wanted Molly to explore the outdoors when she was ready and if she wanted to do so. Within a lot of reason, of course. Never the front yard unless she was on a leash. And, only in the backyard if the Mama was agreeable to Molly wandering around her flower and vegetable plots. No problem there. So, when Molly the Cat somehow got out of the front window a while back , we decided to give her the chance to wander around the backyard. Supervised, that is. "Micro-m
The tale of Mr. Cat ends today. For the earlier segments, please go here: 1. The prequel 2. Mr. Cat's first appearance 3. So says Mr. Cat 4. Seeking Mr. Cat It has almost been a month since Mr. Cat was part of our lives. In all, Mr. Cat was with us for six weeks, from just before Thanksgiving to right after New Year's Day. We really couldn't have asked for a better Christmas gift than his presence. Okay, I won't leave you hanging about the half-naked man with which I ended the story last Thursday . Unlike fictional stories that would introduce such a minor character, nothing happened. Short and simple, the true scene played out as such. "Is that your cat?" I asked, pointing to grey cat beneath the bushes. "Yes," he said, nonplussed, as if every morning he opened the door shirtless to answer an old lady about his cat. That cat which, by the way, quickly ran into his house. "Sorry," I said, thinking that I would not be riding
T his is the fourth installment of the tale of Mr. L. Gatto Cat, "our" cat for a very brief while. If you wish to read the earlier segments, please go here: The prequel Mr. Cat's first appearance So says Mr. Cat On the evening of January 2, Mr. L. Gatto Cat mewed loudly at the front door. It was only 8 p.m. He had left the house only a couple hours ago. "What are you doing here so early?" I asked as I opened the door. It was only luck that I happened to be walking by the door. Otherwise, I would not have heard him over the Mama's TV in the living room and the husband washing dishes in the kitchen. "Meow. Meow. Meow," Mr. Cat said, rubbing my legs, then rubbing the bottom of the door. He stood inside the door, looking out. "Do you want to come in or not?" I asked, holding the door open. "It's cold." "Meow." "In or out? Out or in? Make up your mind," I leaned over to pet him. "Meow." P
Last week, I began the tale of Mr. L. Gatto Cat, "our" cat for a very brief while. Here are the links to the prequel and Mr. Cat's first appearance . I was just minding my own business. In the late afternoon, I liked to hang out under the old lady's rose bushes to grab some of the last of the sun's bubbles before it scooted over the rooftops. The old lady had a very pleasant and tidy garden. No leaves to muss me up. No rocks to dig into my body. The plants and her house protected me from the wind. And, best of all, the birds flocked to the bird feeders on the tree in the middle of the yard. It was only right that I politely said "Thanks" whenever the old lady, the bushy-haired tall guy, or the younger old lady walked by. The guy always petted me and said kind things to me. I didn't get much of human talk until evening. As for the women—they ignored me. I think the old lady was hard of hearing. The younger old lady sometimes glanced at me
Although Mr. L. Gatto Cat was "our" cat for a very brief while, he made quite an impact in all of our lives—the Mama's, the Husband's, and mine. Click here if you would like to first read the prequel to the Tale of Mr. L. Gatto Cat. "Hello. My name is Susie. I live up the street. Are you missing a cat?" It was a warm April evening. The husband and I were walking up and down our block, looking for the house where a young, friendly grey cat might belong. That morning, at breakfast time, the cat had sauntered up to our screen door and mewed as if to say, "Let me in." "Go away," I said through the screen door. "You don't belong here." "Meow, meow," it answered. A couple hours later, the husband went to fetch the mail. The cat came out from under the rose bushes. He petted the cat. On the way back from the mailbox, the husband stopped and petted him again. Yes. I have been told that I married a man who wa
This is what the Husband, the Mama, and I wrote on our 2011 Christmas letter (Yep. We're that kind of people.): The gang of. . .<our address> has expanded to four. Mr. Cat, aka Mr. L. Gatto Cat, aka Mr. Lionel G. Cat adopted us around Thanksgiving Day. A stray budding YA kitty, he suckered us with his cuteness and friendliness. Mr. L. Gatto Cat left as suddenly as he arrived into our lives. It was almost like he had been on vacation and we had been his vacation destination. He was given a winter shelter. He was fed topnotch food—no grain fillers. And, he had attentive humans to pet and play with him when he was not sleeping. Mr. Cat cat slept a lot, I tell you what. I never knew that cats sleep so much. We had cats when I was a kid. Lots of cats. There were always at least three or four of them wandering outside in the backyard. During the winter, they slept in the garage. Almost daily, they liked to slip into the house when anyone went through the door to the garage.