Peggy's Jibber-Jabber: December

It’s here!

December is here!

I think I told you at the beginning of the year that Christmas would be here before you know it, then it would be 2022. I think I’m always reminding you of the passage of time. Mostly because I’m so acutely aware of it. I’m hurtling headfirst to the finish line at a hundred miles an hour. My days pass in a blur but I try not to take them for granted. And I hope you don’t either.

We had snow! That’s an exclamation of joy. I like snow — but I don’t have to go anywhere in it. That makes a big difference in how you feel about it. That, and I’m warm and cozy in my house.

Bondi got to experience snow for the first time. She was cautious at first. I tossed her a snowball and she chased it, like I knew she would. When she picked it up, it crumbled in her mouth and she ate it.

I made her another, smaller one and gave it to her. She crunched that one too.

You might think Bondi’s a Chiweenie but she’s not. She’s a turkey. She makes me go outside with her and she doesn’t make Mike.

“What happens if you don’t go out with her?” you wanna know.

Bondi always stops just outside the door and turns her head enough to see if I’m following. If I’m not she’ll just turn around and jump up on the door to come back in. After several failed attempts to get her to go out on her own (and I know she has to go) I’ll take pity on her, go out and stand there while she does her business. There have been times when she gets too snoopy and I get too cold and go back inside. (I should wear a coat.) She always sees me and comes running to the door, whether she went or not!

Bondi plays with Blacky a lot, which is one of the reasons I wanted to get her a kitten. Blacky doesn’t always appreciate being drug around the floor by the nape of his neck and he’ll cry. Mike gets so mad at Bondi. Me? I figure Blacky needs to stand up for himself. Kittens have needle-sharp teeth and claws. He needs to use them when he’s had enough.

Mike doesn’t pay much attention to Bondi and Blacky until Blacky cries. He doesn’t see when Bondi’s minding her own business and Blacky picks on her.

Those two chase each other around the house. Sometimes Bondi’s the chaser and sometimes she’s the chasee. On one recent game of tag, Blacky jumped up on the table and slid right into Mike’s pill planner knocking an almost-full two-week planner to the floor scattering pills all over the place!

I didn’t think Bondi would eat them but I kept her away anyway. There I was, on my hands and knees under the table and I hear, crunch, crunch. I turn and see Bondi eating something. I grabbed her, stuck my finger in her mouth to open her jaws and shook her head. I didn’t see anything fall out but she wasn’t crunching anymore.

“I hope whatever she ate doesn’t kill her.”

“If it was one of my blood pressure ones, it might.”

I set my jaw, determined to accept whatever happens and as I’m crawling out I spot a little blue pill. “I don’t think she ate it,” I said and held up a pill with spit and dirt stuck to it.

Now, days later, she’s fine. I’m guessing it was bitter and she didn’t want it because I couldn’t have stopped her from swallowing it.

I helped sort the pills out then Mike put ‘em back in their little pockets. Needless to say, the planner now lives in my kitchen towel drawer.

Bondi likes to cuddle with Blacky and Blacky seems to tolerate her well enough, sometimes sharing my chair with her. Last night they were cuddling together on my lap in the recliner. Those are the most heart-warming moments.

Tiger is still pretty growly with Blacky and that’s another reason I wanted a kitten. Blacky doesn’t give up and leave Tiger alone. He’ll try to share the food dish at the same time as Tiger and will get in the chair next to him and nap.

And I wanted to tell you how Blacky got his name.

“How did he get his name?” you ask.

Blacky is named after Mike’s grandfather who was nicknamed Blacky.

“How did he get that nickname?” you wanna know.

He worked for the phone company and spent a lot of time outdoors. He tanned really dark. Now, I don’t want any hate-mail over this. In today’s age of political correctness, there would be outrage over this but it was a different world back then and no matter how hard we try, we can’t change the past.

I haven’t seen Blacky interact with Spitfire very much.

Speaking of Spitfire…

Meals are served pretty regular around here. Maybe not at the exact same time every day but I feed them in the morning and again in the late afternoon. The rest of the time they can help themselves to a dish of dry food if they’re hungry.

Spitfire has his internal clock set and almost always shows up for those feedings. In the morning I soak a little dry food in hot water, then mix in a small can of food. In the evening I divide a small can between the five cats, which amounts to about a spoonful each.

“Five?” you say. “I thought you only had three.”

We do only have three — in the house. Callie and Sugar still live in the cat room and they get their share of the canned food.

Sometimes Spitfire’s a little late (or maybe I’m a little early) and he’ll have a cold breakfast or an empty food dish at supper because one of the other cats ate it, but he usually always shows up.

A couple of days ago, he didn’t come in for supper. He missed breakfast too. I can’t tell you how much my big, rugged mountain man agonizes over the thought of losing one of our tribe. He didn’t worry too much the first night, but he was worried all the next day.

“I bet he got hit on the road,” Mike said.

I shrugged. “If he did, worrying about it won’t change it.”

Then it’s, “Poor Spitfire,” that I hear moaned over and over.

I had letters to go to the mailbox. “I’m gonna take my letters to the box. I’ll walk the ditch and see if I can see him.”

I steeled myself for the sight of seeing him lying in the ditch but he wasn’t.

Eventually Mike resigned himself and said, “It’s one less cat to feed.”

Late in the afternoon, long about feeding time, Spitfire appeared on the other side of the door. Relief washed over Mike and sounded in his voice when he announced his arrival and let him in.

“Maybe we shouldn’t let them out anymore,” I suggest.

We’ve had this discussion before and I’m usually the one that gives in to their cries to go out but I’m really gonna try not to let them out anymore.

I know Tiger will be the most upset about it. He’s an avid hunter and brings his prey in. He likes to torture them on the patio before he eats them.

“You’re a good boy,” I tell him and leave him to his thing. I can’t change him but it doesn’t stop me from admonishing him. “Just kill it already, would ya!”

I took a picture, mainly so’s I could remember to tell you what a great and mighty hunter he is and didn’t realize I caught the poor little guy in his final scream.

Later in the week he brought in another one.

“Tiger just jumped over the fence and he’s got something in his mouth,” Mike told me. “I can’t tell what it is.”

Since I’d already taken one picture, I grabbed my camera and went out for another. Now I can tell you he’s gotten two mice this week!

This little guy was a fighter. When he couldn’t get away, he turned and attacked. He launched himself through the air right at Tiger.

Tiger didn’t flinch. Over and over again he jumped, trying to nip a nose.

It surprised me when he ran right under Tiger.

Despite all his courage and feistiness, it didn’t change the outcome. This little David lost to his Goliath.

I told Tiger he could still hunt mice, he just had to do it in the house from now on.

We had another day of snow and I had more stuff to go to the mailbox. I decided to take Bondi with me. I didn’t want her little feet to get cold, so I put her booties on. I was so surprised at how well she accepted them. When I put them on Ginger, she’d shake her feet trying to get them off, then she’d give up and run through the snow. Bondi barely noticed them at all.

Tiger followed us to the mailbox but stopped at the big rock. When we got back to the rock, Bondi tried to climb it to get to him. The booties aren’t that great for rock climbing and she slid back to the ground.

Since Bondi seemed to be having a good time, I decided to walk up on the hill and check out the Bittersweet.

All the way along the path, Bondi and Tiger played tag. He’d hide and when Bondi got close, he’d jump out and tag her. She tried to go after him but her leash didn’t allow her to go far. Here I caught Tiger lying in wait.

When I went back for the day’s mail, I found my very first Christmas card of the season. Thank you, beautiful cousin, Rosemary.

Speaking of beautiful…

Look at this beautiful family!

“Aren’t those the Kipps?” you say.

Yes, they are. My Miss Rosie in the front with their daughters behind her. Marla’s on the left and Jenn’s on the right. Lamar’s bringing up the rear.

Not only are they beautiful but they can sing too! They graced us with a gospel hymn at church Sunday a week ago.

How about a sunrise picture?

I got established with a new doctor this week. Michelle is a PA and Mike’s doctor. We both really like her.

The only health concern I had was a nagging morning cough. Michelle thinks it’s probably GERD and prescribed generic Nexium for me. And to be on the safe side, she’s ordered an endoscopy for the same time I have my colonoscopy. Fun.

“You have to take it in the morning a half hour before you eat or have coffee,” Michelle told me.

“You’re killin’ me!” I cried. I do love my coffee — especially in the morning. Often times I’ll start a cup cookin’ even before I put my duds on so it would be ready when I was ready to sit down and tap out my morning love note.

“Keep it by the bed with a little water and take it before you get up,” she suggested.

Generic Nexium is not cheap! At Walmart a three-month supply would be six hundred dollars — ninety-two after insurance. They called me. Mike got on the computer and discovered that if we use the GoodRX card sent to us in the mail, we could get it for about forty-five dollars at Weis. Without that, it would nine hundred sixty-six dollars at Weis. Is that not crazy!

Mid-week we went to Tunkhannock to pick up my prescription. I only took two road pictures worth sharing.

We get in the car and I’m reading the information that came with the pills. “It says to take it an hour before food or drink,” I tell Mike.

Michelle said a half hour but I’m not taking any chances. I set my alarm for five because the earliest I’ll get out of bed is six.

Oh my gosh! I almost forgot to tell you! It’s a good thing I have pictures to remind me.

Our new little kitten is just like any other kitten. He gets into EVERYTHING! He likes to pick at my dried flower arrangements. All of my Silver Dollars end up on the floor and Bondi tears them up. OY! I pick ‘em up and toss them in the scrap bucket. Maybe the seeds’ll sprout out in the weeds where I toss ‘em.

Everything on my craft table is knocked over or knocked to the floor. When a piece of stained glass falls onto the cat dish, it breaks. He’s such a turkey. My pens end up on the floor because someone batted them off the desk and Bondi carries them around. “That’s mine,” I tell her and take it away. All I need is ink all over the place because she chewed the barrel. I worry he’ll knock my camera off the counter, too.

But, and there’s always a but, I came out one morning and found my long-lost tweezers on the desk, sitting right there, out in the open, just like that!

Do you remember when I lost them? I don’t but it must’ve been more than a year ago. I know I wrote about it because they were my favorite tweezers. I looked everywhere for them — several times and couldn’t find ‘em. Now, thanks to a curious kitten, they appear, like magic, on my desk.

How about a beautiful cloud-filled blue-sky picture?