Old People

           Old people should not fall.

          Old people get hurt when they fall and that’s a fact.

          But old people do fall and that’s a fact, too.

          Guess which old person fell this week?

          “You,” you guess.

          Nope. The other old person in this house.

          “What happened‽” I know you wanna know.

          It all started because of Mike’s new pressure washer.

          We had two Karcher pressure washers. The first one was only a few months old before it quit on us and the company replaced it free of charge. The second lasted about a year and it quit, too.

          “This time, why don’t you buy a better pressure washer,” I told Mike.

          Mike researched it online and found the one he wanted. “But it’s more than I wanted to spend.”

          And that gave me a perfect chance to throw an old adage back at him — one he’s thrown at me many times. “You get what you pay for.”

          “Yeah, but do we even need one?” he queried.

          “Of course we do! You use it to keep the car and tractors clean and I use it for odd jobs around the house.”

          This week, Mike’s new Ryobi 2700 came by FedEx. He wanted to drop everything and put it together. I was snug in my recliner, Bondi in my lap, iPad in hand, and officially off duty.

          “But I need your help!” Mike protested.

          I relented and helped Mike follow the pictures. Have you noticed that the instruction manuals these days are just pictures?

          The next day, Mike went to the garage to get tools to tighten the nuts with. I was at my computer watching a video, the TV on here in the kitchen.

          I saw Mike go to the garage.

          I saw Bondi run to the door and watch him. (It’s got fifteen panes of glass that go almost the whole way to the floor.)

          I heard Bondi barking.

          I thought she wanted to go out in the garage with Mike, so I ignored her.

          And did I tell you I was watching a video on my computer?

          Mike comes back in.

          “Didn’t you hear me calling you?” he asked.

          “No. I was watching a video and the TV’s on.”

          “Didn’t you hear Bondi barking?”

          “Yeah…”

          “I fell.”

          I jumped up and rushed to the other room.

          “Are you hurt?”

          “I did a face-plant on the garage floor,” Mike said. “Am I bleeding?”

          I looked him over — and was rewarded with zaps to my knees. When someone else is hurt, I empathize. I feel their pain in the form of what feels like electric shocks to both my knees. Over the course of the next couple of days I’ve had so many zaps and zings that I was getting tired of it. Writing this story, looking at the pictures, brings me more zings. Feeling the pain of others is actually a curse. “It’s not too bad. They look like brush burns. What happened?”

          “I fell.”

          “I know that! HOW did you fall?”

          “I tripped on the carpet and because my hands were full, I couldn’t catch myself.”

          I really had to work hard to get the whole story out of him.

          When we had Peggy’s Pain Palace carpeted, my exercise studio, there was extra carpet left over. Mike rolled it up and stood it up in the garage. The cats must’ve knocked it over. When Mike went to step over it, he didn’t pick his foot up high enough and down he went.

          “I hit my head really hard and hurt my knees, too,” he told me.

          We checked his knees and he had a brush burn on each one. (Another zap zing hits my knees.) And he thought for sure he was gonna get two black eyes.

          “Now don’t you go pulling a Bob Saget on me!” I warned and Googled symptoms of head trauma and what to watch for.

          Mike had a headache but no other symptoms. He was sore, but never did end up with black eyes. I took a picture of him the next day on our walk, his brush burns scabbing over.

          “You’re walking?” you ask.

          We are walking. We try to go out three or four days every week since the weather is getting nicer, and round trip it’s about a mile and a half.

          We started out this day and there was a car parked on the road.

          Bondi saw the car.

          Bondi knew the car wasn’t supposed to be there.

          And Bondi barked and growled at the car to let us know it bothered her.

          I had to laugh. “Okay! Okay!” I told her. “You did your job! We see the car!”

          As we get to the head of Jim Leaser’s old property, the new owner, Tina Pickett, is walking out with her little Boston Terrier. The driveway is in rough shape, so she often parks at the top and walks down.

          We stood and talked for quite a while.

          After the pups settled down a little, we let them smell each other.

          Bondi did well but Tina’s little dog snipped at Bondi’s nose.

“She’s such a bitch,” Tina said.

I didn’t see any blood on Bondi’s nose, but she kept licking at it. I suspect she was nipped and it smarted even though Bondi never made a sound.

It upset Mike a little so we didn’t try anymore after that.

          Me? I wasn’t especially worried that either one would do much damage.

          Coltsfoot is blooming. Once the flowers are gone, the large colt’s foot shaped leaves will come on.

          I spied, with my little eye, something waaaay down the bank, by our creek. “What’s that blue thing?” I asked Mike, pointing.

          “It looks like a bucket to me.”

          I took a picture. It’s a rusty old fifty-five-gallon drum.

          Nature reclaims.

          Bondi still hates to have her harness put on, runs when she sees it in fact, but she does seem to enjoy our walks. I don’t use a retractable leash like I did for Itsy and Ginger. Mostly because I can’t trust her not to pick up something dead and eat it before I can stop her. I use a cute little six-foot leash that those kind, wonderful, generous, Kipps gave to me. Bondi, for the most part, trots along beside me or just behind me and seldom pulls. I really like that!

Nearing our turn-around point, I see something waaaay far up ahead, up in the field. “What’s that thing in the field?” and took a picture. Secretly, I was hoping for a bear.

          “A bale of hay.”

          And so, he was right this time. I knew there were several big round bales of hay in that field, but thought they were up closer to the tree line.

          This green fence post, where the road curves and heads down the hill, is our turn-around marker.

          Some days we don’t have any cars pass us, other days it’s like a parade! 

          >>>*<<<

          Mike gets hungry for certain foods sometimes.

          “You know what I got a taste for?” he asks.

          “What?” I wanna know.

          “A nice juicy hamburger.”

Apparently, I can’t make burgers like they do in restaurants, and that’s way okay with me. Who would object to having a meal out once in a while?

          “Steph said Meshoppen Pizza has good hamburgers. You wanna go there?” Stephanie Robinson is our beautiful neighbor gal on the opposite side of us from the Kipps. Her and her handsome husband Jon are also kind, wonderful, generous people. We are so blessed to have such great neighbors.

          In all the time we’ve lived here, we’ve never been to Meshoppen Pizza. It’s not that far away, just fifteen miles. That’s pretty close for living out in the boonies like we do. And every time we pass it, we say always the same thing.

          “We should stop there some time.”

          “Steph says they have good burgers and I’ve heard their pizza is really good, too.”

          Always, always we say those things.

          But one thing or another has always intervened. We were on our way to go shopping — or on the way home. They weren’t open. We’d already planned to eat somewhere else. We’d already eaten somewhere else. We didn’t think of it when considering where to go eat. And I could probably come up with a few more excuses if I tried hard enough.

Mike was a little leery of going to a restaurant with his face looking like it does but we’d been planning this outing for days — would’ve done it days sooner except they’re closed Monday and Tuesday. And he had fun telling everyone, “See what my wife did to me? She beats me!”

No one believed him.

There were two unoccupied chairs at the counter and two tables available when we walked in. It was the lunch hour. One table was a two-top, the other a four-top. We chose the four-top for two reasons. One, it’s farther from the door and two, it gives you more room to spread out.

We were promptly greeted by this cutie patootie.

“Hello!” Oliva called in a bright and cheerful voice. She brought us two menus and laid them on the table. “Today’s specials are up on the board.”

“I can’t read them,” I told her. One of these days I WILL get my cataracts removed.

“I’d be happy to read them to you,” she said and did.

In the end, I chose two slices of pizza from the menu and Mike ordered a bacon cheeseburger.

Olivia is exactly the kind of person you want working for you. She's happy in her job (it’s amazing how that shows through), beautiful smile, attentive, and engaging. Personable. That’s the word!

I snapped a picture or two before I remembered that I should really ask permission. “Can I take your picture?” I asked.

“Of course! My mom takes lots of pictures, too, so I grew up with a camera pointed at me.”

Olivia quickly and quietly went about her duties, delivering food to tables, clearing tables, and cashing people out.

I saw Mike’s giant burger come up in the window followed by my pizza slices a few seconds later. Olivia was taking an order at another table and I fully expected us to have to wait for her before we got our food.

Surprise!

Rather than wait for Olivia, the cook — chef? — jumped right in and delivered our food to us. Just look at the size of Mike’s burger!

“Is that all I get?” Mike joked.

“That’s all you get,” he said.

“Are you the owner?” I took a stab at it.

“I am!” Now there’s a man vested in his business. He knows the value of happy customers. And that’s allowed him to stay in business for twenty-seven years!

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Les. Can I get you anything else?”

I pointed at my coffee cup. “I could use more coffee, but I can wait for Olivia.”

“No, it’s alright,” Les said and went for the coffee pot.

Olivia finished with her other customers and came to see what else we needed. I was able to get a picture of her and Les together.

I love when people pose for me rather than throw their hands up and shy away from the camera. Pictures are our memories. Not so much for us, but for generations future.

Olivia has worked for Les for about four years now. “He’s like family to me,” she told me.

We’ve got a shopping trip planned for next week and a stop at Meshoppen Pizza is on the agenda!

>>>*<<<

How about a critter story or two?

Y’all may or may not know that I keep the cat food in the half-bath with the door closed. I’ve had cats chew the bottom out of a bag to get at the food inside. “You have to wait until the other one’s empty!” I told Tiger and put the food out of reach. It also keeps Bondi from getting into it, too. She gets enough cat food as it is.

The other day I caught Bondi sniffing and scratching around the bottom of the half-bath door. That’s odd, I thought. She’s never done that before. I thought she was just after cat food. The next time I went in there, I tripped over her ball. That’s why she was scratching at the door! She knew it was in there! Since I always just leave the door open when I need to use it, and never turn the light on, and there being no windows in there, I didn’t realize she’d carried her ball in with her. She always follows me in and I always give her a sprinkle of cat food while I’m letting my water down, so to speak — not that I spoil her anything!

Then we lost her one day this week!

“Do you have Bondi?” I asked Mike. I was already settled in my recliner and was missing my little lap buddy.

“No.”

“Did I leave her in the garage?” I wondered aloud and jumped up. When I’d gone out to take care of the litter boxes, Bondi followed me in to the garage as I went through to the cat room. I meant to bring her back in when I came in, but did I? I couldn’t remember for sure if I had or not. I opened the door to the garage and called. No Bondi. Mike got up and together we called for her and searched the house.

No Bondi.

“Is she in the exercise room?” Mike asked. I call it studio. Exercise studio.

“I didn’t see her.” I didn’t actually go in the exercise studio. If she was in there, she’d be by the door and I could clearly see by looking down the hallway that she was not.

“Did she get out and you didn’t see her go?” Mike asked.

          “It’s possible.” There’s an outside cat door in the cat room. If she slipped past me as I was coming back in from dumping the used litter, she could’ve gone out. I ran out to look. The first thing I see is Sugar laying in the sun against the side of the house. If Bondi was out there, Sugar wouldn’t be. But I called anyway. No Bondi.

          My mind was starting to turn to alerting the neighbors.

Mike and I did a more thorough search of the house after our initial hasty search turned up no little Chiweenie. This time I actually went to the door of the exercise studio and turned the light on.

There she was. Her and Tiger both.

“What are you doing?” I asked. It’s funny that she didn’t come when we called. I know she heard us. She can hear the crinkle of a mint candy wrapper from a mile away — not that I spoil her!

Bondi looked up at me and looked back at the corner. I pulled the Ab Lounger out but didn’t see anything. Bondi went to the wall and sniffed at it. I’m going to guess that she and Tiger either heard a mouse or saw a mouse and they were standing sentry duty. I didn’t see any mouse holes but knew if that mouse dared to poke his nose out, my mighty little hunter would get him.

Now, speaking of cats…

We’ve had some beautiful days, with spring here, and the boys, Tiger and Spitfire, are more unhappy than ever.

“Mike, is it fair to keep them in?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“They’re really unhappy,” I informed.

Mike shrugged. “Do what you want.” But I heard all the unspoken fears in his heart.

After losing Smudge to the road late last year, we thought we wouldn’t want to lose any more cats that way and the only sure way was to make them stay in the house.

I’m going to let them go out again. I’d rather have happy cats with shorter lives than unhappy cats with longer lives. And I know that Mike’s heart will carry a deeper wound than mine will if they get killed on the road or simply fail to return home.  I love the cats; I just don’t seem to get as attached to them as Mike does. And we’ve still got Blackie. Since he has never been allowed out, it’ll be easier to keep him in. 

>>>*<<< 

“Peg, what’s on your craft table this week?” you ask.

I’m so glad you always remember to ask! I have a few more bunny butts to make for Easter but since they’re going to get mailed, and since neither of the recipients will care when they get them (so long as they do), I switched to making another book box.

“Is that why you were watching a video while your husband lay on the garage floor calling for help?”

Way to remind me! Yes, it is, to be honest. This next book box is one that was rattling around in my head for a while now. I really wanted to get started on it.

“What is it?” you wanna know.

I want to do one with a sewing theme. Zippers, buttons, and the sort. I was thinking of making it a mixed medium box, using a real zipper and real buttons. But the problem with that is once you’ve used that zipper or those buttons, they’re gone. I have quite a few old zippers I acquired from someplace or another, and my beautiful friend Jody gave me a bunch of buttons. Even my beautiful feisty red-headed Miss Rosie gave me a bunch of sewing notions. Nonetheless, when they’re gone, they’re gone. If I had molds for those things then I would have an endless supply. But I don’t want to buy more silicone molds.

Did you know you can make silicone molds?

Yep. You can. They sell a kit you can buy but I’m more into making things if I can. If you Google homemade silicone molds you’ll get tons of videos. And that’s what I was doing when Mike fell.

I gathered a ton of things I’d like to make molds of and set to work mixing the silicone and corn starch, the method I decided to try.

It was going fabulous until I tried to unmold my molds. Some of the things stuck and ripped the molds. Did I not use enough cornstarch? Did I not wait long enough to unmold? Should I have coated my items with oil before molding them? All of these questions can only be answered by time and more experience.

“My silicone molds were a bust,” I told my morning peeps.

But I decided to try them anyway.

I’m not totally pleased, but I’m not totally unhappy either. I think it’s definitely worth my time to pursue mold making. I love making these boxes!

This first one, even though it’s a little rough looking, can live at my house.

Speaking of firsts…

          A recipe for cornbread came up on my timeline on Facebook. I do like a good cornbread and this one was so interesting sounding since it used popcorn flour.

          “Popcorn flour‽” you say.

          Yep. Popcorn flour. If my grandmother can take leftover popcorn and pour milk over it for a morning cereal, why not turn it into flour?

          I popped the popcorn. I got out the food processor and ground it down as much as I could. It still had some big-ish pieces but I hoped it was good enough. I had little puffs of popcorn static-clinging all over the place!

          I followed the recipe, mixing the batter and pouring it into my much-loved number seven Griswold iron skillet and baked it.

            I have to tell you. Mike hated it!

I shared it with the Kipps. Rosie didn’t try it and Lamar didn’t like it much either — and it has to be really bad if Lamar won’t eat it!

          “What did you think?” you ask.

          It has a very strange flavor and it took me several bites before my taste buds would accept it. I did eat it but I’ll probably never make it again. 

>>>*<<< 

          Do you remember me talking about the book, Where the Crawdads Sing? I really liked it and so did Miss Rosie. Neither one of us could put it down.

My turn came around again at the library and I read it for a second time this week — and enjoyed it just as much as the first time.

          Then I heard on the morning show that Reese Witherspoon is or has turned this book into a movie! I was so excited I had to call Miss Rosie and tell her! I think it’s supposed to be out in July. If it comes around this area, I might have to call on two or three girlfriends and do a girls' night out at the movies!

 

          And now, I heave a great sigh, and call this one done.

          Done!

 

 

Signs of Spring

           The peepers are peeping! The mating song of the frogs at the pond. I heard them for the first time Saturday night.

           I saw my first Robin this week. Admittedly it’s hard to see Robins or anything else outside when your head is stuck in the computer or working on craft projects.

          Our taxes were done and we took a ride over to pick ‘em up. Backing out of the garage is when I saw this guy.

          The air was warm but the ground was cold with snow still in some places. This creates a kind of fog known as advection fog.

Going across the Susquehanna.

The fog was mostly in the valleys.

    

We saw something flapping beside the road. At first, I thought it was a bunch of birds feasting on a deer carcass. I was only half right. The birds were feasting but it wasn’t a deer, it was a turkey and the poor thing wasn’t yet dead. Just about the time we draw abreast, a flock of turkeys break cover and fly over the road. It was close. We almost had a windshield full of Thanksgiving dinner but at the last second the turkey veered off.

Whew!

Turkeys are big enough to do some damage.

It all happened so fast I never thought about getting a picture. And my heart was so sad for the suffering of the poor creature. I took this picture on the way home. It’s my way to help remember the stories I want to tell.

More signs of spring.

Our new Aldi’s store in Wysox.

“They’re pouring concrete. They dump it into those tubs and take them in and dump ‘em,” Mike told me.    

Speaking of Aldi’s…

          We’d gone to Tunkhannock to do a little shopping and Aldi’s was one of the stops we’d made. I was getting back in the car and spotted these laying right by my door. I picked ‘em up and got in. Later, when I get to looking at them, I wonder what they’re for.

          “Is this something for a child car seat?” I asked my beautiful daughter-in-law.

           “Yes, it could be. They might be inserts that adjust to fill in the space between the baby's head and side of the car seat,” Kandyce told me.

          I could just pitch them but I think the next time I’m over that way, I’ll leave them at the store. Maybe someone will be looking for them.

          I have to show you what I’ve been so busy working on.

          This is Dragon Dreams, a book box that was commissioned by my sisters for our sister. Phyllis gave us quite a scare when she contracted that flesh eating virus and subsequent gangrene. Losing our siblings is not a fun time of life and we’ve lost two already. I was so scared we’d lose my beautiful, strong, smart, sister too. Just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes.

          Phyllis loves my book boxes. Phyllis loves dragons. And Phyllis loves the color purple. To show her how much she is loved, my sisters and I collaborated on this special surprise for her.

          Patti and Diane bought the dragon molds as well as helping with the postage.

This is the top.

Inside is a baby dragon hatching from an egg.

And the back is rusty steampunk and dragon scales.

 

I can show you this now because Phyllis got her box on Friday.

“Can I watch you open it?” I asked her. “I want to see your face when you see the Love Birds.”

Phyllis set her phone up so I could watch. And doncha know! That stinker opened the box from the bottom! I wanted her to see Dragon Dreams last, but she saw it first.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You sent me another one of those wonderful boxes!”

I don’t think she was entirely surprised. When she first told me how much she loved them — when she first gushed about how much she loved them, I quizzed her on steampunk and if she liked it or not. At the time it was the only other one I had that I thought was worth giving away. So, I think she was half expecting a book box.

Then she saw the dragon. “AAAAHHH!” she screamed. “That is awesome!” Phyllis examined the dragon and flipped the box over. “Oh, Peggy!” she uttered. “I love it!”

Then she opened the box and her jaw dropped. “AAAAAHHHH!” she screamed again. Seeing the baby, she let out a more gentle, singsongy, ‘Awww.” Phyllis swallowed hard. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Then I told her who the gift was from, and she about cried. Sometimes we don’t know how loved we are.

Besides the baby dragon, inside, wrapped in bubble wrap, was her Valentine gnome and Easter bunny butt.

“They look even better than the picture,” she complimented.

Next, she pulled out two loaves of cinnamon bread. “One male and one female,” I told her.

She didn’t have to think about it very long. “One with nuts, one without?”

I grinned. “Yup.”

Next, Love Birds came out of the box. Phyllis unwrapped it from its protective bubble wrap. “This is bigger than I thought.” She looked it over. “Oh, my darling sister! This is beautiful! You are so talented! I wish you were here so I could hug you.”

I wish I could hug you, too, sister but since I can’t, I have to show you love in this other way.

Speaking of love…

I love my Miss Rosie.

I’m standing at my little craft bench, working on bunny butts, thinking about the people I want to give one to — people I always give stuff to. Do they like getting these little gifts? I wonder. Am I a blessing?

More like a curse, I hear doubt from somewhere deep in my head.

So, I asked my Miss Rosie. “Am I a blessing or a curse?”

“Oh, definitely a blessing,” she said. “I love your glasswork.”

“But don’t you have enough stuff already? Aren’t you running out of room?”

“If I run out of room, I’ll rotate them like I do with my Billy Jacobs prints. In fact, there are some of the more seasonal ones that I rotate already.”

Mike, Bondi, and I walked down to deliver a bunny butt to Miss Rosie.

“You can take your pick,” I told her. “I’ve got five to choose from.”

They weren’t all the same. I did some in a variegated brown, a couple in a more solid color brown, and the tails were different, too.

Rosie picked a brown one, which sorta surprised me. They aren’t my favorite.

“Now, are you ready for your real present?” I asked.

“I thought this was my real present.”

“Nope. Close your eyes.” Miss Rosie closed her eyes. I pulled a duck from my bag, got the camera ready, and said, “Okay!”

She likes them!

Miss Rosie gave me a treat bag for Easter, too. Mints, Kit Kats, peanut butter eggs, and my favorite butterfly, a Monarch magnet. I'm not going to tell her she missed my favorite jelly beans.

We passed by our neighbor Sally’s house on the way home and seeing the crocus, I had to stop and take a picture.

Coming in from our walk, I set my glasses on the butcher block and went about shedding my boots and sweater. Mike sat at my computer and scrolled for a while, Bondi sitting behind him in the chair. I was working on bunny butts when Mike got up to go watch TV. Bondi jumped down to follow.

“Your shadow’s behind you,” I called.

I watch Mike go into the living room but Bondi had mysteriously stopped just out of my view. She has chewies scattered all over the floor so I didn’t wonder. A little later I head into the other room and what do I see on the floor‽ The cause of Bondi’s distraction. My glasses!

That stinker!

Blackie knocked 'em down, she chewed the earpiece, and took a nip from the lens. I guess I won’t be wearing these anymore. I dug an old pair from the depths of my desk.

Another day I heard Bondi crying. I thought she was asking to go out but when I checked, she’s sitting there whining at Tiger. Bondi seems to think this is her chair when she wants to watch the birds. She carried on for a while but I refused to move Tiger for her. 

You know I love my sister.

You know I love my Miss Rosie.

And despite being a stinker, chewing my glasses and pruning my rose bush for me this week, I even love Bondi.

Someone else I love, or rather a bunch of someone elses I love, are my morning peeps.

That’s not to exclude any of the rest of you since I do have room in my heart for all y’all, but for the sake of the story we’re just going to talk about this group of people.

We do this thing in the morning, my peeps and I. If I’m talking about having had a hard night, I might end my love note with something like, “But one thing that is never hard is telling you how much I love you.”

And my peeps do the same thing. If talking about time, they might end with, “But one thing I always have time for is telling you I love you.”

Sometimes it’s just an, “I love you to the moon and back.” Or “bunches and bunches” or “tons and tons” or “a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck,” or, “I love you mucho taco burrito loco much!”

It’s a fun game we play.

After finishing one love note this week, I did a comparison love. “I love you more than my first cup of coffee,” although true, is one I’ve used before. Then something I do love pops in my head. “I love you more than mashed potatoes,” I told them all.

“Mashed potatoes!” you exclaim.

It’s true. I did say that. But you have to understand how much I love mashed potatoes. When my brothers were fighting over the last drumstick, I’d be like, “Pass the mashed potatoes and gravy.” I’d eat that instead of dessert — heck, to me, it’s almost better than dessert!

I said it. I sent it. And I was surprised and tickled by the responses I got back.

“I love mash potatoes and gravy!!”

“I’m happy we rank above mashed potatoes because I too love mashed potatoes.”

“I too feel the same way about mashed potatoes and you guys!”

“I love mashed potatoes too. 🤗”

“I like mashed potatoes too with lots of butter and gravy or stewed tomatoes over top. When we were kids I’d eat just a plate of potatoes with stewed tomato over top for my dinner. I loved it so much. I haven’t had that in a long time I’m gonna have to make that now.”

“I like mashed taters too but I usually enhance mine with some cheese and Facos and sometimes a dollop of Daisy!”

Facos threw me for a loop. “Is that a typo?” I asked.

“LOL. Fake bacon bits, fake Bacos, Facos! I forget sometimes that not everyone talks like I do.”

Mashed potatoes are well loved in my circle of friends and family, that’s for sure!

I’m sure there are plenty of little stories I’m forgetting to tell you because without a note or picture to jog my memory, I’m prone to forgetting. But here’s one where I made sure I got a picture.

I went out to the cat room to take care of the ferals and was shocked to see a puddle of blood by the cat dish. I went back in for my camera — and I told Mike.

I followed a blood trail through the freshly fallen snow and it led to the upper barn. 

In a corner, on top of a bunch of stuff that was here when we moved here was a gray and white tom we call Whiskers. I didn’t want to get too close and run him out in the snow so I just called and begged him to come to me so I could help him.

He wasn’t having any of that.

I baited the live trap and took it back up to the barn but Whiskers was gone. I left the trap and checked it in the evening. He hadn’t come back.

          The next morning when I checked the trap, I had this huge yellow tabby. I’ve never seen him before.

          I wanted to keep him for a while and tame him a little but Mike said no. I let him go and didn’t bother to reset the trap. We’ll just let nature take its course with Whiskers.

 

          And speaking of courses…

          My letter blog has run its course and we shall call this one done.

          Done!