Sept. 24, 2002 ~ The rooster is crowing,
which means it's time for me to be up and at 'em. Of course, the rooster crows anytime there's light, even if we get up during the night and turn on the bathroom light. He thinks it must be time for him to go to work and start waking the world. Kind of funny in the middle of the night. But the sound doesn't bother me, and we are far enough away from our neighbors that they can't hear it.
The weather has been glorious in Texas! I love this time of year. Cool days and cooler nights. 55 degrees now. I just stepped outside to feed the porch cats, and the moon was so big and bright, while on the other side of the sky, the sun began to rise. The cows were just coming up over the hill, dark shapes in the early morning light. Barbara Jean trudged toward the salt lick.
Our land is anything but flat, and often we are surrounded by Brigadoon mists, swirling all around us, at any time of the day or night. Mist rises from the ponds, or from the woods after a rain, or maybe just from low places if the temperature's just right. Long ago I learned not to panic at what looks like smoke coming from our house. It's just the mist.
Yesterday I walked to the mailbox (a long walk) and came upon a clump of calves all snuggled together, backs or legs or noses touching. All were stretched out in the sunshine, soaking up the warmth, and like any mother, I watched their sides rise and fall, rise and fall. Checked their breathing. All was well.
I might go to Susan's clinic today to check out some dogs. Not that we need another mouth to feed! But we have been dogless for awhile now, so there is an opening.
But I am JUST looking. Really. Don't anybody plan on me coming home with a dog, because that won't happen. I'm simply starting the interview process. Looking at applicants. Not ready to sign anyone on just yet.
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Have you checked out Bonnie's Hands Project yet? I'm there on page two. Bet you'll recognize my hand, even without looking at the names!
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Last night after leading a meeting, I thought I'd pick up some chicken on my way home. It's expensive at KFC, less so at the grocery store. So I headed for the deli counter, wondering if they would still be selling chicken so late (about 7:30). Preparing to close up shop for the evening, the clerk was boxing up the last pieces, marking them at reduced prices. So I got two very full boxes plus a large sack of potato logs (like fat french fries) for $4.50. Easily three full meals, if we could stand eating all that chicken.
Misha has not been eating much, has not been feeling well in general, and his fur is coming out in clumps. He isn't taking chemo treatments; the illness is just taking its toll. He's painfully thin. But you should have seen him last night! A wild kitty, in a frenzy, wanting chicken and wanting it that very minute! So I gave him a little. And then a little more. And on and on. He ate every bite, until he was full, and he was one content kitty. He simply reeked of satisfaction. At one point College Boy tried to place some of his chicken on Misha's plate, but he gently commented that Misha was in the way. I smiled and reminded him of our rule... cats are never in the way. Sometimes they may not be in the optimum location, but they are never in the way. So if there was ever any doubt, now you know. Cats rule our household.
We will have chicken for dinner tonight, then I will freeze some of it for later use. Misha may have chicken every single day for as long as he wants it, and as long as he can handle it. Last night he seemed like his old self, back in the days when he was healthy and hungry and just a plain old sweet kitty, not dealing with diabetes or cancer or any bad things.
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