Unpredictable--those cats

More on our ongoing and everlasting cat drama.

I’ve spent considerable time on two activities—keeping one cat, Douglas, out, and keeping one cat, Ginger, in.  More than once I thought why fight it? I’m only making all three of us unhappy. Just open the door and see what happens. But no, I didn’t.

            Until one day last week, oops. I didn’t do it on purpose. I brought in the mail and got so busy looking at that I didn’t notice I left the front door wide open. Oh, no!

            Oh, yes! No Ginger! I went through the house rattling a bowl of cat food—my never-fail way of calling Ging. Nothing. Then I went outside.

            “Here, Ginger.”

            “Here, Ginger.”

            Douglas came. Ginger didn’t.

Happy (sort of) to be home.

            I confessed to Bob. “I left the door open, Ginger is gone.”

            He consoled me and predicted Ginger would be back in 30 minutes. The minutes came and went. No Ginger. We had to run an errand that took a couple of hours. I tried not to think about Ginger.

            When we pulled up who do think was sitting on the porch, complaining about the door being shut. That’s right. Since then there hasn’t been nearly so much door sniffing and meowing—from the inside.

Easter Morning nap on the porch.

            But Douglas has taken up steady residence on the front porch. He likes breakfast early then a nap. Sometimes Mac and Arthur come. Sometimes not. Last night, we heard Douglas’s good-night meow. Suddenly Bob mellowed. Was it the Easter spirit?

            “Let’s let Douglas in,” says old not-in-my-lifetime Bob.

            Now it’s, “Here, Douglas.”

            There is no figuring out cats. After months of begging and sticking his nose in the door, Douglas declined. So back to where we started. We have an inside cat and an outside cat, by their own choices. I’ve quit worrying about it.

Weekend fun--whereever

On March 28, I shared out fun experience of heading to Houston’s downtown oasis, Discovery Green Park where we found new friends and fun with the Egyptian community, happily celebrating new freedoms coming to the country. Lots of city fun.

            When I checked Katy’s Facebook page that day, I found she’d managed to have fun too. Not city fun in Atlanta, where she lives. But little town fun! And that may be better.

            After careful planning, she presented herself in her once-upon-a-time hometown of Blakley, Georgia, the self-proclaimed Peanut World Capital, on the best day of the year to visit. She took in the Peanut Parade with old cars, politicians, beauty queens, marching bands and lots, and lots, and lots of peanuts.

            Weekends are great, and another one is just around the corner. What adventures await?

Bluebonnet Baby

Bluebonnet Baby

Another baby!  Yea! And, maybe, maybe this time a girl? Not that I really cared, but for several months all liquid that entered my body, even at parties, came via my pink mug. I got a handbag big enough to carry it everywhere.

            But that wasn’t what really bothered me. What bothered me was that we lived in Oklahoma. This wouldn’t do. I might have a girl (I hope, I hope, I hope) or a boy (fine by me) but by gosh or by golly, I was going to have a Texan. My plan? About a month ahead, visit my mother in Amarillo and refuse to leave.

            Then, a bolt from the blue! Bob was transferred to Houston. Off we went in the big Chevy wagon—Daddy, Mother, the four-year-old, and Mr. 17-months, and Daffodil the part-cocker.  That was in March.

            April 8—we welcomed our bluebonnet baby, our bluebonnet girl, born in the peak of bluebonnet season! Katy joined the clan. (Daffy didn't make the picture.)

            She was a joy then, and a joy (and lots of laughs) along the way. She became a lovely young woman.

            

And a fantastic daughter. I can say that—last July my birthday gift was a ticket to Atlanta and a ticket to a Joan Baez concert. Here we are sharing that splendid evening.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATY P, MY BLUEBONNET GIRL.

St. Urban's Day 2 Tales of 2 Cities

In honor of St. Urban’s Day here’s a happy tale of  two cities.

Yes, we moved from quiet country tranquility to city hustle. Yes, sometimes there are downside—fire trucks whooooooooooooeeeing down the street, strange (but also interesting) folk strolling by—we live on a major street, no telling what we’ll see, but we can also walk to the best food in town. “No,” to the valet, “we walked.”

Last Wednesday was our day for grandson fun. We were running a bit late. As the Jeep hurried up Mandell a couple of blocks north of Westheimer, we past a jaunty, sporty red Toyota being pushed and steered by a comely young African American with dreadlocks to dream about.

            “If we weren’t late, I’d help him,” sez Bob.

            “Yeah” sez I.

            Then we looked at each other and, on her own, the Jeep turned around.

            We figured out, after introduction—our new friend was Ashley—that the cars fit and we could push him. This was a relief to Ashley since the garage had told him to be there by six. He didn’t know if he could make it; it was about 4:30. Bump, slide down the street. Then at busy, busy Westheimer, two of the fully uniformed valets at a major eatery saw us and came to consult. So there we were—two over-the-hill white folk, one articulate and well-coiffed African American, and two uniformed Hispanics all trying to figure out what to do.  

            Continuing pushing was the unanimous vote and off we went.

            Not too many minutes later, Ashley rolled into the garage; we took off for Bobba and Bob duty. I opened the window and waved; Ashley waved back and yelled “Thanks.”

            End of story?

            NO.

            At exactly the same time in Atlanta—well let daughter Katy tell you via Facebook.

 So, Petey, the PT, blew a hose on the way home. I had to call a wrecker to return him to the garage that worked on him yesterday and lo and behold, a neighbor saw my EAV (East Atlanta Village) bumper sticker and offered me a ride back home. Silver linings to all stories everywhere!

 

Meanwhile, I didn’t (darn it) get a picture of Ashley, so here one of Katy and her mom enjoying Mom’s birthday gift last summer at a Joan Baez concert in the middle of Atlanta.

At-lan-ta, At-lan-ta, it’s my kind of town.

I’d do Houston, but the syllables don’t fit.

If you want to know more about St. Urban--

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