I'm Exhausted

     I should post something today, but I'm just exhausted.  Got up this morning to help my sister with her cat at the vet.  The poor old tomcat had ingrown claws!  He wasn't wanting anyone to touch his front feet, but he let the vet soak them and trim his claws.

     Tam and I had brunch after that and I have mostly just sat since.

The Joys Of Recovery, The Joys Of The Season

     In a less-than-great mood this morning, though better than it was earlier--

     I went to bed pretty early, after what seemed like an eternal uphill slog to cook up a couple of nice little filets mignon and a head of cauliflower Tam had purchased.  It was too ambitious a meal for me, which is embarrassing to admit because, face it, even with staggered cooking times for "rare" and "medium-well," it's not that big a deal -- start the long-count steak, clean a head of cauliflower (turn the steak) and chop it into steaming-sized chunks (turn the steak), rig up the simple steamer with some nice this and that parsley-and-garlic in the steaming water (turn the steak), start the water, start Tam's steak, and then keep an eye on steaks and steamer while getting out my orange drink--  It's nothing, really, and having Alexa to keep track of times for me is a huge help.  Nevertheless, by the time Tam was setting up tray tables so we could look at TV while we ate, I was exhausted and irritable.

     The TV was fine, but I was barely there; I did the sinus-rinse thing yet again and went to bed not too long after.  I've been sleeping propped up, practically sitting up as the doctor recommended, and it takes a little arranging.  Once there, sleep and comfort proved elusive.  For reasons that must have made sense at the time, I didn't take a pain pill and eventually muddled my way into shallow, not very restful sleep.

     Some infinite amount of time later, there was a series of short, horrible sounds.

     What seemed like quite a long while afterwards, but could not have been, I remember hearing, "Rannie?  Rannie!  Where are you horking?  --Oh.  Bobbi, keep your eyes shut."

     There was a click. The light switch.  Red light washed through my eyelids.

     "My cat threw up on your quilt.  Just now.  I think I can change it--"

     "Oh, unh -- okay?"

     There were various stirrings and rustlings.  What felt like a blanket* settled over my head and then the weight of the quilt was lifted off.  This was followed by an hour or two of someone going downstairs to the laundry area and returning, and then a presumably fresh quilt fell over me and was tugged into place.  The light switch clicked again and I heard my door being pulled to.

     I sneaked a look.  The dim nightlight revealed the yellow quilt had been replaced by a green one.

     For some perverse reason, all this kindness, fuss and bother infuriated me.  I was awake enough to realize the total inappropriateness of my reaction but there it hovered, like Cthulhu dangling beneath the Hindenburg (LZ129), spitting fire and swearing like a stevedore.  To hell with it.  I took a pain pill, moving very slowly and carefully to avoid dropping the bottle, and eventually drifted off into some dark and dreamless place.

     When the alarm woke me up at 0600 -- cat feeding time -- one or the other of the cats had gotten the door open and both cats were in bed with me.  I got up, looked in on Tam -- fast asleep -- and stumbled through feeding the cats, then went back to sleep for several hours.

     Got up, did another sinus rinse (four to eight per day, gak).  Managed to make fried, diced potato with bacon and scrambled eggs, along with a pot of coffee -- and had my first cup since surgery: tastes great! -- not too long ago, but if I can manage to get Tam to do the grocery-shopping, I have no intention of leaving the house today, or of doing any cooking more complicated than opening cans or building a sandwich.  We can have something fancy tomorrow or Christmas day.  Maybe I'll even take another pain pill.

     Maybe I'll wrap presents.
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* That would be because it was a blanket.  I keep one on top of my bedcovers for the cats to sleep (and urp) on.  Rannie missed.

The Domestic Tiger

     Every morning, when I open the door that separates the cats for mealtimes and Huck comes bounding through, I am reminded that at Roseholme Cottage, there's a tiger behind every door -- and, as Rannie Wu reminds me, a lady on the other side.

     Interestingly, this does not remove the suspense.  Huck may be a very small tiger but he's also a very mischievous one.

Sunday: Range, Public Greens, Fast Asleep By Four

     It was a fun day and it went all too fast (my doctor may be onto something with her theory that I have a sinus infection and haven't noticed).

     Tam and I decided to go over to Eagle Creek Pistol Range -- shotguns are okay there, too, and Tam brought hers...

     ...But only after Rannie checked the shotgun case for fit and comfort.

     I had my .22 Short H&R "Trapper" and 9-shot High-Standard Sentinel (.22 LR and down), plus an old Colt .32-20 that needed to have a couple of cylinders run through it.

  I'm rusty as can be, and wasn't shooting well enough to suit me, two or three outside the 3" center for every ten shots at seven yards.  I had a box of really badly-primed Remington -- three tries in two different spots ought to fire a .22 cartridge -- and did better after I dug into some Federal.  The CCI shorties for the Trapper were reliable as can be, so I can't blame fliers on them.

     But I can take artsy pictures!

    Eagle Creek airport was busy too, and one of the approaches takes airplanes right next to the range -- out from under the roof, you can look westward and see the little planes zooming by as they come in to land.  (Worrywarts can look the geometry of this up on Google Maps -- the planes are quite safe from the partially-roofed range.)

     After our range time, we washed up and headed for the delightful Public Greens, Tam's concession to my limited dining-out time (she was hungry for a charcuterie plate, and who could blame her?)  Instead, she went with chicken fingers and fried green tomatoes, a treat they do as well as I have ever had this side of the Mason-Dixon line (other than at home as child).  I begged a small one from her, which added to a huge sandwich and mixed-greens salad:

     That's yet another take on pork bahn mi, and remarkably flavorful.  It helps that Public Greens grows a lot of their own vegetables right next to the restaurant and what you eat was rooted in the earth not an hour or two before arriving at your plate -- and it helps even more that they have simply outstanding talent in the kitchen.

     I didn't think I could eat all of it but each bite was better than the one before and in what seemed like no time at all, I was looking at an empty plate and wondering what happened.

     We went home, unpacked and were greeted by The King Of The House.

     I decided to lay down for just a minute and the next time I opened my eyes, it was ten p.m.  I went back to sleep for eight more hours and here I am.

Huck Slept In, Too

     But he usually does.

As Heard

     Tam, watching television in my room (as is her wont in the morning), let out a prolonged, ululating yawn,  while I wrangled pancakes several rooms away.  Rannie Wu the cat had been circulating around my ankles, hoping for Whatever and quick-trotted Tamwards when the The Yawn rang out, as though rushing to the rescue.

     Bobbi: "Holy cow!  Rannie just went tearing off your way!"

     (I heard) Tam: "What? 'Ready for the Redford picture, f*rry?'"

     Bobbi:  "Did you say, 'Ready for the Rexford puncture f*rry?'"

     (I heard) Tam: [snickering] "No, 'the sphincter fury.'"

     As she spoke, I'd followed the cat as far as the hallway and when I repeated what I thought she'd said, the snickers became uncontrollable guffaws.

     Ah, hearing.  How did it work?

Poor Rannie

     Rannie the cat has had soft, gravy-covered cat food the last two feedings, since she has decided the dry stuff is too much work to eat (unless she can get me to hand feed her).

     She eats it in a quirky way, carefully lapping up all of the gravy before turning her attentions to the chunks of food.  The entire time, she glances every so often at the closed door between the front and back parts of the house.  Huck waits on the other side, having gulped down his food as quickly as he could.  Rannie knows as soon as I open it, he'll come dashing through. The thought worries her.

     I try to reassure her but as far as Rannie is concerned, I'm only occasionally an acceptable Mommy.  Even sitting on the couch after she's been fed, she'll curl up next to me, purr, smooth on me, nap awhile with her head pillowed on my hand -- then suddenly sit up, give me a shocked look, and be off in search of Tam: You're not my Mommy!

     No, little cat, I'm not.  I cherish your occasional affection nonetheless.

Broad Ripple Biting Tiger

     Sometimes.

Stealth Huck

     Poor Huck the cat -- I stepped on one his front paws last night while being a goof (stumbling down the hall when I knew I was too dizzy to move quickly; the variable weather in recent days has played hob with my sinus/whatever issues).  He had to go hide for awhile but was walking normally in a few hours.  I checked him out as soon as I could.

     This morning, he was nosing around in the office while I was online.  I heard various rustling noises...and then an odd bong!  Looked around and he was nowhere to be found.  A few minutes later, Tam walked in and I remarked that I'd thought my cat was in the room but couldn't see him.

     Several minutes later, Tam said, "Look where your cat is now."

     I turned and looked. Nothing.  "What do you mean?"

     "Look."

     And then I realized the curtains behind her desk -- the curtains of the Forbidden Window, into which cats are not supposed to go -- were waving ever so slightly, with the rhythm of Huck's tail when he is watching wildlife. 

     Tam opened the curtains and Huck turned to give her an innocent look.  "Out!"  She closed the curtains. "And not across my desk, either."

     Huck whacked at the curtains, then managed to open them.  Tam closed them again.

     "No, Huck!  --Bobbi, rattle some cat food, willya?"

     I went to the kitchen and he was in the room looking up at me soon after I opened the treat cabinet.  Yes, that's my cat.

    

All Traveling Tower Crews Have A Dog

     It may be a rule.

     (In the photo, he's listening for His Person, just around the corner.)

     This guy was very friendly, and before his toys were unpacked, he found a small cardboard box to carry around.  He finally ripped it up, but only after being told it would be okay.  He's extremely playful with his owner (tugging at pants cuffs, dancing and trying to get him to play) and more restrained with others.  Very happy to be petted and will lean up against your legs to see if you'll give way.  Here's a hint: don't.

Cats, Books, Christmas

     The holidays are an especially cluttered time at Roseholme Cottage:

     I think we're going to need some larger shelves.  Huck and Rannie are right at home, in new play/scratching structures.

     Yes, the shelving projects are nowhere near done. That far wall around the windows?  Going to be full of bookshelves.  The other side of the archway is about a third done, and the wall behind the couch will eventually get a set of display shelves, most with plexiglass doors.  That was going to be an Ikea hack and may still be, though they discontinued my first choice.  For some of us, it takes years to really "move in" to a new home.

Dibs!

     I made my bed (it's sheet-changing day) -- then left the room for just a minute:

     Too slow! Tam's cat called dibs.

     (She did move when I added a quilt.  Came back later to sleep next to me.)

It's Funny, But...

     Rannie Wu the cat will haunt the kitchen while I am cooking, getting herself underfoot and swearing at me.  She wants a sample, or better yet, a little saucer with some olive oil in it, and other than distracting her with tasties, the only way to get her to leave is to ignore her begging, sidestepping so deftly that she never gets an excuse to say crabby little cat-utterances or take a swipe at your ankles.  If she gets any attention at all, no matter how negative, she will stick around.

     The situation gives me the darnedest tip-of-the-tongue sensation.  It just seems so familiar....

Meanwhile, The Prayer Of Cats Underfoot:

     "Oh, Food Monkey, great and clumsy Food Monkey, what have you brought us?  What gifts will tumble carelessly down to us from Thy plate?"

Wednesday Potpourri

     (The second word in today's post title is not, as it happens, French for "kaffeeklatch."  And yet -- there's the pot and the pouring, right there in the word.  Darned etymologists, why didn't they stay with bugs?)

     So, Mom X improved steadily; they dropped one of her medications and lo, it was the underlying cause of her symptoms. She was able to return home yesterday afternoon.  This made her happy -- there's company in the hospital and these days the food is pretty good, but it's just not home.

     The kitchen drain here at Roseholme Cottage remains, shall we say, blocked.  I took the trap apart yesterday, just in case things were simple, but they're not: the block is further in, somewhere in the approximately 2" diameter PVC pipe that snakes crazily across the basement ceiling between the kitchen sink and the old cast-iron main drain line, the full width of the house and half the length away.  I considered trying the vacuum, but A) my Shop-Vac is a tiny one and B) life is too short to spend much of it scrubbing sewer slime out of a Shop-Vac, unpaid.  The plumber should have the tools for this job and the experience to know which one to use.  The drain crosses above my ham shack, present packed full with things moved to make a path for the high-speed Internet installation, so that could be a complication if the drain is really badly blocked.

     Rannie Wu the Cat appears to be able to discern the difference between Bertolli Classco olive oil in a glass bottle and the same thing (according to the label) in a plastic bottle, and she disapproves highly of the latter. Sniffed at it and stalked off, radiating disappointment.  "We are not at home to Mrs. Cheapskate."  Sheesh.  You take the cat to Broad Ripple and she turns into a foodie snob.  I'll see if native-born Huck wants any; he'll usually give it a taste.

The Snoozer(s)

     Rannie, napping next to Tam this morning.  One of them didn't want to be in the photo.

The Sun-Worshipper

Hoosier Weather!

From this:

To this:

In 48 hours!

Huck On The Porch

     But held, as otherwise he would go hunting.  (Ignore the strange-looking elderly woman.  I have no idea who she is.)

     He's fascinated.

     He'd like to discuss this whole "can't go hunt" thing.

      ...And he's serious about it!

Friendship Forged In Adversity

     At least for now:

The electric blanket is on -- but it's been on every night for days and they haven't slept this close.

      I have never seen them sleep that close to one another.
   
     The cats went to the vet together, in separate carriers, each complaining in their own way on the trip down, wails from Rannie and the occasional worried "Mew?" from Huck.  Despite my warnings about his strength, Huck fought 'em when they drew blood, and returned from his visit to the labs with a small bandage and an "I showed them" swagger.  Rannie was wide-eyed with terror, loathe to leave her carrier, doing her best to ignore the whole world once back in it and when I got them home, I figured she'd be in hiding for a day or more.

     Nope.  Both of them were a bit more outgoing than usual, checking out an empty box; Huck played in it and Rannie curled up next to me in the couch for most of a movie, head pillowed on my hand, purring.

    As for the car trip, it was...an experience.  More about that in my next.