I woke up from a nap to find two of the children from across the street here.
"Mama says you found our cat," said the little boy.
"Did you lose your cat?" I asked.
"What color is your cat?"
"Orange tabby," said the little girl.
Relief flooded me.
I went to look for Maurice and she was not in the chair where she's been sitting most of the day. She was, however, peeking out from under the table and I swooped her up and presented her to the children.
"Here you go!" I said. "Your cat!"
They looked at the cat. They looked at me.
"That's not our cat," they said.
Then I found the foot-long-including-tail skink, dead as a doornail beside the bathroom door off the kitchen, his poor body riddled with puncture wounds.
"Goddam it, Maurice! You're already killing things!"
And please- don't bother to tell me that cats bringing in their kill for humans is a sign of affection.
This ain't my first cat rodeo.
Okay. For everyone who did not understand how the mason jar thing worked this morning:
This is what my blender looks like. Yours probably looks similar.
The jar part unscrews from the band which holds the blades and gasket. Correct?
So unscrew your blender jar from the gasket/blade/band.
Fill your mason jar with whatever you want in your concoction.
Take it off, turn it back right-side up, unscrew the band/blades/gasket and enjoy your whatever-you-made.
Now it does occur to me that many of you may not use mason jars to drink out of. I do and always have done. They fit my hand. They are a pleasing shape. They are cheap and sturdy. This is not a faux-country bullshit style thing. This is just how it is here in my house. When I met Mr. Moon and his parents came to visit for the first time, they saw all my mason jar drinking glasses and worried that I did not have real glasses. When we got married, guess what one of their presents to us was?
Yes. A box of lovely drinking glasses.
I wonder where those are. Probably long-since shattered on one floor or another.
Mr. Moon has left for auction, it is quiet here in Lloyd. I am pondering the conversation I had this morning with the man who sits in his truck at the end of Main Street when I was coming back from my walk. I usually only wave at him and say hello. He has never been much of a conversationalist with me. But I stopped to ask him if he or anyone he knew was missing a cat. He was not but said that people very often drop off cats at his house and he just feeds them. We talked about birds and squirrels (which he loves) and the dog he used to have. He loved that dog and someone shot it. He hasn't had the heart to get another one since. He also told me that he hates seeing me walk alone in the woods. That he doesn't think it's safe.
"But I never see anyone!" I said.
"You just never know," he said. And then he repeated, "I just hate seeing you do that. You should at least have a sturdy stick or something. There's people and animals, too."
I told him I appreciated his words and that I would consider them. And I will. But I do not want to be afraid. Nor do I want to be stupid. But still...after ten years walking my path, should I really change my route in order to stay in more populated areas?
No matter what I decide, it is good to know that people do have their eyes out. That my safety is being considered.
I think I'm coming down with a cold. I'm going to go to bed early tonight, rest up. It is so beautiful, so very peaceful here this evening. I wish you could see it.
I guess in a way, you have. And it is no wonder that I never feel lonely.