I am about to admit the truth of the reality which is that this cat already owns us. Or at least me. I feel quite certain no one is surprised in the least to hear this.
Lily thought she felt a chip at the nape of Maurice's neck today and I did my duty and took her in to the vet in Monticello and they scanned her and there was no chip and quite frankly, I was relieved.
"Come on. Let's go home," I said.
Even in the vet's office with the dogs and all of the smells she lay alert and a little tense but surprisingly calmly in my arms.
"She's a cute kitty," said the lady behind the desk. I swelled with some small pride, as does a new mother when the nurses tell her that her baby is beautiful.
Well, a tiny bit like that.
She was somewhat leery of the children which was to be expected but every time we went outside, she would follow us around and then come racing when we came back in. I had forgotten what it feels like to have a cat familiar. Well. One never really knows with cats. She could take it upon herself to up and leave us too.
The boys were so wonderful today. Gibson was most agreeable and has learned to say "yes" instead of "uh-huh" or "yeah" and all day he would answer questions with that word, the S at the end, long and a bit hissing. He hugged and snuggled me. He kissed me over and over. When I said, "Let's go change your diaper," he led me to the bed where I do that. Owen was in a good mood too, curious and interested in everything. We dug around in the driveway for bits of glass and pottery and we saw a possum crossing the yard and he was amazed. "Are they bad?" he asked and I told that no, they are not. He wanted to start swinging from the rope his Boppy tied up in a tree beside the playset the second he got here and he is learning to shimmy up the bamboo.
He can go higher than that and he is so proud.
We also played a real game of Battle, or perhaps you call it War. The card game. He is learning his numbers quickly and he kept saying, "I love this game!"
Of course he won. That child has the best luck at cards.
The boys also gave me another make-over. While Mr. Owen and Mr. Gibson did my make-up, we had a conversation about Mr. Owen's wife whose name is Mary Anne. "Sometimes," he said, "she is cranky-banky."
"Oh really? How many children do you have?"
"Nine," he said.
"Well. That would explain her being cranky-banky."
It was just a delicious day. The confederate jasmine is blooming full-on and the scent is about one step over bearable. I'm pretty sure that's what's bothering my throat and sinuses but what can one do? Some people have to tolerate smog. I merely have to deal with one of the sweetest smells on the planet for a week or two. I believe I can do that. It's all about submission to that which is inevitable and overpowering.
The blooming of confederate jasmine.
The demands of chickens at the kitchen door for grapes or crackers.