There was a huge clanking and engine sound from the railroad tracks this afternoon and when I say the tracks are in my back yard, that is not an exaggeration. They are about twenty feet behind the chicken coop. Something like that.
So I go to check this noise out and damn if they aren't unloading railroad ties from a railroad car with a giant machine on top of another railroad car and this is good.
I've seen the ties on the tracks now and about 3/4's of them are rotten. So yeah, fine.
However. Now my entire yard stinks of creosote. You can even smell it in the house. It's like they've had those ties soaking in creosote since they built the railroad back in the nineteenth century and have finally decided to use them.
Anyway, the boys just left. I got a call from Lily before they came and she told me that Owen did not want pizza for his supper but that he could probably eat some pancakes and bacon. And carrots. But not the baby carrots. Did I have the right kind of carrots? And bacon?
I did and I did.
I don't know why he was worried about the carrots. Not like he ate any of them but he did eat all his bacon and pancakes. He does not like syrup on his pancakes and he does not like butter on them. He just wants pancakes. And no foreign objects like berries or nuts in the pancakes. And the bacon. I believe he would eat an entire pound of bacon if I cooked it for him. Gibson ate his pancakes and bacon and immediately climbed up on the couch and went to sleep. As in, I was washing dishes, went back in to see if they wanted more pancakes and he was already asleep. But his plate was cleaned.
Ashley spent all evening in the same room as the boys, playing with toys and with them and wanted their bacon and was just generally very kitten-like. She and Owen seem to have formed a bond already. He is most excited for her to be coming to live with them. I have to say that it is extremely gratifying to see this puffy little kitten, so happy and so contented and so playful and to remember that less than two weeks ago she was a terrified little wild creature who fought me with her tiny teeth and claws and who now, when I pick her up, cuddles right up next to me and purrs. I hope that the visit to the clinic isn't too traumatic but it must be done and then it will be over and she can relax in her new house with her new family and be loved on and given treats and treated like Princess Ashley which is what Owen and I agreed she should be called. All cats are royal in their blood and if that sometimes means that they think of nothing but themselves and their own comforts and what enemy they may need to slay next, well, that is just the nature of royal blood. When they feel like it, they can dispense their royal attentions and we are always so grateful to receive them.
Or something like that.
And having two queens in this house (those two being named Maurice and Mary), is plenty.
Reminds me of a story Keith Richards told about walking into a recording studio to find Mick Jagger playing guitar.
"There's only two guitar players in this band," he said, "and you are not one of them."
Not that I couldn't find room in my heart and my home for this little one but Lily needs her and I do not.
Well, that's the story from Lloyd tonight where the air smells of creosote and I just can't wait until they start working on the railroad with great ringing sounds of the pounding of iron spikes and it's just too bad that they probably don't sing any more while they work. They probably don't use chain gangs any more either. Although hell, I do live in Florida and one never knows.
Some things change and some things don't. In fact, I just looked at a picture of Madonna topless that was shot for Interview magazine. The chi-chi's are hanging in there, Madge! (No pun intended, darling.) Especially with that bustier on. Good for you, woman! Wish I had your ovaries. AND your fortune but truthfully, I wouldn't trade all of it- fame, fortune and good looking breasties for what I've got.
Mostly. On most days.
I'm going to wash the dishes and put the carrots back into the refrigerator and go to bed. Mr. Moon is at auction and so it shall just be me and Queen Maurice and we shall sleep well, I am sure, in our royal bedclothes in our royal bedchamber.
And tomorrow I will take this little princess grandchild to her new home.
She also already has beloved subjects and I certainly am one of them and although it will be swell to mop the bathroom where her litter box has been and to wash all the towels she's mussed in her nest-making, we are indeed going to miss her, both me and Mr. Moon whose heart was stolen from the very first moment he laid eyes on her when she was still wild. She has made a little nest in our hearts as well as in her room, but we can go and see her and the thought of her learning to sleep with Owen, curled up beside him in his bed, makes me happy enough to let her go. Lily will be the best mommy in the world to her and she will still be part of the family.
I will post pictures, I promise.
And god knows, there are always the chickens.