Another Day Of Recovery

Well, here's old Biscuit Head, as Glen is calling him, or Biggy Boy, as I am calling him. He came all the way up almost to the back porch and stood there under the wisteria trellis, yowling his intentions to enter and eat.

He is bold!

Jack, who up until a few weeks ago never vocalized a thing that I heard, sat on the back porch steps and yowled at him in a low-volumed, threatening way. Maurice stood on the back porch and gave the same warning. I opened the door and talked nicely to the cat to show him that someone around here has some manners. He stood his ground for awhile and then he disappeared, much to the great relief of the two cats who live here. It's already a constant battleground in this house since each cat truly believes that the other is an intruder and a pretender to the various thrones they love to sleep on. 
Sigh. 
I don't think that it's going to be as easy for Jack and Maurice to get rid of this cat as they got rid of Cleopatra. Remember her? The sleek black kitty I was feeding months ago? She disappeared one day and I have not seen her since. I hope she's okay.

I didn't do much today. I figure I'm still in recovery mode. I did go to the dump and there was a car there that had more trump stickers on it than I've ever seen on one vehicle. There was even a decal on the driver's side window of a white (of course) trump profile so it looked like he was driving the damn car. The people who were the supposed owners of the car looked a little iffy if you ask me. Anyway, when they drove off, I said to the sweet guy who had taken my one bag of thrash to throw into the compactor, "You guess they're Trump supporters?"
"They ruined a good car," he said. 
"I really don't understand it," I told him. "I am so scared for our country. How can anyone support him?"
"I know," he said. "Especially poor people." 

We shook our heads in bafflement and I thanked him for his help and drove off. 

That was probably about the most exciting part of my day. 

From what I hear, Owen still has a fever and is sleeping a lot. Poor guy. It could be flu. Could be covid. He's over at this dad's so I don't know if he's been tested for anything. I texted him this morning but haven't heard back. 

Jessie was going to come out with the boys for a little while this afternoon but it turned out she had more to do than she thought she did so that didn't happen. Their family is going to meet up tomorrow with some friends from Ashville to go camping for a few days. Sounds good to me. 

Mr. Moon got up early this morning to take his inflatable kayak to a place called Goose Pasture which is somehow connected to the Wacissa River. He had the sandwich I'd made him and some grapes and tangerines and had dug up some worms and had all his poles and tackle ready but as he was driving down the road to Goose Pasture, he realized he was up to the muffler in water. We've gotten a lot of rain lately. So he turned around and started exploring nearby areas and ended up somewhere near the Econfina River which I know nothing about but he sent me some mighty pretty pictures. 

Forget all those picture postcards of Miami Beach- this is Florida, y'all. Well, Miami Beach is too but this is the part of Florida that few tourists ever see and we are not unhappy about that, to be honest. 

He said he never did do any fishing because he was afraid the oyster beds would slice through the bottom of the inflatable kayak but he had a grand time, just driving around and seeing what was out there. 

When he got home, I was mending a shirt of his and watching a documentary about the guy (Steve Cartisano) who sort of invented the idea of wilderness camps for teenagers who are, according to their parents, incorrigible. Well, that was fun. But you know me. One kid died in the southern Utah desert under his watch which did not stop him from starting new "camps" in places like the Caribbean and Samoa where US laws and regulations were not in place and his reputation had not preceded him. This did not go well either but a whole lot of parents spent fortunes trusting this former Air Force sergeant to straighten their teenagers out and the kids came back not just incorrigible but extremely fucked up and often physically harmed by their time in these supposedly therapeutic environments. 

Spoiler alert: Cartisano's own son got sent to one of the camps and is now in prison, and his daughter, who did not get sent away, is now a recovering heroin addict. 
I finished up the afternoon doing some ironing and watching part of a Jim Gaffigan Netflix comedy special from 2021. Although he works clean, which is not quite my style, he can be very funny and I enjoyed my way through a few shirts and two dresses at which point I said, "I've had enough of that," and here I am. 

The garden roses are still blooming and I'm just going to have to prune them anyway. But probably not tomorrow as I have a shopping list that takes up an entire index card with very small writing so I shall go back out into the world at large and hopefully, will not have a relapse of Xmas Disease. 

You'll be the first to know if I do.

Love...Ms. Moon