Not Good News

There is a pall over the house today. Jack has not come home. Maurice wanders about meowing and has spent time today sitting there on the back porch, looking out into the yard. Now, whether she's looking for Jack or not, I do not know. I also have no idea if she's concerned or just curious. Who knows what cats think? 
Who knows where cats go in the dark?
Glen has looked under the old kitchen and the deck leading out to it. No sign of Jack in those places. The house has skirting to block access to the underside but I know critters can and do get in there. It's impossible though, to see what's under the house without an extreme amount of very uncomfortable scooting as it's quite low to the ground. 
My biggest fear is that Jack is hurt and is lying up somewhere suffering. There are so many places here where he could be doing that. As to what might have hurt him? Who knows? A fox, I suppose, would be the most likely culprit or one of the ferrel cats who hang around the yard. Not to be morbid but we've seen no sign of buzzards. If he's hiding and alive, we wouldn't see any so I guess that's a good sign. 

I had a cat a very long time ago who disappeared like this. His name was Jagger and he was a beautiful gray cat. He was there one minute, gone the next. Poof. We never saw him nor sign of him again. That was forty years ago and I have not quite gotten over that yet. We lived in Tallahassee then, in a neighborhood. I've always wondered whether someone stole him. I doubt anyone would steal Jack around here. Glen did call our next-door neighbor, the Trump Sign Lady, and she says she has not seen him. She is a true animal lover and so I trust that she would tell us if she had. At least she didn't suggest that a Haitian may have snatched him. 

I've felt spacey and disassociated all day long. I'm just gliding around on a slick gray cloud or perhaps slogging my way through extremely thin, wet cement. Something like that. Glen is upset and as I said, Maurice is at least aware that something is very wrong. 
I have had many cats and they have come and they have gone. But it's always rough when a beloved pet dies. Look- I'm the mother of four and grandmother of five and I know the difference between a child and a pet but I also know that our cats and our dogs are part of our family. Glen's and my little Lloyd family is made up of us and the animals, and as much as we bitch about them being obnoxious at times, we love them. We just do.

Night before last when Jack came to bed with me he let me scratch his head some and then he turned around and as cats will do, presented his tail to me to scratch back there. I had a very serious talk with him and said, "Jack. We love you so much and we love to pat and scratch you but humans just do not appreciate having a cat ass in their faces." I gave him a little nudge and he turned back around. 

He will come home or he will not. He is alive or he is not but I really hope he is not in pain somewhere.

I worked on Levon's quilt some more today. I got the back attached to the front and that went quite well. I only goofed up one place and ripping out the stitches there took me longer than it took me to do the original stitching. By far. Because that backing fabric is so fuzzy and the stitches are so small, it probably took me half an hour to find the little fuckers to rip but then they were easily replaced with everything where it should have been. 
I realize now that I have the print of the camping flannel going lengthwise and not crosswise as it should be. Why did I not consider this? I doubt Levon will care and I am going to try not to either. It's even possible that I'll change my way of doing things and make the letters of his name go in a vertical direction to go with the fabric. Oh, wouldn't that be just the wildest thing I could ever do? 
Probably. At this point in my life, anyway.
I'm not sure the universe could handle such rebellious changing of the game at this point. I am not sure I am that brave.

I'd like to discuss, just for a moment, this woman that Trump seems to be hanging out with A LOT! Her name is Laura Loomer and she's 31 years old and from what I've read, is so far over the top with her social media posts that even Marjorie Taylor Greene called her out for being racist and Lindsey Graham, a former Never Trumper who, as we all know, did a hard right and became one of Trump's most devoted boot lickers (I use the word "boot" to protect any delicate flowers who may be reading here) has put out a warning that any relationship that Trump has with Ms. Loomer could be a disaster for his chances of reelection. Laura is a crazy-ass conspiracy theorist, homophobic, racist, "proud Islamophobe," and pro-white nationalist. Among other things. Hell, she ran for office in Florida twice and was defeated both times. That's how crazy she is. Even Florida wouldn't elect her. 
However, it turns out that she's been hanging with the Orange Intestine at Mar-a-Lago and helped with his debate prep, accompanying him to the debate and also to a 9/11 memorial ceremony. And, by the way, she thinks that 9/11 was an inside job. 
So what's going on? You know what I think? I think that a thirty-one year-old relatively attractive woman is doing her best to make the old orange cream-sickle melt into a puddle of powerlessness so that she can step right into that mess, sop up the power for herself, and become internationally famous and adored.
Or something. 
Do I think they're having, uh, intimate relations? Well, I would not bet my life on it but if they're not, he sure thinks they will be. Plus- bonus! His hardest-line, most right-leaning, conspiracy theory-believing supporters who love the Donald because he makes it okay for them to be horrible human beings must just love her! 

All right. Friday night. Again, Mr. Moon is at the coast, waiting for this rain to clear so he and his guys can go fishing tomorrow. And again, I'm fine with that and hope he has a great time. He's had a hard week, dealing with business and doctors and insurance and so much more. He deserves a few hours of letting it all go and there's no place better to do that than on the open water. 

Here's a picture of Maurice sitting by me while I did some handwork on the corners of the blanket. 

She spiked me with her claws when I tried to quit giving her scritches but I'm not actually bleeding so all is well. 

A picture of a bee.

I wonder what Mexican basil honey tastes like? I sure would like to know. 

And a tiny rose bud.

I found that bottle in the yard. I think it may have held ink. 

One more. 

A picture of August that Jessie found on her phone. Levon took it. I think it's pretty dang amazing. 

May we all have clean sheets tonight. Or...soonish. Whatever. 

I'm getting good at making my own martinis but I miss having someone to kiss and toast with. He'll be home tomorrow. 

Love...Ms. Moon