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Monday, Nov. 29, 2004 - 11:45 a.m.
My Book of Days
I'm going to write it all down, step by boring step. Yes, I am! Nothing can stop the juggernaut but a trip into the cyber void. I am getting so drifty, I might forget what I do, so here goes. Before It is too late. Waking up is from 6 to 8, depending on how many times I woke up in the night and how long I read each time. If 800 is still fixing his breakfast or lunch, I read or sleep some more. He likes plenty of room in the kitchen when he is making his masterpieces, and gives me plenty of room at suppertime, so I respect his territory in the morning. When I do get up, I wander out to the dining area and gaze outside through the deck double doors. There is usually an assortment of kitties waiting to greet me. The bird feeder is full this time of year, with lots of seeds and fluttering wings. The sun is shining through the big tree and into my face. When I am sure all is well, I get ready for the day. Before leaving my room, I make the bed and pick up things that may have spread themselves around. 800 is now usually ready to start on his day outside, so I warm kitty milk and get a little ball of ground venison out for Callie. Putting on my sweatshirt and gloves, I go down to the front door and put on my shoes or boots, make sure I have the key on my person somewhere and go outside. I am using that door which we always keep locked and have never used except to let 2d's music students in and out. The deck door is very heavy glass and the rollers have broken, so until spring comes and we replace it, I use the front door when I come in and out if I have the key. I make my way across the lawn, in front of the double garage, and around to the deck. By this time, the underdeck kitties have heard me coming, and the behind the shop kitties are starting to appear. Callie waits half way up the deck stairs for me to surreptitiously slip her the venison, while all the others wait for me to half fill a coffee can with dry food. Four dishes full under the deck, one for Tyrone the huge gold Persian, one for Sheena, the grey Maine Coon cat, one for Mamacat, plush grey tabby with blue eyes, and one for Trikitty, the black Yard cat who only has three feet, having lost one as a kitten when he was really wild out in the back. Only now does he let me pet him once or twice every so often. All the while I am filling these dishes, the newest kitties born in August are twining themselves back and forth around my feet. I don't lift my feet up very far so they don't get stepped on very much, but occasionally a little paw is caught by the edge of my shoe. It must not hurt, for I never hear a sound other than the plaintive meows to hurry. Across the back lawn, with Callie and her 3 remaining kitties going with me, I make my way behind the shop. The deep ditches are all filled in now, but lumpy mountain ranges of dirt line the path. Sometimes I walk on the tops of these ranges to pack the dirt down. The warm milk bottle comes out of my pocket and I pour it into an old camp frypan and dump an handful of cat food in, too. Another pile goes on a ledge outside a little chicken house, another in a little frypan by the rabbits, and sometimes a handful behind another old chicken house where the summer skunks stay. Scratch, a neighborhood yellow tom sometimes meets me there. He always want a few pets more than food. His face is scarred from fights and his body is hard and muscular. Another neighborbood cat, Patches, a mostly white calico with several big gold and black spots is usually at the little frying pan or the chicken house ledge. She gets a pat occasionally too, but doesn't long for one like Scratch does. Back I go to the large frypan where I pet the four wild ones. Sometimes the kittens let me pick them up, sometimes not. Callie never does, but she arches her back against my hand as she eats. When I return to the back stairs, I trade the empty coffee can for my walking stick and head out to the road in front of the place, I walk the whole length of the place, seeing if visitations have been made by animal during the night. In the summer, little holes appear where the skunks have been digging for worms and bugs, and unthoughtful neighborhood dogs often leave their calling cards. A mystery appeared this morning in Saturday's snow cover. On Saturday morning I followed a very large set of dog tracks across the lawn and back to the front drive. They do not appear to be the neighbor dog's, so must be a visiting dog. This morning another set was following my tracks and these were huge and unlike any I have ever seen. Instead of the big pad and 4 toes, these tracks look like huge hairy slippers, about 4 inches wide and 6 to 8 inches long, with about three or four feet in between each one. It could possibly be where the hind feet are coming to rest just behind the front feet prints, but there is no depression as if the weight was leaving or landing in a run. The track almost looks like the path an old fashioned dust mop would make. I shall have to work on the mystery. Well, I have only delineated my day up to about 9:30. I guess I will keep the next stage for tomorrow.
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