Lord Dudley Mountcatten is sweet…. but his less than sweet claws are doing a number on our rugs and furniture so I purchased yet another scratching post for the furry little peckerwood him.
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It’s part carpet.. since he pulls the loops out of our Berber on a daily basis.. and part sisal. What cat wouldn’t want to scratch that?
Turns out… our cat. Because his Royal Highness wouldn’t touch it. Walked right by it without so much as a glance. Which meant it was time to bring in the big guns.
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Yes, I hosed that thing down with Meowijuana.
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Righteous chronic dude.
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And while it definitely attracted him.. all he did was rub it until it fell over.
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He hugged it.
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He sat on it.
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He draped himself all over it. What the loopy bastard wouldn’t do was scratch it.
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One very happy tatter.
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15 minutes later? You be the judge.
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I’m going with stoned.
P.S. …. apologies for the silly voice overs. I tell myself not to do that, and then do it every time.
We got a phone call telling us the leather chairs we’d ordered for the man cave were ready for pickup. Erring on the side of caution, I suggested we take the husband’s old truck in for a check up before making the long trip. In typical man fashion he thought this was a ridiculous idea, got aggravated with me for impugning the integrity of his baby and told me to schedule the furniture pick up for Friday.
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You knew where this was going…. right? The truck started sputtering and jerking when we hit I-95, an hour after we left home. I suggested we turn around and go back, but no. The husband had the bright idea to get off the highway and ride the back roads down to New Hampshire. This added at least 2 hours to our 2 1/2 trip. When we finally limped in to Nashua… which has awful stop and go traffic and endless traffic lights on the main drag… the truck was stalling every time it idled. I suggested we pull off the road, but no. The husband could literally see the warehouse where our chairs were patiently waiting. He didn’t pull over… so at the final red light? The truck died. Totally and completely died. Smoke pouring out from under the doors died. Yours truly had to jump out and help the husband push it off the busy road into a parking lot. With my bad knee. In case you were wondering…. pushing an 8 foot bed pickup is not on the approved radial meniscus tear exercise list. Ouch! We called AAA and were told due to a tow truck driver shortage it would be a 3 hour wait. Ever sit in a hot truck for 3 hours waiting on a tow? I don’t recommend it. At 4:30 that afternoon…
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The tow truck came, loaded our vehicle on the flat bed and promptly told us due to Covid restrictions we couldn’t ride back to Maine with him … and oh yeah, our coverage was only good for 100 miles. So they’d have to charge us $5 per mile for the overage.
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We paid, the truck went back to Maine…. and there was really only one thing left for us to do.
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I drank. I fumed. I ate southwestern egg rolls. I drank some more.
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There may have been eye rolling. (Who am I kidding, there was definitely eye rolling. )
And then I called a friend. A good friend who jumped in his brand new truck and drove over 2 hours to pick us… and our leather chairs … up. Good thing the warehouse was open until 8:00pm.
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We took him out for dinner and drinks. We filled his giant gas tank. I slipped $100 bill in his center console.
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We arrived home after midnight.
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Not the best time to move furniture, but when do we ever do anything the easy way?
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Did I mention the barn door (the free door my husband got at the dump) is a non standard size? The chairs got stuck 4 times. There may have been cursing, but at that point I was too tired to care.
We rolled in to bed about 1:30am…. and I thought the bad luck was over.
The weather is warming, the grass is greening and the danger of frost has passed… we hope. (I live in Maine, it can snow on Memorial Day) So now it’s time for blooms!
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There’s nothing I love more than going greenhouse shopping. Being surrounded by bright flowering plants probably drops my blood pressure by 20 points. It also drops my bank balance considerably, but we won’t talk about that.
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I came home with this interesting shrub.
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A weigela florida. Fingers crossed it does well in the spot I picked.
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Two boxes of pretties for my front garden bed…
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Which turns out wasn’t nearly enough. Damn, I’ll have to go shopping again.
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A hanging geranium for the back deck… and for Lord Dudley to stare at. That’s him in the window directly behind it.. plotting revenge on me for keeping him in the house.
We have a raccoon who visits nightly. And while he’s a cute, pudgy old fellow… he’s extremely destructive when it comes to our birds feeders. Every morning we wake up to one or two on the ground, often in pieces. A month ago I started taking them down at dusk and putting them in the garage overnight. When I went to bed early last week and forgot? The husband got lazy and left them on the kitchen porch.
Lord Dudley Mountcatten snuck out the not quite closed back door yesterday. It was his first taste of freedom since we adopted him back in January…. and he was positively drunk with joy.
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Instead of grabbing him and flinging his furry little butt inside, I let him enjoy the nice weather. At first he was calm, and jumped up on the table to lie in the sun. I petted and praised him and began to rethink my outdoor ban.
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Before I knew it he’d jumped off the deck and started wandering in and out of shrubs. I kept a close eye on where he was going, thinking he’d be satisfied to slowly explore his surroundings. But then?
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Bam! He took off running… across the lawn, past the garage and out towards the road. I called his name, he ignored me. I tried to catch him, he ran faster. When I finally herded him back to the deck, the little devil crawled under it… way out of reach. No amount of coaxing (or cursing) would bring him out. I spent half an hour waiting for his highness to tire of the stand off but no, he wasn’t moving. So I got a broom.
That managed to get him out from under… only to have him sprint directly to the woodshed.
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Where he climbed, jumped and writhed like a madman, knocking over bricks, plant pots and basically everything he touched. There’s only one entrance, so after 10 minutes of wild scrambling trying to get away from me?
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He gave up and perched on some wood…. which is when I grabbed his Royal highness, threw him over my shoulder and marched him into the house. The house he will probably never be allowed to leave again. Sorry Dudley, but you blew it.
Naturally his Lordship was quite put out with me. I got the stink eye, the cold shoulder and then the non stop howling and pestering for a repeated chance at the great outdoors.
The time of year Mainers go absolutely bat shit crazy over a tiny unfurled fern frond.
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The season is short and anxiously awaited. Foraging sites are secret and passed down from one generation to another.
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Cleaning methods are also hotly debated.
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Personally? I can’t stand the slimy little things… I don’t care how you cook them, they taste like swamp. But that’s okay, it just means there are more for you.
Our farming neighbors across the street are awesome people. Honest, hard working, nature loving, alternative lifestyle vegetarians who raise their kids the old fashioned way… no tv, no cell phones, just plenty of love and imagination. As witnessed by this letter and treasure map they mailed to the two little boys who live down the road.
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Now how fun is that?
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Where there's only one step from the sublime to the ridiculous.
River's world..... 