I started this post as a draft yesterday at 3:30, so no, I’m not drinking at 8 am. Monday morning.
That’s what time it is now. I got quite tired and thirsty rummaging around in my old kennel building this afternoon. That structure, built upon sturdy skids, now stands out among the willows far behind the house.
I knew it would happen: the building has become a repository for bins of old clothes and fabric, tools and many other things from Myrtle’s home, forgotten books and craft supplies, and more. There are even bins of bins. I rediscovered items that I had even replaced, and now I wish I hadn’t saved them. Or, I should just keep better inventory.
I have been trying to make some space available for our dear Shelly’s storage needs, as she is moving back to McBride for work. There was a time that I even thought the building could become a “tiny house” in keeping with the small home movement. But Susan was right… it’s kind of musty and mouse-infested.
While I shuffled things around, I was disturbing a fair bit of dust, and swept up mouse droppings. You’ve heard it here first… if I suddenly succumb to a respiratory infection, it’s surely Hantavirus. I tried not to inhale, honestly.
So that’s what I did after our lovely Sunday breakfast with our friends. Blitzen, Odie and Scout have gone home. Zoe and Gizmo will go home this evening too, leaving us with only Tilly for now! Quite a change from last weekend’s hectic activity. I love that each day is different.
One quiet afternoon, I gave Smokey a bath. I had been working at getting some small matts and thick spots combed out, and I used two products on her fur which left some residue. I used ShowSheen which is a sort of silicone spray safe for horses and smaller pets, and ‘Cowboy Magic’, a product which is for all the world like Astroglide, an intimate product for humans. If I remember correctly.
So I ran a dishpan full of warm water and placed Smokey in it. I could almost read her mind: this was either a terrible mistake or an awful joke. Even so, that little darling did not try to scratch or bite, and instead somehow got a firm grip on the edge of the pan or tried to climb the side of the bath tub. Because she was quite cooperative, as a cat in water goes, the ordeal was over quickly. Smokey then did not mind the towelling, blow drying, or combing out.
Now that beautiful pet has the silkiest coat imaginable.
I wish I could apologize to the dear departed cat Jack: I had let him get quite tangled and had given him a bad haircut in the days before he died. Of course this grooming had nothing whatsoever to do with the cat contracting or having pyothorax. If there is a heaven, I hope all pets forgive us for bad choices and dreadful haircuts, and that they are playing all together, and are forever impeccably groomed.
I must say that, though I was very sad to lose my feline friend Jack, there was an interesting outcome. Gilbert had given people and other pets quite a wide berth in the past year, but now she is “back”. She has only disdain for Smokey and is indifferent to our own dogs, but she is out and about much of every day again. She must have been afraid of Jack; Gary had tried to tell me that there was a conflict there.
I think “beer o’clock” is over and I’ve relaxed enough for now. Time to get supper rounded up.
Thank you for always being here to visit with. XXX