Is it me or did this last weekend go by at gonad-rattling speed?
I had a phone conversation with a friend from Québec yesterday, a talk that focused briefly on cats, us theorizing about cat-related expressions in English and French (i.e., chat de gouttière = alley cat?). Post-call, I found myself mentally drifting back in time, remembering a cat I'd known during my tenure in Seattle. A sharp little feline living with its person in a two-floor apartment. The owner had a tendency to lock the cat out of the bedroom at night, the cat figured out that the kitchen was located directly over said bedroom. Rather than sit outside the bedroom door trying to rouse resting human, the cat would head to the kitchen and commence jumping from counter to floor, each landing producing a thump -- hard to ignore, seeming to grow louder, more resolute as one leap followed another. A maneuver that continued without rest until the human surrendered and opened the bedroom door.
Another cat, a thick-coated heavy shedder, somehow made the connection between shaking itself and airborne hair. So that if pissed off at its owner, rather than clawing furniture or clothing, or peeing or throwing up on the bed or in shoes, it would stand near the seated owner and shake itself until enough fur filled the air that the owner couldn't stand it any more.
Cats -- capable of high-level ploys for the training and punishment of their humans.
It rained like cats (and dogs) here yesterday evening, by the way -- the first rain in a week, far and away the longest dry spell since I returned in mid-June. Rained like it was trying to make up for lost time, with major displays of lightning and numerous brief losses of power. Took down yesterday's heat and humidity, the air now less heavy, though mist and haze remain, softening the green hills of the valley -- green hills showing a bit less green now, more yellow and red. In fact, yellow leaves were flying here yesterday, a couple of nearby trees taking advantage of warm breezes to get a head start on the autumnal disrobing.
The round-the-clock end-of-summer insect singing continues in the grass around the house, a bit of it moving indoors overnight. In the theater world, a cricket in the building means good luck. Here it means waking up at 3 a.m. to the loud, insistent chirping of a tiny sleepless maniac. I had to turn on the light, hunt the bugger down, toss him (or her) outside.
Another by the way: that car full of females I'd been expecting yesterday turned out to be two cars, with only three females between them. (Not that I'm complaining.) Nice people, as it turned out, all three.
Ah, well. On to the day.
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Abandoned farm -- Calais, VT
Madrid, te echo de menos.
rws 9:42 AM [+]
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