So, here's a typical day at Camp Cactus, compiled over the course of a week... because I'm lazy.
Morning again. Wasn't it just morning yesterday?
The dogs are barking at the back door to go out. Maizy the fat kitty is in the kitchen meowing at the top of her lungs, trying to summon breakfast. Dave and I bury our heads under the blankets, feigning sleep, gambling on who can hold out the longest. Today, I lose. I stumble out of bed and down the stairs, climbing over the baby gate, where the pups are waiting for me on the landing, tails wagging furiously back and forth, threatening to knock me down the stairs.
I let them out and head for the kitchen, where the feline contingent awaits their breakfast...
We have finicky eaters around here...everyone must eat in their own spot, on two different floors. Cats eat first. Maizy in the kitchen, Mr. Chubbs in the upstairs hallway, and Frisco has a spot in the upstairs bathroom. Up and down the stairs I go, then I let the dogs back in and feed Abbie in the kitchen, and Cooper in the front hall. I collect the morning paper from the porch, putting the rubber band on the giant ball in the front hall (I'm a little behind on that chore.)
I've been reading the morning newspaper since, well, since I learned to read in kindergarten. My dad was a newspaperman, an editor, and when I was little, reading the newspaper was what you did in the morning. And on Sundays? Fuhgeddaboutit! We got the New York Times, the Daily News, and the Long Island Press. On Sundays there was a lot of reading going on.
But back to my morning...I put the water on for coffee, and peruse the headlines.
Once the coffee's made and I've read the comics, I check my email and
If I don't have to go to work anywhere, I go upstairs and take a shower, then
...painting a sign on a building with my compadre, Elissa. (You can read about the sign painting in progress here.) As I was loading up the van to leave for my painting job, I discovered a sick squirrel in the front yard. He (or she) was a young one, possibly one of the now-adolescent offspring of the mama squirrel who lives in our walnut tree out front. I called Dave, and he got his heavy leather gloves on and picked it up and put it gently in the hollow of the tree. We figured he was probably a goner, but neither one of us could bear the thought of leaving him in the grass to get tortured by either one of ours or another neighborhood cat. At least this way he could pass away in peace.
Poor little guy. He didn't make it through the day. When I got home in the afternoon his furry little tail was hanging out in the same place we'd left him, and his siblings were climbing in and out of the hole as if they were checking on him. I took him out of the tree and buried him on the side yard, planting a hosta over his little plot, and saying a prayer of thanks to St. Francis of Assisi for a peaceful ending to his short life.
Then it was time to go for another walk, make some pizza for dinner
and watch the debate.
Hoo, boy...what a day!