Wet

I had eight dollars and a bus token. I needed to buy donuts for a 10:00 meeting; I had volunteered to do it.

Then Roy called. He had to delay his return for a day. Would I check him in on Southwest at precisely 8:50 so he would be assured of a good seat?

If I stayed home until 8:50 I wouldn't be able to take the bus. If I stayed home and called a cab I wouldn't have money for doughnuts and I wouldn't have time to make an extra stop to pick up money from an ATM. (No ATMs at Dunkin Donuts.)

If I rode my bike, I'd have time to make the doughnut stop and make it to the meeting, and money to buy the doughnuts. But rain was forecast for later in the day, possibly later in the morning, and temperatures are in the low 40s.

So I rode my bike. And it started to rain just as I pulled up at the location of my meeting, and it has been pouring ever since. I got home about an hour ago, did everything I must do, and I believe I will now loll about under an afghan or two until Federal Express gets here to carry away the work product of the day.

But first, I will take a hanger downstairs so that I can hang up my raincoat. Which really needs to be wrung out.

Wetter

So I came in and dried myself off, finished up my work, and lazed around under an afghan while waiting for FedEx, and life was good. (See post below for Part I, "wet.")

Then I went to the kitchen, looked out the window, and saw that the temp was in the mid-30s. O bother, said I, and began to bring in plants.

In came the flat of six healthy young Looking Glass begonia plants that I didn't quite take down to the horticultural society's member's day because I pulled my back.

In came the hanging basket of ipomoea and tradescantia that I'd sprayed with The Evil Chemical Systemic Spray of Doom because it has (hiss!) whitefly. That one still smells of a funny chemical smell and I wish I didn't have to bring it in.

In the midst of this, I saw a little black shadow pass by my ankles and scamper off. O bother, said I again, realizing that The Scamp was on the loose.

A little later, I was making my dinner and I heard a plaintive wail. The Scamp had managed to get himself up on the rickety wisteria-covered fence. It's about 8 ft high. He had scared himself and wouldn't move. It was raining. It was 35 degrees out. The last time he did this Roy was away and I enlisted my strong young next-door neighbor, but I was damned if I'd ask the poor guy to come out in the cold and wet because my wretched cat wisteria'd himself again. So I got out my rickety stepladder.

I am not afraid of heights, but I am a little dubious about rickety stepladders when I am home alone and no one is likely to be around to rescue me for a day or so. Teetering on the second step of Old Rickety, I could barely reach The Scamp. Who did not want to let go of the fence and wisteria for the dubious security of my grip. We had a bit of tug of war, each of us getting wetter, colder, and more cranky about the situation. The Scamp did the Terror Squirm 'n' Scream but I held on. Finally my patience was at an end and I grabbed both his forelegs in my best one-handed Star Wars Tractor Beam grip of death -- high enough that he couldn't bend down and bite my thumb. He knew he'd been bested and with one last despairing wail he went limp and allowed himself to be dragged back down, along with about 15 wisteria leaves. Oddly, once he was draped over my shoulder he seemed to lose all fear. Even more surprisingly, he didn't dig his claws into me one little bit and...he began to purr.

So we were both cold and wet and very happy to go back indoors, where it is a balmy 62 degrees.