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lblanchardSo 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.
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.
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no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 03:14 am (UTC)My new rule is No Cat Rescuing. In any case, I am impressed that you managed it.
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Date: 2009-10-16 10:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 01:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 12:00 pm (UTC)Hard to believe he was ever this small and wee:
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Date: 2009-10-16 12:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 01:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 10:54 am (UTC)Did you allow the scamp under your afghan? Poor wet thing. You saved him! Of course he purred.
Aw...
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Date: 2009-10-16 11:49 am (UTC)There is black ice along the Schuylkill River this morning, on one of our river drives that is heavily used by commuters. I don't think it hit freezing out back, though.
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Date: 2009-10-16 12:27 pm (UTC)I hate black ice. It terrifies me.
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Date: 2009-10-16 03:51 pm (UTC)But yeah, it's colder earlier this year. It was colder earlier last year, too, but not as cold as early as this. I blame Al Gore!
no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 01:56 pm (UTC)(touches forehead to the floor!)
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Date: 2009-10-16 03:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 04:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-10-16 05:05 pm (UTC)