It's Like This...

"Kek.  Kek-kek-kek."  Ralph and Celeste take turns sitting on the sill closest to the hummers and chattering.  Discretion being the better part of valor, I've moved the antique oil lamps and a large number of pigs to other locations for safety.

Since the warden (Bessie Anne) signed their release, the cats roam the house at will.  They've become quite playful, chasing each other up and down the stairs, batting wood chips like hockey pucks, holding wrestling matches in the living room, and pulling toys out of the basket.  Both Ralph and Celeste speak a language all their own, unlike any cats I've heard.  It's a kind of "brrrp" vocabulary, sometimes with a question mark, sometimes with an exclamation point.  Both cats are very gentle; neither has put out claws to me or to Bessie.  We're starting to feel like a family.

I had to take the truck in to be smogged yesterday.  I'm happy to say it passed with flying colors.  It's a 1998 model, and I hold my breath and cross my fingers each time it needs to be tested.  Leaving the smog station, I passed a new business in town, Tractor Supply, and thought I'd take a look-see.  I came home with another(!) replacement faucet, a package of T-post clips, a box planter so I can grow lettuces and radishes close at hand on the deck, a Concord grape plant, and six red chicks.  That's my kind of shopping.

Having recently regained the laundry room after Satomi rejoined the flock, I once again have chickens in residence.  Why do I do these things?  Bessie Anne always assumes guardianship of any house hens, and Ralph thought I'd brought them just for him ("Oh, goody!!").  The chicks undoubtedly felt they'd been dropped into hell, meant as appetizers for the furries.  I got the little fluff balls settled in with chick mash, warm water, and a box to huddle in for warmth.  Both dog and cat finally got bored and left the room.  The chicks were awake at five this morning, pecking and peeping to beat the band.  In the early morning light, five deer are munching their way across the yard and the turkeys are marching up the drive.

It's like this.  I will never suffer from "empty nest" syndrome.