The squirrels continue to play the game and I continue to have the Big Bopper (think "Chantilly Lace," 1954, J.P. Richardson) at the ready. Louie checked in a couple of times and took back the word, but it might have been Persistent Percy or one of his cohorts, Impatient Irving, who decided to make a test run. Just raising the Bopper was enough to send him packing. I don't mind playing the game as long as I'm winning.
Bessie Anne had a senior moment yesterday morning. We have a set routine: I start the coffee maker, then fill cat and dog dishes, then give Bess her morning treats. By that time the coffee is done, I pour a cup and we all go back to the bedroom for some computer work. Bess evidently had a gap in the synapse because she stayed alone in the kitchen and started barking, looking out into the dark. Poor little girl had forgotten the routine and thought I'd gone outside without her. I touched her shoulder. "Oh, Mom! There you are! I thought you were lost."
I also don't mind being bitten by the cleaning bug, but why (why!) did it have to bite in the middle of summer? Yesterday's project was the seldom-used breakfast room, aka, the round room. My sister was the only one who actually had breakfast in there; I use it mainly for storage: twenty-five-pound bags of sugar for the hummers, spare milk jars, lots of empty egg cartons, the leaf blower, and anything else I can't find another place for. That room was long overdue for a massive overhaul, but why, I ask again, did I decide to clean it on one of the hottest days of the year? Dripping sweat, I made great inroads, but there's still much to do. That room contains a large portion of pigabilia that needs to be taken down and washed. I hope I don't lose momentum before it's all done.
Four-thirty a.m. today. Pat, pat, pat. Ralph again. I'd have rather slept a little longer, but I guess I don't mind. There are worse ways to be awakened.