Challenged

In addition to the music I hear in my head on waking every morning, there is a day planner in my brain.  While the coffee is steeping, I go over the mental wish list of things I'd like or need to get done.  The problem is that I am calendar challenged, as well evidenced yesterday when I was sure it was Monday and I had an appointment in Cameron Park.  Yesterday  was Saturday.  The good thing is that I realized it before making the drive.

As Bess Anne ages, she presents problems of her own.  Almost totally deaf now, we've learned together that I can use a simple sign language with hand signals to communicate.  Her cataracts are worsening and I don't know what we'll do if she loses her sight, but we'll find a way.  One of her back legs isn't working well and it's difficult for my stumpy, hefty girl to get her front legs up on the bed or couch so I can boost up her rear end.  It's becoming a two-step process.  I can't lift her in one fell swoop, so get her front paws up and then use them as a fulcrum to boost up the back end.  Where there's a will, there's a way.

Stanley has been getting feisty again, running at me from behind to attack my feet.  The good thing is that he comes with the intent to peck my shoes.  If he ever tries to use his four-inch spurs, this story would have a far different ending.  I had a rooster drive a spur into my calf once.  He was delicious.

With a week's worth of rain in the offing, a chore at the top of the list was getting more firewood up to the porch.  I was good for only three wagonloads before giving out.  If the dry weather holds today, I'll go for a couple more and try to fill the rack.  Damp days chill the house faster than just about anything.

Cats have no concept of personal space.  What's theirs is theirs and what's yours is theirs, too.  It's an illusion that my lap is my own.  Ralph at least gives fair warning of his intentions, but Celeste just suddenly appears out of nowhere and, boop!, there's a cat in my lap.  The worst is when they lie across my arm(s) and I become totally immobile.  Bessie has a dog bed right by my chair.  Every so once in awhile Celeste plonks herself down on Bessie's bed.  It's like a chapter out of Goldilocks and The Three Bears.  "Mom!  There's somebody sleeping in my bed!"  Bess is too polite to challenge the feline, and wanders dejectedly away.

Okay, if yesterday was Saturday (cooking shows), today must be Sunday (football).  I'd better check the calendar.