Try Again

Mike to the rescue again.  The rats seem to have a preference for spark plug wires and Mike came with yet another set to install.  Once upon a time, Steve bought a 1950-something Chevy pickup.  There was enough room under the hood for two engines and a small boy.  It's a good thing Mike isn't a very big guy because this GMC is jam-packed with "stuff," stuff I can't begin to identify, and he crawls in there and does his thing.  He got Truck up and running again, bless him, but it was too late and I'd lost the incentive to go to town.  Oh well.

Missy comes at least once a day for breakfast and snacks on the deck.  While not exactly rotund, she's definitely not the scrawny little girl she was.  There is a rescue group up here called Fat Kitty City.  Missy doesn't need rescuing, but she's earning the title.  If I'm moving slow of a morning, she's looking in the glass door and tapping her foot.  She leads the way to her bowl.  I pet and she purrs while she crunches.

Lonesome Lulu is funny.  When Michael and I are on our morning walk, Lulu is on the roof of her little coop, making sure I know she's still there.  Chickens, like goats, are social creatures and isolation must be hard for her.  Lulu won't let me touch her (yet), but she does talk to me while I'm putting down her food.  That's progress.

Cousin Sandy sent me a text in the evening with a suggestion from her son for a rat spray repellent to use on Truck.  Wouldn't that be grand?  I'll check in the auto-parts store in town today and/or go online to find some.  I had trouble going to sleep and then had bad dreams last night, sure I could hear tiny teeth gnawing. gnawing, gnawing.

To those early-morning readers, I apologize.  I know the clock says six a.m., but my body still tells me it's only five, so my coffee and writing aren't done until seven.  I'm trying.