I just need to pretend.

Phone call, earlier this evening:

Him: Are you sleeping?

Me: Not yet.

Him: I just talked to Seymour. He's camping, but we'll both be there.

Me: That's great. I couldn't do it without you guys.

Him: This is your brother, by the way.

Me: I know, I have call display.

Him: So, what time?

Me: I don't know, but it will be around late afternoon. I'll tell you this, I'm shitting my pants about driving a 26' truck to Nodnarb. I'll probably call you so that you can meet me at the Husky and drive this damn thing.

Him: That's nothing. It's like a 3-ton. Just remember your off-track. And find out if it takes diesel, there should be a sticker, but you can tell by the sound.

Me: Remember the last time I drove a truck bigger than a half-ton? I don't, but y'all keep telling me how I drove it into the granary. I was ten!

Him: You'll be fine. I have to shower now. I'll see you on Saturday.

Me: Yup.

Later: Oh, shit. I do not want to do this. And not just because one of my dearest friends is moving away from me. Though that is the major factor. The driving a 26' truck is just a minor annoyance. This really fucking sucks.

Happy Canada Day!

I had to work today, so no beer-drinking in the sun for me, but I had to do something to celebrate the day.

So, I'm drinking some Keith's and getting a wee bit weepy over a commercial:



It's too bad that such an awesomely-named beer sucks so much.

Calm before the storm

Edgar and I have been having an amazing time, lately. The weather is warm (finally!) and so the ce-ment pad is truly open for business:

When the sun is too strong, we retreat to the shade for our knitting:

(note to self: get some loung-y chairs and a table for the shady part of the yard).

We finished a pair of socks (which only took a year! And less than a gram of yarn to spare!):

There's also been that travelling scarf thing going on:

With all this nice weather, the garden is growing like there's no tomorrow, or something. I've got broccoli and hot peppers growing. Plus, I expect a huge burst of daisies and tiger lilies just about any day now:

Edgar and I were hanging outside tonight, when it suddenly got very dark. It was one of those maybe? maybe not? rain moments. I grabbed Edgar, because I wanted to bring him inside if it started to pour. And since we were cuddling, I thought it would be good to have a photo of us:

I'm going to miss that little stinker when he's gone. It's nice to have company when I am outside.

I nearly lost Edgar

The partners in w(h)ine were over on Friday, and we were enjoying a fabulous meal al fresco. That is normal for w(h)ine making in the summer.

Well. Edgar had some... callers, shall we say? And he went off with those hussies. I was tipsy, and busy, so I wasn't too worried.

He didn't come home Friday night, even though I was shouting his name and shaking the container with the food.

He didn't come home Saturday. Or early Sunday morning, because I got home at 2:45 AM, and was desperately hoping he was waiting for me.

He didn't come home Sunday.

His owner called Sunday evening, and I had to woman-up and give Brucie the news. I saw Brucie drive by my house at least twice looking for him. Brucie also drove by his own place (currently under-going renovations) to see if Edgar had undertaken is own Long Journey (is anyone else remembering a miserable book from Grade 7 and the even worse Disney movie that seems to evoke that title? My google-fu fails me) and actually made it across the river.

No Edgar on Monday. I was giving up hope, but woke up in the night frequently, either dreaming of him or wishing he was home (I've fallen in love with a cat. It figures).

Tuesday: I don't go home after work. Instead, I get an awesome meal and a few laughs, go to knit night. Because I didn't go home, I had the usual scramble at 10 pm: scoop the poop, make lunch, make coffee, iron something... surf for an hour, just to wind down. Wouldn't you know it, at 11 pm, far past my usual bed-time, I hear someone singing outside.

I run out into my back yard, oh-so-sexily dressed in a tank-top from 2000 and a pair of boxer shorts that used to belong to my ex-husband. In 1999 (I have no excuses. He only wore said boxer shorts once, and I find them comfy).

It's my dear sweet Edgar.

He doesn't want to come inside, because Parker has his head out the door and is already hissing, but I scoop him up, tell him I loved him and missed him. He ate lots and lots... and disappeared to the basement.

I phone Brucie - who was just heading out to cruise my neighbourhood again. He's relieved, but not really surprised. Apparently Edgar can be an asshole (That's no surprise to me: every male I've ever fallen in love with has been an asshole. Now, I'm prey to inter species assholes).

My own cats ignore me all night, because they are mad that the interloper is back again, but I don't care: my house is full; everyone is home. It's the best I've slept since Thursday.

I'm going to have a hard time giving him up, when it's time for him to go home. We spent three hours outside tonight: we watered the garden, knitted, and listened to an amazing audio book:

All is well.

That's a whole lot of wine

No wonder the place smells like booze.

My partners in w(h)ine and I are bottling the two in glass tonight. Whee!

Sheesh, gotta get back at this blogging thing.

Well, Edgar has settled in, a little. There's still an awful lot of hissing, but I took a lot of hope from this moment:It appears that tuna juice is a great community builder.

That said, the living room smells like pee. The cleaning service is due tomorrow, and I purchased a special odor removing cleaner. I've left the cleaners a note asking them to use it instead of whatever it is they use.

And, there was an appalling fight earlier this week, just as I was applying my make-up and getting ready to go to work. Poor Edgar was dripping blood, but seems none the worse for it now (also, I was late for work, because I needed to clean it up and make sure that murder wasn't going to be committed).

I was taking a much-needed nap on Sunday. My two boys were in bed with me, as they usually are. Edgar sat in the doorway and looked at us longingly. I felt bad for the poor wee bugger, and since then I've been sure to give him lots of cuddles. And yes, I have broken my own rule. He is allowed to go outside, but only when it's nice enough for me to actually be outside or I am not doing much and therefore can hang around the kitchen window and watch for him.

And speaking of outside, I highly recommend allowing a five-year-old and a three-year-old to pick your flowers:

Other than the impatiens, I don't have a hot clue what any of my flowers are, but they are thriving in the front, which is rather shady, and in the back, which is a huge, sunny, heat vortex.

I'm impressed.

And one more garden thing:

I have this thing sticking out of the south-end of my hedge, right before the potentilla. I think it's mostly dead. I didn't know until this evening that it blooms, and that it is gorgeous. When I rip out that gawd-awful mess, I'm saving that tree. Or whatever it is.

Wait for it... there's knitting content. I finished this sock at work today. I started it a year ago.

The wee bit of yarn is what is left-over from the 50 gram ball. It's about 24 inches of yarn. Couldn't have done that better if I tried. Of course, I grafted two sets of 22 instead of two sets of 14. But still, it will fit someone. Now to do the second sock. Hopefully this one will take me less than a year.

Meet Edgar

A while ago, I agreed to look after a drinking buddy's cat for a month.

I was hoping that said buddy was as drunk as I was and would therefore promptly forget (and he should have, I saw his bar tab - it more than quadrupled mine, and I was drunk!).

Sadly, though, he did not, and since I am a woman of my word, here's Edgar:

He's actually really adorable. He's a dark tabby, domestic short hair, about 11 years old. He looks quite bulky, but he's just rather large, lean and fit. A really nice-looking cat.

But chatty. I've never had a cat that sings at night. Edgar sings. And bless him, he's sweet, but he can't carry a tune in a bucket. Parker isn't a fan either, so I'm also interrupted three or four times a night by a big fight.

Scout is too old to be bothered. He just shoots Edgar dirty looks and sleeps on my bed.

It's been two days now, and Edgar is sitting on my desk right now. After allowing me to cuddle him for a bit, he wandered up there.

Here's the real problem (other than the singing). He smells. He smells poopy. I know Edgar is used to spending lots of time outside (I do not believe in letting pets wander, so Edgar will be staying inside, whether he likes it or not. All signs point to not liking it). Since he may not be used to a litter box, I wonder if there are any...surprises waiting for me.

I'll let you know if I smell poop when I am not within two feet of (a) Edgar or (b) the litter box. That will answer my question.