Puree the liver in a food processor. Add the rest of the ingredients and mix. Spread onto parchment paper on pan and bake at 350 for 1/2 hour. Cut into small squares and put back in oven at 275 until crisp.
The very beloved dog turned 15 this week. She got liver treats for her birthday and ate them eagerly. I’m always happy when she eats eagerly — it doesn’t happen very often. The vet thinks that’s caused by anaplasmosis, a tick-borne disease that she tests positive for, but a month of antibiotics hasn’t made any difference to her appetite and I am not going to continue to torture her with them.
So she probably has permanent anaplasmosis to go along with the permanent erhlichiosis and the canine dementia. If she showed any signs of being in pain, I would be facing hard decisions, but in fact, she seems perfectly happy. Well, as long as I’m in the room she seems perfectly happy. She complains piteously if I leave her, which can be hard on whoever I’ve left her with. Hard on her, too, of course — she’s the one who’s crying! Anyway, I try not to leave her much.
We still go for walks, we still snuggle, she still plays with her toys. She doesn’t respond to voice commands anymore — or only very rarely. That’s the canine dementia in action. But she knows her hand signals and follows them without hesitation. She doesn’t need to be on a leash either, although we still use one when we go for walks. The leash used to be mostly about squirrels — she’d never run away, but she was definitely going to chase a squirrel wherever it took her. The squirrels are safe now.
Her eyes are still bright, she is still curious. She snores now, though, which she didn’t use to, and I rather love it. It’s not a big snore, just a sweet snore. Sometimes I lie awake and listen to her breathe, and dread the day that the van falls silent. That silence is going to hurt. But it’s not silent yet and it reminds me to appreciate every day I get with her. I’ve had a lot more of them than I expected to have in May 2018 or July 2019, so I’m counting my blessings. I am very lucky. And she is very beloved.
If I had a one-percent chance of winning the lottery, I would definitely play. Those aren’t great odds, but they’re better than any lottery odds I’ve ever seen.
If I had a one-percent chance of hitting the New York Times bestseller list, I would be thrilled. Not that one can ever get odds on being on a bestseller list, but given that millions of books are published every year and a few hundred make it to the NYTimes bestseller list, they’re definitely better than my real odds.
So if I might be sick with something that has a one-percent chance of mortality, how do I feel about those odds?
I spent part of yesterday debating that question, then opened up my computer and sent a message to my doctor. She’s going to see me this morning and we’re going to run the bloodwork and I didn’t ask how much it would cost. But I am so grateful for Obamacare today. It lets me say, yeah, 1% chance of dying is high enough to sacrifice some blood to make sure I’m fine. (I’m sure I’m fine.)
Zelda, however, sacrificed her blood last week to find out that she is not fine. She still tests positive for ehrlichiosis but she also tested positive for anaplasmosis. Wikipedia thinks those are the same thing in dogs, but the vet thinks differently. I really wanted to believe that’s what she was sick with this summer and that she’s recovered now, but the vet felt strongly that she should be treated, so we’re entering a cycle, probably a month, of hard-core antibiotics. I’m not happy about it, and she’s not going to be happy either. These are the same antibiotics she had in 2017, when she basically stopped eating anything except Whole Food roast beef delivered straight from my brother’s hand.
Fortunately, the vet took my concerns very seriously, so Zelda’s starting out with an appetite-stimulant and some anti-nausea drugs, too. The appetite stimulant is kind of awesome. The vet gave me two options, with the warning that one of them could make dogs “kind of hyper.” I took that one, thinking I handled puppy-Zelda, ergo I could manage “kind of hyper.” I can, but “kind of hyper” is a lot more challenging inside a camper van in the rain than it was in an apartment with plenty of room to throw a ball. It was fun, though. And she ate her entire bowl of kibble, twice, which hasn’t happened in years.
Worrying about Zelda has definitely been very distracting for the past couple of days, though. I keep trying to focus on Cici — who is probably worrying about Thunder and Lightning — but I can’t seem to get her moving. And I’ve got so much going on in the next several days. I may wind up just giving myself a break for the holidays and starting back up again post-Christmas. In fact, now that I’ve written that, I think it’s an excellent plan. 🙂
So Merry Christmas! I hope your holidays are filled with joy and fun and the families of your choice.
From New Hampshire, I headed into Maine, to my first big meet-up of fellow Travato owners from the Travato Owners & Wannabes Facebook group. (Serenity, the camper van I live in, is a Winnebago Travato, for any new readers out there.)
I arrived on Thursday, a day earlier than most of the others, because Gary, an online friend from the group, had offered to teach me how to change the oil in my generator. It was the first order of business when I arrived and involved raising the van on ramps, crawling under, draining the old oil, and pumping in the new oil. Gary did all the hard work, I mostly watched and chatted.
Conclusion – yay, I don’t need to change the generator oil for another 150 hours of generator time and yay, now I know I will probably not be doing that by myself. Ever. I paid $125 to have it done the first time it needed doing, which seemed expensive for an oil change, but now I’m thinking was a good deal. Of course, not nearly as good a deal as watching Gary do it, but I definitely owe him a bottle of wine. (Thank you, Gary!)
The rest of the attendees started arriving Friday morning and continued coming and going all weekend long. The spot was beautiful – a house on a hill owned by Trish, a stained glass artist, with incredible art inside, wide porches outside, surrounded by fields of wildflowers, and enough parking room for 20 or so vans to line the driveway. And the company was delightful — interesting people, doing interesting things, all of us ready to talk about our travels, the places we’ve enjoyed, adventures on the road, ways of living in our vans and mods. Many, many mods. (Aka modifications to the vans.)
The view from Trish’s hill.
Also, of course, our own lives. On the first day, I wound up sitting with two fellow dog owners, Deb & Ken, talking about journalism, editing, the dot.com years, raising kids with learning disabilities, writing books… and after a couple hours of conversation, Deb said, “Hey, we’re going to be on the road for the month of September, if you want our driveway, it’s all yours.” I think I probably blinked a few times. Seriously? They live in Maine, across from a river, with bald eagles living in their trees… so, so tempting.
That night, everyone brought out their camping chairs and we filled the porches while we ate potluck appetizers and desserts. The next day, some people wandered into town during the morning, while others hung around the house. In the mid-afternoon, Trish collected lobster orders and we all ate corn, grilled vegetables, and fresh Maine lobsters with butter. Afterwards, some people played cards, some played music, and some listened to the music. I was the latter, but there was lots of laughter from the card players — apparently, the Travato owners group’s card game of choice is called Five Crowns and I am definitely going to have to learn how to play someday.
The next day, a few more people arrived and a few people left. Trish made a delicious lobster chowder for lunch for us all, and in the evening, people set out salads and snacks for another potluck. After dinner, we all carried our chairs out to the firepit in the front lawn and sat around a glorious campfire, toasting marshmallows for s’mores and listening to Faith and Daniel Senie sing and play.
I feel like I spent a lot of my time following Zelda around as she roamed. She was a busy, busy wanderer, which was… well, interesting? My time with her feels so precious to me now and I want her to do what she wants to do. I don’t know how many days of wandering she has left, so I really don’t want to shut her in the van alone, which she is usually unhappy about, or tie her up. But I don’t know that anyone would ever have guessed she was an old dog from the way she behaved, except in that she stayed very clear of the more boisterous dogs. She didn’t want to play. But she did want to sniff every single solitary blade of grass and explore every corner. Fine by me. But one of the dementia problems is that she doesn’t respond to voice commands any more, although she still understands her hand signals, so I can’t trust her to come when she’s called. It meant a lot of interrupted conversations as I jumped up to follow her around.
On the last day I was there, I picked up some bruises. I actually took a picture of my bruised knees, which I am not going to post, because ugh, who wants to look at bruises? But whenever I stumble across it in the future, I am going to pat myself on the back.
So the story is: Trish had warned everyone that animals were welcome but that her dog, Rosey, chased cats and any cats would need to be kept in their vans.
On Monday morning, Rosey spotted a cat sitting in the doorway of her van.
As long-time readers know, last year Zelda was attacked by another dog. It was the fastest, most violent, bloody experience of my life — out of nowhere, aggression and blood and screaming and fear, and for Zelda, pain and shaky trembling and near-death— and I had some post-traumatic stress afterwards. I worked on it, because I didn’t want to be afraid of dogs, but I definitely became wary, aware of how quickly a dog could do deep damage, and tense around bigger dogs. I think my time in Arcata helped me get over the fear, because occasionally I had that reaction to Riley — when he moved fast or unexpectedly, my heart rate would soar, my breath would catch. He turned out to be the sweetest, softest, loviest dog imaginable, though, which helped me work my way through the anxiety.
And that was good, because when Rosey went for the cat, I went for Rosey. Even as I jumped on her, I knew that if she turned around and went for me — which is a not unnatural reaction for a dog in a fight who feels herself being attacked from behind — I was going to get hurt. But I didn’t let the fear stop me. And yay, Rosey didn’t go for me, and I didn’t get bitten, and the cat escaped and was unhurt and Rosey was unhurt, too. She didn’t even get scratched. A couple hours later, she came and snuggled up with me on the porch, letting me give her lots of rubs and scratches, so she didn’t hold a grudge either. I didn’t realize that I’d landed hard enough to bruise my knees until the next morning, when I rolled out of bed and said, “Ow, what the heck?” But I’m pleased with those bruises, because they are a symbol of recovery from fear. I like that in a bruise.
Moving on, later on Monday I headed down to South Gardiner and Deb & Ken’s house. I had a lovely afternoon/evening with them, sitting in their front yard watching for eagles and chatting, and then sharing their dinner. And temptation accepted! I’m going to spend September in their driveway, working on the book (finishing it, I hope) and watching the eagles. And the loons and the hummingbirds and the river. I’m pretty delighted with the change in my plans. I might even manage some kayaking.
Meanwhile, on Tuesday, I drove to Rockport to spend some time with my friend Barbara (first pausing at a rest stop on the New Hampshire highway to have lunch with Pam and S). More about that later, though, because this blog post has gotten long and our lunch plans — steamers? not something I think I’ve really had before — are beckoning.
For a moment, when I thought about writing this post, I thought, “Oh, no, I haven’t taken a single picture in July.”
Duh. Totally wrong. I took many, many pictures, because the best part of July was spending time with the Best Brother Ever’s puppy.
Best Brother Ever’s first dog says, “Seriously, it’s time to save me from this little pest.”
Also, of course, BBE’s kids. Well, and him. And his wife, aka Best SIL Ever. But mostly the puppy. 🙂
Still, the nicest part of this exact specific moment of the month is that my own puppy is doing really well. I’m a little scared to write that, of course, because time is not on our side, but she’s eaten for several days in a row and yesterday she actually ate all her dog food and then seemed interested enough in her bowl that I gave her more and she ate that, too. And this morning she woke up at her historically normal time and wanted to go for a walk. Joy! It’s amazing how moments that you took for granted for years can become special, but this morning’s walk was definitely special.
In a nice moment of serendipity, I was hunting for a USB drive to transfer some files to my nephew’s computer, and I found one that turned out to have some old photos on it. Fourteen years old, in fact.
I’m sure that when I first saw this photo, I thought about how messy my hair was and how much I hate my freckles and how fat my arm looked, because, you know, photos. I don’t like them and I don’t post ones of me very often. But now I look at it and I see how sweet my puppy was and how much I loved her, and I’m glad this photo came back into my life.
I wrote a blog post last week and didn’t post it, because it was sad, and also because it stopped being true. I spent much of a day saying good-bye to Zelda, torn between rushing her to a strange vet and letting nature take its course, eventually deciding through many tears that the most loving thing to do was to just be with her, letting her know how much I loved her.
Nature decided that it was a bad day, but not the last bad day. A couple days later she ate a little chicken and by yesterday she was walking again. Not with any speed, and I’m still pretty sure that the baddest of bad days is coming soon… but it’s not going to be today, and that’s sufficient unto the day.
Meanwhile, I am puppy-sitting and working my way through that scary to-do list. I made definite progress — I think I’ve whittled it down to about twenty items, but of course, the twenty items left are some of the worst and scariest. One of them is so tiny — fix the Subscribe button on the sign-up widget — but the fact is, I have absolutely no idea how to do that and am probably going to easily spend a full day working on it, feeling frustrated and annoyed the whole time.
Is that a good use of my time? Obviously not. Does anyone really care if the subscribe button doesn’t look like a button? Well, I do, so yeah, probably there are some other obsessive people who would be bothered as well. Mostly, though, I think it feels like a symptom of my life being outside my control. So many things I can’t fix, can’t make better, but here’s a thing I could/should be able to fix. I wonder if I could convince myself that leaving it alone would be a signal of acceptance? And signal is not the word I want, but I can’t find the right one.
Speaking of things I can’t control, I’ve been experimenting with ads this weekend. I’d really like to get book sales back to where they were before I tried putting Ghosts into Kindle Unlimited. I was never earning enough money to live on, but I was steadily managing to push off the day when I’d have to start filling out job applications. That day is now zooming toward me. Is it ironic or just sad that one of the big reasons I’ve been avoiding a 9-5 is my reluctance to leave Zelda alone all day?
Anyway, ads. I had fun making them, but so far, they’ve been a pointless waste of money. My clickthrough rate is 0.13%, which is roughly equivalent to 0.
The long blurbThe simple blurbThe fancy ad
I might do better with more comparable authors — the authors I chose were almost at random, just people I liked, with audiences sizable enough to give me a big, reasonably inexpensive pool. (Robin McKinley, Sarina Bowen, Ilona Andrews.) So here’s a question for you: who are your auto-buy authors? Oh, and comments on the ads also welcome. Feel free to make suggestions!
On Friday, I visited the school where P teaches and answered questions asked by three of her language arts classes (and gave them tours of the van & introductions to the dog). It was so much fun that it made me wish I wrote middle-grade stories so I could visit more schools. In the evening, we went to a literary event where three authors and a musician read/sang from their works. It was also fun, but made me glad I don’t write literary fiction.
And now I’ve been thinking about those things for twenty minutes or longer, but I’m not sure I’ve got anything more profound to say about them than this: talking to kids about creativity and imagination and writing to please yourself felt full of joy to me; listening to the adults share their pain in literary form for our muted applause had no joy in it. At least not for me. Maybe it did for them? Either way, I’m not going to start writing literary fiction.
On Saturday morning, P and I caught the 6:10 AM Edmonds-Kingston ferry, to visit friends of hers on a farm near Quilcene for the weekend. The weather was miserable and Pam’s hopes of stunning me into devoted love for the Pacific Northwest seemed doomed to failure. Rain, gray clouds, a chill in the air… But we hung out at the farm, which was quite beautiful, and met the chickens and goats and resident cat and people. Ate veggie hash and chicken-apple sausage for lunch and tried not to get too wet. The air was amazing — fresh, clean, with that smell of wet plant-life mixed with a hint of ocean — and everything was lush and green.
My weekend view. As driveways go, it was spectacular.
In the afternoon, we went on a walk to a beach: not a hike, more of a stroll. But it took us on a dirt road through a nature preserve, surrounded by gorgeous rain forest. Then down an invisible path, Zelda hopping over the logs in her way, until we reached a marshy area that opened on to an almost deserted beach, with oyster shells everywhere.
The trail down to the beach. The pink is wild rhododendrons, I think.
Sunday dawned almost as gray. But I had a nice walk around the farm with Zelda, and then an excellent late breakfast of blueberry pancakes, bacon and potatoes. Afterwards, P and I drove into Port Townsend and wandered around for a while. It’s an appealing small town, right on the water, but around noon it started to get crowded. Lots and lots of dogs on the sidewalks for Zelda to sniff! On our way back, we stopped at the tiny local grocery store, where I found gluten-free sandwiches, gluten-free brownies, even gluten-free oats. And some beautiful fruit and veggies. The weather might not have been selling me on the Pacific Northwest, but that little store was amazing.
And the weather was starting to improve. The sky was clearing, patches of blue showing up. By late afternoon, it was gorgeous. We took another drive, this time to an oyster beach where Pam could harvest oysters. She’s got a license that lets her harvest 18 per day, and we brought one of her friends from the farm with us, so the two of them harvested 36 oysters, while Z and I wandered around and admired the view and the day and the feeling of ocean air.
Before the walk down to the beach, a viewing stand had signs with information (none of which I remember) and stairs leading up to a platform where you could admire the view. It was well worth the pause to admire.
That night, our hosts invited several people over for a barbecue. They grilled salmon and shrimp and beef and pork tenderloin and chicken, with roasted vegetables, kale salad, and potato salad, followed by ice cream for dessert. Oh, plus the oysters, rolled in corn meal and pan-fried. It was an incredible feast, all of it delicious. We sat around a bonfire and ate, then shared a few ghost stories.
On Monday I woke up super-congested and not feeling very well. I’d had plans for the day with a local friend, but he texted me that he’d caught something over the weekend and wasn’t feeling great and since I was also not feeling great, we agreed to try again next year. Then P said, “Oh, if you’re not leaving, we should kayak today.”
Apparently, the word “kayak” is a miraculous health restorer for me, because I forgot all about not feeling well. We took the kayaks and Z and went for a paddle. Unfortunately, Z was not super-cooperative. I put a towel down for her on the front of the boat and she did okay for a little bit, but then she started jumping off, repeatedly. I managed to pull her back in without overturning the kayak multiple times, but finally I took her back to shore. P went to put her kayak away so she could help me with Z and while she was gone, Z peed without waiting to reach grass. (An indication of how urgent the need was, because Z only pees in grass.) Drat. I wish I’d realized earlier that that was her problem, because we could probably have kayaked for longer and farther, but by then P was out of the water and it made sense to head home. But it was absolutely lovely to be on the water and it was a perfect day.
A perfect day for kayaks!
After kayaking, we began the trek home. We knew we’d have a long wait for the ferry, but we used the time to first get ice cream and then walk Zelda down to the beach by the ferry dock. I’m not going to post any more pictures, because I’m actually writing on Tuesday morning and hoping to get on the road in the very near future and my internet is so slow that picture-posting is tedious — but the path to the beach had wild roses and fennel growing, and the beach had kids playing in the water and people enjoying the sunshine, and it was lovely and warm and perfect.
Despite the weather, my congestion, and the traffic, it was an amazing holiday weekend. I still don’t think I’m going to wind up living in the Pacific Northwest, but I hope to spend lots more time here in the future. But not today — today, I start heading east. I have no reservations and no definite plans, but I want to be in Michigan by June 22nd, which means it’s time to get moving.
Yesterday, I took Zelda and Riley for a walk down to the railroad tracks. While we were there, we met a chocolate Lab from the nearby wood-working shop. Zelda was busy sniffing some interesting plant and when this Lab came toward her, she ignored it. The Lab behaved like a typical dog, sniffing her thoroughly, head-to-butt, but Zelda offered no return sniffs, no acknowledgment. When she finally turned away from the plant she was sniffing, she actually walked underneath the Lab, still not showing any sign of noticing it was there. I wanted to believe it was a ghost dog, but I think it’s just more evidence of my girl’s age.
Last night, I was talking to S about Z’s unwillingness to eat — a topic that is probably thoroughly boring to people in my life, because it comes up every day — and S said, “Do you think she might not be processing that she’s hungry? The same way she doesn’t really process sound anymore?” Maybe? But I also think she’s still aware enough to know that the food that comes off my plate or out of my bowl is more likely to be interesting than anything I set on the floor for her, so I’m going to consider that the good news. Meanwhile, I buy every new (healthy) dog food that comes my way, because she’s often willing to try something new. Once, anyway. Rarely twice, alas.
I do wish I could see inside her mind, though. She has good days and bad days, these days, and on the good days, she’s fine: bouncy and happy and playful and inquisitive, the way she’s always been. On the bad days, she’s… foggy. On a foggy day, she is utterly untrustworthy. She can and will wander into the street; she will get lost in the backyard; she gets very distressed if she can’t find me (and sometimes doesn’t realize when I’m right next to her); she doesn’t show any sign that she can hear me call; and she doesn’t eat. She sleeps more than she used to, too — which is saying something, given how much dogs sleep. On the spectrum of terms for age, I feel like she’s moved past “senior” and is slowly sliding from “old” to “elderly”. She’s only 14, and Jack Russell terriers can live to be much older than that, but… well, the good days still outnumber the bad.
Her nicknames are changing, too. S calls her “Small Madam” and I frequently call her “Princess” now, both said affectionately. But in part, I think those names have come about because she really requires a different level of care than she used to. She was never really a princess dog, but now she is. And care is maybe the wrong word — attention? It’s not that I care more than I used to, but… well, a couple times recently I’ve regretfully declined fun possible adventures, saying, “Sorry, I don’t think I can make that work.” The reality is, I can’t make anything work if takes me away from my dog for more than a few hours, because she needs me. Every day, she needs me. And I am all too aware that we are running out of days. If I have my way, none of the ones she has left will be spent whimpering, wondering where her person has gone.
Meanwhile, though, she is sleeping on my feet and we’re going to the beach this afternoon and I am so, so grateful that she’s still with me. It’s been a year since she was diagnosed with canine dementia and our year has included far more happiness and far more fun than I could possibly have predicted back then. It’s a potent reminder that fearing the future just gets in the way of appreciating the day I’m in.
Yesterday morning, I had just settled into a writing sprint with my friend L — timer set and everything — when S appeared outside my door and said, “Beach?”
I don’t think S should be going to the beach, because she has pneumonia and is the sickest I’ve ever seen her, but she swore beach air would be good for her. I remain unconvinced — she’s definitely no healthier from the experience — but it was an amazing day to be at the beach. So beautiful.
And so fun. Zelda tolerates other dogs, but she’s usually not particularly interested in them. She and Riley, however, seem to be becoming actual dog friends. It’s odd, because he’s peed on her head multiple times — she finds a good scent, he comes over to check it out, and she’s still sniffing when he lifts his leg and adds his scent to the original. I object loudly every time this happens, but Z doesn’t seem to care until I’m scrubbing her head when we get back to the house, and then she’s displeased. Personally, I would find being peed on to preclude friendship, but apparently dogs are more flexible. Anyway, S and I wound up finding some nice rocks to sit on and Riley and Z wandered off exploring together, while Buddy bounced around introducing himself to the other dogs on the beach. It was an excellent beach visit.
The day didn’t include any actual Easter festivities, except for the belated purchase of some terrible stale chocolate and some jelly beans. The chocolate was so bad I threw it away, but I enjoyed the jelly beans. Instead of ham, we had salmon salad made with artichoke lemon pesto on rosemary buns, warmed in the oven, with side salads of mixed greens, pea pods, cucumber, and avocado, for dinner. It felt very springlike somehow. Or maybe that was just because the sun was shining.
I woke up this morning feeling… disinclined to engage with the day.
The preceding sentence, both in structure and content, is what happens when you’re reading too much marketing advice. Bah. It’s not that I dislike marketing, actually — more than once in my previous job, I wondered whether I’d have more fun working for the marketing department. I liked selling books. I just don’t like selling my books.
I keep promising myself that I’m going to work on that piece of the self-publishing puzzle — really, truly, any day now — but it makes me want to go back to bed. The crawl under the covers and not re-emerge until summer going back to bed, not the snooze for an extra ten minutes going back to bed.
Anyway, despite my disinclination to engage with the day, a cute little furry face bouncing around at the end of the bed was persistent enough that I dragged myself up and took her for a walk in the rain. I’d thought it was just drizzle when we left the van, but it become clear quite quickly that it was rain-rain. The kind that’s going to sop through your shoes and soak your socks; force you to keep your head down or get water in your eyes; turn your blue jeans into deadweights with minutes. Bizarrely enough, it was very nice. It fit my mood so perfectly. I was grouchy to begin with and there I was, getting soaked and uncomfortable and cold — it was like the universe agreeing with me, it was a day to stay in bed.
The nicest thing about today’s rain is that it was supposed to be yesterday’s rain. The weather forecast for yesterday was bleak and it was both my birthday and S’s day off, which meant bleak was annoying. As it turned out, the weather didn’t reach us as scheduled, so we had an early morning opportunity to fulfill my birthday wish and take Z to the beach. The only thing better in life than taking a puppy to the beach is taking an old dog to the beach and watching her run around like a puppy.
My camera batteries died, so I didn’t get to take nearly as many photos as I would have liked. But Z ran and dug and sniffed and had fun, which meant I had fun, too.
After the beach, we stopped in Trinidad for coffee. I already had coffee and it had started to rain so I didn’t much want to go into the shop, but I kept S company anyway. It turned out they had gluten-free chocolate cupcakes with chocolate icing, so for my birthday breakfast, I had a chocolate cupcake. Yum. And then we went home and I made gluten-free blueberry pancakes and bacon for my second birthday breakfast. Yeah, it was a high-carb day. (Asparagus risotto with chicken-apple sausage for dinner, more carbs!)
Today’s plan: to write some words. And maybe bake some granola. And for dinner, cioppino over rice, possibly with some gluten-free garlic toast, and definitely with a side salad. Meanwhile, to sit and watch the rain turn the view into an impressionist painting while staying dry inside. I might even admit the truth — that despite the date, it feels like winter! — and turn the heat on.
I don’t actually speak cat, but the dialogue in this scene was pretty unmistakable.
The setting: the front porch, on a day of sun after many days of rain.
The antagonist: me, spotting the cats and saying, “Wow, you guys look so pretty, I’m going to have to take a picture and send it to your mom.”
Our protagonists: Gina, the orange cat, terrorizer of Zelda and power-hungry battler for kitchen authority, and Vivi, the tortoiseshell cat, queen of the entire property and ruler of all she surveys.
Gina: The porch is cozy today. Vivi: Indeed. Ah, an admirer. Someone to appreciate my beauty. How pleasant. Gina: ACK! It’s looking at me!!!Gina: The horror! Vivi: OMG. It’s admiring our beauty, you coward. I can’t even… Vivi: You are an embarrassment to cats everywhere. Gina: I’m so ashamed.
It’s fun watching the animal dynamics in a house/environment of many creatures. There are two dogs, two indoor cats (these two), two permanent outdoor cats, and a revolving collection of visitors. Plus lots of chickens. They’ve all been trying to figure out Zelda’s place, as has Zelda herself, but Honored Guest is difficult to translate into dog/cat. So far, Zelda seems to have decided she’d rather not — whenever I bring her into the house, she hovers by the door, hoping to convince me to leave quickly, and/or hides in the bathroom.
But the dogs seem to be slowly deciding that Zelda is a friend, so I hope that helps. Last night there was some nose-touching with tail-wagging when Z came into the house. And the cats run the range from Gina, who is pretty clearly jealous and determined not to let any of her privileges be usurped; Vivi, who has no need to play power games with any species so beneath her; Moe, who runs if we come anywhere near; and Tank/Zen Kitty, who darts away if startled and glares if not startled. We give all of them a pretty wide berth, but especially Tank who outweighs Z and would absolutely win any confrontation. Not that there would be a confrontation. Z could star in one of the internet videos of dogs incapable of taking back her bed from a cat if the cats got anywhere near her bed, because she wants absolutely nothing to do with them. That’s Gina’s fault, I’m pretty sure. Gina is sneaky about trying to swipe at Z, but Z doesn’t have any problem reading cat body language. She knows what Gina thinks of her.
I’m fairly sure that I’ve now hit the longest I’ve stayed in one place in the van, during my two-plus years of living in it. Not the longest I’ve stayed in a given place, which is probably my brother’s house or Sanford, both with multiple repeat visits. And even Oscar Scherer State Park in Sarasota might still have more total days. But my longest time of staying still without some campground escape or move to another vacation.
I am loving it, actually. I’ve thought before that when not moving, the disadvantages of living in a van so outweigh the advantages that it’s simply not worth it. Without the travel, it’s just life in a metal box. But in Arcata, it’s life in a metal box with yoga down the street (twice last week), a farmer’s market on Saturdays, a nearby beach, meditation classes, gardening and chickens, a new writer friend to meet for coffee, used bookstores, trips to CostCo, a grocery store in easy walking distance with really good gluten-free bread… And this week some sunshine, too!
So no Oregon adventures yet, but as I said to Suzanne, why drive two hours to go to a campground by the beach when we could drive ten minutes to the beach, then come home and cook something scrumptious in the kitchen? Plus, we can then use the money that we would have spent on a campground to rent kayaks and/or take kayaking lessons. Or maybe sailing lessons. Or maybe both! There’s a place 15 minutes away that rents equipment and offers lessons so instead of driving to Oregon this weekend, we’re going to go investigate. They’re doing an all-day river adventure at the end of the month, which I’d like to sign up for, if I can bring myself to leave Z for that long.
Meanwhile, S is at work, and I should be working on Fen, not considering my future fun adventures. Back to the real words!
