A Long Rainy Day

Note the smoke of autumn's first fire!

Rain began on Sunday afternoon.

Heat and drought have continued for so many weeks that when the first cooling drops spattered down I felt I should pretend I didn't notice--brace myself for disappointment if once more the hoped for

 moisture passed us by.

It was quickly clear it had really set in to rain.

There was the odor of tired, dry earth and dusty foliage which always accompanies the first moments of  rain after long drought; then as the rain steadied and continued the scent of freshening leaves and reviving plants filled the air.

The temperature plummeted about 20 degrees by nightfall.

Thankfully we have not had the devastating deluge that so damaged my home state of Vermont over the previous weekend.

The rain comes down with a steady, moderate drumming, slacks off to a mizzle-drizzle, intensifies again and one can truly see the browned grass perking up, the green color restored literally overnight.

I woke early this morning, surrounded by snuggling cats.

I was up before six, bundled into warm clothes and my wellies, out to feed Pebbles and the barn kittens, clean the litter boxes.

These chores done, I walked down the road to check on the level of water in Big Creek.

The water was very low on Friday when Devin rode the 4-wheeler down for a look.

This morning it looked like a creek again rather than a dry expanse of shale, but certainly not in spate.

I trudged up the driveway, rain drizzling down my neck, sniffing the scents of rained-pummeled mint and southernwood as I neared the garden.

We've been piling scrap paper in the fireplace all summer.

There were  dry twigs still in the kindling basket which I arranged on the paper, went out to the woodshed for an armfull of slabs and a few small chunks of dry wood.

With the fire off to a good crackle, I hurried through a hot shower, and took my coffee in to my rocking chair, shaking my wet hair out to dry in the delightful warmth.

Matt and Gina's plot in our lower garden.  I think the turnip tops grew several inches in 24 hours!

I wrote several long overdue letters--wrote them by hand on pretty paper--dropped them at the Post Office,

drove into town to the bank, and then a stop at Goodwill.

The find of the day was a pair of pretty appliqued and quilted pillow shams for Gina.

G. being bored, is working at ORGANIZING my kitchen!

We are still sorting, culling, rearranging. There is no point in hanging on to all the items I had accumulated during the years of larger houses.

Many of my collectables have come from charity shops and such, so not a big investment, but still too much for what I need now.

Willis has exercised his house privileges today while the tortie girls, Sadie and Sally are, as usual ,content to prowl about the barns.

G. removed the antique wooden dough bowl which has rested on top of a run of kitchen cupboards.

Willis, who had recently appropriated it as a resting place, was obviously annoyed with G. for moving things.

He proceded to make a pest of himself, pacing along the top of the cupboards, plopping down to stroll the counters, and finally inserting himself onto a high shelf where he could oversee the work.

I have been renovating my clothes closet while G and Willis tended the kitchen.

Warm weather clothes sorted to the far end of the rack, jeans and cozy long sleeved tops refolded and  ready for cooler days.

All very domestic.

And suddenly I am more than ready to call it a day--almost 11 PM.

It is a night when a quilt is welcome on the bed; a night when I expect my tribe of cats will be cuddled close.

About Cats Who Do Messy Things In Inappropriate Places [A Rant]

This is Raisin, our nearly 13 year old beloved cat.

Raisin was the smallest of a large litter of kittens born in our niece's tack barn, offspring of a stray purebred Siamese and an itinerant tom-cat.

Raisin has always been beset by what our vet called a "delicate digestive system."

To put it more plainly, it is a rare day when she doesn't barf at least once.

Raisin has tiny little cat bones and is waif-ish in spite of having been presented with every possible variety of cat food, including pricey gourmet kibbles and dainty tidbits in small tins.

She prefers morsels of steak [with sauce] begged from J.'s plate or a spoonful of ground beef which he has warmed in the microwave.  When offered the tinned treat dished out to the other cats, she is inclined to rear back from her saucer in horror at the mediocrity of the entree.  On occasion she will condescend to lap at a dollop of strained chicken meant for human babies.

In defense of Raisin it needs to be noted that she usually announces an incipient bout of vomiting with a loud and mournful "Wah, wah, wah---merow, ow, ERP."

If we are in attendence the mess can be deflected from a rug, the edge of a cushion or chair. When taken by this affliction in the small hours of the night she is usually considerate enough to leap down from the bed.

This saves the quilt, but presents a hazard when one unwittingly walks across the bedroom in the dark.

Lately our daughter and son-in-law's two small dogs are often in the house.

The cats have on the whole accepted this--not with pleasure, but with huffy resignation.

Raisin has been spending hours in the middle of our big bed rather than napping in her favorite livingroom rocker.

This forenoon, daughter G. headed into our bedroom to view herself in the big mirror.

"Eeeeuuuugh!" she yelped. "Mom, there's a pile of cat puke on your bed!"

The bed was, of course, empty of felines. Raisin, who had been there moments before was sitting in the hallway.  Sitting there gulping.

I have a streaming head cold and have felt rather sorry for myself since last evening.

The prospect of stripping the bed set me on a rant.

J. summoned by my stuffy wails, declared that ,"Nobody SAW Raisin do it, so she probably didn't do it!"

[Is it obvious where his sympathies lie?]

G. and I snatched off the quilt, the light-weight blanket, the top sheet. The offending stuff had soaked through to the bottom sheet and all the bedding needed to be laundered.

I plodded downstairs to the laundry with the hastily wiped up quilt, G. followed with the bundled sheets.

Later I pegged the clean quilt on the line to whip in the breeze, staunching my drippy nose with one of J.'s handkerchiefs as I bent over the laundry basket.

G. pegged out sheets and pillowcases, helped me spread clean linens over the immense bed.

Raisin has now taken up her spot on the fresh bedspread--flanked by Charlie and his daughter Jemima--all on my side of the bed.

It is a good thing that we adore our cats.

[Wah, wah, snuffle, sneeze!]