Meanwhile, Back at the Ranch . . . .

I got home this afternoon after five days in the hospital, where I underwent major surgery.

The post-op instructions are that I am to take it easy-- very easy-- the next four weeks. No driving, lifting, heavy cleaning; limited stair-climbing, stuff like that.

I'm afraid I didn't do such a hot job of obeying all that the past few hours since my return: there was too much to take care of, too much to put away; too much orienting to to for the friend who's going to be with me the next couple of days.

But now I am in bed like a good girl, and my friend has gone home for awhile to take care of business there.

And I'm hoping and wishing she gets back sooner than later, because somewhere in the house, here on the 2nd floor, maybe even in this very bedroom, maybe actually under this very bed, something is putting out a suspiciously pungeant smell.

I have my suspicions about the suspicious smell.

Seems Gwenith and Huw were not spotted at all the past five days by the people who were taking care of my critters. I still haven't seen Gwenith; Huw materialized and ate something an hour or less ago. I wouldn't put it past them-- not one bit-- if they got revenge on me for my absence by Doing Something under the bed.

But I am in no physical condition to look. I have to wait till my poor friend Frieda* gets back and make her poke under there and see.

Children! Children! What are you trying to do to me!!??

I Haz a Sad

Last night at 3:00 AM found me in the Kitten Room, desperately darting, feinting, reaching, clutching, missing, pleading, and nearly crying.

What brought me to so strange a pass at so strange a time?

A wee tube of flea and tick protection-- and a pink and white floofy catkin who simply wouldn't allow me to put it on her.

I'd taken care of the rest of her four-legged siblings hours before. And I was determined that I was going to dose Gwenith, too, before I went to my well-earned sleep.

But she wouldn't let me! It wasn't just that she sensed it was monthly flea dosing day, she'll never come to me, not unless I'm immobilized at my computer or snug in my bed!

Llewellyn the dog is my shadow. Rhadwen is always keen for a petting or skritches. Huw butts up against my legs until I nearly trip over him. None of them gave me any trouble with their flea and tick medicine. Why won't Gwenith do the same?

O Gwenith, Gwenith, doan u luvs ur momma? Ur moma lurvs u! Shje duzzen wun u eated up bye teh fleez an teh tix!

But no, she has to lead me a frantic chase. Under the rocking chair. Under the bed. Nearly into the box spring. Into this corner of the room. Into the other. Under the rocking chair again. And me on my knees pleading with her to come out, wondering, What Did I Do Wrong to end up with such a shy kitteh?

I finally catch her, and get the medicine applied between her squirmy shoulder blades. Which operation probably convinced her she was right to avoid me.

But what could I do?

O Gwenith, u givezes mee teh unhappee!! Ai haz a sad!!1!

Apparating Kitties

This morning my friend Hannah* dropped off her four-going-on-five-year-old daughter Leticia* to stay with me while she went to a Bible study.

Hannah and her family originally found Gwenith and Huw in their barn as four or five week old feral kittens, and you'd expect the little furballs to be eager to see them, one and all.

Not so. Whenever the doorbell rings, the kittens don't discrimate. They run and hide.

But I knew Letty would want to see how big Gwen and Huw have grown. Oh, thought I, I'll shut them in the Kitten Room when I'm giving them their breakfast! Then they can't run down and hide in the basement.

I carried out my plan. The kittens were fed and watered, retrieved when they tried to escape, and the door was shut.

A few minutes later, Letitia and her mother arrived, bearing a gift of fastfood breakfast. Mom departed; the young lady and I sat down and ate.

"Can I see how big the kittens are?" inquired Letty over her food.

"Yes, after we finish eating. I've shut them in the guest bedroom. They can't go anywhere."

But when we went upstairs and slipped into the room, the kittens were nowhere to be found!

Not under the chair, not in the closet, certainly not out in the open waiting for us, not even under the bed!

But under there I keep a storage box with wrapping paper and ribbons in it. Maybe Gwenith and Huw were behind it. Pulled it out. I looked again--even now, no kittens!

I knew I'd got them both inside and closed the door! Where could they be?

"Can you see them?" asked Letty.

"No, I can't," I replied. "Maybe they're Magic Kitties and they can make themselves disappear!" And there's something about cats and about these cats in particular that made that statement at least ten per cent serious. "Maybe they can get out of the room without even opening the door!"

"Oh! Oh!"

But let's not be silly. They had to be here. I kept peering into the gloom under the bed . . . wait a minute. Isn't there a strange sagging lump in the scrim fabric on the bottom of the box spring? I stuck my arm in and pushed it upwards.

"Letty! I think I've found the kittens!"

"Where are they? Where are they?"

"They're in the box spring! . . . But wait a minute, how can they be in there? . . . O my gosh!" And looking down towards the foot of the bed, I saw that the scrim was loose and open almost all the way across. Those resourceful little rascals had clawed it free and made themselves a snug little hidey-hole amongst the box springs!

I nearly coaxed Huw out. Later, when Hannah returned, he'd come out on his own and suffered himself to be carried downstairs to show what a Big Boy he's grown. Then was off like a shot, probably down the basement this time.

Gwenith we never saw at all. Was she really in the box spring with her brother? I only saw one lump in the scrim! Or was she elsewhere, and did she--apparate?