By Lynne Horner for Indulge! and The Eatery
September, woo-hoo! But my, what a rocky start.
Mrs. Z, our neighbor for the past 17 years, called to say she couldn’t decide where to aim her fret; at the clapping (why is he always clapping?) North Korean leader who favors a hair style I call Snoozing Ferret and whose hobby is launching bigger and badder nuclear toys -- or the encroaching wild fires that havesocked us in with smoke so thick the sun is a dull smudge.
Such a mean kick-off to my favorite season, although I suppose it’s as much the end of summer as it is the beginning of fall. I told Mrs. Z I couldn’t choose, either, so maybe we should both find something hopeful to focus on, instead, like the fact that teenagers armed with driver’s licenses are back in school, temperatures will surely take a turn for the cooler, and TV reruns will be filed away until next summer.
I’m just saying . . .
Better Half had no idea wildfire smoke was going to rule the day when he took on replacing and rechinking the dozen rotten logs in this old house, but there he is, as we speak, on a ladder with a spackle knife and a tube loaded with chinking stuff that is New & Improved & Weatherproof. He appears unfazed; says growing up on a sugar plantation must have toughened his lungs. I, on the other hand, am a hacking, wheezing mess with beady red eyes and very little left in the way of good humor.
But I’m hopeful. By the time this hits the tables at Indulge!,word is the air will have cleared and into our lives a little rain will fall. If only Clapping Ferret Hair Guy would clear out.
This month has been one of assorted challenges, I’ll just say. Besides the foul air, I’ve had 14 days of little pink pills to deliver down the throat of our scrawny black cat, Harley, who has lately been diagnosed with a thyroid issue. Anyone who has had to administer a pill to a cat will feel my pain, which has amounted to about 97 wounds on my pill stuffing arm where he has sunk in his claws and caused me to speak words of an unChristian-like nature and is why I finally understand why said pills have a neon pink coating: so they’re easy to spot after one’s cat has spit them out nine times before finally swallowing.
Just when I think the deed is done, “ptui!” he launches a pill over my shoulder.
Sheesh. My advice is to get dogs because they’ll eat anything, and order dessert because the world is a crazy place. Well. And please leave any suggestions for giving a pill to a cat with Penny or Bill at the counter up front.