My Home Away From Home

Daydreams of leisure and relaxation seduce me while I add to my to-do list.

I stopped by my place today, and took care of a few small things - changed the light bulb out front, put the cabinet together that goes behind/over the toilet, ripped the tags off a bath mat & throw rug. I put wine & ketchup in the fridge, and washed a few counter tops down. I found a lamp (but no shade), and put a bulb in it. I now have light in my bedroom. I cannot yet eat or shower there, still need a mattress, went shopping for a filing cabinet & bookcase (but came home with nothing). The other day, I took the plastic wrap off some of the furniture, dwelling on the beauty that has been hidden in storage for well over a year.

It is my home......yet I don't live there. Yet.

As I wander around, I see things I mean to take care of - some of which I've been meaning to take care of for nigh on seven years. The light in the kitchen is cracked, and ugly. There's a problem with the seal around the bathtub, and I don't know if it involves just grout & elbow grease or licensed, bonded professionals who make 5x what I do. There's a soft spot nearby that will probably involve ripping flooring up & hopefully not needing to replace sub flooring. The rickety creak just *sounds* expensive, which means it will probably have to wait.

I used to have towel racks in the bathroom, and a water purifier on the kitchen sink. I don't know where they disappeared to, or who exactly was responsible for the disappearance. Little mysteries await me at every turn. "Didn't there used to be.....", I wonder. The cupboards are different than what I remember, but they must be the same. I never did put curtains up the first time. I believe I shall rectify that oversight this time.

My to-do list is growing by the day - I need to find the piano bench. It must be in storage. And a tuner - it doesn't sound as good as it did when I was a child.....I'm guessing my father hadn't had it tuned since before my mother became ill, and that's pushing 15-20 years. Because of that, I'll probably have to have 4-5 tunings before it's back to normal. Pianos are delicate instruments, and you can't just force them back into shape. It's like going to a chiropractor - they do small adjustments so as not to overstress you with change. That's what I need - a chiropractor for the piano. Does my insurance cover that??

A microwave would be useful. I need a throw-rug for the entry way. And dining room chairs. I inherited chairs, but they are worn out, in need of repair - repairs I once priced out at $1800. Ouch. I have better ways to spend that kind of money. A wine cabinet. Book case. Lateral File. A television set? Perhaps. I have a DVD player I discovered....it was in a dresser drawer, along with a feather pillow and a Mariner Moose. Very strange - I thought I gave all my electronics away.

As I search for things I need, I am reminded of the diner scene from When Harry Met Sally.....not the Deli "I'll have what she's having" one, but early on when Meg Ryan orders pie as they travel to New York.

"Sally: I'd like the chef salad please with oil and vinegar on the side, and the apple pie a la mode.
Waitress: Chef and apple a la mode.
Sally: But I'd like the pie heated, and I don't want the ice cream on top. I want it on the side, and I'd like strawberry instead of vanilla if you have it. If not, then no ice cream, just whipped cream, but only if it's real. If it's out of the can, then nothing.
Waitress: Not even the pie?
Sally: No, just the pie, but then not heated."

I know what I want. I'm even willing to be flexible within reason....I just don't know if I can get it. My kitchen is very small, and floor space is at a premium. I don't have a pantry, so garbage & recycling will have to sit out. But the kitchen is at the crossroads of the entire place......I don't want my whole place looking like & smelling like garbage! I *love* this, but Jesus H Christ - it's a hundred and sixty nine dollars!!!! I've found other things would would be 'okay', but nothing that really solves the issue I have...and I'm not ready to spend two hundred bucks on a TRASH bin. *sigh* But I'm also not willing to throw away $15 on one that doesn't do what I need. I don't want much - I just want what I want.

I need a piece of wood for the sliding glass door, to "lock" it in place when I put the cat door in. I'm so looking forward to my cat becoming more independent - where I can put food & water out, and let him wander out on the back porch at his leisure. I don't know if I kept my chimes or not. I may find them in a box one day. I've already found things I'd forgotten about. I'd like a nice little chair to sit out on the porch and read, inhaling the scent of rhododendrons and wisteria, D'Artagnon rolling at my feet.

Slowly, but surely, my home away from home is being born. For now I live here instead of there, and dream of things to come.

--BT

Sweetness and Light

D'Artagnan is what's called a cream tabby. To some, this means that he's a butterscotch & cream color rather than orange marmalade like the more well-known varieties. To me, it means he looks like Morris who laid out in the sun and got faded.

Cream tabbies, by nature, seem to be extremely mellow and D'Art is no exception. The day I got him, he was just a young buck - a teenager - perhaps 4-5 months old, which puts his birthday some time around the first of April, a fitting birthday for such a mischievously innocent creature. I specifically wanted a cat who *liked* other cats, as I wanted to get him a companion, and he was sharing a cage with a fellow shelter-kitty. Yes, he's adopted, but I haven't broken the news to him yet.

After only 20 minutes or so, I completed the paperwork. I asked if he had a name, and the lady said it was "Dar-TAN-EE-on". Cringing only slightly, I helped her correct the spelling (and pronunciation) of his name. A name made famous by Alexandre Dumas, the fourth Musketeer is often remembered as primarily a lover, not a fighter, and D'Art lives up to his name.

I stopped by work to show off my new-found companion, and he proceeded to stretch out full length on the reception desk and let fifty people rub his belly. Watch out - House Cat on Duty. Well, maybe not at THIS house. We were there for well over an hour, as this steady stream of people came through to OOOooOOo and Aaaahhh over him, petting him, touching him, and he didn't once get spooked.

He once got stuck in a tree, about 20 feet off the ground. Declawed, he didn't have a means of climbing DOWN and he refused to jump. I guess the towel I was holding out didn't look inviting enough Fortunately my ten year old neighbor-boy was currently sitting 30 feet up a tree reading a book, so he was a natural choice to send after my wayward son. He got into a fight with a possum once, and had to have an open gaping wound draining out of his chest for three weeks.

A couple of years ago, I had to leave him (and my other cat) for several weeks alone in the house with nothing but a food/water bowl and a litter box. A Category 4 Hurricane blew through town, knocking out electricity, trees, freeways, bridges, and much much more. For some odd reason, the woman who was watching him decided it was too much trouble to check on them regularly. (Something about a hurricane getting in the way?) With the airport closed, I couldn't fly home. Some cats will get pissy with you when you leave them alone too long - D'Art greeted me the same as always, with love and affection, purring, sitting next to me, and curling up against my legs like nothing unusual had happened. But he seemed a little afraid of letting me leave again.

A year later when I left the country for three weeks (this time intentionally), my roommate was watching over him, and I took each of his toes, and visualized the sun rising and setting on each one. I believe some animals have a higher form of intelligence than we give them credit for, but sometimes you have to speak to them in pictures - I wanted him to know that I would be gone for 21 days, and I felt like this was a way I could communicate that. For the 21st day, I visualized the sunrise/sunset again and kissed his face, pressing my nose again him Eskimo-style. When I returned, tired, weakened, sore, and ever so glad to be home, he hopped up on the bed and pressed his nose against mine in the same way - as if he'd been counting the days until my return.

It's been two years since that day, and he's still just as mellow and affectionate as he ever was.....as long as the sun isn't shining. When the sun is out, and it's 80 degrees, he's more like "Thanks for dinner - can I go out now???". I've seen him for all of about ten minutes in the last four days - ninety percent of which was him running to the food bowl and back again.

-BT