A Sister for Otis?

Two weeks ago I noticed that Otis seemed a little bit depressed. He's not as outgoing since we've lived here. He could miss the three neighborhood cats that used to spend lots of time on our back porch, just on the other side of the glass from his cat tree. He used to run at the window and scare them, or just lay on the floor on one side of the door while they slept on the other side of the window. Now he is all alone. There is Oscar, the neighborhood cat who sashays across our backyard from time to time, or "Fat Mary," the next door neighbor's cat. So I told Sam just last week that I thought we needed to get Otis a little sister. He'd love that. Sam agreed.
Then, one of my therapist supervisees casually told me Thursday that his wife had one more kitten left from a litter that she'd found on their property. Wouldn't I like to have a kitten? Thinking about Otis, I told him that if he'd send me a photo, I'd send it on to Sam and we'd have a family planning discussion about it and let him know.
Friday morning I went in to my allergist and got tested for every sort of substance that one could react to. So I got pin pricks on each lower arm--40 on each lower arm, in fact. Then I got exactly 48 injections in each upper arm, each numbered and lettered. In 24 and 48 hours I measured the size of the welts and sent it off to my allergist.
It seems that I am allergic to cats. How could I have ever known that? We can't part with Otis, and won't even consider it. But I had to call my supervisee and decline his offer to give us little Fiona.
Aw, shucks.
Now we are happy with Otis and he is enough for me.
Sniff, sniff.

Rambo

This is how I looked today after going on a wild tear in the backyard. Now you tell me: doesn't a woman wielding a pair of hedge clippers, leaving heaps of broken branches, dead plant clippings, and dirt piles resemble Rambo? I think I did today. A horticultural Rambo. Today I dug up the hard-as-concrete dirt on the side of the house, added a mixture of fertilizer (stinky!) and compost, and put in four French Lavender plants. They are drought tolerant, which is needed there; heat resistant--which will be needed, planted against a west wall of the house; and will bush out about three feet, which will cover up the gas shutoff pipe and some other uninteresting wall. I can hardly wait to harvest my first lavender from the plants next summer. It is fragrant and lovely and I want to fill my house with big bouquet of it. (I hope it will grow!)

I have a ton of unfamiliar plants in the planters all around the house and am sick of their untamed look. But when you move into a house you're supposed to let everything grow until you know what it is going to do. Then you can trim it back. Today was the day.

But first I took clippings of every plant and shrub down to the nursery in town. The people there were marvelous. They know everything about everything that grows in my town. The woman with black hair and grey roots identified each plant clipping, then taped each one to my yellow legal pad so I could write the names of each one next to it. I was thrilled.

Then I came home and tore out all sorts of dead things at the side of the backyard. There was a geranium that has grown into a gangly, unattractive tree. I chopped it down to within 6 inches of the ground. All the humongous clumps of daisy type, irritating, smelly plants got yanked out. I found a lovely clematis vine behind it all, and a huge rosemary plant. It is fragrant and marvelous. I think I'll bring in some bunches of it and grind it so I can use it in my cooking. The four miniature rose bushes up in the planter that will become my vegetable garden, got transplanted in my new rose area across the yard.

I am jazzed. And very dirty.

How Ramboesce.