A two-egg day.

Wonder of wonders... there was a brown egg in one of the nesting boxes today. Second tier, left side-- Scarlett's favorite nesting box. This is the first egg she has given us since she went into her moody-broody state about six weeks ago. Along with Scarlett's egg, there was also an egg from Prissy in the right-side second tier nesting box. Two eggs. Haven't seen that in nearly two months now. I thanked both of the hens for their efforts. I swear, they know when I'm talking to them because they make little sounds right back at me, which they don't do when I'm out there talking to the cats.

Talking to the hens. Talking to the cats. Life on the ranch. Either that, or I'm losing my mind, one feather and one whisker at a time.

The cats...... the stray cat is gone, and we hope it finds a new home. I kept my promise to not keep any more stray cats, but this little stray's fate was sealed not just the first time he bit me (on the right hand) but the second time as well, when his teeth found my right leg. The bite on the hand was worse and took longer to heal, but the little puncture marks on my leg didn't exactly make me want to rehabilitate that cat.

That particular stray cat had a meow that never did sound very nice. He was very much a street cat, and most likely feral for all of the six to eight months I'm guessing he was. The bites were his way of letting me know that the food he was finding on my porch was his, and he wasn't smart enough to know that I was his food source!

I'm guessing, along with my cousin F up in NY, that the puncture marks on Gatsby's head and neck a couple of weeks ago came from this gray and white stray. No wonder Gatsby didn't want to stay outside, particularly at night. Gatsby looks like a big old farm cat, but he's an indoor pussy-cat at heart. The Cowardly Lion....... the cowardly Gatsby. He has proven time and again that he's a gentleman cat, and I'm sure he didn't leave any teeth marks on that stray. You want my food? Go ahead and take it... I know where to get more.

Chickens and cats. Not a dog in sight, though. I'm getting used to not having company in the kitchen as I'm cooking and cleaning in there. All those times I used to say out loud to Gracie: "We have 23 acres here and you are always two steps behind me!" Gracie would look at me with her jaws open in that doggy-smile they all know how to do. No Gracie. No doggy-smile. When I vacuum, I can keep going all around the room, never having to stop as Gracie moves from one spot to another spot, then to another spot, always keeping herself three or four steps in front of me. All these years, and she never did want to stay behind me as I vacuumed.... she had to stay right in front, in the path of the vacuum.

It's going to take a while, to not walk down the back stairs into the kitchen and expect her to be there. To not save the little bits of leftovers and gravies to mix in with her dog food. To not call her to lick the cats' dishes clean after I've given them canned food. I think that was one of Gracie's favorite parts of the day-- when the cats had their canned Chicken & Tuna and she got to lick the three little bowls because heaven forbid a cat should lick a plate clean. Go ahead and eat up those little bits, Gracie-girl.... we know where to get more!