Sunday stuff......

It has been threatening to rain for the past two days, but there's not a raindrop in sight up there. I can't even remember the last time we had a good hard rain.

I can, however, remember the last time I had a good hard fall. Just yesterday.

My knee seems to be fine, as are my wrists and the palms of my hands. My right arm had been hurting right up to my shoulder, but that's okay too. I went out to look in that flowerbed this morning. It was indeed a root that I tripped over. There's a small wooden doll-bed in that flowerbed, under the rose arbor. The bed was handmade with a picket-fence headboard... I found it in a thrift shop and thought it would look cute in the flower garden. Young Miss C painted it white for me, then I penciled in "Welcome to The Flowerbed" on it, and she painted the letters red and then added red lady-bugs to it.

Into the flowerbed it went, and she was proud of her artwork and I was proud of my imagination for knowing what to do with that one-dollar thrift-shop treasure. Yesterday, however, as I fell across the flowerbed trying to get Mickey Kitty into the house before dark, there must have been an angel looking down from above because I was nearly impaled on the sharp little pickets of that garden ornament. Explain that to the doctors at the emergency room--- walking in with the pickets of a miniature bed stuck into your torso.

Mickey Kitty has been quiet this morning, and very attentive. I was sitting on the back porch with my book after breakfast and he came running up the porch steps to sit by my feet. Appropriately, I am reading another book by Beverley Nichols, titled "Cats' X.Y.Z." Mr. Nichols had a black cat, very small in size like Mickey, with the same face shape and eyes like Mickey. Mickey and his cat could have been twins.

I had eMailed my cousin last night, telling her about Mickey's adventure and my misadventure in the flowerbed. She asked me if I yelled at Mickey when I finally got him into the house. Absolutely not. I don't yell at the cats, unless it's some sort of horrible emergency. Cats don't like loud yells and noises, and my cats are used to a very quiet house, period. If I yell at them at all, which I've done when Mickey has gotten too close to the road, they will turn and bolt and run towards the house looking for a hiding place.

Cats are cats, period. Last night, Mickey was just being a cat. He found a comfy spot underneath that palm tree, he knew it was getting dark (a cat's favorite time for hunting) and he was prepared to sit there and catch crickets or look for field mice-- anything except come into the house when I called him. In no way did he cause me to fall over, but in every way did he try and comfort me after I had fallen, just by walking out from the flowerbed and sitting down by my legs as I made sure that I hadn't any broken bones.

One is either a cat person or not. And only a cat person understands all of the above.