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Taxed

Still in recovery from extreme dog sitting last week and dealing with the cleaning hangover from the same dog, glimmers of normalcy light up my day. There are still things to clean and put away but there is a sense of becoming civilized again.

There are still three bones beside the fireplace and part of a ripped up cookbook peeking out from under the couch. Tumbling in a hot dryer as we speak, three different heavy throws from the winter couch decor that the pup wanted to snuggle in, thump themselves clean, soft and dry. Floors quickly swept and mopped will do for the time being until I feel an increase in floor mopping coming on. Dog dishes, rinsed and set aside for the next visitation.

Yet, still, the cat has not quite decamped from my bedroom, existing still in the cat condo set up hurriedly erected to avoid unpleasanties. While the dog was here I didn’t sleep in my bedroom but the cat did. Dog and I slept together in the recliner. If I tried to sleep in my bedroom the dog  demanded attention and that sent the elderly cat  toughing it out in a big soft wool nest in a big wicker basket right out of her mind.

 

Tomorrow, tough love continues with my goal of removing the cat from my room and establishing myself in the sanctuary.

Once the cat and dog crud is dealt with, that is when I face my income taxes. It just can’t get any better than that.

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March 6, 2014 · 10:57 pm

Long Winter Day and Still the Dog

Traffic was hairy.

The wait in the car turned cold despite the hot coffee at hand.

Time spent reading two quaint English novels, rather.

Once the moving van appeared all went well.

Payment made.

The wait in the apartment turned cold despite the efforts of tiny ancient radiators.

Cell phone not cooperating, of course. Cell phone doesn’t respond to button pushing (that’s right, it’s an old dumb one with buttons) because it is only an emergency phone and rarely gets charged up being a forgotten phone, stuck in a purse. Finally, contact made using the fussy phone.

Hours have gone by.

One end of the line is me, waiting in the cold, mother. Other end is moving day son, dashing about and cleaning up and tuning in keys then driving through rush hour traffic. Two hour wait turns into six hour wait.

At home, dog in crate.

Finally, moving son and waiting mom are reunited, go through drive ‘thru for late fast food supper. Both have not eaten today so gobbling food in car, licking salt from French fries on fingers. Mom has not had French fries for at least donkey’s ages because she is tying to release some weight and it has taken over three years and the same ten pounds come and go.

Dog food , only the best, purchased because at home dog ate last of it for breakfast.

Moving son stays in town to unpack and settle.

Cold mom drives out to country and uncrates dog, walks dog and feeds dog.

Tea and toast for mom and a wee bit of cheese for dog.

Long suffering cat in her high level sleeping basket. Cat now used to living in exile in high level sleeping basket in mom’s bedroom, door shut with all her other needs met with litter discretely handy on another high level. Water in a tiny blue and white saucer, antique. Cat hates dog. Dog doesn’t understand cat’s issues.

Dog not happy, happy, happy having to wait yet another evening for transfer to new home.

Cuddles given, dog relaxes now beside me in the good chair with the soft velour throw, my chair. This time of night she is the most lovely thing, sleeping. I’ll leave her there.

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February 28, 2014 · 11:25 pm