In an effort to contain Isis at night, I bought him a very soft little cat bed. It arrived today as Ed was napping upstairs with Isis tightly cradled against his leg. I took it upstairs, placed it in an optimal spot and lifted Isis right up and into it. I admit that was a bit heavy handed on my part, but I mean business here!
Isis promptly took himself right out. I got a quizzical look for my efforts - as in: why did you disturb my resting period?
I went downstairs to think up better strategies for getting him into that unattractive piece of brown cushion (it really has the most somber colors). He followed me and meowed until I found a new can of cat food that would please him. Hey, you woke me up, he tells me, now feed me! And it better be good!
Perhaps I haven't quite clicked into cat psychology. But I have to say, I cannot quite understand why Ed says that caring for a cat is easier than caring for chickens. I mean, chickens don't follow you to bed. They don't hop onto your kitchen table if they smell an appetizing entree. They're out there and you're in here and you don't have to teach them to love a new bed that you purchased for $23 off of Amazon.
It was a cold day and were I staying in Wisconsin for the week before me, I'd be a little annoyed already. A third polar vortex coming? Honestly? In March? But, I'm running away from it and so I can only feel empathy for those I leave behind.
And the rest of the day? Well, at least I have breakfast to show you. In tough times, there's always breakfast here, at the farmette.
And the blooming orchid!
And there's the blue sky -- over the fields of corn to the west of us...
And, too, I had a tea date with a friend downtown. So yes, I get out and see the world, even on quiet, farmette centered days!
It's evening now. I made a huge pot of chili: enough for today and tomorrow for the two of us, and for many days after just for Ed. I had coaxed Isis into his new bed and he clocked in a full hour there, so I have hope. Ed and I watch our old beloved Grand Design -- we're onto Season 7, episode 11. This is as regular as our winter days get here. Missing is a day on the trails. In all other ways, we are in our own bubble of a farmette winter.
Isis promptly took himself right out. I got a quizzical look for my efforts - as in: why did you disturb my resting period?
I went downstairs to think up better strategies for getting him into that unattractive piece of brown cushion (it really has the most somber colors). He followed me and meowed until I found a new can of cat food that would please him. Hey, you woke me up, he tells me, now feed me! And it better be good!
Perhaps I haven't quite clicked into cat psychology. But I have to say, I cannot quite understand why Ed says that caring for a cat is easier than caring for chickens. I mean, chickens don't follow you to bed. They don't hop onto your kitchen table if they smell an appetizing entree. They're out there and you're in here and you don't have to teach them to love a new bed that you purchased for $23 off of Amazon.
It was a cold day and were I staying in Wisconsin for the week before me, I'd be a little annoyed already. A third polar vortex coming? Honestly? In March? But, I'm running away from it and so I can only feel empathy for those I leave behind.
And the rest of the day? Well, at least I have breakfast to show you. In tough times, there's always breakfast here, at the farmette.
And the blooming orchid!
And there's the blue sky -- over the fields of corn to the west of us...
And, too, I had a tea date with a friend downtown. So yes, I get out and see the world, even on quiet, farmette centered days!
It's evening now. I made a huge pot of chili: enough for today and tomorrow for the two of us, and for many days after just for Ed. I had coaxed Isis into his new bed and he clocked in a full hour there, so I have hope. Ed and I watch our old beloved Grand Design -- we're onto Season 7, episode 11. This is as regular as our winter days get here. Missing is a day on the trails. In all other ways, we are in our own bubble of a farmette winter.
