I thought about naming tonight's installment "Petals on the Wind," but that was a super creepy sequel to a super creepy book, and I didn't want that association. That, and no matter how long I sat on the floor of the kitchen, with the back door only slightly cracked open, with every animal in existence trying to vault over me to escape through the opening that was only as wide as my cell phone, I could not capture what I thought was so cool: the little swirling vortices of ornamental peach petals that formed when the wind kicked up. I took about 15 pictures, and not a one shows petals in the air. I gave up.
Remember yesterday's dead or dying lizard? The kids were at it again. I came into the dining room to find two little black girl kitties on either side of a tiny anole who was not going down without a fight. In this sequel, Rocky won. I had an empty gelatto container waiting to be recycled, and it was a perfect gondola for the reptile's ride through the sky. I coaxed him into it without touching him with my hands, while trying to keep the Killer Twins off of him, and took him to the front porch, and released him in the same geranium where I turned loose another a few weeks ago. I've seen the first rescue hanging around up front, recognizable by some scuff marks left by the huntress' teeth. He seems content to watch me when I'm up there, and not run away. I started saying goodbye to him when I leave the porch, saying "later, Gator." In that spirit, I have decided that if I see the lizard from today, recognizable by the tip of his tail that is missing, he shall be addressed as "Crocs."
I took a second round of cats to the vet for shots and annuals. The roly poly huntress has gained three pounds since she was there last, only last August. I think she made a habit of sitting in the pantry, on top of the plastic tub where I store the cat food, face down in the bag of dog food, eating until she could barely waddle away. I have since learned to shut the pantry door. And the vet has told me twice now that it is advisable to feed more canned food than I do. Apparently it might be slimming for the chubby bear.
When I made the vet appointments, I did not take into account that this weekend was the Flowertown Festival. Driving through the gorgeous old neighborhoods was both a nightmare and a dream. Traffic sucked, and Main Street was closed, choking up the narrow through road to the far side of town where the clinic is. But with the explosion of azaleas, dogwoods, wisteria, and spirea, daintily adorning million dollar homes that all look like B&Bs, it was like gracefully falling into the pages of Southern Living magazine. It was hard to pay attention to driving when I was busy fantasizing that I could live in all these homes. I still can't decide whether to try to go to the festival. I hate festivals and fairs in general, but this is a lot more garden-centric. I might find something cool for the Park. But I would have to deal with crowds and parking and shuttles. I don't know that it is worth it.
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