I'm such a stereotypical crazy cat lady. I had to go to two pet stores today. I had knocked the lamp off the top of Agnes' cage when I stripped the sheets off of my bed to wash them, and the sudden movement (more the sudden stop) blew out the halogen bulb. The first pet store had the cricket gel food/water source I needed, plus a small bag of crickets themselves (since I was there), but they didn't have the replacement halogen bulbs. I had to go to the other store across town for those. But at both stores, I stopped to look at the end cap displays of red, white, and blue dog toys, searching up and down on each, hoping that hidden among the 4th of July themed dog stuff would be at least one cute cat toy. I had no joy. At the second store I kept looking, determined that my spoiled Pride would get more cat toys. It's not like the floor isn't covered with them now. I hurt my bare feet stepping on them all the time. I see the favorite faux-fur toy named Weasel in a heap on the floor frequently, thinking someone has pooped in the middle of the living room. (Lucky for all of us, it always turns out to be Weasel, not fluffy poop.) But yet I persisted. More catnip mice were coming to my house, one way or another. I found a clearance rack of toys with something called "hypernip." Some company combined catnip and another herb that is even more exciting to cats. I grabbed a burlap "rooster" and a three-pack of bunnies. I honestly thought that the Pride would take them and set them aside to kill later, once I was in bed trying to sleep. Instead, all of them immediately perked up and took the toys from me. Alfred and Athena are still galloping around the house two hours later, singing anthems dedicated to their own exploits. They only paused long enough to interfere with me remaking the bed, killing the cover monsters and trying to make each other flinch. And rather than chasing them away so I could fix the bed properly, I just laughed and let them snag the crap out of my cotton blanket. I give up. I am a crazy cat lady and I don't care.
The first autumn we lived in this house we planted an apple tree. We spent a lot of money on the one we bought, like four times as much as if we had gotten it from a big box store. Last year it struggled to come back to life. It never blossomed. It didn't get any bigger. And the tips were obviously dying. I have been begging the man to dig it up for weeks. I want to go ahead and replace it. Most of it is clearly dead. But yesterday he pointed out to me that a few branches are trying to sprout weak little leaves. I don't know what to do now. It doesn't seem to be living well, but it refuses to die all the way.
This weekend is mother's day, and that is a special milestone in this climate zone. It's the traditional time to put the outdoor plants in the ground, to be reasonably assured that they are safe from frost. I have a lot of seeds left over from last year and the year before that might be worth attempting to germinate. I honestly don't know whether they'll sprout or not. It won't hurt to try. I decided to go ahead and put the tomatoes in the ground, a few days early. It's supposed to be plenty hot, and they wouldn't grow as well in a Lowe's bag on the table anyway. I don't know whether the Mr had intended on turning over the raised beds any more than he already has. They all had a thick layer of leaves over thick, wet soil. I hope I didn't actually hinder more than I helped. I just wanted those tomatoes in the sun as soon as possible. The early girl variety says it can have ripe fruit in 50 days. Call me impatient, but that still sounds like a long time to wait. I wonder when the clock starts on those 50 days. From seed germination? From the first set of true leaves? Or is it from the point when I get the seedling in the ground? I couldn't wait if it was the latter. I had to get it going. I suppose I ought to get the rest in the dirt tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment