It’s Only Just a Bitter Form of Rain

A few weeks ago I ordered two herbal apothecary books. Of course, you can’t concoct anything without herbals, so I ordered some of those too. Now I’m completely out of room to store anything.

I mentioned before that our kitchen table is an old pianoforte, converted into a desk/table. One of these days I’ll take a picture. (Update: I found a terrible photo from the day we brought it home. You’ve probably already seen it, since it’s at the top of the post, unless you like to close your eyes and scroll down immediately when opening a webpage, which I do too, don’t feel weird.) Anyway, the innards of the pianoforte were removed and the front was sealed up, making one big open storage area, perfect for cookbooks, dish rags, extra mason jars, and tea. I’m a little bit addicted to tea. It’s the only thing I regularly drink other than milk, water, seltzer water, and mineral water. Why didn’t I just leave it at water? It’s all water.

Today I counted at least twenty boxes and tins. I say “at least,” as though twenty is too many for me to count properly, because it is. Actually, Phyllis and her seventy pound pot are housed on the back half of the table, so only the front half opens. It’s possible there are a couple boxes that have made it to the dark side. In addition to the twenty or so boxes in the table, the herbs I purchased for my first attempt at herbal treatments are for, can you guess it? That’s right! Unless you said something other than tea…then that’s not right. Specifically, it’s a tea to treat the obnoxious heartburn that tomatoes and onions seem to now bring on. It’s a blend of chamomile flowers, marshmallow root, licorice root, slippery elm bark, and ginger root. If you’re interested, it works, but more as a preventative.

I need to figure out where to put new things coming in, because next up is a tea for headaches, and that’s a whole new set of herbals.

Title From:
The Beer Song Medley
by Darby O’Gill

Where’d You Go Love?

This is the longest Muggabee has ever stayed away. I honestly don’t know how long it’s been. I estimated two weeks the last time I wrote, but I’m not certain. It definitely wasn’t more recent.

He would usually show up around 4-5pm. I’d wait to put any food out until I actually saw him so I knew he was the one eating. The last day I remember seeing him, he hadn’t come by during his normal hours. I figured he’d visit a little later, which he did. Around 7pm, I realized he was outside when I heard hissing and whatever that growling thing is that cats do that sounds like a deep, guttural rumbling, emanating from their souls. He’s the only one of the cats to growl at the others, so I knew he was there, and so was someone else.

When I opened the door, I saw the long grey hair of the cat with the bald spot on his side. He was off the porch but still close enough to enrage Muggabee, who was sitting by his bowl, hissing and channeling demons. The other cat is terrified of me, so he quickly ran away when he realized I wasn’t going to be staying inside. Muggabee continued to hiss, albeit a little less frequently. Normally, when I scooped the wet food from the tin, he would lose a bit of his apprehension. That time he didn’t. Instead, he sat in the same place, still rumbling, still hissing, showing no interest in the food. I talked to him a bit, reassured him that everything was okay, and the other cat was gone. As I talked to him, I noticed he looked even more disheveled than usual; his fur was a little thin and unkempt, his eyes were a little watery. Sometimes he looked a bit rough, so I didn’t think too much of it at the time. As much as I wanted to be friends with Muggabee, I knew my presence was only making him uncomfortable, so I gathered everything and went inside, deciding to let him calm down and eat in peace.

I watched from the window as he nervously started taking small bites, constantly looking in the direction where the bald spot cat had gone. When it looked like he was relaxing a little, I walked away. I plopped the cat food jar on the kitchen table, threw away the tin, and washed my hands. By the time I got back to the window, Muggabee was gone. He had left a little wet food, which was not like him.

As upset as he had been by the other cat, I figured perhaps he was too nervous to eat and would show up again the following day, but he’s not been back.

I’m writing this now because I’m starting to lose hope that I’ll ever again look outside and see his warm grey fur rippling in the breeze as he sleeps on our steps, waiting for his food. I’m also writing this now because the moment I say something like this, more often than not, the opposite tends to happens. It seems to work for everything but the lottery.

Title From:
Last Night
by Miner

Hoo Yip Hoo Yip Hoo

It’s late afternoon, I’m sitting in our office, the portable air conditioner is blowing a moderately warm breeze into the tiny room. It’s difficult for our portable air conditioners to counter the second half of the day, when the sun beats down on the back of our home, which is lined with windows. Fortunately, we purchased another a/c unit this year, so instead of it remaining as hot inside as outside, we are able to stay pretty comfortable. Not necessarily cool, but not, “Did you know you could sweat there?” either. It would likely be even more comfortable if I’d take my hoodie off and stop drinking hot chocolate.

Not long ago I went outside to check for Muggabee, which is what we decided to name the little grey cat. He hasn’t been around for the last two weeks. Before that, he was looking a bit rough. I hope he’s okay. Occasionally he disappears for a while so let’s hope that he’s just adventuring. He hates the other cats who come around, so it’s possible he’s just avoiding them.

There are a lot of cats now. There is a black tortoiseshell with a fat, stubby tail, a black one with a long bushy tail, a grey one with long fur and a bald patch on his side, a short-haired grey one with a white face, and two giant cats we’ve named The Little Raccoon and The Big Raccoon. I’m done naming them. To name them is to adopt them emotionally and I don’t want to have six cats in my heart. I don’t even like cats.

Pickwick, on the other hand, is here every day again. He’s a little skinnier than when he emerged from wherever he was holed up over the winter. He’s growing on me a bit but his moodiness is absurd. A few days ago he bit me, swiped at my arm, then proceeded to rub against my legs as though he hadn’t just morphed into a fluffy feral monster. Let’s hope he doesn’t have rabies.

The sun is finally dropping behind the hills. The warmth of the day is fading. The weather in Montana is amazing. While it’s occasionally blazing hot, the heat is dry, and the evenings are cool. Tonight, for example, we should drop to 52°F. How can you not love a summer where you can open your windows in the evening and listen to the coyotes howl?

Title From:
Coyotes
by Don Edwards