The first in a series of reposts, now that the technical issues have been handled. Nothing like trying to recreate whatever was in your head at the time you wrote something.
We’re in the kitchen, hanging out, talking, probably cooking, and mom says, “What’s that?”, pointing out toward the road. “Is that the big black dog taking a dump?”
I looked, and surely enough, a huge black shape is doing something out there. Then, suddenly, there were two. “Not a dog,” I said, and grabbed my camera for some long range shots to see what was going on.
Ah, buzzards. Part of nature’s cleanup crew. We couldn’t quite make out what it was they were eating, so I walked out to the road. They promptly showed their displeasure with me for interrupting their lunch.
Since they’d cleared out, it gave me a chance to see what they were eating.
Rabbit. Hopefully one that was munching through my garden beds not too long ago. Curiosity satisfied, I left them to finish.
I haven’t really been paying attention to the main site, but apparently I probably should have, because nothing I’ve posted in the past week has shown up. This is what I get, I suppose, for looking after other peoples’ stuff better than my own. There is an automated job I use to post things that I write and save, and not only has it not posted them, the posts have vanished entirely after the job runs. That’s not a good bug (or, shall we say it isn’t a beneficial insect, given that this is at least in part about gardening?). Time for another automation job, or a return to the way I used to post, just posting things as they were typed up. We’ll be catching up on what’s been happening here.
She’s been dying for awhile, of course, just as we all are at our own varying speeds.
Her time is simply coming to an end sooner than that same end is coming for the rest of us.
For now, she occasionally gets outside to sun her old bones, but mostly she sleeps. She eats a little here and there, drinks a bit from time to time, but not much and not a lot. She’s still affectionate, and her motor still runs harder and louder than you’d expect from such a small cat.
And she still has her buddies to keep her company until she’s finally ready to move on.
This is plain English, I think. Only two words with more than one syllable. Seven words total. This is why it astonishes me that we receive a ticket from someone telling us they don’t understand and asking what they need to do. Is it that they are surprised they have to do nothing, that they don’t believe us, or that they truly don’t understand a simple sentence? I hesitate to claim the latter as the explanation but in reality, it does seem to be that way. How do these people manage to get through a day without killing themselves in some tragically humorous way?