A Minority of One

 It looks as if the squirrels may have made short work of my few snowdrops.  Here's a lone survivor bravely showing up anyway.

And I made that soup as planned, with the Pinova apple, butternut squash, carrots and cashews.  I seasoned with chicken stock, salt, maharat, ginger, plenty of ginger, none of this one half inch of ginger for me.  A healthy bunch of cubes is what I used. 

Here's the doings all cooking nicely.  As usual, I cooked the spices in the oil to start then added the onions and garlic.  That way they warm up and don't taste harsh at the end.

And it came out nicely.  Thick but not too much so.  Enough for seven bowls.  I always like to have soup in the freezer for when I just don't feel like cooking but do feel like eating.

Finally got out for a walk this afternoon, about half an hour, in the sunshine.  No gray skies today, that always helps. And returned books to the library, exciting expedition. Nowadays it's exciting to drive to the next town.

And my neighbor reported he was taking his friend to collect his two Boston terriers which had been out in this weather lost for two days, and finally had been found, great excitement there.  They rushed off to wherever the dogs were to be collected.  What a relief.  It's terrible to have a lost animal to worry about and wonder whose hands he's in and if he went into traffic and all the catastrophizing that always accompanies pet owning.

My first cat, Annabelle, once took off from my balcony when I was away overnight and I looked for her for weeks.  A little local girl brought me her collar and tags, found on the main road, after a few days, and I thought maybe it was all up for her.  Friends searched the sides of the road, no sign of her.  I decided, after six weeks I had to stop crying and accept her loss and move on.  I heard of two sister cats who were about to be surrendered because their owner had lost job and home, and I offered to take them, and if he wanted visiting privileges, fine.  

So next day Victoria and Boud, yes, my screen name cat, moved in.  They had different names before I renamed them.  Boud is short for Boudicca, British warrior queen, small but fierce.  She was six pounds at her heaviest, where her sister was double that.

I had kept a litter box and food dishes for Annabelle, covered up, just in case, though I thought it was hopeless. The new ladies made themselves at home pretty well, and agreed to eat and drink, so their owner finally left, seeing I had made all ready for them.

That same evening my downstairs neighbor gave me a shout.  I think I just saw your cat!  I heard her earlier. He knew her because she liked to sit on the balcony looking down at him practicing his golf putting.  I ran down and there she was.  Annabelle.  Thin, covered in fleas and ticks, shouting angrily at me, smelling of dryer sheets.  I wondered if she'd been living in laundry rooms.  So I now suddenly went from no cats to three cats.

We sat up all night while I combed fleas and ticks off her until she was able to stop scratching and biting at her fur.  Vet declared her thin but okay, and we went on from there.  She looked so reproachfully at me when she met the others.

Turn my back for six weeks and you move on, huh, faithless human?  I pointed out that she still had her own box and dishes kept for her.  She insisted on acting like an only cat and the others insisted on acting like two fighting sisters.  So I had two families of cats, really.  They all lived to feisty old ages.  Three stripy cats.  And their hapless caregiver.