I nearly lost Edgar

The partners in w(h)ine were over on Friday, and we were enjoying a fabulous meal al fresco. That is normal for w(h)ine making in the summer.

Well. Edgar had some... callers, shall we say? And he went off with those hussies. I was tipsy, and busy, so I wasn't too worried.

He didn't come home Friday night, even though I was shouting his name and shaking the container with the food.

He didn't come home Saturday. Or early Sunday morning, because I got home at 2:45 AM, and was desperately hoping he was waiting for me.

He didn't come home Sunday.

His owner called Sunday evening, and I had to woman-up and give Brucie the news. I saw Brucie drive by my house at least twice looking for him. Brucie also drove by his own place (currently under-going renovations) to see if Edgar had undertaken is own Long Journey (is anyone else remembering a miserable book from Grade 7 and the even worse Disney movie that seems to evoke that title? My google-fu fails me) and actually made it across the river.

No Edgar on Monday. I was giving up hope, but woke up in the night frequently, either dreaming of him or wishing he was home (I've fallen in love with a cat. It figures).

Tuesday: I don't go home after work. Instead, I get an awesome meal and a few laughs, go to knit night. Because I didn't go home, I had the usual scramble at 10 pm: scoop the poop, make lunch, make coffee, iron something... surf for an hour, just to wind down. Wouldn't you know it, at 11 pm, far past my usual bed-time, I hear someone singing outside.

I run out into my back yard, oh-so-sexily dressed in a tank-top from 2000 and a pair of boxer shorts that used to belong to my ex-husband. In 1999 (I have no excuses. He only wore said boxer shorts once, and I find them comfy).

It's my dear sweet Edgar.

He doesn't want to come inside, because Parker has his head out the door and is already hissing, but I scoop him up, tell him I loved him and missed him. He ate lots and lots... and disappeared to the basement.

I phone Brucie - who was just heading out to cruise my neighbourhood again. He's relieved, but not really surprised. Apparently Edgar can be an asshole (That's no surprise to me: every male I've ever fallen in love with has been an asshole. Now, I'm prey to inter species assholes).

My own cats ignore me all night, because they are mad that the interloper is back again, but I don't care: my house is full; everyone is home. It's the best I've slept since Thursday.

I'm going to have a hard time giving him up, when it's time for him to go home. We spent three hours outside tonight: we watered the garden, knitted, and listened to an amazing audio book:

All is well.

That's a whole lot of wine

No wonder the place smells like booze.

My partners in w(h)ine and I are bottling the two in glass tonight. Whee!

Sheesh, gotta get back at this blogging thing.

Well, Edgar has settled in, a little. There's still an awful lot of hissing, but I took a lot of hope from this moment:It appears that tuna juice is a great community builder.

That said, the living room smells like pee. The cleaning service is due tomorrow, and I purchased a special odor removing cleaner. I've left the cleaners a note asking them to use it instead of whatever it is they use.

And, there was an appalling fight earlier this week, just as I was applying my make-up and getting ready to go to work. Poor Edgar was dripping blood, but seems none the worse for it now (also, I was late for work, because I needed to clean it up and make sure that murder wasn't going to be committed).

I was taking a much-needed nap on Sunday. My two boys were in bed with me, as they usually are. Edgar sat in the doorway and looked at us longingly. I felt bad for the poor wee bugger, and since then I've been sure to give him lots of cuddles. And yes, I have broken my own rule. He is allowed to go outside, but only when it's nice enough for me to actually be outside or I am not doing much and therefore can hang around the kitchen window and watch for him.

And speaking of outside, I highly recommend allowing a five-year-old and a three-year-old to pick your flowers:

Other than the impatiens, I don't have a hot clue what any of my flowers are, but they are thriving in the front, which is rather shady, and in the back, which is a huge, sunny, heat vortex.

I'm impressed.

And one more garden thing:

I have this thing sticking out of the south-end of my hedge, right before the potentilla. I think it's mostly dead. I didn't know until this evening that it blooms, and that it is gorgeous. When I rip out that gawd-awful mess, I'm saving that tree. Or whatever it is.

Wait for it... there's knitting content. I finished this sock at work today. I started it a year ago.

The wee bit of yarn is what is left-over from the 50 gram ball. It's about 24 inches of yarn. Couldn't have done that better if I tried. Of course, I grafted two sets of 22 instead of two sets of 14. But still, it will fit someone. Now to do the second sock. Hopefully this one will take me less than a year.

Meet Edgar

A while ago, I agreed to look after a drinking buddy's cat for a month.

I was hoping that said buddy was as drunk as I was and would therefore promptly forget (and he should have, I saw his bar tab - it more than quadrupled mine, and I was drunk!).

Sadly, though, he did not, and since I am a woman of my word, here's Edgar:

He's actually really adorable. He's a dark tabby, domestic short hair, about 11 years old. He looks quite bulky, but he's just rather large, lean and fit. A really nice-looking cat.

But chatty. I've never had a cat that sings at night. Edgar sings. And bless him, he's sweet, but he can't carry a tune in a bucket. Parker isn't a fan either, so I'm also interrupted three or four times a night by a big fight.

Scout is too old to be bothered. He just shoots Edgar dirty looks and sleeps on my bed.

It's been two days now, and Edgar is sitting on my desk right now. After allowing me to cuddle him for a bit, he wandered up there.

Here's the real problem (other than the singing). He smells. He smells poopy. I know Edgar is used to spending lots of time outside (I do not believe in letting pets wander, so Edgar will be staying inside, whether he likes it or not. All signs point to not liking it). Since he may not be used to a litter box, I wonder if there are any...surprises waiting for me.

I'll let you know if I smell poop when I am not within two feet of (a) Edgar or (b) the litter box. That will answer my question.

It's gardening time!

Unexpectedly, I received (oops, I mean blackmailed) a lift to a garden centre (a really cheap, really excellent place) this morning.

The weather was crap, and I truly did not expect to get anything in the ground or in pots today. But hey, lookee here:


That is approximately one half of the flowers I purchased in those two clay pots. I don't have any idea what they are, but they sure are pretty. The hanging baskets were impulse purchases, one selected by the chauffeur/long-suffering mother (not mine) and the other, is well, blue and orange. I like blue and orange together (see: my living room).

Let's move on to the bedding plants, shall we?

It appeared that I went a little bit crazy, and perhaps that's true. I have green peppers, orange peppers, jalapeno peppers, cherry tomatoes, beefsteak tomatoes, Early Girl tomatoes (yes, I like tomatoes and peppers), spaghetti squash, butternut squash and zucchini and yes! watermelon.

Plus basil, thyme, dill and parsley.

So why, do I only have one cucumber plant? Because the chauffeur was in charge of cucumbers and she was busy worrying about her kids. Sigh. (kidding! Love you! I'll go and get more cukes).

This marks a new stage is the Chez Peepee garden plan: writing down what is planted where. Revolutionary. Of course, the photos above aren't oriented the same as the photo of the plans, but still, it's an improvement (and said plans are under magnets on the fridge. And suitably beer-stained).I also threw some clematis and geranium bulbs in the ground, things purchased a while ago. And, there's also the hanging baskets of petunias and strawberries I purchased while on a "break" ahem, with the company truck last Thursday.Put together, I think it looks pretty good. Needs more cucumber. And perhaps more cowbell.

Slowly finding the surface

The show was two weeks ago, and I've sat down at the computer many times to write.

Then wrote nothing.

I don't know where to start, with the journey I was on for that short five weeks that is the social highlight of my year.

How about some photos of knitting?

Rehearsal socks. Basic sock pattern, too small for me. Details to be entered on Ravelry. Eventually.

Sweater for Junior B. That name is bulky, and she shall henceforth be known as Lillibean. Trust me, it fits. Argh, details on Rav to follow.

This is, believe it or not, a much, much smaller version of the same sweater shown above. It's for my vet's assistant's daughter. Let me explain... no, is too long. Let me sum up; lady I like had baby. I make present.

Big brother or dad socks. These suckers are huge (Six-ply yarn FTW!). If I stick my arm in them, with my fingers at the toe, the cuff ends up at my elbow. And I have long limbs. Really long limbs.

Well, that was good for me. How's about you?

**Spoiler Alert!**

"Yeah, though I walked through shadows,
There'll be a new tomorrow!

Obama Mia! We can live again..."

We are here. Tickets available here.

T minus two days to lift-off, when we blow the roof off this city.