I know we're heading into summer because our cat Coco, the mighty huntress, has started bringing in green apples and plums from the trees outside and rolling them around on the floor. It used to be apples only, but our Santa Rosa plum has its first big crop this year. I am fervently hoping she is not climbing it and actually picking the plums, as she is wont to do with the apples. The tree is immature and not terribly strong, and also, I don't want her to pick them all, because I want to eat them! And maybe even make some jam with them.
When she brings them in, they end up rolling under furniture where we find them much much later, looking like those strange apple head dolls. Does anyone know what I'm talking about? Why do I remember these dolls with carved apple faces that have been allowed to dry and shrivel so they look like little ancient people? Anyway. We know it is Coco bringing them in, because Pablo is just too stupid to think up something like that. And also, it was happening long before we ever got him.
I keep forgetting he came to us so recently, because he seems like such a paunchy middle aged beer drinking sort of guy. He's one of those cats who tends toward the large and chubby with a comparatively small head, and he's hopelessly inept as a hunter both in skill and inclination. But he's happy to appropriate Coco's prey and proudly pretend that he caught it himself. Last night we were finally managing to sponge the last of the blood out of the sofa from Coco's last gopher massacre, when, speak of the devil, Pablo came around the corner on the other side flipping a newly killed (and fortunately as of yet unpunctured) gopher around. Clearly he hadn't caught it because he was completely unconcerned when I took it away from him and disposed of it outside. Soon after, Coco came through with the very same look that I often wear, which says, Dammit, I know I put that somewhere. Let's see, I was just walking through here...
F, the oldest, is gone today and the two younger kids (4 and 8) are playing some sort of quest game with medieval costumes and secret messages and all manner of intrigue. They play much better together when F isn't here, because M isn't striving to be as grown up and sophisticated as his older brother. It's a relief, really, because C adores playing with the boys, and they mostly leave her out of their games. This is possibly why she has always been the loudest of our three children.
And I can't think of a graceful or clever way to end this post, so that's just it. The End.