We hired the gutters cleaned. We hired the trees trimmed.

We are concentrating on the maintenance only we can do—like actual gardening and garden plumbing. We had only one glitch: our gutter cleaners were supposed to bag the refuse and they did—in 80 lb bags which cannot be moved. Jane didn’t call me to help, darn it, but she had to open the bags and shovel, and is exhausted. Two very nice strong young guys, who probably haven’t a clue that we’d have to lift those bags to shoulder height to get them into the bins. They’re going to hear about this one.

I swear, Jane’s cat. The half-Bengal. I’m crossing the living room where he’s lying, and he reaches out and hits me. Hard. Then gets up and head-butts my leg, as in, pet me, feed me, I’m your friend. Just now he’s lying on my dresser, right under the telly, not bothering the telly. If it were on, it’d disturb him, and he’d get up and claw the screen, darn him—but he likes sitting there, warmed by the electronics, and watching out the window.

And why is he there? So he can be aware when I move, whenever I go near the kitchen…because—food!

OTOH, we do have him on a reduced-portion diet with a diet kibble. And it is working. He now has sort of a waist.