Well, right off the top I can tell from your comments that I made a huge mistake in describing my search for the little cat using the call, "Here pussy, pussy, pussy". I apparently elicited lots of giggles with that one. Actually, I have a number of different desperate calls that I use, but it seems the only socially acceptable one must be ,"Here kitty, kitty, kitty" and I will remember that in the future. (The rest contain words far more unacceptably than "pussy"). I guess I have been lucky so far that my plaintive shouts and pleas as I run up and down the alleys have only brought cats into my life and not, for instance, say Working Girls or Lesbian Vampires........
This will only be a short work.......I am still too exhausted from yesterday's adventures to mumble on at any great length..........for one thing, I had to get up at the ungodly hour of 6 am in order to deliver the patient to the hospital for hr spaying and had to wander all over the east Valley trying to find the place. I had forgotten that it is still pre-dawn at 6 or 7 in the am and I am nearly blind when it is dark.....am not supposed to drive after dark or before dawn. but being so unfamiliar with that particular piece of the day I hadn't considered that problem until I looked out and realized that I could barely see my car in the driveway.
In addition, I had printed the map and directions off of the computer and inspected the map carefully and thought I knew exactly how to get there. It was only after having to retrace my path several times without finding the street that I stopped and, with the help of my little flashlight and glasses, read the directions and found that the reason I couldn't find the effing street Clybourne was because it actually was the well known and highly traveled Sherman Way which, unbeknownst to me, somehow suddenly dead ended near the Burbank Airport, zigged at right angles to the left and thereafter became Clybourne. Sigh. Who knew.
Anyway, I just want to report that after that the sun came up and all went well. I retrieved Kitty at 4pm, installed her in my bathroom with assorted beds, delicacies and kitty box and found her an hour later (having rejected all the beds) comfortably curled up in my lovely oval hand painted Talavera sink which cats seem to be unable to resist. OK with me......I did not have to bend down to hand feed her and my knees were VERY grateful.
Since then she seems totally content to lounge about in my small but cosy bathroom where I intend to keep her for a few more days while she heals. She has learned to use the kitty box and has begun to eat on her own, tenks gott, so no new disasters. I do not want to think about the day I will have to try to bring her out of seclusion to have lunch with the girls...........no.......I definitely do not want to think about that tonite.
There is another chapter to this melodrama which I will relate at a future date, but , fear not, it has a happy ending So good nite, my dears........I finally hope to get an anxiety-free nite's sleep. And the same to all of you!
The New Yorker covers: February 10, 1968
5 hours ago