Saturday, July 11, 1998

        I thought this was a really cute picture of Pyewacket. I don't know if it was just the angle or what, but it really seemed to capture her pesonality: sort of tomboyish and sturdy, kind of no-nonsense. She loves to play, but she's sort of determined about it, too. She's very serious. She'll hunt all over the house for something to bring to us to play with. Bob was sitting in the living room last night and called in to me that she had just brought him a rubber stamp. It was one of the little cubes with stamps on four sides, the one that I had tried to use on the little chair. I had left it on the dining table and she appropriated it. Luckily I had already washed the paint off.

        Once she's found a toy and we get ready to throw it, she hunkers down, sort of coiled, ready to spring into action once it's thrown. She launches herself into the air, across the back of the sofa, or off the arm of the chair, throwing herself after the prize with a funny little noise that begs description. The noise is a new addition. It seems to add to the experience for her.

        I got up early this morning to go to the bathroom, and when I came back to bed, this is what I saw. I tiptoed downstairs and got the camera, turned on the light and snapped this picture.

        Potential disaster: This morning I was unloading the dishwasher and putting plates up in the cabinet, and I must have hit a stack of bowls, because two little glass dishes fell out of the cabinet, hit the countertop and broke, then (I guess) bounced and hit the floor and shattered. It happened so fast that I really didn't see any of it; I was turned around the other direction at the time. I just sort of froze when I heard the crash, then walked gingerly out of the kitchen and put on my sandals, which were out in the hall. Pyewacket, of course, came to investigate, and I scooped her up and tossed her in the downstairs bathroom and shut the door. She wasn't happy about that, but it was the only place I could think to stick her. I suppose I could have carried her upstairs and put her in the bedroom, but she was okay.

        I swept the kitchen floor, wiped down the cabinets, and took the rug outside and shook it. I thought I got all the glass up, but I still found a couple of tiny pieces tonight, one with my foot. And I went into the living room a little while ago and found a shard of glass several inches across lying next to the couch. I never wear shoes in the house. Ever. Shoes are the first thing I take off when I come inside. So it always scares me a little when I break something. And, of course, I worry about Pyewacket picking up a piece of glass in her foot, so I'm always very careful about cleaning it up.

        Another potential disaster: Last night we ordered pizza. Bob prefers Godfather's, I prefer Pizza Hut. We used to compromise and take turns, but since we always got two pizzas anyway, lately we've just been ordering one from each place. I called them both and placed the orders, and in about a half hour the doorbell rang. It was the pizza guy from Godfather's, the cute one, the one that Bob accuses me of flirting with. Well, he seems like a nice kid, and we always do have a brief conversation. I paid him, and as I was shutting the door I heard somebody toot a car horn, and I looked out the window and saw the pizza guy talking to someone.

        I thought he was probably blocking someone's driveway, so I didn't think anymore about it, but then the doorbell rang again. I thought it was him coming back, maybe to use the phone or something, but it was the pizza guy from Pizza Hut, one that I don't ever remember seeing before. He said, "Did you order a pizza from Pizza Hut?" and I said that yes, I had. He laughed and said that when he saw the Godfather's car in the driveway, he almost didn't stop, thinking that someone had made a mistake. I explained that we always order from both places. I guess this is the first time they ran into each other.

        Earlier this evening someone who lives out in the project where Bob works called to tell Bob that the sprinkler system had been on all evening, so he was going to go out and see if there was something wrong with it and turn it off. He asked if I wanted to go with him, so I got up to go, and he asked if we should take Pyewacket with us. I didn't care. It's always kind of fun to take her, so we got in the car and drove out to the project. She's gotten so she doesn't like to ride in the car much anymore. When she was little it was an adventure, now it seems to be an ordeal.

        She stood on my lap with her front paws on the window ledge and cried, then she'd get in the back seat and look out the back windows, then come back to the front. It didn't seem to make any difference if I was holding her or not, she'd still cry, and I could feel her little heart just pounding. I guess we're going to have to stop taking her out, although Bob's feeling is that we should take her out more. By the time we started back home, she was panting, something I don't think I've ever seen a cat do. Bob said, "I think she's having an anxiety attack," and I'm sure that's what it was.

        Poor little thing. What a traumatic experience--riding five miles in the air conditioned car. From the way she acted, you would have thought we were killing her. I'm sure it is traumatic to be scooped up from your sedentary existence and put into a moving vehicle that you don't really understand. Still, you would think that with both of us there it wouldn't be such a horrible ordeal. At least we didn't go to the veterinarian this time.