Today it rained. My cowboy rode but I didn't have to. The neighbor boy brought us some oats (the horses will be so happy) and Leonard came and took his little girl puppy home. I hope she's happy there. I miss her already. But I can't keep everyone.
And my grandson phoned and wants to come visit Varmint that he calls Milo because of some movie called Milo and Otis about an orange cat and a dog.
Note the terrorist playing in my good curtains. A horrible cat, always into some mischief (my cowboy is currently calling it Swirly because the minute you flush the toilet, it's looking in the bowl watching the water go down and if there is anything in there, well. . . yuck), but now my grandson loves it and I can't let anything happen to it.
This is the same cat who, if you leave the bedroom door open, sneaks in, crawls UNDER the covers and bites my toes in the middle of the night (I haven't had night terrors since I was 6) or jumps on Cotton's (my old cat's) head when she walks by or runs out the door then hangs on the screen to get your attention to let it back in. It has broken my camera, twice, one of my grandmother's old plates (that was on top of my kitchen cabinets, up very high), I could go on and on and on. But what do you do? My grandson's father is way smarter than I gave him credit for. He won't let them take the cat home.
What a life!