Clert

A warm day, getting up to 90˚F in the late afternoon, a pleasant wind. Found a juniper, a small one, so not expensive, as the larger ones are too much. Thought I would have to dig quite a bit, in that dead spot by the front steps. But once I cleared the thick layer of leaves and dug a hole, the earth proved rich and wet with lots of worms. So, I planted. If it takes, it'll be lovely.

Visited the garden department again, and came across a catmint hybrid, 'Purple Haze' that got a home in the verge raised bed, where the california poppies aren't coming up. A good spreading perennial, drought tolerant, hardy. With pretty purple flowers. The verge is clert with buckwheat flowers like an improbable snow.

Moby wanted to be out a long, long, long time this morning, finding various places to settle and watch the world. At one point, hunkered under sunflower and buckwheat where I could not get close, and sitting on the lead connector, so I had to stand waiting until he moved and I could untether him. Two runners and a skateboarder passed before he felt the need to shift. Relished the unmown grass in our neighbor's yard. Meandered two houses the other way, and sat by their flowers watching birds, while I stood on the sidewalk trying not to look weird. It's a ridiculous thing, walking a cat on a leash, but he's an old guy with no proper fear of dogs, cars or people. And he doesn't seem to mind as long as I keep up. And don't make him come in too soon. I can ask him to come in, and herding a single, generally cooperative cat, is not an impossible task.

Took Eleanor out later, she rolls on the sidewalk, in various places, sometimes nestles in among the lemon balm or the thyme. Woman walking by with her dog in a lampshade, dog notices me in the chair very suddenly among the foliage, and barked loudly, startled. Woman very apologetic, I reassured her it was no big deal. Eleanor looking very worried and ready to bolt, but I talked her calm, and she rolled belly up again.

Neighbor brought her baby out yesterday, and baby Pen reaches out her arms to me. I hold her a little while, until she wants mom again. She's not an outgoing child, but she knows me, and knows I will take her, or not, all up to her. I talk to her directly, although the conversation is a bit one-sided. Mom amazed that at seven months, she seems to understand waving as an intentional greeting. Like with my demented, or drugged, patients, I always assume children understand, even if they don't respond. Cats, too, of course.

Cats do understand, they just usually don't care.

Moby was out in the back porch this afternoon, I asked him if he'd prefer a sunbeam, he stood a bit, and I picked him up gently, brought him to where the sun streamed over the chair in the front. His whole attitude was one of "well, I dunno, but you sometimes have good ideas, let's see what you are doing." Then, "OH, sunbeam, right, yeah, this is good." He's definitely gotten a bit frail, compared to the muscular bruiser he once was. We pamper him, and treasure every moment, asleep or awake. He seems happy and healthy, just elderly, nesh.