Before I left Seymour this morning, I checked to see how my new book, Decades of Love and Other Disasters, was progressing at Amazon.com. I was delighted to find both the paperback and the e-book were now on sale at Amazon.com. Somehow though, by tonight the e-book seems to have disappeared. I will have to check on that on Saturday when I return to Seymour.
Tonight I am in Illinois in the Harms farmhouse. Gary wants me to take a load home with me when I leave on Saturday. He is planning on returning to Wisconsin on April 10. He'll be here for a week in May, one in July and perhaps in August to do more work on the house. Then in November, he may move back here for some of the winter if need be. Because I no longer have a cat in Seymour, I may spend some of the winter here, too.
While here, I am no longer cat-less. Mama and her daughter Lily live here. When Gary first came here in November, they were wild cats, and Lily was the wildest. They had been living in the chicken coop for the past thirteen years. Once let loose, they examined the farm. Mama, who seems to have remembered living in a house, came into the farmhouse first, purring. Her purr has a familiar and unusual chortling sound to it that I couldn't place until this spring. She sounds like a sandhill crane in flight.
Lily was more skittish, avoiding all humans though as the days grew colder, she, too, came into the warm farmhouse. Gary set about to make friends.
Tonight, Lily is between us, asking to be petted. All is well but once again, there is a cat disturbing my typing. It only took two days since Rascal's demise and once again, I am with cat.
Tonight I am in Illinois in the Harms farmhouse. Gary wants me to take a load home with me when I leave on Saturday. He is planning on returning to Wisconsin on April 10. He'll be here for a week in May, one in July and perhaps in August to do more work on the house. Then in November, he may move back here for some of the winter if need be. Because I no longer have a cat in Seymour, I may spend some of the winter here, too.
While here, I am no longer cat-less. Mama and her daughter Lily live here. When Gary first came here in November, they were wild cats, and Lily was the wildest. They had been living in the chicken coop for the past thirteen years. Once let loose, they examined the farm. Mama, who seems to have remembered living in a house, came into the farmhouse first, purring. Her purr has a familiar and unusual chortling sound to it that I couldn't place until this spring. She sounds like a sandhill crane in flight.
Lily was more skittish, avoiding all humans though as the days grew colder, she, too, came into the warm farmhouse. Gary set about to make friends.
Tonight, Lily is between us, asking to be petted. All is well but once again, there is a cat disturbing my typing. It only took two days since Rascal's demise and once again, I am with cat.
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