A cup of hot tea beside me as I sit and stare out the window at the soon-to-come-down hummingbird feeders. Guess they've (they being all species of local hummingbirds) all migrated south. See you next April, little friends. I would go ahead and take down the feeders, but the weather is still, for the moment, on the warmish side. And what if a stray hummingbird wanders through between now and Saturday (when I will, for sure, put them away for the winter)? On Saturday it will be too cold for the despised red wasps to make pigs of themselves on the feeders. Hope they (they being red wasps) freeze to death. Dreadful creatures! Red wasps, giant, ultra-huge red wasps are flying in swarms around the outside of the house, or at least it seems like it. Two of them made their way into the house. I haven't got a real good aim, but I plugged them with some don't-fool-with-me Hot Shot. Best purchase I ever made.


What I need to be doing is vacuuming. I mean, I've been given the gift of a free afternoon to prepare for weekend company. So what am I doing here? I'm procrastinating, that's what. Or maybe I'm just gearing up to get into that cleaning zone. Once I get started, I won't stop until I'm done. My cousins (from Orlando) are coming over on Saturday. First we are hiking to Whitaker Point, a gorgeous place. One of the most photographed places in Arkansas.

This is what the drive to the top of the mountain looks like in the fall, with roads so narrow that someone has to pull over to let another car pass.

This is the destination, Whitaker Point, locally known as Hawksbill Crag. If you are very daring, like we are, you can walk out to the very end of the Hawks Bill and have one of your friends take a picture. It's really not as scary to walk out on as you might think. It's actually very wide and solid.

To the north the sky is really dark. All the signs point to severe thunderstorms. The weather man says that between now and Friday night we have a 100 percent chance of rain, (no duh!) by Saturday the day will be rain free, sunny and a bit chilly-er with a high of 55. Right now it's 77 degrees, so that will be quite a change. Bet on top of the mountain, it will be more like 45 degrees I can't remember if we will be in the Ozark National Forest or in the Buffalo River National Park, but either way we shouldn't encounter hunters. But I think to be on the safe side, Dwain and I should advise everyone to wear bright neon-like colors. I'd hate for someone to mistake us for bears or turkeys.

Back to the migrating hummingbirds. I just saw a bright green one land in our peach tree.

Bullet's opinion about not being fed on time this morning.


Cats like schedules, and they like them a lot. They sleep in certain places, which in my case is Bullet (the old and cranky one) on one side of me, Jessie Nell (the baby) on the other. Winston on the fuzzy green coverlet at my feet, or if he gets there first, he will press his nose into the window screen on the far side of the bed. By morning, Jessie Nell is burrowed deep under the covers, Bullet in a lump beside my head and Winston is wherever Winston wants to be. They get up as soon as the kitchen light comes on, demanding fresh food.

Each cat has a particular Friskey's food dish they eat out of. And everyone must be fed in a certain order. If any part of this routine runs amuck, everyone gets their panties in a wad. Jessie Nell does not eat wet cat food. Wet cat food, in her opinion, is something akin to dog dudu. Jessie Nell is very clear on the fact that she wouldn't eat Iams Premium Pate' kitten food if it were the last meal served to her on earth. She likes evaporated milk though. And she if very fond of watching you pour it into her very own special small clear bowl (I found three of them packaged together at Dollar Tree, then promptly broke one. Now, I've got to drive all the way back out there to spend one dollar and get three more). If I pour evaporated milk into the very small (and more expensive) white custard bowl, she uses her paw to swipe all around it, like something smelly was left in her litter pan that she needed to cover up.

After eating, we have to have a drink of water. Winston and Bullet race to the back door to be let out onto the deck so they can drink water out of the RED water bowl. Shock of shocks, they actually take turns. Jessie Nell (who is not, at this time, allowed to go outside because she's just a little kitten and gets into everything and can slip through tiny tiny holes like a vaporous fog and can run straight up a tree so fast you'd swear you didn't blink before it happened) (Guess how I know this?) likes to drink her water out of an I Can't Believe It's Not butter margarine tub located in the shower stall. Upstairs.

If this is a sink, where is the water?

Same routine. Every morning. Even before I put the kettle on and have some caffeine. But that is okay because I've done this routine many times. I'm used to kitty cat schedules.

Last night, before we crawled into bed, our little paper instructions said we had to remove every food bowl. We had to remove every water bowl. No food or water after midnight when "someone" is going to have surgery. And that someone was Jessie Nell, our baby, who is 5 months old today. Hey, my doctor wouldn't "spay" me until I was at least 30.

I left for the vet's office with one cranky kitten at 7:30 this morning. She mewed and mewed and mewed (the tiny high-pitched mews eventually dropped about an octave before we got there) for the whole 10 mile drive. It's a wonder she still has a voice.

Jessie Nell. SHHHHH! It's best if she sleeps right now.

We are now back home. Jessie Nell is w0bbling and stumbling and teetering sideways and slipping and sliding on the wood floors, slowly getting her bearings. She does not feel real good. She's been sniffed over real good by anyone in this house that is wearing a fur coat. I don't think "normal" will return until tomorrow when we can once again start the day's routine ON SCHEDULE!

This is Winston. Hey Jessie, are you going to be okay?