Bones, Blues, Bed

When the neighbors across the street moved away, a lonely gray cat remained behind.  For weeks she sat in the driveway waiting for her people to return, and they never did.  Mike has taken her on.

She looks like a skeleton, but each day she's getting a little fatter and friendlier--thanks to Mike's food and attention.  Last night she let him hold her.  She's skittish, but warming to him. We call her Bones.

"Have you ever met an animal you don't like?" I asked him--because I don't love all animals equally.  "No!" he said, without missing a beat.

What if they are mean?  Or mangey?  What if they stink?  Those are the animals that need love most, he says.

We spent the whole day today working on a bed that will fold up into the wall of the casita--a place for guests that can be out of view during writing groups.  It turned out to be a more complex project than we'd planned, one that will take several days, but it's going to be beautiful: painted red inside and covered with old barn wood on the outside.

The back yard behind the casita is filled with big saws he brought from Georgia and a mattress he's giving me,  curious Bones and a stack of Blues CDs.  Mike hit pay dirt yesterday when I took a load of books to Half Price and he found some terrific CDs, our favorite being a compilation from Chess Records in Chicago: from Bo Diddley to Etta James to Gene Ammons on the sax--and 47 other artists.

"These don't sound like blues," I said--as we danced in the back yard between coats of red paint.

"They are happy blues," he said.

The yard is rocking with rhythm and blues, the weather is beautiful, and Fiesta is on its way!