Washing windows in the rain

So, I slept through my alarm this morning, which resulted in a great "woof-woof-woofing" on the part of the Dog when the Window Washing Gentlemen arrived.

And I couldn't find my glasses, and the Dog had become the Hound of the Baskervilles, but we were finally able to converse peaceably, when the Gentleman came in, and the Dog wagged her tail and sniffed at him like there was no tomorrow.

And as he made his way to the truck to get his partner, of course I (stupidly) put the dog on her leash.

Dogs on leashes become very protective. She raced and nipped at his ankles before he could get away. That's the moment when I remembered the stupid Dog nips at people's ankles when she's on her leash.

Fortunately the Gentleman wasn't scratched and he bravely soldiered on, and I put the Hound of the Baskervilles in the basement, where she can do no more harm. Where she lies happily on the futon, missing only a fire in the fireplace to be totally comfortable.

I had intended, had I woken to my alarm, to get up and move stuff out of the way so the windows could get washed. So I had to run from room to room doing just that while the Gentlemen got to work.

My god, I can see out of the windows like they were new! Like there's no glass in them!

Between Hubby's fear of ladders, Boyfriend's hectic schedule, and my disintegrating neck...I'm glad I had this done, even if the poor Gentlemen end up stepping in dog-do.

I didn't warn them of this, I hope they're bright enough to figure it out for themselves. They're young, they have good eyesight...

Worth every penny. About twenty-five years ago I went for a bike ride around where we live, and found myself wondering if EVERYONE in our community had changed their windows, they were all so clean a new-looking!

And then it hit me - other people WASHED their windows.

Well, now ours are clean too.

How many cats do you see?

There are Stepson's cats, which Hubby is housing and feeding till (hopefully) July, when Stepson and his Girlfriend will take them away from here...

And there are my cats, which previously had the run of our home and ruled the roost unchallenged.

Stepson's cats are bullies. I checked with a Feline Behavioural Veterinarian. The "top cat," the most gorgeous little thing I've ever seen, has fur that looks like gold wrapped in a black stocking. She's the bully. She runs down the hall on three legs, with the other front paw raised and cocked for swatting! She wants all the attention, all the treats, all the toys, and access to all the rooms. Her sidekick gets everything in her wake.

We carved out one single room, our bedroom, to be a sanctuary for our two much-beleaugered pussies, and try valiantly to keep the main bully and her sidekick from attacking our fur babies on sight.

We often fail. We have literally picked up chunks of fur off our bedroom floor after a spat. Our cat's black fur. No sign of gold. The little beggar.

Well, this lovely morning I was having my cereal and Gold Kitty jumped up to nuzzle me. She wants me, too. My adoration and obedience, possibly a bit of my cereal. I duly offered the finger to be dunted and skritched her behind the royal ears. Then I said to her, "Why do you beat up on my kitties like that? You're not alone here any more, you know."

And then I said the (almost) famous line to her (you won't get this unless you've watched Star Trek):

THERE–ARE–FOUR–CATS!

Write to me if you want an explanation.