A few random things:
So once the Fool got out of the hospital last week, we thought we were done with Bad and Inconvenient Things.
Then Angus had a serious and dramatic lapse in litterbox habits that not only required me to use a flashlight to look for cat poop in Jamie's room where he was sleeping, but caused Angus to take a trip to the vet this week.
The vet explained that cats who venture outside their litterboxes in the dramatic manner that Angus did (and I'm sparing you all the gory details, but let me just say if you're ever in my living room, sit on the couch, not the armchair) are generally not ill with any kind of kidney infection, nor are they making a comment about the condition of their litterbox. Instead, he theorized that Angus is suffering anxiety about something, and is generally upset.
The vet suggested I go to the pet store and get some of this cat pheromone spray and spritz that around the house liberally to improve feelings of feline well-being (kind of like lavender for people, maybe?) and put out another litterbox, and if that doesn't work, then we can take Angus to an animal behaviorist he recommended (cat shrink) or try drugs (cat Prozac.) Sigh.
I really hope the spray works.
Then, because he felt better over the weekend, the Fool decided to tackle some household projects. He oiled our deck furniture with linseed oil and threw the rags out. I forgot - and the Fool never knew - that linseed-oil soaked rags spontaneously combust if you wad them up and put them in a closed container. When we returned home Sunday night from a contra dance I called at, the house reeked and I suddenly remembered about the rags. Jamie wanted to nurse himself to sleep, and after we determined there were no leaping flames, I went to settle the kid down, and the Fool continued the search accompanied by inadequate narrative, so I had to stage whisper questions from the bedroom.
ME: What is on fire? Is anything on fire?
FOOL: Sort of.
ME: Sort of? What is sort of on fire?
FOOL: Well, it's not really a fire. It's just sort of ... smoldery.
ME: Not really a fire!?! Is it a fake fire?!
FOOL: It's OK. Mostly.
The lidded kitchen garbage can that I felt so smug about buying, because it locks and keeps Jamie out of the trash, is on time-out in the yard until I can figure out how to wash the sticky oily smoke residue off the inside of the lid.
And you should all be warned: Linseed oil soaked rags are flammable.
I've been knitting, too. I finished the Fool's socks from Vintage Knitted Socks. These are with a Dutch heel and a wide toe, made from Opal Hundertwasser yarn.
View of Dutch heel from the bottom.
I wanted something without a lot of fancy knitting going on, so the giant expanses of stockinette were just what the yarn needed.
It's finally cooling off here, so Jamie can wear the sweater his dad knit for him last spring when we were in Seattle. It's a Dale of Norway pattern, which I could go look up if I hadn't gone biking with Jamie today and made my legs tired. I don't know what to make of this picture. He looks really mature for a kid in a frog sweater.
p.s. I found the bratwurst. The package had slipped down behind some other things in the freezer. Thawed, simmered in beer and onions, ate. Delicious.