I’m Going to Attempt the Impossible


A few months ago I bought the world’s best bath towels. I only bought three of them because they cost an absolute fortune but the sales lady at Bloomingdales assured me they’d be worth it. Here we are six months later and those three towels have held up extraordinarily well even with insane overuse because they quickly became our favorites. To be fair they were replacing some incredibly moisture resistant (also not inexpensive) towels I’d purchased from Restoration Hardware.

Last week Bloomingdales had one of their zillion dollar off sales and the Abyss bath towels were 40% off from $90 each so I was only mildly apoplectic when I bought a half dozen towels and a handful of wash cloths. When we were newlyweds and dinosaurs roamed the Earth my sister in law bought us a set of Christy Egyptian Cotton bath towels that are only just falling apart. Sometimes it’s actually frugal to buy the high end items.

Abyss Bath Towels

After laundering the new towels it was time to put them away and get rid of the junk. I also found an old sleeping bag and a comforter that no one will ever need. Monday morning I stacked the towels and the blankets on a sofa and planned to bring them to the animal shelter where they can be put to good use.

Now I have a big problem. The last time I was at the animal shelter I came home with her.

Sparky the cat

It took me a while but I’ve come to love and appreciate her. In all candor I do love Junior more but every time I hang out with the cat (not that often because she despises the dog) I think to myself, “Hey I could have another cat. This is pretty awesome and easy.”

It’s now Wednesday and there’s still a pile of crap on my sofa but I’m pretty sure today is the day that I am able to go to the animal shelter to drop something off without bringing something home.

Wish me luck.

towels sofa

Remember the Bird Nest on my Kitchen Window: The Good Luck Nest?


I was so excited when a bird settled in on my kitchen window. I thought it was a good omen. The only one who got lucky was Sparky.

Sparky’s kill list is long.

Last Wednesday night Sparky slept on Jane’s bed. This is odd, because Sparky never goes into Jane’s room, she sleeps with Alexander. By way of explanation Jane’s bedroom is the first bedroom you’d encounter after walking upstairs.

Jane then slept out on Thursday and Friday nights. As is our habit we close her bedroom door when she’s not home. It makes us miss our kids less. On Thursday morning I grabbed something from her room and realized it stank like soccer gear. Shin guards can be horrendous. I texted her, “I hope you’re having fun, but your bedroom smells like something died in it.” and then I closed the door.

On Friday morning the window washers came. They were here to wash all the windows except the one with the bird nest on in. You can see how well that turned out. I went upstairs with them and opened the door to Jane’s bedroom.

It was not the smell of shin-guards. Sparky darted into the room, went under the bed and started purring louder than a jet engine. She was puffed up and delighted with herself.

The other thing that was puffed up in the room was the rat. The dead bloated rat that Sparky had put under Jane’s bed.

Fast forward a few tears, double plastic bags, carpet cleaning and a $50 tip to the window cleaner who brought the dead animal to the trash can.


El Gato es Drinking the Beer


My back yard has a trumpet vine that threatens to take over the carport. It blooms madly in the early summer and again in August. There are bursts of red, pink and orange that remind me of Carmen Miranda and a tangle of greenery that is home to at least two songbird nests. When Pedro (my gardener) shows up I remind him to not trim the vines as they are home to these birds. Then I plead with him to put away the leaf blower as he’s stripping me of my top soil. We’ve been together a dozen years, every week it’s a fight to put away the leaf blower.

We’ve been in this house a half dozen years and for a half dozen years I’ve woken to the sound of songbirds early every spring morning. By summertime they abandon their nests, and near December they return to rebuild. I don’t know what sort of birds they are, but I know that the male has a red breast and they’ve not small, their bodies are the size of my fist. I assume their brains are smaller than a grape. Still, I like their songs.

Friday morning I went for run, had breakfast with a friend and then popped into the grocery store. I arrived home and was unloading the car when my housekeeper came to help with the bags. This is unusual, unloading groceries is not a two woman job.

“Yessica, el gato es drinking de beer.” She said, as she pointed to the sky.

“That’s weird,” I said, “how did she get beer?”

“Not beer the beerrrd.” She repeated and gestured to the sky.

I made my way through the living room, the dining room and the family room. As I approached the kitchen I got tunnel vision and all I could see was Sparky and her songbird. Since the chest cavity was torn open it was impossible for me to discern if it was the male or female bird.

I took the grocery bags off my shoulder and stood frozen staring at my cat. Slowly, arrogantly her head turned up at me and she began licking her paws.

“Mayra, este no es drinking ella es EATING. It’s a BIRD.”

Smirking, Mayra replied, “Si, es un beerrd. Yo se.”

I gave her two plastic bags and an extra $25.



About the Goldfish


Jane won two goldfish at a carnival this weekend.

My father kept them alive all day Sunday. Sparky would like to thank him for that, apparently they were delicious.

Cats eat Goldfish