Yesterday's writing day was devoted to critters in the crawlspace. This year's edition features a small rodent variety, either mice or rats. It's an embarrassing confession for someone who owns three cats. One of the cats is purported to be a mighty hunter. He's brought me many gifts delivered by his own paw.
But it remind us of how much we miss the vaunted Pogo, a true hunter, for whom the hunt was everything, and yet, a big beautiful sweet lap cat, twenty two pounds of muscle. He amazed more than one person at a previous home. We had a raised patio, about five and a half feet up in the air. Pogo though nothing of leaping from walk to patio in a light bound.
One neighbor shared a Pogo tale of a bird lighting in a nearby branch as Pogo was walking by. Pogo turned and leaped in one motion, according to this man. He claims Pogo leaped at least six feet high. The bird escaped but the neighbor said it wasn't for lack of effort by Pogo.
So we're trying to deal with this in a humane way, setting up electromagnetic devices that use the house wiring to put off off-putting vibrations and ultrasonic emitters. Fingers are crossed. Recent research outside of Canada seems non-existent but Canada's EPA certified that Victor Corp's efforts were proven about 81% effective.
There are many ways to kill and trap animals and insects in your crawlspace. My wife was quite ready to implement those. I'm not. I'd rather drive them out and I'm ready to try many ways before resorting to killing the poor creatures, who only want to live, like us, without the coffee.
So yesterday's writing day was truncated by research and shopping to chase critters out of the crawspace. I didn't walk, didn't get coffee, didn't have my block of writing time. I managed some editing and some phantom writing around the day's events but just two hundred new words.
I figure that next spring, I'll have to replace the insulation under the house.
I bound out of bed this morning at seven, ready to make a difference today. I will clean up, dress, eat, walk and write. Feed the cats first, of course, unless I'm willing to put them in the crawlspace and let them hunt their food.
So off I went down the hall...but wait.
Something was wrong.
The house was cold.
I checked the thermostat. It was on the morning cycle. The house is supposed to be heating to 68 F. It was sitting at 61. I couldn't hear it running. Couldn't feel anything, either.
Damn. Is there a reset button somewhere?
First I turned on the gas fireplace to warm the house. Then I checked all the usual matters - gas supply, circuit breakers, went up into the attic over the garage to inspect the furnance. That led me to call a guy.
Of course it was early. It's the day before Christmas.
Fortunately, it's a sunny day. All the snow has melted and is gone. It's not raining and the wind storms have abated. The outside temp is a comfortable 38 F and rising. And we have electric heaters in a few rooms, to reduce the need to run the furnace.
My wife said, "Go do your writing. I can handle the furnace guy. Go."
I suspect she wants me out of the house as much as she wants me to be able to write. We have an unexpected houseguest arriving tomorrow and staying a couple days so...she...must...clean.... Of course, I'm also in a much better mood when I get my writing time in.
So here I am, beginning the writing day at last, ready to write like crazy.
If you don't write, do the words build up like a swollen stream and eventually break a dam and explode out of you? Or do they subside and settle to the bottom of your mind and soul?
I think it's the latter. That's why I write like crazy, just in case it's the former.
Causes Michael Seidel Supports
Kiva, Women's International League for Peace and Freedom, Propublica.org, Doctors Without Borders, GreaterGood.com