The truck was to pick up a wooden dog house for the neutered feral kittens I've adopted. My daughter and her boyfriend brought them down. They had been living under a tree and getting picked on by one of her outside males. She takes care of four. So now I have these babies in cages in the garage. One has let me pet him, so he's not too feral. My daughter tells me the other one is very friendly too. They're traumatized by having been caught and being in cages. They each have little warm kitty houses in their cages and they can see each other. In a week or two, I'll let them roam the garage. If my arm felt alright, I'd go out and talk to them. I hope it will be okay soon. I want to go out and feed them again. I really do love animals. My neighbors dog would probably live here half the time if he had the choice. That's Max, the Yellow Labrador Retriever. He's still a wild puppy at 10 months or less, but he's full size. If he grows anymore, he'll be the size of the Burmese Mountain Dog next door. I throw dog biscuits over the fence to him and his "sister", Cinder, the Rotweiler. I was standing on a crate, but this morning, I was in a hurry, so they may have thought the dog biscuits flew off the fence by a miracle.
Speaking of miracles, I've had some lately. Jerry did at least three things. When I visited his grave, just afterward, the card filled up with smoke. Then, when Harry and I were watching a television program about a haunted house, Jerry's framed photo on the mantelpiece flew off to the floor. None of the others moved. Then, a few days later, I was sitting here at my computer, facing the windows, and one shade went up two inches. That's it. It didn't snap; it just went up the two or three inches as though I did it. The psychics I know said one of my aunts or mother pushed Jerry to do it and he did. The woman had dark hair and a hat and was in the photos I had been looking at. It was probably my Aunt Pauline, Jerry's mother, who was wearing the most hats.
I think that was the most psychic stuff that happened. It's later now. The kittens have eaten twice and they have hard food in their cages. The little one, Kiki Squeaky purrs and rubs against my hand. He cries to come out. Tigger, the orange one is depressed and doesn't come out, but he does eat when I'm not there. Kiki seems normal. He wanted to see what my son was doing making noise. And he has this tiny meow like Autumn. It's very cute. I hate to leave him outside. (He's in a cage, covered by blankets, on risers, in a little bed covered by a box so he can feel safe. Both of them have everything they need in their crates. He's very young though and clingy. I guess time will tell.
Labels: A regular day