Archive for July 28th, 2009

Miz Florrie

July 28, 2009
The birthday girl

The birthday girl

Here’s my friend Miz Florrie.  She had a birthday on February 2, but she is not a groundhog.  She lives in Garnett, SC, and celebrated her 96th birthday this year. 

Miz Florrie remembers so many things about the area, and what it was like before the highways came through, and how the area has changed.  Like, years ago, if you wanted to get to Savannah, you had to cross the Savannah River by boat in an area called the Sand Hills. 

She reminds me of my grandmothers, both very tough and uncomplaining and long-lived.  You gotta love Miz Florrie.

Here's her I.D.

Here's her I.D.

Wild Wilbur from the woods

July 28, 2009
Wilbur gave me the willies

Wilbur gave me the willies

This is Wilbur in the woods (sounds like we are studying the letter “W”).  Wilbur had been hanging out in the general area outside the fence, never close enough for me to get a good look at him.  The dogs had seen him so much they finally stopped barking at him.  “Hey, it’s a cat-burglar.  Watch me bark!!  Oh, false alarm.  It’s just Wilbur.  Everybody go back to sleep…”
During the daytime, I tried to get a picture of him, Mr. Black-and-white elusive cat.  He cooperated by walking away and giving me a good shot of his hind-quarters.  Finally, one night I went to the woods with the camera.  I got this lovely shot of him before he gave me the hind-quarters pose. 
Anyway, while I was away in NY, the dogs were kenneled, and a friend was manning the cat station.  Apparently while I was gone, the cats were making a video called “Cats Gone Wild”.  The first day back, before the dogs returned from the kennel, I was sitting in the yard talking on the cell-phone to my daughter (yes, I’m one of those people who has to go outside to talk on the cell phone.) and Mr. Black-and-white cat comes strolling thru the yard like HE’S on vacation.  (I capitalize “HE” in the middle of a sentence for my niece Kari.)  He gave me a bad look and kept walking.  The next day he was in the shed, milling around with the other cats and the dogs.  The day after that he brushed up against my leg, and I took the opportunity to scruff him and stuff him into a carrier.  After a trip to the veterinary clinic and day spa, he returned, minus his cookies.  I released him at the cat station.  He shimmied under the gate back to the shed. 
He spends his time there, perched up high on some bookcases, coming down for food and other necessities.
No more Wilbur in the Woods.  He’s onto a good thing.