M.H. and the boys are off hiking with his dad—I would have loved to get out of town again, but it's a "guys-only" thing, alas. Staying home alone has been nice, too. In fact, for two hours this afternoon, I was completely caught up on my work. Sweet freedom! I used some of the time to clean out my closet and some of it to burn a head of cauliflower to a crisp (just the way I like it) and eat THE WHOLE THING. The fun never stops when I'm around.
So Saturday was kind if wild and crazy, at least for the kids, what with the cliff diving and Dex's encounter with a rattlesnake. But that's not the part of the trip that's still sending a shiver down my spine. No, the really scary thing was when we got back to my sister's house. My seven-year-old niece took off looking for her beloved—and I mean beloved—cat, Ginger (well, technically "Ginger II"). She found her right away, because Ginger was IN OUR MINIVAN, IN THE DRIVEWAY, WITH ALL THE WINDOWS ROLLED UP, IN AUGUST. She'd been in the car from 8:30 a.m. to 7:30 p.m. I don't know the nature of the miracle that spared me from being in the market right now for a Ginger III for my niece, but I am so very grateful for it.
I have some idea of the horror of accidentally killing someone else's pet, having been on the opposite side of that…twice, actually. It's a lot worse than being the one who loses the pet, guaranteed. Well, maybe unless you're seven and your whole entire world revolves around your cat. Ugh. Actually, let's not talk about this anymore.