Can I get a meow

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On a recent evening I was relaxing on the sofa in the front room with Rizzo by my side.

It was blessedly quiet.

Rizzo is the sort of canine unit who will wake and jump up barking so suddenly, bounding off the sofa, hackles elevated, stubby legs like springs propelling him to the back door, demanding to be let out by the pool area, in such a way that you are convinced he has sensed the presence of Bigfoot on our property.

I call them roses gone wild

Once outside, he will race around, barking and growling and snorting at absolutely nothing, until I tell him to pipe down and come back in. Nothing is accomplished.

It’s like when you hit a traffic slowdown and sit for what seems like an age, then eventually it eases up and you’re moving again, but you never see what the cause for the jam actually was.

Rizzo will exhibit the above-described behavior several evenings a week, and never have I been able to figure out what he is going on and on about.

But on the aforementioned quiet evening, as my dog snoozed beside me and I worked a word puzzle, I began to hear something suspicious.

Look who turned three

It started up before I mentally tuned in. And then, as I gradually became aware of the noise, I realized that it sounded sort of like a cat.

Mow (rhymes with now) the tiny voice said. Moow.

Rizzo neither flinched nor woke. He was snoring. No reaction whatsoever from the Riz-man.

It certainly was not my cat, Sweetness, making the noise; she never goes outside, much less out of the fence and around the front. She was snoozing in the sun room, as far as from where Rizzo and I sat as you can get and still be in the same house.

The tiny faint but persistent plaints continued: mow … moow … meow.

Blooming: they've been inspired by something

By then I deduced that the sound was coming from the other side of my front door. I got up. Rizzo did not move a single solitary muscle except the ones it takes to form his patented whiffle-snore.

I tiptoed to the front door, bent over so as to place my ear closer to what I perceived was the source of the lament.

Meow, came distinctly from the front porch. There was no doubt in my mind that a feline unit was at my door, with some sort of agenda.

He plays as though there is no tomorrow

I opened the door. Like a flash of lightning, a ghostly cat figure whipped around and fled down the length of our front steps and out into the darkness.

The cat did not ask for advice, but I hollered some after it anyway: Buy low; sell high! Don’t take any wooden nickels!

Edgar Allan Poe had an inky black bird perched upon the pallid bust of Pallas OVER his door; I had a snowy white cat mewing from the rubber scrollwork mat AT my door.

That’s October for you.

I should explain that there are feral cats in abundance in our neighborhood. As far as I know, they do not bother anyone and it’s rare that we see more than a swiftly departing whisker.

I talk to them every day

I’m sure that the said feral feline population would like for me to sprinkle a generous measure of Sweetness’s Meow Mix into a dish somewhere on the Mon Reve premises for their dining pleasure, but I am disinclined to acquiesce to their request. I like cats in general but I love only one cat in particular.

Speaking of the Mon Reve premises, it is bursting out with roses. Roses! In October! 

You who are knowledgeable of plant life in general and flowering bushes in particular, especially in our neck of the Southeast (Zone 8b), may be thinking, well, that’s not unusual.

But recall that this is the first year that the pirate (she of the distinctly black thumb to match her black heart) has had governance over flowering bushes, unless you count the unruly azaleas in the front, which I most certainly did not plant.

Rhett helped Elliot celebrate being three

My knockout rose bushes are going crazy. It’s like they cannot bloom enough to satisfy themselves that they’ve made their contribution to the blooming season of this calendar year.

This makes me exceedingly happy. I wanted to share them with you.

Speaking of being happy, our youngest grandchild, Elliot a/k/a Skippy, turned three at the end of September.

He loves Waffle House, so Erica threw him a WaHo themed party.

The soiree took place after church on the Sunday night before the Monday of Skippy’s actual birthday.

Sweetness never meets other cats

Cherica collaborated in preparing and serving a scrumptious waffle bar. In addition to toaster waffles, there was an abundance of scrambled eggs, bacon, and cheese grits. Chad made the grits and I can assure you that my son-in-law knows his way around a southern kitchen.

There were multiple toppings for the waffles, in addition to butter and syrup. I made a berry compote that was truly delicious, spooned warm onto the waffles. There were sprinkles and other kid-friendly additions to the waffle bar too.

Erica had dropped by a Waffle House and told them about the party. They contributed hats, cups, napkins, and other various decorations in keeping with our theme.

TG and I gave Elliot a set of dinosaur scooters and a dinosaur headlamp that also roars. He was thrilled with all of his presents, and the next day — his actual birthday — he shared a small cake with his family.

TG and me with Andrew, last Sunday

Speaking of grandsons, I got to spend some time with our next-to-youngest one, Guy, this past weekend.

Andrew and Guy cruised our direction early on Saturday morning because the son and heir had snagged three tickets to the football game at Williams-Brice stadium in Columbia that afternoon.

That would be the contest between the University of Tennessee Volunteers — of which Andrew is a lifelong fan — and the University of South Carolina Gamecocks.

He and TG and Chad attended the game together. Chad, being a USC alumnus, is naturally a huge Gamecocks fan. TG likes both teams but leans more heavily towards the Gamecocks.

TG and I are well known at "our" WaHo

So it was that Andrew was left with a long face that day when, after leading for all four quarters save the last two minutes, the Vols fumbled the ball and gave the game away.

TG and Chad were thrilled but hey … it’s only a game. As for the pirate, long ago I said no to football and yes to black lace.

While the guys were downtown for several hours, Guy hung out with me. The girls came over and we all took a walk, since our weather has been so nice. Later, Guy and I chewed sugar-free gum, sampling several flavors, and watched some YouTubes about camping.

We missed Ember, but she stayed home with her mother so as to attend a cousin’s birthday party. Brittany herself had a birthday last week, and we sent her a gift. She is busy finishing up nursing school.

Andrew and Audrey

On Sunday, Andrew and Guy came to church with us before they had to get back home for the work- and school week. They ate lunch with us first. It was a short but sweet visit.

Speaking of longer but no less sweet visits, my sister-in-law, Ruth Anne, flew in last Tuesday from Ohio and spent four days with us. She is TG’s only sister and she and I love hanging out together. We filled the days with relaxing and talking and walking and cooking and listening to music.

And speaking of music, there are now two Mon Reve playlists on Spotify. They are windows into my soul, in case that interests you. One is entitled simply Mon Reve, and the other is named Mon Reve Bluegrass. I am working on a third, which will be called Mon Reve Gospel. 

If you have Spotify, you can listen to my playlists. You are welcome. If you have not named your house yet, perhaps listening to them will inspire you to do that.

Ember and Guy on a recent Sunday morning

Speaking of naming houses, while Ruthie was here, she insisted that I name hers. You may recall that Ruth lives on the property in Rossford, Ohio (a suburb of Toledo), where TG and his two siblings grew up. Their family home burned down several yeas ago, and Ruthie rebuilt on the land.

I asked Ruth, who was widowed three years ago, what her home means to her. She replied: Safety, security, and beauty from ashes.

One day the name for her house came to me: Sweet Spot. She loved it and immediately ordered her sign to go beside the front door. Last night she sent me a picture of it and soon it will be installed.

TG was leaving to take Ruthie to the airport for her trip home, when Andrew and Guy arrived.

Andrew and Erica

Guy helped me to get the guest bed sheets washed and dried and back onto the bed for himself and Andrew. The nights are nippy and the Mon Reve furnace has not yet been activated, so we added an extra blanket. And we had it covered.

Speaking of covers, you won’t believe. 

If you don’t read Made In Heaven by my friend Donna Staas in Texas, you should. 

Donna is an expert quilter and in recent months, she has shown us a series of wonderful rag quilts (throw size) that she’s made for various loved ones.

I kept asking her how I could order one of those, because I desperately wanted one. Eventually Donna emailed me to ask what my favorite colors were.

A treasure from a treasured friend

Oh dear, I fussed inwardly, now she’s going to just up and make me a rag quilt and send it to me, and she won’t let me order it and pay for it in proper fashion.

Which is exactly what she did. And it didn’t take her long, either, even in the face of a recent scary diagnosis and the prospect of impending surgery and treatment.

LOOK at what Donna embroidered on one square of my rag quilt:

For Jenny the Pirate

at Mon Reve

with love by

Donna Staas

October 2026

Ps. 91:11

It is a treasure, as is the sassy lady who made it. And this quilt qualifies as an instant heirloom, and as such it will be left to one of my heirs in my Last Will and Testament.

Which I need to get around to writing, haha. Maybe in the new year. The year in which, God above willing, I will turn seventy.

Guy, loving life at his favorite playground

Oh and I have fixed Donna’s little red wagon by sending her a gift as thanks for my quilt. She gave me permission to write about her beautiful gift to me, because I wanted you to know about it.

I’m not sure why I want to tell you this next thing, except I love them so much. I have some new kitchen scissors. The handles suggest a bat (the kind that is blind and flies at night), and there is even a little bat figure in the middle.

She is named Elizabat. And she is an excellent scissor. I love bats and Elizabat will remain in my utensil crock year round. Bats aren’t just for October anymore.

Which is a good thing, my friends, since it’s nearly November.

Cut it out: Elizabat

The early dark is coming this weekend. Drat it all. I despise the early dark. But it comes with cozy moments, so we will go with it since at the end of the day (see what I did there), we have no choice.

I’ll be reminded when snugging up with my warm covers and my faithful pets, of the Scripture whose reference Donna embroidered on my quilt:

For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. ~ Psalm 91:11

So it shall be until the day break, and the shadows flee away!

And that is all for now. 

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Happy Thursday