Typical glorious day in May and a body verging on revolt, it's the sinews and other agues that catch up to a person, slaps him in the face, reminds him to just go ahead start digging his own grave, but The Artist's Tomatoes are planted and staked in sensible groupings with stuff like well secured old fencing to climb upon should they feel like it. Have to say also that I've really fallen down on my responsibilities as an Uncle. I was under the impression when she joined our little community that she was maybe a couple of months old. But she wasn't, and proud to say following some remarkable peculiar and somewhat alarming behaviors The Niece is doing very well, she had a little operation, seems to have no emotional trauma associated with several visits to the vet, and has fully recovered. Indeed, she set a wonderful example to those of us who are shall we say bat-like and Attic Dwelling.
The greater excitement was the venturing forth into the outdoors. Not an easy
moment for me. I thought perhaps we should wait considerably longer, a year
perhaps, but The Artist was bold and The Niece took those first tentative steps
onto the back porch. She behaved with great courage, a light breeze troubled her
not in the least, she sniffed anything she could find to sniff, and soon enough
she was thinking seriously about advancing onto the concrete path toward the
habitats of the Predatory Chipmunk and the Satanic Vole. An Uncle can't expect
much in these early stages from a young serial killer, can't expect her to ever
know the difference between good and bad, if it moves it's fair game. It was,
however, just a little disappointing when it became apparent The Niece had some
kind of problem with walking on the grass. A number of theories, not dry enough,
maybe it was too long for her, or improperly scented. But certainly she has an
Olympic Standard leap when confronted by unsavory obstacles.