A tenant stopped in to pay rent with her little dog. We visited a while. Tim was eating his supper, stuffed zucchini. This one was stuffed with ricotta, cream cheese, mozzarella and spinach, and baked wrapped in bacon. The little dog was much interested in Tim's supper which made us laugh. I asked her if RB could have a bite of bacon. She answered firmly that he could not, that he was on a serious diet.
"Poor RB," I said, sympathetically. He never took his gaze from Tim's plate.
"I know," she sighed. "He hasn't spoken to me since this all started."
It made me laugh, and when they left, she had to pull him from the house.
After two days home, I went back to work with my negative covid test in hand, but volunteered to take my breaks after everyone else had come back from theirs in a vector control attempt. (Our desks are six feet apart with shields between them.) They jumped right on that idea.
We have hired new people and our backlog has shrunk dramatically. They canceled overtime for Thursday and Friday, for which I am more grateful than you can guess.
It allowed me to duck out and get to the garden and pick yet another basket of tomatoes last night. So you know what I'm up to tonight.
I got home from work today. and sat in my car a minute with the door open, checking for texts. A small cat appeared at the side of the car and looked at me. I've been worried about this cat. It was a young cat with a collar, but somebody must have moved out and left it behind. It is so thin. It is skittish enough that you can't get near it, but I've been worried about that collar. I was relieved that someone had gotten ahold of him and removed the collar.
I got out of the car, talking to him. He watched me warily from under a truck. I got him some food for the little dish I keep outside. He waited for me to return to the house, before making a beeline to it. Poor thing.
William is coming to spend the weekend. It is his mother's 40th birthday tomorrow, and they have plans. We have plans too. We are going to bake a birthday cake and have a special dinner for them on Sunday.
It seems a bit unfair. I just got used to the fact that all my children are in their 30s...and now I've got a 40 year old! Tempus is fugiting all over the place, isn't it? (Note: please don't feel the need for a latin lesson. It's one of my corny expressions, and meant as a joke. Have a good weekend.)