The ongoing war with clutter is still raging. The house was quiet this weekend and I did not feel like sitting at my desk or working on dollhouses, so I ended up tackling the next closetful of clutter. About a half-dozen boxes of assorted knick-knacks, some of which had not seen the light of day since THE MOVE, were hauled out into the middle of the family room and their contents unwrapped and put through the first sort. Pile for me, pile for little brother, pile for possible transfer to friends, pile for charity fundraiser, pile for thrift store, pile for the trash bin. The last did make it to its destination, but the remainder were put into individual boxes in my office to await the proper connections to be made.
The cats were in cat heaven. As I shucked newspaper off owls, cows and miscellaneous bric-a-brac, I threw it into a big heap in the middle of the floor. They dove into the middle, jumped around in it, tackled each other and carried pieces off to shred. By the time they tired of that game, there were empty boxes to explore. Late in the day I found them on the top two tiers of their cat tower, dead to the world. Best they've been in weeks.
The next day I got back in the closet and hauled out sheets for the thrift store and assorted blankets for the vet clinic. The cats were back in action, happy for another day of unexpected entertainment. Despite them, I made progress. You can't really miss what I took out, but every little bit helps. I now have a mess of stuff in the office, but the anticipation that it will soon be wending its way elsewhere and no longer taking up room in my house.
The dogs were happy to assist me in moving the outside pot plants into more shady areas and setting up water baths for those with clay pots. Mojo dearly loves to work outside, eager for the chance to battle the water hose. Coco stands well away for fear she will get wet and mess up her coiffure, but she wouldn't miss being a part of things.
The one cloud on their weekend was our walk last night at 8PM. We had covered about three-fourths of our route when we ran into their old nemesis Pogo, the Jack Russell terrier that lives just around the corner. Normally her owners grab her when they see us coming, but this time they were busy and here she came. She's not a mean dog, but she has more bounce than sense. Sort of like Tigger in the Walt Disney Pooh movies. Mojo and Coco can't stand her and before I could grab them up, were spinning around me and effectively tying me up with their leash, getting more and more panicked as they could not figure out how to get away from her.
I finally, in desperation, loosened my grip on the leash enough to bend down to get Coco, who was pressing up against my legs. Mojo, in the meantime, was dancing at the end of his leash like a fish out of water. The instant I touched Coco, she knew that she was about to die at the teeth of her enemy and let out a shriek that sounded like she was being murdered. It took some effort to get a good grip on her and haul her up out of harm's way and she was screaming the entire time. It was only when she was finally tucked against my shoulder that she realized she was safe and ceased sounding like a stuck pig.
This of course had a bad effect on Mojo and tickled Pogo no end. Her owners were trying to herd her away from us, but she was having too much fun and kept running big circles around our little 3-ring circus. I was finally able to reel Mojo in with his leash and get him hauled up, too. I was afraid he might be stressed into one of his seizures, but he calmed down pretty quick when he found himself above the action. Pogo's owners apologized profusely and we went on our way, two little dogs peering anxiously over my shoulder to be sure the threat was left behind.
Quiet, country living at its best. I'm surprised we didn't have somebody call the cops. All's well this morning, but I think we may just leave that street out of our route for awhile. I'm getting too old for that kind of excitement.