Monday, May 24, 2010
I have a lot of friends who help me. Lots. And I am so thankful for that, I can't even begin to thank them all. But there are many times when I end up working alone. Depending on the undertaking, sometimes it's very nice to work by myself -- I can get into a nice rhythm and let my mind loose to go wherever it wants (although, that can be pretty scary). This weekend, however, I was faced with a bigger job -- having to finish off the hayport so that Gigi could be let out of her crate into the larger 'crate' of the inside of the hayport. She has been sweet and patient, but it's been two weeks of confinement and she's getting pudgy and bored. Sort of like me by the end of winter ;o) I went through the usual shenanigans of dealing with well-meaning but condescending guys at Home Depot and wrestling the 4x8 foot sheets of T-111 off the truck - all the time being conscious to NOT use my left shoulder. Then the last sheet slipped off the back and landed on my 'panel-helper' - a very useful and nifty tool my dad gave me that allows me to carry large sheets of things by myself. And crushed it. So, being the stoic that I am, I cried. A little. Then strong-armed the panels to the opposite end of the hayport where my sawhorses were set up. The sawhorses kept getting knocked over while I tried to maneuver the sheets on top of them. What to do. More cursing and whining. Voila! A step-in post or two propped up one end while I tilted the other on the horses. Then I did a mighty fine job of trimming the sheets so they would fit along the curved roof of the hayport. Mighty fine, by my standards, of course. Then I screwed them into the frame I had built on Saturday morning and put another sheet across the future door, screwing it in with the help of the now-very-handy step-in posts. All during this long, hot, sweaty process, Gigi sat curled on her bed in her crate, silent, giving me a large-dark-eyed stare. I'm not sure if it was because of the noise of the tools, or the surrounding air, colored quite a dark blue by my running commentary. During the entire process, the sheep bleated, the llama hummed, and Scrappy followed me from window to window, yipping incessantly. He does this so that I will get infuriated and come inside and yell at him. Which I finally did - but, luckily for him, I was so exhausted, all I could do was shake a shaky fist in his general direction. This morning I finished the job with a poorly constructed but adequate door covered in chicken wire so she can look out at her future domain without quite venturing out yet. More for my peace of mine than hers, of course. After I fed her, I left her crate door open and closed and latched the wire door. One small step for cats - one giant step for cat-caregivers.