Hell hath no fury like a cat before an unclean litter box

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Nutmeg howled a lengthy wake-up concert -the likes of which I've truly never heard- at my door this morning. I finally opened up so we could cuddle for a bit and noticed one of his rear paws felt slightly crusty. No matter; it was early, he is cute, and I soon forgot. Fast forward an hour and I've given a litter box a shower, given my feet and hands a most serious cleanse, tossed my nightgown into the washing machine, mopped the basement floor in and around the laundry room, given a foot bath to a cat. He didn't enjoy it. What happened at the tender time of 7:30am, you might ask!

As best I can piece things together, there was a feline bathroom situation in a litter box whose seams just couldn't handle the degree of fury inside. Had I not scooped yesterday? Cat poop was all of the places I detailed above; wet cat feet look sadly scrawny and chicken-like.

And top of the morning to you too!

Now cooking...

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I have been a whir of action today: exercise, grocery shopping, pedicure, random errands, the first jam, and now a second. With the two pounds of beautiful Italian prune plums that I schlepped home from the Union Square Greenmarket in NYC, I have just made a batch of a foodie friend's Spiced Plum and Port Jam. I omitted the pectin, added a bit more sugar, cooked the jam down longer (and so ended up with less jam than the author got) and will be so thrilled that I made this when fall ushers in cool mornings that just beg you to slather this over warm bread. I will also willingly part with a few at the Circle Yoga Arts Market on Sept 7. See my Events Calendar for more information! I whirred through all these activities so that I could be all ready to go pick up my boys and Mom tonight. Sadly, their flight from Lake Charles was delayed so long that they'd then miss their flight from Houston. Instead they'll fly in tomorrow afternoon. Mom is wiped from having been up with sick Ol the past three nights, and he has just today started to improve, so she's actually glad about the delay: she can sleep; his ears can get a bit better. I can get behind that good logic and so instead of greeting all my loves who I've not seen in a week, I will instead have a last empty-house date with my hubs.

Inexplicably, I am singing The Farmer in the Dell to myself. Be gone with you, irritating song!