My friend Leeanne’s little kitten, Willow, spent an active day, eating, romping, climbing, then lay down under the kitchen table and went to sleep. The next morning she was still there. When Leeanne picked her up, she realized the kitten was dead. I can only guess that perhaps Willow had a congenital heart problem and succumbed in her sleep. Leeanne is devastated. And Willow’s pal, Mallory, the pit bull, keeps looking for her. A sad time all around. Leeanne did not deliberately set out to adopt a kitty but kept Willow when a friend dropped her off one day. She won’t be getting another kitty since she is dirt poor and cannot easily afford vet and food bills.

My three are all doing okay except not a one has mastered the emotional and intellectual challenge of the pet door and Max, the manx, is actually afraid of it. I’ll hold the flap up and he’ll ruminate and pussy foot and walk around until finally getting up the courage to go through. Since he was the main reason I got it due to being the most avid to go out and come in (repeat the last phrase 10 times) I am nonplused and frustrated and wonder if I’ll ever be free of door duties.

Tonight is Halloween and I haven’t even checked out my traditional white witch costume sitting in a box at the bottom of my linen closet. Halloween is getting more attention each year than it ever has and, to my mind, is being over-commercialized to an unhealthy degree. All the horror films, too, are over the top and none have that really scary edge that films of the 30s and 40s had. It’s all in-your-face monsters now. Families will drive their kids to our island because it is more of a neighborhood than the exurban sprawl they live in, in Cape Coral. Island Avenue will be full of promenaders in and out of costume. They don’t usually come up to where we are because our end stays dark and looks uninviting. Although our new neighbors across the street have strung orange lights and put Halloween skulls and pumpkins on their lawn. I bike through the revelers instead of walking because my costume calls for witch shoes with heels, not sneakers. I can tell you that the toddlers in the groups milling about aren’t well looked after and some day a slow moving car weaving its way through the crowds is going to flatten one and SUV tires on your little bod at 10 miles an hour make you just as dead as 50 miles an hour on the highway.

And I just read (where have I been?) that tonight is the time change night and we get an extra hour. Oh boy.

xx, Teal