Every once in a while I have a day where I get so worked up that I’m just like Bill the Cat at the end of it. And not in the “Finds herself president or in Billy and the Boingers” way.
And then I look at my blog stats and I realize that, no matter what all else I write, the window most of the internet has to Tiny Cat Pants is either some post I wrote on hermaphrodite porn or the post I wrote on the exorcism on Paranormal State.
I don’t know. It puts it all in perspective somehow.
Yesterday, I came home, planted poppies, zinnia, and alyssum and then hung out in the hammock. It feels smart to me to plant right before days of rain, like free water! The Butcher has a friend with a truck, so, after it stops raining, they’re going to go rent a tiller. Since that might not be until Sunday, I was a little stressed that the lines that the Professor and I mapped out to plot the beds would be gone. But the Butcher went out and dug holes at each corner of the beds. So, even if the rain takes care of the paint, he’ll still know where to till.
I also got him all excited about the mushroom compost. Or at least for my sake, he pretended to me. He also spent a good part of yesterday clearing more brush in where we put our poor lone raspberry. But holy shit! I can’t remember. Did I inflict a picture of the raspberry on you on Sunday? Anyway, since we planted it, it has twice as many leaves and appears to me to be taller. In other words, it’s really taken to that spot. No reason it shouldn’t though. We looked for where the privet was growing the best, dug the privet up and stuck it right there. If it’s a good spot for privet, it’s a good spot for other growing things (or often visa versa, of course). Still, it’s really satisfying to see it thrive.
And the other satisfying thing, about seeing the holes at the ends of the beds, is that it reconfirmed that that’s much better soil on that side of the creek. Good dark brown stuff that does not behave so much like it’s about ready to become a clay pot. So, it’s not just where we put the raspberry, but all over.
Here’s a question I have for you, internets. What constitutes organic gardening? Is it just not using chemical pesticides or what? And should this be something I’m embarrassed to admit I don’t know?
Also, in tiny cat news, yesterday, she hid under my bed and jumped out and grabbed my toes and then skampered off, kind of terrified and pleased with herself that she had the guts to do that.
Never, folks, never in the history of the tiny cat has she ever, ever done something like that.