Year of The Yellow-Jackets

For some unknown country reason, the hoards of wasps have been replaced by millions of yellow-jackets this summer.  We still can see wasp nests here and there around the property, but it's the nests of yellow-jackets that have taken over every blessed spot you can think of. Under the eaves of the cottage, under a chair in the coop, over the garage door, and right smack on the side of the house, for goodness sake.

My husband got on the roof the other day to spray the nests that were under the upstairs windows, and when I saw at least a dozen yellow-jackets flying out from underneath that chair in the coop, I knew there had to be at least a hundred more... and there were, along with the eggs they had laid in those honeycomb nests they construct. The worst and most sting-iest things in the insect world can build the most intricate nesting spots.

The handyman has been spraying the palm trees before trimming them, and more often than not, he'll find a nest or two buried under the fronds. Now that those trees have been trimmed and look more controlled, maybe the wasps and yellow-jackets will find other places to build their nests. Hopefully, on someone else's property.

So far, knock wood, we haven't seen a snake up on the porch this summer. However, summer weather continues on through September and October here, so there's still time for one to make an appearance. (As I said: knock wood.)  The snakes could be staying away because of that orange cat, who's spending more and more time on the porch these days. He hasn't gone off gallivanting and looking for a girlfriend lately, come to think of it.  I still have the cat-carrier on the porch, just waiting for him to get into it for a nap...... then I'll shut that door and take that blasted cat to the shelter.  I doubt very much that's going to happen... he's been in that carrier before and it wasn't a happy experience for him, so the odds of him going near that carrier are against all kitty-reason. There's no picking up that cat because he would claw my arms to shreds in a heartbeat. I still walk around the porch holding a spray-bottle filled with water, to keep him away from my legs.

This coming November will be two years for that cat..... two years of feeding him, two years of him wandering off and probably getting female cats pregnant because he hasn't been fixed, and two years' worth of trying to avoid getting scratched by him.  Gatsby and Mickey (our two outside cats) still haven't accepted that cat and will howl and hiss at him from time to time.

So if my own cats don't trust that stupid orange stray cat, how in the world can I?  No matter how long he stays around here, he'll always be that 'orange stray cat.'  (And if you're out there thinking that all I need to do is stop feeding him, think again. I've tried that many times.... that blasted cat just gets meaner when he's hungry.)

Busy week...

Lots going on here... the hay has been mowed and raked, and as I type, the bales are popping out of that machine that's been going up and down the pastures all morning.  How that man can work out there in this hot sun is just beyond me... and our property is not the only one he cuts.  I cannot imagine even wanting to get out of bed in the morning if I knew I'd be sitting on a hot tractor in the hot sun and mowing down and baling up hay.

Our handyman R has been here for most of the week, cutting and trimming palm trees, pulling weeds out of flowerbeds, putting down new mulch, and re-arranging the big rocks along the borders. As fast as my husband can get the mulch from the re-cycle plant in town, the handyman can spread it out and give my husband back the empty buckets.  R has been proud of the work he's done here and has promised to keep it all maintained. (From his lips to the angels' ears.)

My husband was up on the roof this morning, spraying nests of yellow-jackets. We thought they were wasps, but as they fell to the ground after one spray of 'Raid,' the yellow/black insects were clearly not as big as wasps. Just as deadly, just not as large. Actually, I don't think any of those flying/stinging things are as vicious as wasps.

The orange cat.... still here, bless his paw-swiping teeth-grabbing little heart. Just when you think you can trust that cat, he reaches out to swipe you with his claws or give you a kitty love-bite on your hand when you're trying to put his food dish on the porch.  I've put the cat-carrier back onto the porch, and so help me, if that cat goes into that carrier again and I can shut the door, I'm bringing his orange/white kitty butt to the shelter.  You would think, after all this time, that he would have learned more manners, but he's a wild cat, from the tip of his whiskers to the back of his tail.

The rain which filled up all of the ponds in the hills here has become non-existent. Not a drop of rain since I can't even remember when.... at least three weeks now.  Our pond still has a great deal of water in it... not quite up to the top, but close. We haven't had a lot of wind lately, and that helps to keep the water in the pond as well.  One of the neighbors told us a while back that the wind would make the water evaporate quicker.  Lots of turtles still in the pond, coming out to sun themselves on the rocks in the afternoon. I'm sure there are snakes in that pond as well, but I don't get close enough to it to find out. My before-moving-to-the-country dreams of having a picnic by our own pond never materialized... for the simple reason that there's just too much wildlife and too many insects to worry about.

Life in the country in these Texas hills.... wildlife and crawling things, slithering and creepy things... if anything at all can go bump in the night, it's living here in the Hill Country. Except bears. I don't think we have bears. And bears wouldn't be so bad.... at least they wouldn't be hiding in the grass and ready to bite your ankles if you got too close.

I need to stop typing... I'll be waking up with nightmares....

Snake skin, minus the snake.

I remember shopping in my favorite shoe store up in New York years ago... boxes upon boxes of shoes, thousands of styles to choose from, and one of my favorite brands designed shoes made of snake skin.  I had snake skin heels in black, navy, ivory, and a favorite pair that was black and purple. Gorgeous designer shoes, at just a bit over wholesale prices.

And this afternoon.... I went outside to water the marigolds and make sure the birds had enough water in their fountain... and there it was... a snake skin spread along the stones of the front courtyard. The skin was about three feet long, not very wide, so I'm guessing it wasn't from a huge snake. But still. I just stopped in my tracks and looked at that skin and remembered the days when I was wearing shoes made out of those skins, without so much as a single solitary thought as to the beastly creature that the skin had once encapsulated before it was wrapped around a pair of high heels.

I thought of not walking near the skin out there in the courtyard. But that would mean the flowers wouldn't get watered and the birds wouldn't have fresh water. Back around the house I went to get the broom, and I used it to sweep away the skin of that blasted snake. I was going to put it into the trash but the breeze caught the skin and it drifted towards the front pasture. Fine. If that's where it wanted to be.... I picked up the skin with the broom and tossed the skin into the just-mowed field. With any luck, when the guy with hay baling machine comes by, he'll pick up the skin with one of the bales.

Do cows eat snake skin when it's mixed up into a bale of hay?  Probably not.

Will I ever again buy a pair of heels made of snake skin?  Definitely not.

Got hay?

Yes, we do.  The hay mowers have been here for the past two days to cut down the nearly thigh-high grasses. They will let the hay sit there for a day or so to dry out and then they'll be back with the baling machines.

As a result of the cut hay, we have vultures circling our property, searching for mice and heaven-only-knows-what-else was hiding in that tall grass for the past few months. (I sincerely hope there wasn't a mama rabbit and her baby bunnies out there.)  I've learned not to look out over the property from the third floor windows after the hay is cut down, for that very reason. Plus, I don't want to see those huge birds fighting over their afternoon snack. ("No! That's my mouse! I saw it first!")

The orange cat turned up his nose at the bowl of Meow Mix yesterday, which makes me think that he's been catching mice as they run out of the pastures to escape the huge tractors and mowers. That cat will always be a wild cat, I think, preferring to eat a fresh-caught mouse rather than a packaged cat food product from a bag.

Orange Cat.  He's been nicer lately, letting us pet him, and he follows me from one end of the yard to the other, meowing all the way. He's still the most vocal cat I've ever heard, but he has quit meowing loudly every time he comes up on the porch. I think he has learned that if he announces his presence, Gatsby will get his whiskers in a knot and pounce on that orange cat.

Still, I don't trust that orange cat. We can't get him into a crate to get him shots at the vet... he isn't fixed and heaven only knows how many female cats he's "caught" since he's been here.  One day, he's going to show up on our porch with his kitty-mama and their kittens.  I guess I haven't changed my mind, no matter how much that cat's manners have improved.... I do not want that orange cat.

Every last goat...

Just as we sat down for lunch this afternoon, I heard the sad little cries of a baby goat. Nothing unusual about that around here, but those cries seemed to be awfully close.  Just at the moment when I was about to get up and look out the door, Sweet Pea jumped up to his window and was watching the driveway with that wide-eyed stare that cats get when they see something out of the ordinary.

And there were the goats... every single one of the neighbor's herd... in our driveway and on the grass in front of the guest cottage... munching on the lawn and trying to grab the lower branches of the small live oak trees.  Give me a blessed break.

My husband and I both went outside.... I was clapping my hands as if I were a school teacher trying to get students in line... and my husband was blasting the air horn, which quickly got the attention of the goats. (The hand-clapping didn't do a thing.)  Down the driveway they all went, across the road, and then the goats all lined up near the neighbor's fence as they waited their turn to squeeze themselves underneath the corner of that fence. One by one, they all got back under the fence and into their own pasture... all the while, that same neighbor's horse and his cows were standing in that pasture and watching the goats, and watching my husband and I as we looked at the goats scrambling back under that fence.  Funny thing about those goats... they always seem to go back into their own pasture the same way they came out.

You would think that neighbor would just fix the damn fence.  My husband looked at the space where the goats were crawling through... one or two solid cinder-blocks would fix that problem. Next time we're in Home Depot, my husband will buy one or two of those concrete blocks. If the neighbor won't fix the fence, then we'll just put up a barrier in that spot and hope the goats don't start digging out from a different place in that blasted fence.

What? No peacock?

Haven't seen the peacock in over a week now... haven't even heard him lately.  Even when that bird isn't on our porch munching on the Meow Mix for the cats, we can hear him down the hill calling out for his imaginary mate. Love springs eternal for that beautiful bird. Maybe he wandered off to other parts of the hills here looking for the feathered love of his colorful life.

Orange Cat, however, is still here. Eternally still here. That once-stray cat has gotten so used to the goings-on around our porch that he no longer runs away when neighbors come by for a visit. The orange cat has also made friends with our latest handyman, watching him pulling up weeds and working in the yard, and not even running to hide when handyman R walks within inches of that cat's whiskers.

This afternoon as the handyman came up onto the porch to let me know he was leaving for the day, Orange Cat turned towards him and stretched and yawned and just turned over and resumed his nap. As I opened up the kitchen door, I heard R telling that cat "You sure do have it made in the shade here."  And indeed the orange cat does.  Fresh water, an endless supply of Meow Mix, porch furniture to nap on, a plush back-door mat for naps, and even Mickey and Gatsby seem to have gotten accustomed to the orange cat being here now on a 24/7 schedule.  Come to think of it, Orange Cat hasn't disappeared lately.  He used to go off for a day or two, looking for female cats, I would guess, and then come back meowing loudly on the porch because he was hungry.  Not only has the orange cat become less vocal, he's also becoming more well-mannered. He hasn't tried to scratch me in over a week now.

My husband has taken to calling him Pumpkin Kitty.  I keep calling him Orange Cat, and sometimes just "That Cat."  My husband insists that he needs a real name........... I continue to insist that he needs another porch, another home, preferably in another county. I would not miss that orange cat if he went off and just stayed away.

I do miss the peacock, though.  It was nice to have Mr. Carson strutting his feathered self back and forth on our porch every other day or so.   We saw a bob-cat walking around our property a couple of weeks ago, and now I'm hoping that the wild cat didn't make his way down the hill to discover not only Mr. Carson but a coop filled with chickens at the neighbor's property on the other side of the road down there.