Yesterday, I had to drive Lisa into the mountains to Breckenridge, where she will be babysitting a few of our grand fur (and furless) babies – 2 pups and a pussy – at the Fairy Godmothers’ Chalet for a few days.
It started out beautifully. The sky was clear and the full moon brightly lighting Casa Claire when I went to feed Claire and Honey.
Even out front when I went to feed kitties,
And Claire seemed to show me a little more attention – via a telepathic pep talk – when I went out to feed her and Honey.
Claire just sensed how much I was dreading driving into the mountains. A quick “You got this Tommy, man the fuck up,” did the trick.
But the trip itself was happily uneventful. Luckily, even though it was mostly by moonlight, there was no snow on I70 which can otherwise make most of those roadway rises and falls feel pretty treacherous, especially as you mark each ascent and descent with a commercial flight level ear popping.
This trip was the first time I focused on the length of the Eisenhower-Johnson tunnel as we traversed the Continental Divide –
https://www.codot.gov/travel/ejmt –
which my guess of about a mile long and was short by a third. The following 11K plus descent from the tunnel’s western facing exit to Silverthorne seem endless. Still, by then the sun had risen and I knew I was close to my destination. I could breathe the generally lower oxygen level much easier.
Once at the Chalet we had a fun conversation with our son-in-law Zack (who appears briefly as the school bus proprietor in FJM), as Jackie had returned to ATL to retrieve Lucian and they will be arriving late Friday night. Zack will be heading out on a business trip today, which is why Lisa is babysitting. No such thing as a traditional winter vacation for these young movers and shakers.
I got to finally meet their newest family member, Odin, a sphinx,
who wisely spends a lot of time warming his bare ass before their fireplace. Where he granted me an audience with the haughtiness of the Pope. Another mystical creature joins the family.
But I was anxious to head back to Casa Claire, so I gave Lisa a kiss goodbye and grabbed a box of Christmas cookies for the trip back, then took my reliable Toyota back on the road. Two plus hours later – during which I had lengthy conversations with both Pete Sheridan and Helen Lalousis (both central characters in The Claire Saga) where they distracted my mountain discomfort while we put the world to rights – I was thrilled to pull back into the homestead where Claire, Honey, and Smokey will assist me in embracing our collective solitude until Saturday, when I must repeat the mountainous ordeal. I don’t like being in the mountains.
However, the day was not all work and no play.
After completing part of the brilliant legal research to be incorporated into a pending summary judgment motion I went out to Pet Smart in Longmont to purchase a perfect Santa hat and beard for my skull, Yorick, who mysteriously appeared at the top of an eight foot post and weathervane just before Halloween.
I have no idea how he arrived there, but as he looked quite comfortable on his new perch, I decided he could stay as part of our motley crew for as long as he likes but, as he functions as a Casa Claire greeter, needed dressing up in a Christmassy motif. Lisa suggested Pet Smart as carrying Yorick’s possible hat size. It did. Brilliant. Thank you Lisa.
And I was surprised by a huge orange Tom Tabby who – obviously having heard about the Casa Claire’s open door stray policy – appeared on the back deck wondering how to open that sliding door.
He’s an obvious neighborhood bad ass, almost the size of a bobcat, and given his dominant demeanor and coloring, I’m thinking of calling him Donny J (DJ for short).
Smokey is not a big fan, given her hissing and growling from the comfort of her couch.
I politely explained to DJ that he needed to come round the front to the Jack The Spruce magic grotto where I would be serving dinner shortly. He begrudgingly complied.
Lisa had me move Smokey’s out door cathouse from the front porch down to the new barn where Mittens has started to hang out during the colder night hours, and I now leave Mitten’s his meals – which supplements his mice hunting (which I don’t condone, but must respect the natural order of things) – down there. However, I still leave plenty of cat food on the front porch for DJ and the neighbors’ raiding dogs – Chloe and Nakita – who love to come by multiple times a day to swipe the food dishes.
The neighbors then return the collection of food dishes at the end of the week.
I wonder if DJ will move into Mitten’s heated bunker? Time will tell.
Speaking of time, Tuesday morning is now upon us. I need to see to the kitties and make my rounds.
Then the law.
You fine, five readers should finish up that final cuppa caffeine and launch into your important professions. You want to clear the year’s work slate before Christmas Week hits, so have at it. We all want to fuck off with appropriate celebration through the end of 2024.
But whatever else we get up to, respectively and collectively, let us make today a great one.
