We were gone all day on Saturday, down to Ventura for Mom's 90th (yes, NINETIETH!) birthday party, which turned out to be a lovely day with lots of lovely people there, people we haven't seen in a long long time. There was lots of catching up and it was a good thing that name tags were provided, along with clues on the name tags as to how we were all related so that the whole day wasn't spent repeatedly asking people now who are you again?
It is a long boring drive down and back and for some reason it seemed extra long on the way home and so by the time we got home we were quite tired. Keith went to bed and I sat on the couch to read and unwind for a while.
And then Harri tried to kill us all.
By trying to jump up onto the counter by the stove and somehow hitting the burner dial so that it comes on and starts clicking to light itself, spewing gas into the air and then finally lighting while she is kind of hanging off of the corner of the stove. It is a good thing that our stove makes loud clicking noises while it's trying to light or I would have never known the stove was on. The air smelled of gas so I opened the window, checked Harri to make sure she hadn't burned herself, and then was afraid to go to bed if cats are running about the house trying to set fires. So, I took all of the burner dials off of the stove.
I don't know what Harri was trying to do, that is the first time I've ever seen her jump up by the stove, she usually only goes as far as the center island counter where she likes to eat her food because she can look over her shoulder for any marauders. I think Buddy must have scared her or startled her, something he really enjoys doing, and something that keeps Harri in an always kind of nervous mood.
So, with the stove dials removed I guess I can go to bed and not worry about being gassed in the middle of the night or having our house blow up, burn down, or both.
Then, in the morning I go out front to give Lucy her breakfast and see some little bird feathers laying on the little table out front and think to myself how unusual and then find the reason for the little bird feathers. A what I think is a dead bird with a broken wing is laying in front of the patio glider. Only the poor thing is not entirely dead yet but is still breathing and its little beak is moving. Ack!
I can only assume that Lucy caught the bird and brought it over by where I sit each morning while she is eating her breakfast as a nice gift for me. I've never seen her catch a bird before and never really seen her even attempt to catch one before. It finally did take its last breath and of course I made Keith pick it up and dispose of it when he finally woke up.