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Winter is coming on fast here in New York City. It’s been many years since I remember these kind of temperatures and rain at this time of year. I hauled in plants last week that I usually don’t bring in until the beginning of November, and made my annual mess in the kitchen sink, cleaning them up and then trying to find places for them inside.

I’ve been worried about Little Arnold. The weather here is not Octoberish—in fact, it feels more like NYC Decemberish. Every time I open the door, there is Little Arnold. Every time my neighbors open their door, there is Little Arnold. But he’s an independent sort and doesn’t venture in. He’s just waiting for the next meal. ****

I have a large potted orange tree that I put in its winter place in the living room corner between two windows. Its leaves are yellowing and it is popping blossoms. Nice.

The morning after I brought in the orange tree, I found a strange black thing on the floor that I thought was a curled up leaf. Seeing that one of my cats was near it, I inspected it further and realized it was an insect. I thought. The next day there were more bodies on the carpet. then I noticed the telltale slime. There was a slug fest brewing in that huge flower pot and the warm temperature was driving them out. They were dripping down the pot, in all shapes and sizes and plopping onto the carpet to make a great kitty play thing. I rolled my eyes, gritted my teeth, got a paper towel and began the take of scooping them off the carpet and delivering them to the sewer system.

I have one word: EWWWW.

Since then I have found a few little ones in another room that is full of plants.

I remember the beer trick: give a slug a slug and they drown in their own misery. But I didn’t take too kindly to the odor of ale in the living room. This is a hand-job for the tough: pluck and squish. Or forget the squish–just pluck and flush.
For some strange reason, hundreds of grackles held their convention on my street this morning, descending in a racket and and leaving as fast as they came, poof, gone.
But the show created a bit of curiosity in the house crew. All the birds and then our usual morning visitor…

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Like, what the heck’s going on out there?

The formerly feral cat family takes a peek at the outside world…

Little Arnold did something last week that he has never done before. He looked at me and spoke. One cat word. A word I am familiar with.

It took my formerly feral cat family a long time to “speak.” Silence is the rule in the great outdoors. But Arnold looked me right in the eye and in his gruff, low, little street voice clearly said “Me-wah?” That’s cat dialect for “food” or “eat.” My cats sometimes say, “muh-wah” or “muh-waw.” Arnold knew what he was after.

He hasn’t spoken since.

I tried to shield him form the lousy, rainy weather. I installed the heating mat that goes into the house; I had some difficulty as the hole in the back for the cord couldn’t accommodate the plug and it was a bit too far over to the right. I managed to bonk my nose in the process, but after a few cuts and adjustments to the plug and shoves to the mat, Arnold now has a heated home. It’s really neat, a little cat foot or body pressure and the heat turns on. Luckily I have an outdoor outlet near by. I needed a small dish to try to get the food in so that Arnold would be tempted to enter the house.
I found an appropriate dish…it came free with a box of cat food…

but Little Arnold wasn’t tempted to go in. Instead, he went across the driveway to see what my neighbors’ had put out for him.
He preferred the cold and his chair-umbrella.

Oh well.