Fueled By True Crime and Coffee

I was sound asleep this morning when Cowboy called.
He’d lost his car keys and needed Raven to come pick him up.
Well, for once, Raven had actually gone to work on time.

I crawled out of bed and shook Badger awake, letting her know I was heading to the backyard in case I didn’t make it back.
Cowboy fussed at me for waking her, but it was 2:15 in the morning.
You never know what can happen at that hour.

There I was in nothing but a T-shirt that barely covered my dignity, unmentionables that did, and a pair of sneakers.
I mean, hey, I wasn’t putting britches on.
That’s just how I sleep.

I stumbled down the driveway and into the backyard toward the dark RV.
I pounded on Heron’s window and scared the living daylights out of him.

He staggered to the door, and I handed him the phone.
Cowboy was on the line, talking to him from work.
While they were talking, Cowboy glanced down, and there at his feet were the missing car keys.
Just lying on the floor.

He woke three of us up in the middle of the night, and thankfully it turned out to be nothing.
But honestly, it’s starting to feel like Cowboy might need to think about retiring, even if it means going without insurance or medication for a while.

He can’t keep working these hours.
It’s not safe for him to be driving home before sunrise.
And it’s honestly pretty worrying that he couldn’t find a big set of keys sitting right at his feet.

Cowboy pulled in our driveway at 2:25 a.m.
It was probably closer to 3 a.m. before we dozed off to sleep.
I didn’t manage to creep back out of bed until 8:30 a.m.
Badger said she was about ready to come poke me to see if I was dead.

She’d been up since the crack of dawn, bumbling around the house, and neither Cowboy nor I even paused our snoring.
Yeah, two days of hiking and getting yanked out of a dead sleep at the vampire hour will make this old gal sleep soundly.

The morning moved on as usual.
Cowboy and Badger headed out to her therapy appointment.
I stayed home with my zoo, watched “Wednesday,” and caught up on laundry.
Washing it and actually putting it away.

I had a mountain of laundry.
Every time I tried to start a load, somebody else had the washer tied up.
Cowboy and Badger finally came home with bad news, doughnuts, and a coffee for me.

Badger’s therapist is moving to Knoxville, and that’s going to make sessions a lot harder.
She was upset, and I don’t blame her.
She’s been with this therapist for about a year and actually trusts her.
She spent most of the afternoon in her room with the cats, disappointed and a little mad, until Cowboy told her he could still take her.

Let’s just be honest. 
Cowboy is 65. 
He’s not old, but he works second shift, and most nights he doesn’t get home until one or two in the morning. 
Driving the interstate at that hour isn’t the same as driving to Jefferson City.

The time she’d have to go, so Cowboy could get home, take care of his chickens, and get his before‑work nap, would put them right in rush hour.
The idea of Cowboy half‑asleep on the interstate in heavy traffic is honestly scary.

Knoxville isn’t easy to get around in.
It’s not like going to Jefferson City or Morristown.
It’s bigger and a lot more complicated.

We’re not trying to keep her from getting help or be mean about it.
We’re just being realistic about the situation.

Once she knew she could stay with her therapist, she came out of her room, but she didn’t do it until Cowboy was already gone to work.

We can skip ahead, because nothing exciting happened after that.
Cowboy went to work, and Badger and I just watched TV and took a couple of short walks.
Oh, yeah, Badger wanted to get out of the house but wasn’t up for a long walk yet.
Those two days of hiking wore us out.
We mostly just watched TV.

Things get quiet around here when Heron’s back at work.
After hiking for two days straight, I’m not about to complain about a little boredom.
It’s nice to just sit still for once.

Tomorrow should look just like today, except without the therapy appointment.
My fat little legs are still hurting, so that’s OK with me.

Now I’ll get off of here and start putting laundry up.
Hopefully it will be done before midnight, but I don’t want to face it tomorrow.
Yeah, yeah, I should have been doing it as it came out.
But come on, supernatural murder, and it was supposed to be true crime?
You’d better believe that laundry was happy in baskets on my bed.
Let’s go finish up that show about “The Biggest Loser” and start sticking laundry where it belongs.
No, not where the sun doesn’t shine, more like the dark abyss of my closet.