Warning: Sharp claws,fiery attitude—wrapping advised

We were up at the crack of dawn, driving in the fog to the veterinarian’s.
Luckily, traffic wasn’t as bad as I had anticipated.

The veterinarian didn’t say what was wrong with Annie.
I assume some kind of kitty cold.
She did say that with Annie’s leukemia, she can’t fight off colds and viruses as well as a healthy cat can.

Annie got three shots : a steroid, an antibiotic, and rabies.
I did tell the veterinarian and vet tech upfront Annie is not a pet, Annie is not friendly.
Well, they stuck a thermometer where the sun don’t shine, and the vet tech got scratched.
They quickly made a burrito out of Annie, finished the exam, and slapped her butt back in the carrier.
When the time came for the shots, they sneaked up on her, grabbed her neck, and wham bam thank you ma’am- all while Annie was cowering in her carrier.

They pretty much shoved us out the door.

They asked after Smudge, and we told them she’s doing just fine.
We went ahead and set Duffy up for next Monday, just his rabies shot.

After we got home, it was another calm day.
Turns out, the secret to living together might just be living apart, to give each other space.
Badger spent the morning in her room, Cowboy stayed in his recliner, and I read in our bedroom.

The day slipped by, the way days usually do.
The usual routine followed.
Cowboy headed to work at his usual time.

After Cowboy went to work, I wandered out and filled up the bird feeders.
I had been holding off because the weather app said heavy rains all week.
That has not happened. 
We have had showers, but nothing that would gum up the feeders.

I completed Cowboy’s work test on blood‑borne pathogens.
It was less graphic than some of the others I have taken for him.
Although I failed the first attempt, I saved the correct answers and passed on the second.
Neither Cowboy nor I know what the company does with these tests.
As long as he is not quizzed, he will be fine.
If they do, he is in a heap of trouble, since I have been the one taking them.

I baked cookies, not homemade.
I am not Martha Stewart. 
I am more the Swedish Chef from The Muppets.
One was a Halloween sugar cookie with a cat.
The other was a chocolate cherry cookie.

I think the smell drove Badger out of her room.
She popped out, grabbed a sugar cookie, and went back to her room.
Next thing I knew, we were watching a movie.
Her exact words were, “I just had to see Woody Harrelson with black hair. Boy, he plays a good drunk.”

We watched TV for a good long while, but then Badger wanted to take a walk.
She suggested the woodworking shop way, since it was Wednesday and we should not trespass on church property when they are having services.
But if we walk that way, we meet the beagle. 
I did not want to be chased back home with him snapping at my heel.
Wednesdays presents a problem. 
The only safe way, the only way without dogs, runs across church property.

We said to heck with it, and went the church way, making sure we stayed on junkyard guy’s side.
The trouble with that is there isn’t much separation between his yard and church property, but we made sure we were enough on his side that the church couldn’t complain.
Of course, junkyard guy could. 
We were in his yard.

Going wasn’t an issue. 
Services hadn’t started.
Coming home was the problem.
By then, the youth groups were spread all over, even on junkyard guy’s side of the yard.
The only alternative was to turn around, go up father‑in‑law’s hill, and risk the dogs being loose.
I told Badger I wasn’t doing it.
I’m not getting dog bit because this town isn’t capable of providing a safe place to walk.
Or at the very least enforcing the leash law this county has, and making animal control pick up the dogs running loose.

So we trespassed on the yard sale lady’s yard, hugging her yard to the tracks.
Badger took a risk, went down the embankment behind her house, and avoided the church entirely.
I simply could not do that. 
I am not steady enough on my feet these days to slide down an embankment, tiptoe across a ditch, hit the tracks, and climb down another embankment.
So I had to briefly cross church property.
Unfortunately, the youth were playing basketball right where I had to cross.

I told Badger when she left me I would have to have her help climbing down the embankment, since this was an area we had not secretly made a path through.

She was taking her slow time walking down the tracks, which left me standing on the tracks in front of the youth group.

As I waited, a man popped out from the church. 
Honest truth, we looked it up when we got home: he’s in his late 80s.

Neither me nor Badger could understand him, but he either said, “I was checking to see if you were one of my boys,” or “I was checking to see if you were messing with my boys.”

I told him no, we walk the tracks home and we were heading home. 
He muttered something about being safe.

We know the tracks aren’t safe. 
We know it is illegal to be walking the tracks.
Give us a safer place.

When we got home, because the man looked so familiar, we checked out the church Facebook page.
This man is the town above ours fire chief.
He was in our home last summer, or maybe the summer before, when we had that stove fire.

Badger huffed that we could walk wherever we wanted to; we’d still walk there on Wednesdays.
No, we can’t. 
They can legally call the police and have us arrested for trespassing.
I don’t take risks, especially in this world we live in. 
When the church doesn’t know that we’re safe, we could be wanting to hurt one of the kids, kidnap one of them, or bring guns and shoot up the church.
The headlines prove it: open a newspaper, turn on the news, scroll Facebook.
Gun violence. Missing children. 
That’s the reality we live with.

We can tell ourselves that we’ve walked every inch of this town since 1995, and that’s the truth.
But the people living here now, going to churches here now, they don’t know us.

I think I’ll curl up with the second book in that series I started today.
Tomorrow’s town day again, and we’ve got more stops than we usually do.