Three beautiful things from the last week:

1. I picked up rhubarb at the farmers’ market a few weeks ago as well as the farmer’s favorite recipe for rhubarb-ginger sauce. Last night I went to make it and was able to because I’d frozen a hunk of fresh ginger last summer.

2. We’d made plans to meet up with friends for a get-together at a downtown pizza joint, Matchbox, at 5:30 on a Saturday evening. When we arrived, it was already packed and couldn’t accomodate our party of five for 45 minutes. We put our names down on the list but decided to see what else was available. We wandered down H Street into Chinatown and ended up at Tony Chen’s, which is divided into an upscalish Chinese restaurant and a Mongolian barbecue. We opted for the latter and no one seemed to miss the California-style pizza we had originally planned to sup upon.

3. Recently, Jeremiah has returned to one of his periodic sleeping spots — curled up on my pillow. I don’t know what makes him choose that spot — or what makes him vacate it — but it’s very reassuring to awaken to a snuggly kitty by your head.

We have returned from our trip to the Northeast, laden with new books and good memories. Or maybe good books and new memories. Both.

I haven’t yet counted how many books came home with us. I know two went north, neither of which were touched. Two were started during the conference.

The March book report will be a lengthy one.

The cats were delighted to see us upon our return. Rudi’s student, John, is a great catsitter and always goes above and beyond the call of duty. Nonetheless, Della and Jeremiah have been clingy since our return — and they’ll be disappointed to learn that we’ll be heading home again at Easter. Posey is a less demonstrative cat and she takes our absences in stride. She is doglike in many ways, but getting emotional about our deserting her for lengths of time is not one of them.

I ought to clean tonight because two friends have suggested they might stop by during the next two weeks, but I find myself tired today. I want to adjourn to the couch with some cats, a hot cup of tea, and some podcasts or one of the aforementioned books, so I think I’ll sign off to do just that.

I asked him to wait. Told him just to stay where he was. Explained that his other options were decidedly poorer ones and ones he’d be likely to regret.

But he didn’t listen.

Even after he’d reached the relative safety of the shower rod…

With Posey there, he never stood a chance.

A centipede joined me in the shower this morning. Actually, it would probably be fairer to say that I joined him. But as I didn’t notice him until I was washing my hair, there wasn’t a whole lot I could do about it until the shower was over.

I kept an eye on him as he inched up the shower curtain, probably trying to escape the spray that had awakened him earlier than he’d wanted on a Wednesday morning. He wasn’t making any sudden moves, but I didn’t want him falling into my hair. I don’t mind centipedes, but there are limits, you understand. I asked him to stop, that I’d rescue him as soon as I was done.

But at one point, after he’d reached the shower rod, I turned around and he was gone. “Thank goodness,” I breathed. He crawled off somewhere to safety.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. I turned around again and there he was at the other end of the rod. “Okay,” I said. “I see you. You’re fine.”

But he didn’t trust me, or he was really keen for a morning run, because he started off again across the rod. He was impressive, all those shaggy legs undulating in unison as he navigated the curtain rings.

But apparently it doesn’t matter how many legs you have; if you step wrong with one of them, you still fall down.

And down he fell, but not into my hair or the water at the bottom of the tub.

But on the room side of the curtain, where, without my knowledge, Posey was keeping me company this morning.

With one of the other cats, he might have stood a chance. Run fast (which centipedes do) and then keep still. Della wouldn’t have followed him under anything. Jeremiah would have lost interest if he couldn’t reach him and if there was no movement for a while. But Posey doesn’t have a lot of thoughts to clutter up her brain, so she can spend a while waiting.

By the time I was done showering, he was gone. I took his corpse outside so he could have the freshly dampened ground under him once more.

Do you see why it is I have such a hard time killing household pests? Pests to me and you, but still living creatures that are just out for the same things I am — a good meal and a place to sleep. I’d hate for some huge creature to decide that I was in its way or was amusing in my attempts to flee it.

Stomach-twisting thoughts for a Wednesday morning…

The cats are enjoying having a clear desk. Posey and Della are content merely to lie on the top shelf and await admiration; Jeremiah, on the other hand, understands it less as a shelf for pretty trinkets and more as a stage. He puts on a good show, too. He pirouettes, he flips, he dances, he flirts with disaster. He pursues his tail with a zealous glee we haven’t seen since he was a kitten.

And someone really didn’t appreciate the fact that the couch is no longer a cat paradise of piles. Last night they left a hairball on the freshly cleared cushion. Luckily, cleanup was minimal and painless.

Who needs expensive toys when you can just offer cats furniture?

For cat-related humor: Stuff On My Cat

The day started early. Our handyman arrived as I was buttering my toast and informed me that I’d need to clear out another third of the living room so he could finish putting down tile.

Since every surface in the house pretty much already had stuff on it, that left one spot — the bed (and the path from the bathroom to it. You now have to squeeze past our bureau, hop over the giant box that contains stuff from the desk, and hurdle a milk crate just to get to the bedroom. There you’ll be greeted by a bag that contains Christmas presents, half a dozen board games, the garbage bag box (that contains only one garbage bag), a manilla folder that may or may not contain Rudi’s political stuff, six loads of laundry that need to be washed, all our winter hats, gloves, and scarves, and a balance ball. Oh, and there’s a travel guitar resting near my head, a laptop on my lap, and piles of videos at my feet. Della, who enjoys sleeping on piles of clothes, finds it heavenly. I, who can sleep on clothes but who would prefer not to sleep on board games, do not.

And the handyman will be back at 9:30 in the morning.