The empty backyard

I saw a robin today. Perched on the edge of the copper birdbath, the one I haven't dumped the rainwater out of yet, he was having a hi-ho time getting a drink while getting his feet wet. Due to mosquitoes and other nasty flying things, I usually empty the bath immediately, but in the winter I think the risk is minimal. Anyway, why have it otherwise?

I saw the robin because I was standing at the back hall window watching for Little Girl. She's been gone nearly 4 weeks and I've about given up on her. It was a habit to stand at the window and see what she was up to or where she was sleeping, who had joined her in an uneasy truce on the patio. It's a habit I'll have to give up since it's obvious the backyard is not going to cough her up. She isn't going to materialize before my eyes.

Sunday is four weeks and on Sunday I'll stop feeding breakfast (dinner is already gone) to the hangers-on who have a home elsewhere and are merely mooching at my place. I tell them every morning: find Little Girl and the largesse contiinues. Must fall on deaf kitty-cat ears.

Or they can't hear me over the chomping.

On a brighter note, I found the two socks I had blithely accused the new dryer of eating. I should have known it wouldn't have shown bad manners so soon. They had fallen behind the dirty clothes basket in the closet. Sorry, dryer. The dryer rack came and I can hardly wait to try it out.