It had been a quiet, but good day. I had felt less of the residual neck pain and headache from the shingles. I went to the laundromat. My clarinet lesson had gone well. I had done some cleaning.
My day went fine until some time after six. I was in a t shirt and underwear and a woman came banging on my door wanting to buy pots in spite of having seen the closed sign. I told her I was not selling pots and please put her five dogs in the car; they were bothering my dog and I did not want them bothering my cat or poultry. She told me her dogs would not harm Oscar.
She persisted on wanting to shop for pottery, and I said, “Look, my husband died, and I am not selling pottery. Go to the gallery in Cumberland” Then she started questioning me about Ken’s death, and I said I did not want to talk about it. She said I should talk about it, I needed to talk about it. I said I was not talking to her about it.
I told her I found her behavior intrusive and rude and if she refused to get the five unruly dogs in her car and leave I would call the police. A kitten then came out of her car and I asked her to get her animals in her car and leave as she obviously could not control them if they attacked my poultry. I got Oscar inside, turned around and shut the door.
Later I heard her banging on the door and yelling it was all my fault. After she finally left and I went to open the front door to let in some air, there was a dead kitten on my threshold. She had driven her car over it. I buried the kitten and scrubbed the blood and feces off the threshold and steps.
I guess I have to shut the gate now that it is summer… Why do I have to lock myself in?
If you plan on visiting me, please call and ask if I am up for a visit. Thanks