To Be or Not to Be

. . . on the road, that is.

On Thursday, I'd planned to go to Valley Writers in Roanoke, 38 miles northwest of home. However, the weather forecast called for snow, albeit light. The temperature was still below freezing, so even a dusting of snow could be treacherous. By early afternoon, I'd decided not to go, even though I really wanted to. I had a gut feeling that something would happen on Route 220, a busy road with hills.

Then the forecast changed—no snow in either Roanoke or my area. I decided to feed my critters early, just in case the new forecast was correct. If I fed early, I'd have time to make the drive before the meeting started. I measured out the horse feed, made my old mare's "pellet soup" so she can chew easier, mixed canned dog food with dry food for the four kennel dawgs, mixed canned cat food with dry food for the barn cats, filled jugs with hot water to melt the ice so the critters could drink, and put the dog food, horse feed, cat food, and water (three trips) into my PT Cruiser for the cruise westward to the barn.

The weather to the west didn't look bad. No ominous clouds hung over Roanoke's direction. Maybe. . .

When I pulled  up to the barn, only three cats came running—the wild Twiggy and her offspring Spook and Spots. Sherman was missing. Usually he's the first to greet me. Something wasn't right. The three Twiglet kittens are always together. I checked the road but didn't see a fluffy black and white body.

I fed and watered the three cats, fed Melody, put Cupcake in the stall so she could leisurely eat her pellet soup without Melody's interference, chopped the ice from the tub and added hot water, went to the kennel where I fed and watered the dawgs (and played with border collie Maggie who insisted I throw her toy), and went back to see if Cupcake had finished (she hadn't) and to see if Sherman had appeared (he hadn't).

Maybe Sherman was locked in the shop. While Cupcake ate, I walked back to the house where I asked John if he'd been in the shop (he had) and would he come open the door (he would). We called and called Sherman. A couple of times we were pretty sure we hear a low meow from somewhere in the large overcrowded shop. No Sherman appeared. If I were going to Roanoke, I have to leave in a few minutes.

But John figured we might as well water since the tub was low, so he hooked got the hose, hooked it up, and went back to the house to turn the water on. Too late to go to Roanoke now. Still no Sherman.

While the tub was filling, John happened to notice the dark drips on the gravel near my car. I'm the only one who's been driving onto the driveway gravel. He opened the hood and started checking fluids. The power steering fluid was almost gone. If I had gone to Roanoke, odds are good I would have lost steering on the highway. In the dark. In below-freezing temperature.

John went to the shop, got some fluid, and refilled what I'd lost. He figured that maybe the cold weather had caused a tiny crack in the seal. Judging by all the dark stains on the gravel, my car had apparently been leaking fluid for over a week.

After John returned the fluid bottle to the shop, Sherman sauntered out. If Sherman hadn't gone missing, I'd have been on the road and John wouldn't have found the leak. . . .

In this picture, Sherman is the fluffy cat in the rear.

On Friday morning, Sherman was the first one to greet me when I served the Twiglets their breakfast.

Later, I went to Lake Writers in Moneta. Despite the frigid temperatures, I didn't have a problem with the car. After the meeting, some of us did lunch at the Bluebird Bakery and Grill. this was the first time I'd been there, and I liked the place a lot.

Leslie, Sally, Betsy, and Karen look at Betsy's article in The Laker Weekly.

If you're in downtown Moneta, VA, you might want to stop in at the Bluebird. Here's a video about it:

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