Yesterday, as I was literally on my way out the door to go to the grocery store, the telephone rang. I came back inside and answered it. It was Nanny.
"Do you have anything that will cut styrofoam?"
I stammered a bit as images of styrofoam in various shapes and sizes flashed through my mind. Before I could ask what kind of foam she was cutting, she went on to explain that she was working on her ottoman. "I took it apart - and it was hard! - but I got all the old fabric off, and there were six holes in the bottom of the board, and - "
"Nanny, what kind of styrofoam is it? Is it the crumbly white stuff, or are you trying to cut the spongy green cushion foam?"
Back-story: Just before Christmas, Nanny called to ask if I had any fabric that would be suitable for re-upholstering her ottoman. (This ottoman is probably 30 years old. It came with a glider-rocker, which went to the dump a long time ago, but the matching glider-ottoman survives, albeit with its insides showing in places.) You might remember that earlier this year I purged my fabric stash - gave away multiple kitchen garbage bags full of fabric. Yes, there was a wide range of upholstery fabric in those bags. Unfortunately, I had not kept any, but I had kept a few yards of other kinds of fabric. When we hung up the phone, I went down to the sewing room, and there, on the table, lay some floral print fabric that I had been using to make cosmetic bags for Christmas gifts. I'd already whacked on it, but there were at least two yards left - plenty for the ottoman - and it was the exact colors that Nanny uses in her living room. I folded it up and took it to her that very minute (and used other fabrics for the bags). When I got to her house, she said, "Oh, I wasn't in a hurry. I'm not going to do this until after Christmas. By the way, do you have any foam for the top cushion?" I had kept ONE PIECE of 2"-thick cushion foam, and I came home and got it, and took it to her right then, so that I would not forget, and so that she would have it when she got ready to work.
So, yesterday was the day she decided to tackle the project. Yes, she was trying to cut the spongy green cushion foam. She had scissors and knives but didn't think she could cut evenly with them.
I had a utility knife and a scalpel, and a pair of spring-loaded scissors, and since it appeared that she was in the middle of her project, I took them to her and helped her cut foam. As I was about to leave for the grocery store, she asked if I had any thicker fabric, for she was afraid that what I'd already given her might be too thin to hold up to the wear. I'd had the same worries. The fabric would be fine for throw pillows, which don't get much abuse, but Nanny USES her ottoman - her feet swell, and she props them on it - and a sturdier fabric would have been better.
As it happened, I had unearthed a folded piece of unbleached canvas as I was inventorying my stash before Christmas. When I got back from the grocery store, I took the canvas to her and shot out the back door before she could lure me to the dining room where the ottoman parts were spread out.
She's tricky that way.
* * * * * * * *
Last week's snow/ice storm jacked up the mail/package delivery around here. Every Monday, UPS or somebody delivers The Husband a box of pre-cooked "healthy" meals that he takes to work for lunch. He didn't get a shipment last week when it was icy, and this week's shipment (so I thought) didn't arrive until Tuesday. Late yesterday, another one came, and I realized that someone, somewhere, had screwed up. I checked the shipping date on the new box and went to check the date on the previous box, which I had left on the back porch, next to the settee. The porch lighting was too dim for me to make out the tiny print, so I got a magnifying glass from the house and went back out to examine the box.
I was bent over the box with my magnifying glass, trying to make out the date, when a cat meowed RIGHT IN MY EAR. Startled the crap out of me - WE DON'T HAVE A CAT! - and I jumped back.
A big gray & white cat with a head the size of a softball was perched on the back of the settee. He has appeared on the critter-cam a few times. For a minute, I was like, "WTF!" but remembered that earlier in the day, I had propped the door open to let in some fresh air. Hence the cat. I said, "GET OUT OF HERE, CAT!"
And the cat said, I don't want to. It's raining.
The nerve of him!
I said, "OUT!" and pointed to the door, and he eventually went out in the drizzle, but he grumbled and complained all the way down the sidewalk. Too bad for him. He has a house, somewhere, as is evident by his physique; let him get to it.
I closed the door behind him. The very idea . . . .
When The Husband got home a little later, the cat was sitting on the roof of the Wrangler, like he owned it, and wasn't inclined to move when The Husband tried to shoo him off.
Cats have no concept of ownership, unless it's that everything belongs to them.
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