The universe is a strange and wondrous place. There's a milk crate full of junk that I've been stepping around for years, and today became it's day of destiny. I poked through it for big lumps of metal that could be recycled, shoving around the other bits of junk that Hubby had dumped in, because he'd need them someday. I then hauled it out to the garbage can to dump the rest of it.

As I dumped it all in the can, an envelope from one of Hubby's old jobs got hung up on one of the garbage bags already in the can. I pulled it out so I could make sure it wasn't something with his Social Security number on it or something.

And inside the envelope was the title to the old Mustang that's been in the backyard for ten years and hasn't run this century, that was being a paperwork trail nightmare to get a title, because there was no record of the VIN in the Utah system. I hadn't even noticed an envelope in the crate while I was rummaging around in it.

My guardian angel may hang around the pool a lot, accepting drinks from cabana boys, but she knows her stuff.

That worked out nicely, Connie.

Aww, poor stinky boys, they don't get no respect! Well, my boy smells lovely again, he took a nice long bath tonight.

It is a foggy London morning here in Beantown... What happened to May, I wonder.

Connie, that's amazing! Wonderful how stuff works out sometimes.

It's been raining for a week. I like it. Cool and damp is my jam.

I got to sleep in today!

...and I woke up at 6:45. Dammit, brain, why?

Spare Cat doesn't seem to have noticed that Muppet is missing. At the least I would have hoped a little fear that a cat Left and Never Came Back. There may be the slightest tinge of satisfaction that she's now the only cat.

I suppose, technically we should change her name to Primary Cat. While I was chatting with the vet last week, I mentioned her nickname (she does have a real name), and I learned that there's also a patient of theirs named Backup Cat.

May gray is a thing here in LA, bears a strong similarity to June's June gloom. But even by the usual standards, this is a very gray May. The roses and the bougainvillea are happy, which makes me happy.

Akin to Spare Cat, we used to have a half feral rescue cat that we called Outdoor Kitty, OK for short. OK was the most hilariously bad pet, but she loved Cody and he loved her. She would mostly stay outside (hence the name) but would occasionally run inside, quickly find a spot (usually a pillow or a bed, but sometimes just the carpeting), pee, and run back out.

We had a cat like that we called Patches after the zombie cat in Buffy. She'd come inside to eat and didn't mind hanging out in the same room with us as long as we didn't try to touch her and the window stayed open. There was what looked like a whole litter of feral kittens/half-grown cats that invaded our house when were on vacation once, she was the leader. We caught them and had them fixed but we could only keep one so we kept her because she was the boldest about coming into the house. The SPCA assured us the others would probably be adopted, because they were awfully cute and less fierce than she was. I hope they were.

I remember the first spring after my parents moved back to California, my sister liked to sing "when it's cold out, it must be the month of May" to My Girl

We* were late putting flea stuff on our dogs, which we finally did early in the week. Now they are fine and our house has fleas. I washed all their bedding last night, but we have to treat the cats and spray and mop everywhere.

• by "we" I mean my spouse, who does not get bitten to shreds by fleas so considers them a minor issue rather than the evil scourge that I do.

Ugh Scrappy, the arrival of the fleas is the worst thing about Spring

[Note: by "fleas" I mean the pests, not our glorious flea, who would in fact be most welcome to drop by for a visit any time of year]