Finally, Spring!

Saturday dawned with the first, real, significant spring weather. It was bright and sunny with a predicted high in the mid-60's. I've been no-so-patiently waiting for spring to arrive so I could plant the peach trees and blue-berry bushes I bought weeks ago. The weird part of the day was clearing an area out of the snow to plant the trees. By mid-afternoon the day had warmed up and so had my neck and top of the head. The equation ss + rsp - fhh = sb accurately captures the experience, Sun Shine + Reflected Snow Properties - Full Head of Hair = Sunburn.
The kids enjoyed the day as well. They took large sticks to attack the various piles of snow about the yard calling themselves "The army of spring." Their plan seems to be working as the scattered piles were the first to disappear this weekend. The last little joy of spring was driving by the ice-free little lake near our house. Its finally time to buy my fishing license.

The Impostor

For the past four years I have cared for someone I thought I knew and just found out they are a complete impostor. I can think of no better term then to call him an animal. He is a cat specifically. He has warmed itself by our nightly fire, purred contently on our laps and ate the food we provided. We even let him intimidate our dog and beat up our other cat, Pollie. The cat formerly known as Hobbes, a.k.a. "Psycho kitty", is not Hobbes after-all. You-see, when we moved into our new house four years ago Hobbes ran away. Four months later, an emaciated, beat-up and weak Hobbes look-alike showed up on our door step acting like he belonged there. It was Thanksgiving day to boot. We took him in, nursed him back to health, paid his vet bills (yearly check-ups included) and told the amazing story of the lost-and-found-on-thanksgiving-day cat. Even the vets were amazed at our wonderful cat who came home story. So, it is ironic, after four years of regular shots and check-ups that our vet should break the sad news to us that Hobbes is not who he said he was. Actually, Hobbes is not who she said she was. Hobbes is a girl.
So, what choice do we have but to continue to let her live our her little charade. We'll let her warm herself by our fire, purr in our laps, intimidate our dog and beat up Pollie. However, I've lost a little faith in our vet who has taken this long to figure out he was a she.