Spot: A long story long

Dear Reader -  Well, it's been an interesting week, with a wee bit of extra texture to add to the girl-starting-new-business-while-running-old-one-and-gearing-up-for-the-large-special-event-that-she-runs energy!

Here is the lion's share of the texture:

 

Miss C and I have named her Spot. Why?

When I was driving back from (the awesome) Canterbury Used Furniture in Felton with my new filing cabinets last Sunday, I was cutting over Fourth Street between New Road and Burton, heading through a little stretch of woods. A bit of movement drew my eyes to the right, and there I saw a tiny black spot hopping into the dense undergrowth:

A kitten! A kitten that appeared to be all alone!

I quickly pulled over, put on my hazards, and went to peer into the woods. Sure enough, there she was. Not a minute later, a Lewes PD car stopped by to ask if I was okay, I explained that I'd just seen a little kitten, thinking maybe the fellas'd help me find her, but they just nodded and went on their way.

As the kitty had hunkered down in the brush, looking pretty darn terrified and not the least bit interested in my heeere-kitty-kitty-kitties, I decided not to lumber after her into the woods, sensing that that'd be counter-productive. As I crouched at the edge of the woods, a few more cars slowed as they passed, some folks warily asking me, "are you okay?" I explained about the kitten, watching her sink further into the woods with each encounter.

I then decided that food might be the key. So I told her I'd be back, hopped back in my Pilot, and headed around the corner to get some food at the house. I dumped all my stuff in the entryway, grabbed an old plastic Chinese takeout container, filled it with some of Midnight (Miss C's kitty that Santa told her to rescue in first grade) and Sinai's (the "transitional object" that Miss C's dad and I rescued in 1993 or 4 [I can never remember]) food. I headed back over, shook the food bowl while reciting my heeere-kitty-kitty-kitties, and the placed it at the edge of the woods.

I proceeded to plop onto the sidewalk, keeping my distance and giving Spot some calm space and time to approach the bowl. I sat there for awhile, fielding the inevitable "are you okays?" that came my way. And then I glanced up and saw what appeared to be someone walking their little Yorkshire Terrier straight down the sidewalk in our direction.

"Crap!" I thought. "That's not gonna help get this kitty outta the woods at all!"

But then I did a double-take and realized, while I initially hadn't seen the dog-walker, I assumed they were obscured behind one of the trees along the sidewalk:

But in that double-take I realized: that darn dog was walking down the sidewalk all alone! I looked over at the kitten, creeping toward the food bowl, I looked over at the dog, blithely walking our way. "Really?" was the only thing that went through my little head. Utter dismay.

I hopped up and headed for the pooch, immediately motivating it to pull a u-turn and head back down the other side of the street. I moved quickly down the street after it, trying not to send it in to an all-out freak-out mode by running madly. I did however, start to flag down the cars heading towards us, not wanting them to squish the little doggy. The first car stopped and the woman in the passenger seat hopped out.

"I have no idea who's dog this is," I cried out. "Oh my gosh!" she replied. We proceeded to corral the dog, and she grabbed her. "We're just on our way back to D.C.," she said. So, of course, I took the dog, glancing wistfully back toward the cat, wondering what in the heck I was gonna do. I asked a few other folks out for walks if they knew the dog, to no avail. Then I pushed the food bowl a little further into the brush, so that a passing dog wouldn't get at it, and the dog and I hopped into the car.

The "what the heck am I gonna do" thought went through my head again, as I knew that my vet's office wouldn't be open to check if the dog was microchipped. Then it hit me: we keep an extra kennel at the shop for Nellie, so I decided to head there. I stepped on the gas and drove in that direction, swerving around one of the out-for-a-walk ladies that I'd seen earlier who was stopped chatting on the side of the road with a passing pickup truck.

And when I was about make the next turn it dawned on me: "I bet those people were asking her about the dog!" I swung back around and gunned it back to the woman, swerving over to the side of the road and asking her, "Were those people looking for the dog?" (the dog snugly tucked under my left arm). She said, "Yes! I just sent them back to where I saw you last!"

Off I went, the dog and I driving like mad women after the truck. We finally managed to get their attention. I hopped out the car, running up to ask them, "Is this your dog?" "Yes!" the man cried! "Her name is Precious!"

The man's name was George, and, being a very kind man, he immediately wanted to help me with the kitty. I was a little concerned, remembering how she cowered with each additional visitor, and, sure enough, she kept sinking deeper and deeper into the woods. I tried for quite awhile, and then I mentioned maybe giving it a break. George had a super suggestion: just leave a little food for the kitty, in the hope that it'd return for more. So I shook a few kibbles out into the lid of the container and took off for home, realizing that Miss C'd probably be pretty worried by now. I'd been gone a long time, and my cell phone was sitting in the entryway being of no use.

I stepped in the house and told her all about it. She, of course, wanted to come and see. We gave it a few minutes, and then we headed back over: Miss C watching from the car, so as not to further spook the kitty, and me with my food-shaking and my heeere-kitty-kitty-kitties on the sidewalk. We tried a couple more times to no avail, and then we went home to feed our pets and hang out for a bit.

At 9:00 I headed over to the shop to close'er up (at some point in the earlier process, I don't even remember when now, I also ran over to the shop to get the extra kennel, thinking we could put the kitty in it, if we caught her - Grace was already there for her shift, so I told her about the kitten, and then I ran into the our beneficent landlord, Mr. Ted, at his liquor store [I felt that the occasion warranted a glass of something interesting] - he said that he might know someone who'd be interested in her [to my great relief]).

I sent Grace home, since she was feeling a little punk, and I had folks 'till 10:00, so I didn't get back to the woods to check on the kitty 'till pretty late. I called and called. No sign of kitty. I climbed back into my car, pointed it toward home and stopped dead as I saw the little black spot, hopping at the edge of the brush - I tried calling her again, she meowed in reply, but she stayed put. I finally gave up for the night.

Monday morning I woke up to pouring rain. My first thought: Oh no! The kitten! I grabbed the little dish of food and headed over straight away. I got soaked through, calling out my kitty-kitty-kitties, and fielding a few "are you okays?" No sign of the kitten  - no sightings, no meows, nothing. A woman walked by, asking if I was okay, and when she heard about the kitten being out all night said, "You live in this neighborhood, right? And you know how many foxes we have?" Images of little tufts of black fur being left behind on the floor of the woods came to mind. I was crushed, thinking that I may have given up on her too quickly the night before. But I couldn't dwell on the possibility: it was a work day, and I had to head back home to get Nellie and myself ready.

When the clock struck 5:00, I dropped Nellie home and headed back. What did I find? A little spot curled in a ball next to the little food bowl! I brought the new food out to her, shaking it gently and trying to coax her further out of the woods. She made it all the way to the bowl a few times, but she was far too wary to let me get anywhere near her, basically inhaling the kibble just a quickly as she could.

I heard a car pull up behind me - a husband and wife on their way out to dinner with friends. We chatted for a couple about the kitten, and then the woman said that she had a no-kill trap. She said she'd get it to me on Tuesday, to which I said, "Thank you! But I'm kinda concerned about the foxes . . ." She replied, "We'll be right back."

Her name was Jackie, and she brought a little wire cage/trap, some newspaper to line it, and a can of food to entice her in. It didn't take but a minute or two for the trap to do its job. And the poor little kitty was terrified. I quickly snatched her up and popped it in the car with me. She looked at me with fear and accusation in her eyes - she'd just started to sorta trust me, and I'd completely betrayed her. I took her back home, got her situated with food and water and a litter box in a spare bath.

As you can see from this picture, dear Reader, it didn't take Spot long to learn to trust me and Miss C again:

She was particularly magical with Miss C as she removed over 20 ticks from her little skin-and-bones frame. The poor little thing. She just lay there, still as a stone, purring away, letting Miss C do away with one tick after another.

I came to learn that Jackie was actually the person that Ted had in mind for the kitty, since she's a leader in the active cat rescue movement in Lewes. She has provided us with milk for the kitty, as well as her worm medication, and an offer to "fix" her at next to no cost and provide her shots. Jackie's been a Godsend. She also told us a series of horror stories of folks who've abused cats (some intentionally, some unwittingly), cautioning us to be very careful about finding her a new home.

We're looking - figuring that her right home will find us soon (Miss C's conditions are the she get to visit Spot and be her catsitter). Until then, we love Spot. Truly  - Jen

Days Two and Three: A Shotgun Retrospective & A Fun Little Story

Dear Reader -  Well, we're making progress (it sure does help when it's not just one girl climbing around on a ladder). Here're the basics:

1. I skipped out on Sunday's devotions, as I had to get the second slatwall done in time to run up to get Miss C from her NYC home. See the faithful as they begin to trickle out across the street, with a few trickling over to chat mit moi:

2. My paint brush ran across my second (in as many days) sleepy stink bug nestled all cozy in his/her slatwall bed:

 

There are now two distinctive yellow stink bugs wandering around Lewes:

3. Adel and his crew from Colorwise & More showed up mid-morning on Monday (a.k.a. Day Three) to start prepping the walls and woodwork:

4. Danny Wilson, Contractor to the Stars, and his trusty helper Charlie began removing the decades-old carpeting first thing:

They found a-lot-more-decades-old wood underneath the front half; and then the back half held a curiously layered and patched mass of tar paper, luon plywood, ceramic, and particle board on top of a mix of hard and soft woods:

The reality of this conglomeration may mean that I have to ditch the idea of doing hardwood altogether, having to resort to an engineered product. I'm rolling with it - along with Danny and the Beneficent Mr. Ted, figuring out what makes the most practical sense to do at this point (my Buddhist practices sure do come in handy here, as I can't stay too attached to any of my previous ideas in the face of reality - surrender, dear Reader - surrender . . .).

5. The coolest part about the mystery floor is the story that it told. See how some of the boards match in with the oak up front (running horizontally across the storefront) and how there're some pine boards running perpendicular to them?

 
What we figured out is that the pine boards are underneath the spot where the soda fountain sat back in the day. And when I stopped over at my friendly next door neighbor shop, Two Friends, to check in with the ladies about our construction disruption (a la there're suddenly a whole lotta men in our otherwise all-female suite of shops), Joan and I got to talking about the floor.

It turned out that Joan (maiden name Russell) had worked as a soda jerk and waitress at the soda shop back in the day.

 Joan remembered that the soda shop was called Britt's, owned by Hazel Brittingham's husband (Hazel is one of Lewes' leading historians [which is saying something when you're the "first town in the first state"] - you can find some of the fruits of her research here on the Lewes Historical Society's website). Joan worked at Britt's in 1956 and 1957, when she graduated from Lewes High School. "Probably for 30 cents an hour," she chuckled.

The soda shop was THE hangout for high school kids. Joan recalled, "It's where everybody went to get burgers and fries."

So we're all thinking that the floor under the counter was either replaced with those pine boards or perhaps the cheaper wood was used under some sort of tiling.

Either way, it's fun to know that there's so much happy energy dwelling under our feet in the new biblion, where we're moving onward to Day Four!  - Jen

The guy who trumps the backstory

Dear Reader -  So I was planning on blathering on to you about the bookstore's backstory, but I ran across another fella on my book-buying run today (okay, now it's yesterday - I started this last night, but got too sleepy) who deserves a mention.

You see, I have a few different places where I find my books - I do the whole estate route, I do auctions and library sales, and I suppose that I could do wholesalers, but I haven't - at least not yet. I'm not a snob - I'm totally open to filling some of my perceived blank spots with another book-buyer's help, but I've really enjoyed letting my books find me.

So what's been my primary mode of acquisition? Charity thrift stores.

I love them. I love that somebody just up and gave their stuff to them, hoping that it'd do somebody else some good. I love that the money that I put down on books (regardless of the variations in pricing from store to store) all goes back to help others. I love that I find things that I know I'd never think of on my own (a la, if I ordered from a wholesaler). And I love - love, love, LOVE - the people whom I find in my travels to them.

Like today, at the Salvation Army store about 30 minutes up the road that was my last stop for this book-buying extravaganza: There was this broader-framed 40ish woman who was shepherding around this itsty-bitsy 70ish woman with obvious infirmities. Anyone who's watched the latest Top Chef incarnation, Top Chef Just Desserts, knows Sylvia Weinstock by now . . .

  (And if you're playing catch-up, visit her website and blog to get a feel for what she's all about: www.SylviaWeinstock.com.)

Anyhow, this woman was the spitting image of Sylvia, albeit with more constrained (but still very iconic) black glasses and a more weathered visage. But what made her truly memorable was her gait . . . and her boots. She wore these adorable mid-calf, fuzzy black boots with pom-pomed ties at the top. And she walked much like Tim Conway doing his old-dude bit on the Carol Burnett show, using one of the Salvation Army carts as a walker of sorts. But the best part was how blessedly respectful and kind - how humane - the 40ish woman was with her - goodness, how they were with each other. The broader-framed woman didn't condescend (and Sylvia II didn't bitch). The younger woman just rolled along with her in this constant and engaged manner, helping Sylvia's doppleganger do her thang at the small-town SA. I fell in love with them.

Oh, but not before I fell in love with the other fella who inspired this post. I fell in love with him a couple months back, actually - on August 24, my book-buying records tell me. That was the first time that I went to the thrift store where he's in charge of loving the books - and man, does he love him some books.

Both times that I've visited his store, I've found a cartful of very happy books. And both times that I've visited his store, he's made a point of coming by and cheering me on, making sure that I know how much he appreciates me appreciating his books and the fine work that he puts into displaying them. He's a shorter version of the Grisly Adams sorta archetype - fit, but full, full-bearded, but trimmed, with the requisite kind eyes.

It's obvious that he brings a rare kind of attention to what he does - a sort of attentiveness that most of us wouldn't normally think to associate with the thrift store world. I'll work on getting his own backstory (and perhaps even a picture) for you, if he's game.

In the end, buying books from him leaves me wanting to do right by them.  - Jen