technical difficulties

Satan's cat
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Greetings. 


When I started this blog, having a site on Wix was close to free. Then once I started getting more readers, I had to pay for the emails I sent out with each post, now Wix is asking me to pay to load any more photos. So I've decided enough is enough and am switching to Weebly, a "transfer is in progress". I have no idea what that means and am woefully un-gifted with managing things like this, having no idea what will happen. In an ideal world, once this transfer is made, I'll be able to send out another post from Wix telling you to re-sign up on the new site, but honestly, I have no clue and have waited to get motivated to figure it out and honestly don't think it's going to happen.


So, know that all is well, it's 65 and sunny today, the cafes are packed, the shorts are out and this gentle life in Aix continues to inspire, entertain and delight me. OK, a few stories, I can't resist. But no pics, sadly.


For the last six or nine months, I have been noticing dogs in a way that I hadn't before, almost like I could relate to them like I could a person. This past week, I was having a hike up to the Tour Cesar, having written about it previously. On my way up, I passed a couple coming down who despite not speaking to each other, were not able to reply to my "bonjour". Walking in front of them was a Dalmatian, off leash. 


On the way down, about half an hour later, I saw two older women with poles struggling up the hill with a Dalmation off leash and thought it an odd coincidence to see two within an hour or so. The dog came running up to me, sat down in front of me and started howling in a most soulful way, looking right at me and making me feel as though I was in a Disney movie that had talking animals trying to save us from danger. I said "bonjour", having an internal giggle about dogs speaking better French than me, and began to pet him, which calmed him down. When the women approached, they asked me if he was my dog, saying he was not theirs. I told them no and made movements to begin heading down the hill, then remembering that one of the things I liked about here is that people are more likely to care for others, so slapped down my American inclination to think only of myself and hung in there, the dog once in a while walking away to sniff something, but always coming back to me, looking me in the eye and yowling. I'd pet him again, calm him down while I deliberated with the women, and then the routine would be repeated.


We found a phone number on his collar, they called the number, left a message, then we waited a few minutes, no reply. So, we decided they would continue up and I would continue down, assuming one of us would find the wordless couple who owned the dog. Well, the dog chose me and as I descended, would run ahead, doing his sniffing and peeing thing, then loop back to check on me and give me what felt like a somewhat yowl as I hadn't yet understood. This continued for about 15 minutes as the walk switched from woods to woody suburban houses with big walls. At one point the dog went far ahead and I felt sure that he'd gone home and all was solved, but then right when I got to a fork where I was to go left, he came back, and not quietly, to let me know he had not found his home and I was still on duty. I stood there for a minute or two as he continued on in the direction I wasn't going to go. With the knowledge I looked like a cray person, I snuck down the other way, hustling through the brush for a few minutes.


I was hurrying down this rubbly and overgrown path that was pretty steep, and from behind me, I heard the dog, tearing to catch up with me and yes, yowl. He then went ahead of me. I knew that as I continued to descend, I'd be going past another gated big house, a farm and then some smaller houses at which point I'd be on a not much used road that eventually led to a much more used road with a school, apartments buildings and bus stops where the dog would no longer be safe. Not knowing what the heck to do and not wanting to take off my shirt, I looked around the bushes to see if there was something I could use as a leash, thinking I'd bring him back to my apartment and then call someone. But there really was nothing. Then at the field, I saw a man getting on a tractor and had started to walk towards him, in the hope he'd know this dog and know what to do, or at the very least give me a piece of rope. On the way I ran into a woman who had a tiny dog who she lifted up when what had become "my"dog pounced towards them. She started to give me the evil eye, perhaps wondering why I wasn't keeping this hound under control, but was sympathetic when I explained the situation. In the end, she kindly ended up taking the dog back to her house, but with enough yowling and pleading looks that I was reminded of leaving my little girl at pre-school on that first day. 


Walkiing back to my apartment, I kept wondering what was going on and why was the dog making that sound when he otherwise seemed to be rather content. Could.he be trying to tell me something? Why me? Why not the other people? It will remain a mystery.


The next day, the ginger cat I'd seen once before in the hallway started a similar insistent yowling at me. I politely said "bonjour" and continued on my way down the stairs with concern about whether I should endeavour to keep it from escaping outside. But when I got near the exterior door, it lost interest. I came back a while later, the cat was there again, yowling again at me. Frustrated, I switched to English and said "What do you want from me???" and continued past it up the steps to my apartment. On the doormat was a big, nasty cat poop, really not my favorite thing. It looked at me, I looked at it, I went inside and closed the door.


A few hours later, I was sittiing on the couch writing, it was about 6 pm, and someone tried to open my front door, repeatedly. I was a little in shock, knowing that the only people who had keys would never do so without checking with me, so sat for a minute to think, but they continued to jiggle, freaking me out a bit as I could see the door handle moving. Eventually I decided to say something, but there was no reply. A few minutes later, I tried again, no reply, so I opened the door. And there was that cat. It looked at me, I looked at it, told it to get lost, and that was the end of that.


And this all after a night when someone was played a trumpet near my window when he or she should have been sleeping. Crazy times.