***
When Tom, Ginna and their two cats came downstairs, George hissed at Clyde and Jeremy, who hissed back. I was starting to panic when Jeremy flopped on his back, showing complete submission. It was poor old Clyde who got smacked in the head again. George sat down for a thorough wash, then demanded we open the back door for him. He paraded out as though he had important business on his mind. Clyde and Jeremy rubbed around Ginna's ankles, looking for breakfast.
Over his second coffee, Tom said, "Let's move everything out of Holly's studio, the bathroom, the master bedroom and Ben's den and do the whole north side of the main floor at once."
"Okay," Ben said, "then we can move everything from the south side over and do the living and dining rooms, the kitchen and the laundry room."
Ginna rose. "Let's get at it, guys. My specialty is stripping wallpaper."
"Should we block the cat door so Clyde and Jeremy can't get out?" I asked.
Ginna said, "You worry too much. They know home is where I am, so they won't go far."
Ben gave Ginna's cats a wistful glance. "They haven't caught any mice yet but they're well-behaved. They haven't thrown up once since they got here."
We moved furniture into the living room until it looked like a crowded second-hand store. I shuddered at the disarray and hoped nothing essential was buried under it. Ben said, "Don't hide Georgius Felinus Rex's scratching post behind all that stuff; he won't be able to find it."
When Ginna finished laughing at George's elegant Latin title, she said, "He'll find it. Cats have a much better sense of smell than humans."
"Maybe so, but it's not fair to confuse him by shifting everything around." Ben insisted on putting the scratching post in the hall, where George would have immediate access and the rest of us could trip over it. There was no doubt George had the Houseboy completely under his paw.
We moved boxes of books and linen upstairs. Ben, Tom and Ginna stripped wallpaper, ripped up linoleum and dismantled the bathroom. I made grocery lists, did two loads of laundry, watered the garden and gathered the eggs, barely escaping with my life when Mr. Mighty chased me out of the hen house.
I was putting trays of eggs in the fridge when there was a rap at the back door and Cal Peterson walked in.
"Morning, Holly. I need a couple dozen eggs."
"You're my first customer! I'll celebrate by giving you an extra dozen free to mark my debut as Egg Lady." Getting rid of three dozen meant more space in the fridge for the mounds of groceries I needed to buy.
"Who belongs to the Ford Bronco in the driveway?"
"My sister and her husband are here for a month to help renovate the house. Why don't you see what they're up to? Ben mentioned getting you to do some electrical work."
Cal disappeared down the hall and I drove into Mora Bay to pick up groceries and supplies for the renovation crew. When I got back it was time for lunch, then more errands and prepping supper.
By five o'clock everybody was more than ready for a swim and a drink. "Ah, this is heaven," Tom sighed, climbing out of the pool and flopping into his deck chair. He took a gulp of cold beer. "Country peace and quiet, clean air, green growing things, no traffic."
Clyde and Jeremy, lying under Ginna's chair, yawned and blinked as though in agreement. George sat on the diving board, looking down on the other two cats through slitted green eyes. I'd just concluded that he was working out some fiendish plot to push them into the pool when I heard footsteps and the tinkling of a bell.
I turned to look and nearly dropped my martini. The yard was full of Holstein cows, black and white hides like checker boards melting in the sun, munching grass and leaving an occasional contribution of fertilizer.
"Those are Ken Dyckman's cattle," Ben said. "Hey! Get out of here!"
Two cows lowered their heads and eyed him suspiciously; the rest ignored him and went on eating. While the cats retreated to the safety of the blackberry hedge, the swimmers, barefoot and still dripping water, harried the dozen cows back across the so-called cattle guard and down the road with me trailing along in the rear.
Halfway to Ken's place, we met him, tramping along in rubber boots and carrying a pitchfork. "Sorry about that," he said. "Had a guy with a backhoe doing some ditching and he busted the fence. Got it fixed okay now."
"Want help getting them back in the field?" Tom asked. I could see that Ginna's city boy thought chasing cows was a big adventure.
Ken shook his head. "No, Marla's waiting at our gate. We'll get them in okay. Thanks anyway."
We strolled home and Ben sank into his deck chair. "What was that you said about peace and quiet, Tom? And no traffic?"