I want to go back to being an apartment dweller

Notes on my evening:

I'm putting out bird seed around 8:20 tonight. And there's a skunk on the lawn, 10 feet away.

I limped to the porch, with the seed jar, turned ... no sign of the skunk, probably one of the two that have been around the house for several weeks. At night. Late night. I don't move for a minute. Here comes the skunk, moving fast. It zips underneath the fence and vanishes into the darkness of the backyard.

A couple times a week, a racoon or two will climb over the same fence, inbound or outbound.

Earlier, I fill and hang up the nectar feeder for the hummingbirds. The most customers for it, however, are bees. And finches. And orioles. I'm OK with birds, not bees.

More lively moments come from the annual late-summer swarms of moths. They are everywhere. No possible way to keep them out of the house. They are small, brown. When their wings are folded, they're about an inch long and narrow. The atrium is full of them. I swept up a dozen deaders a couple days ago. Doing it again tomorrow.

Charley the cat loves them. To play with. To chase around, especially under the big table lamp.

There are flying bugs everywhere outdoors. I can't walk through the backyard without being hit in the face, in the hair, arms.

I hate bugs.

Adding to this weekend's festivities, we are dog-sitting Bernie and Gertie, sweet small canines that rarely bark. That's a relief.

But the three cats are basket cases. Charley stalks them endlessly. Speckles stares from across the room. Gizmo vanished last night. He was caught this evening, however, and is imprisoned in a dog-less bedroom until morning.

He's an outdoor cat, all day and all evening. Even he's smart enough to come in when the raccoons and skunks come out to play.

The perfect kicker: Yesterday morning, there was a lizard in the atrium.

Three inches long, gray. Low to the ground.

Lizard.

Intending to flush it outside, I opened the storm door. The lizard dodged my foot and leapt onto the doorjam, the perfect spot to be crushed if I let the door close.

Holding the heavy door, I scooped up a peanut shell from the bag that supplies the scrub jays, and touched its nose. It dropped and dodged outside.

Lizard. I didn't see it go, but I think it jumped off the porch into the flower bed.

I miss my apartment. Not the young couple upstairs with the 4-year-old boy who ran like a herd of wild horses.

Speaking of which, there are four or five herds of wild horses upriver a couple miles.

Pardon me while I climb into bed (checking for critters) and pull the covers over my head.

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Ain't it the truth

"A lie can run around the world before the truth has got its boots on."

— William de Word, editor, Ankh-Morpork Times

Quoted by Terry Pratchett in the Discworld novel, "The Truth."

The color of the sky

For two days now, wildfire smoke in the Northern Nevada sky gave the sunlight a golden hue, shifting to orange late in the day.

Spooky. Enough.

Time for the sky to dig deeper into its bag of tricks.

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Generally depressing

I realized last night that I'm skipping "The Daily Show" and "Full Frontal," but only because of Trump overload. Both shows are brilliant commentary and hilarious. They show aspects of people, politics, and foreign lands, expanding my world.

I just can't take DJT any more. If I overload on Stephen Colbert, I don't know what I'll do.

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There's a "My Favorite Pony" movie coming. And the plot? War.

Hollywood always sucks Ares' dick, but this is a bridge too far.

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