It was a pretty pleasant morning yesterday in the Duke City, so I bit the bullet and ventured out for a short walk around the flattest parts of our neighborhood, which made it a very short walk indeed.
I did a bit with both crutches, and a bit with one, and a bit with none; chatted up a few neighbors who wished to plumb the depths of my stupidity; and finally headed back to the rancheroo for a spot of lunch.
Then I pulled off the Darth Gimp boot and its Vasque Clarion companion, leaned back in my chair, and put both dogs up on a footstool to rest awhile.
Not until I settled in and got comfortable did the smoke alarm go off.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Etc.
So I put on the Darth Gimp boot and its Vasque Clarion companion, levered myself out of the chair, crutched into the entryway … and it stopped.
“Turkish, are you fucking with me? I asked. The question seemed relevant, if a tad mystical.
For starters, as all cat people know, your cat will never assign you some vital task until you are settled in and comfortable.
Second, the night Turkish died, as Herself and I were settling into bed, and I rested my right hand on the spot where our big, big boy would usually lounge for a bit, the bathroom light suddenly turned itself on, and then off.
Now there was this. And it wasn’t lost on me that I had instructed that my old comrade’s remains be cremated.
I crutched into the kitchen for a fresh battery, because why the hell not, and the smoke detector started up again. So I returned with the battery and a small stepladder, and — praying there wasn’t a giant, pissed-off, blue-eyed spectral cat in a cloud of smoke up there somewhere — made the swap without incident.
Turkish always liked the high spots.
Mad Blog Media 
Ladders are the enemy.
Be careful with those ladders or you will be wearing two boots.
Spooky, spiritual, and special!
Mega-Ditto on the ladders advice here.
Aw, it wasn’t that hairy. I just needed to get a few inches of elevation so I didn’t risk throwing out my back stretching to the damn smoke detector. Then I’d need a corset. And Herself would need a hand truck to chauffeur me around.
The perspective on that photo, until you enlarge it, makes it look like you needed alpine gear to get up there.
Heh. I did that deliberately. I was flat on my back on the floor when I shot that one. Fake news, don’t you know.
Of course the Turk was messing with you. 🧐
We have never had a cat at our current house, but both me and my husband have seen a ghost cat out of the corner of our eye. Never enough detail to totally identify the cat, but she appears to be my old gal Alice.
My dogs often visit me in my dreams, especially Fuerte. I hope to see Turkish there too.
Odd to sense an unseen presence, isn’t it? You can see why some folks like church.
Ghost cats are probably real. Shortly after we lost one of ours 15 years ago, the “weight” of something jumping onto the bed at night startled me, and I was wide awake when this happened. Wife had a similar story the next morning. It gave me comfort that if it was her (the cat), that she was OK.
Patrick, me lad, the next time Turk messes with you and you have to get the smoke alarms down, get out your vacuum cleaner and use the crevice tool to clean around the edges. You might find some of his hair in there!
A week after my last ankle surgery, mine did the same trick on me. Luckily a neighbor rescued my sorry arse. In a bulky splint at the time; no climbing allowed.
Ok, time to run in circles, scream and shout….
https://www.santafenewmexican.com/news/local_news/three-new-mexicans-test-positive-for-covid/article_0b839632-63ae-11ea-8c5f-eb4f2fc94ba3.html
My wife has forbidden the purchase of a ladder. A step-stool is OK though, I guess she figures it’s not so far to fall?