The thunder woke me up last night. It rumbled and roared for the longest time then the rain started, the downpour, a torrent of rain. It rained all night. This morning the rain was heavy then just in time for me to get the papers the rain became a mist. Gracie has been out twice, a barometer of sorts as she only goes out if the rain is light.

Maddie presented me with another gift this morning: her third mouse since my return. That makes the count 3 to 1. Maddie is the three, and I’m the one. Gracie had cornered a baby mouse the other day, the tiniest of things, and I saved it. I managed to get it into a box then I took it outside, but I swear this new casualty could be the same mouse or its twin. Both were dark grey and both were babies.

My house is really quiet. The only sound is the keys as I type. The three animals are asleep. They each have a spot. Fern is on the afghan on the back of the couch, Maddie on the chair and Gracie sprawled beside me on the couch. Every now and then she snores.

I used to love Saturdays when I was a kid. It was the one day I could do whatever I wanted, at least until bath time. The day always started with cereal and all those wonderful Saturday morning programs. My brother used to sit on the floor between the TV and the chair where I usually sat. If my mother caught him, she always made him move back away from the screen. She believed that watching the TV so closely would harm his eyes. After our shows were finished, it was time to get dressed and go exploring. We never had a destination. We just wandered. On rainy days Saturdays like today, we’d stay home. I liked to lie in bed, comfy under the covers, and read. Sometimes we’d play in the cellar. I used to imagine that the bottom of the railing was a horse. I’d saddle it with a blanket and then ride. I was Annie Oakley.

We never tired of Saturday night’s dinner. It was a ritual of sorts, a New England specialty meal of hot dogs, baked beans and brown bread. I always passed on the beans. We used the yellow mustard on our dogs which, for the whole of his life, was my dad’s favorite. Howard’s piccalilli was our other topping. We were never ketchup fans on hot dogs. Every now and then I buy brown bread; it’s a sort of trip in time.

Saturday night was bath night. My sisters shared the tub while my brother and I each had our own bath. The night always ended in screaming. While my mother was combing the snarls out of their wet hair, my sisters would cry and scream. My brother and I, ever sympathetic, always turned up the TV so we didn’t have to hear them.