No man is a hero to his cat

It's autumn fall here, and the nights cats are drawing in. Barry was Very Helpful t'other night, finding me awake at 4am and recognising that this was in fact the perfect time to settle firmly on my bladder and go to sleep. This had the dual effect of keeping me wide awake and pinning me in position, so that I had nothing to do but think: in consequence of which, when I was finally allowed to get up a couple of hours later, I had title and opening line and general shape of a story in my head, and I was able to come straight to the computer and write the first page.

The boys like being helpful. Last night I woke up in the dark and Karen murmured, "Don't move. Barry's perched on your hip, and Mac's just behind your knees." So I slithered flat to make Barry more comfy and again bade sleep farewell: as a result of which I've spent this morning writing a brief essay on heroism, which I will point you to at a later date.

Now I think I shall go out into the sunshine, before it's all snatched away from me. I could go work in the garden; or I could go for a walk, or for a bike ride, or...

Damn. I hate choices. See, if Barry were only sitting on me, I wouldn't have 'em. But he's over there in the window, absorbing rays. Helpfully, I expect. He's kind of like a storage-heater: soaks up heat in daylight, emits it at night. Mostly into me.

Shouldn't it be decompost, really?

So I went out into the back yard and worried at my compost-bin a bit, and then decided to be proactive.

Thing is, back in the UK, making compost was easy. It was basically What My Back Yard Did: it was a machine for generating compost, which then got recycled into plant growth, which then got recycled into more compost. It's the real reason I had to move; I had three bins in a narrow yard which could really not take much more in the way of garden beds or pots, and every bin was filling.

Here, though? I installed a bin last year, and I've been filling it steadily for six months, here in the warm of California, and I had really expected to be shovelling good dark humus from the bottom by now. But - well, not so much. This is another country, and things rot differently here. I think I let it lie too dry all summer; so this last month I've been running the hose on it a lot, and for definites it is too wet now. I know this, because I have been deeply engaged with it for the last half-hour.

I lifted off the bin and set it down to one side, and then basically I turned the whole heap over: lots of fresh stiff tomato-clippings underneath to provide structure and aeration till they decompose, and then all the dense decaying matter flung in on top, interspersed with dry paper shreddings and the occasional shovelful of corporate compost from the town dump. I think it'll be okay, come spring - but that again is UK-Chaz talking, wise in the way of British compost and honestly a little bit at sea over here. I'm just doing what I know to do, and hoping to see the results that I am used to.

It is at least busy with little life, albeit mostly woodlice. Are there no worms in California? I think I have yet to see a worm, which is kind of what our entire compost-culture depends on where I'm from. Anyone with CA-specific advice, I am very ready to listen.