November: In which the wolf taps politely at the door
And nobody
Knows —tiddely-pom,
How cold my
TOES—tiddely-pom
Are
Growing.

I start the month with an inspiration, a real grabber: Salvaged Pet Food Skillet Supper and Soup. No, no, bear with me, hear me out. Here’s the process:

October: In which life grows misty, mellow, and fruitful, and I put the “tum” in “autumnal”.

I begin the month determined to cut back on utilities. The $21 I’ve paid forward from September’s food savings ($80 minus utilities overrun) won’t cover much, so I’m going to renew my zeal on the grocery front, too.

September: In which I take stock, wonder what all the fuss was about, and weary of ratatouille.

I assembled the border collie and the nine cats and – Yes, nine. It’s a long story. Several long stories, of little interest to anyone, including me. As Hemingway observed, one cat just leads to another.

This thrift business, I’ll say for starters, is bred in the bone. When I was six, I came home from school to the familiar sight of a vast pot steaming on the stove. Mum was boiling handkerchiefs, I thought, but the smell was peculiar. I dragged a chair to the stove, climbed up, and lifted the lid. Grinning up at me from the seething water, all gaping nostrils and eyeless sockets and yellow fangs, was a rubbery pink-orange pig’s head.