Rook

Last weekend, the kids and I went down to an event in Florida.  My band had a gig, and I thought it'd be a nice camp-out for us as well. We had a lovely time at a beautiful site.

We headed home on Sunday.

As I was breaking camp and packing, Someone texted me and asked me to call him.  I needed a break, so I paused tear-down and dialed him up.

With a broken voice and a broken heart, he informed me that he'd found one of our beloved furbabies dead that morning.  She'd been acting a bit off since before we left, but not worryingly so, and then on Saturday she'd seemed content to sit in the sun room on the fluffy pink heart pillow and collect pets and love whenever he passed through.  That night, she took her accustomed place at the foot of the big, comfy bed, went to sleep, and slipped away sometime in the dark hours.

I told the Evil Genius and we cried a bit together.  I opted to wait and tell Sprout once we were on the road - she was having a fine old time catching caterpillars and chasing chickens with a few new friends, I didn't want to spoil it for her.  We all had a cry as I drove, and talked about what we loved and would miss about our Rookers.

She was a damn fine cat.  She was a marvelous mouser.  We will miss her lashing tail, which usually indicated she required more petting, now, if you please.  She had an odd "meow", likely the result of the enormous wolf worm I removed from her neck when she was a kitten (the reason she was brought into Casa de Crazy in the first place) and she was hilarious when we played and got her riled up enough to spit.  She had fierce eyes and a huge backside - I would call her a footstool kitteh - and acted like she owned the place, as any cat would.

She usually slept at the foot of the bed, guardian of my feet, but sometimes would lie beside me and consent to let me sleep with my hand on her.

She only just started purring sometime in the last year.

She was eight, not so very old for a cat but old enough for her, I guess.  We won't know what caused her death; I opted not to have a necropsy because it won't change anything.

On Monday, the kids and I took her up to Mom's to bury under the Evil Genius's tree, next to the circle.  Someone had to start his new job and couldn't come with us, but I made sure that a laser pointer went in with her - she loved the damned thing and would perk up and come running as soon as he clicked the button - and Mizz A was with us, too.  She takes care of the kittehs and the kids when we're working or away, and is family to us.  We all helped dig the hole, placed her in, said a few words, returned her to The Mother, and had a little cry.

I miss her in fits and starts, looking for her when I put down the leftover milk from my cereal or sit on the lounge.  Today I stripped the big, comfy bed and wondered where my furry helper was - she liked to jump up on the bed when I took the sheets off and put fresh ones on, especially when I tossed the sheet over her and she was a cave kitteh.

May her journey over the rainbow bridge be swift and easy.  May she leave behind all memory of sorrow and pain, and carry with her all of her memories of happiness and love.  May she be met by those who went before her with fellowship and joy.  May there be catnip, mice to chase, lots of loving petting, a soft cushion in the warm sun, and wet food to nom, and if she returns to the circle, may those of us who loved her recognize her once again.

Rorschach Test

Yesterday we sent Someone's mom home with a cooler full of Thanksgiving leftovers and a large cardboard box full of fairly pissed off, confused, and probably resentful kitty - she took one of our porch cats home with her.

Rorschach was the only female from this year's crop...in the photo, she's the one with her head resting in the corner of the planter, sort of a grey-tortoise kitty. That photo is the only one I have with her in it, but if you're curious, you can go look at Someone's blog and see more.

We debated which one Someone's mom should take, and Rorschach seemed the best choice - the others, while male, seem to have a tight bond, always walking together, bumping into each other, and flopping down in one large ball-o-cat for naps. It would have been awful to break up their little gang, and Rorschach, while not left out of the love, often hung out on her own in one of the plant pots rather than joining her brothers and cousins on the porch.

We sent her along with lots of love, a warm and cuddly blankie, a bag and some cans of cat food, and a few toys that Bird thought she'd enjoy. Little Dude's heart was breaking - he cried about sending Rorschach away, which didn't make it any easier for me, but I tried to assuage his hurt by explaining that our kitty would be better off with a home, someone to love her, indoors when the weather's bad, lots of food, and no damned neighbor dog constantly allowed to run loose and chase kitties in our yard (don't get me started about that).

I'll miss the little beastie, but I am glad she's got a home. Finding places for the other four my prove more difficult - at least two of them need to be together - they're inseparable now and I can't bear the thought of breaking the bond. I'm OK with keeping them here as long as it takes, and should they still be around if/when we move Northwards to Mum's place, we've already decided that the cats will come with us.

I spent a chunk of the day with this song running through my head, thought I'd share it:


I hope y' all survived Black Friday - I did the only thing that made sense to me and stayed home!

One less set of pawprints on our porch in the morning...

Whoof

Warning - this may bore you to tears.

Also, I DID make pumpkin-spice cupcakes yesterday amidst all the goings-on, and I'll be posting the recipe tomorrow, which won't make up for the below but should prove moderately more interesting.
~~~~~
What a day, yesterday.

It was Veteran's Day, but here at Casa de Crazy it was also veterinarian's day.

Seems Rook (our rescue kitty from last year) has taken oddly ill. She spent about two days down in Mum's (aka "the guest") room, curled up on a blankie on the floor. I wasn't worried at first - all the cats take turns having a day off, keeping scarce and worrying us humans until we search the house for them. They'll eventually pop out of their hiding place and give us the "What? Can't a girl have some peace??" look.

Rook, however, wasn't just having a day off. She didn't eat or drink for at least a day, maybe two...and she wasn't moving about any, either. I finally brought her upstairs two nights ago, placed on the counter (usually no-cat's land) and coaxed her into eating a few bites of "Special Kitty", our name for canned food. She took a couple of bites, but that was it.

She wasn't interested in the laser pointer. You know that ain't right.

She didn't want to curl up on the bed with me.

Eventually she went back downstairs.

Yesterday morning, I checked on her again. She was once more nestled in the blankie. I picked her up, and she was limp in my arms, unresisting - most unlike the ferret-weasel-monkey-squirrel kitty I'm used to. The blankie was wet; she'd peed because she didn't have the energy to get up and use the litter box. Dang.

Back upstairs, I got her to eat a few bites. She wouldn't drink anything, so I mixed water and homemade turkey stock, then tricked her into drinking by getting her to lick cream cheese off my finger. Cream cheese make a body thirsty, and I made sure the water mixture was close by.

She spent the morning on the kitty condo, imitating a cat-shaped lump of misery.

I finally decided we needed a vet visit.

Understand, I love my cats. I once said that if it came down to the cats or the kid, the kid would have to find a new home because the cats were here first. I was only half kidding.

But...

A vet visit? Cha-ching...

And, to use the vernacular, I'm broker than a politician's promise.

Still.

I called Mum and asked if she could help...and she agreed. She knows that Rook is part of our family...she's special to the boy and to Someone, and to me too.

We loaded Rookers up in the kitty carrier (which is large enough to carry several cats, a goat, and a VW Beetle) and headed out.

Rook did not enjoy the ride. She also did her best to convince us that no, really, she was just fine, and if we'd turn around and go home she'd show us...

I'll spare you the vet's office details - suffice it to say I spent three hours in a state of nervous-wreckdome, alternately crying and sneezing. Rook was thoroughly examined and disgruntled, and we left none the wiser as to what was wrong but maybe, maybe it has something to do with a heart murmur, some fluid in her chest cavity, and fairies (or aliens). We came home with some special "Special Kitty", some pills, and the hopes that Rook will rally without further medical intervention. Mum's credit card may never recover...

I was up and down all night, checking on Rook (who once again ensconced herself in Mum's room on the blankie), coaxing her to eat a bit here, a bit there, and getting water into her by means of a straw (used like a dropper). From time to time I lifted her into the litter box, placed nearby for convenience.

I got up at six to give her a round of meds (lobbing tiny pill fragments down a cat's throat in the dark...whee...) and feed/water her. She was still alive, at least...which believe me, is a concern. I can't believe she's getting enough water...it's worrisome...

This morning, I am washing the blankie, as she wet it again...but I did manage to get her to eat a bit more and to drink some...and she was cross enough with me to make her way under the bed and out of my reach.

I'm going to check on her every hour or so...if I can't get her to eat or drink more than I have been, we're going to have to go back to the vet's office, something none of us (including Mum's credit card) really want...

Meanwhile, I still need to bake banana bread and get the baked goods up to Mum's for the co-op opening...but we're not spending the night there, as I am afraid to leave Rook alone for such a long stretch.

Sigh.

Next time around, I'm going in for pet rocks.

Meh-eh-eh-eh.

The following are a few of the many things I've learned while living with cats:

That noise in the middle of the night is probably something you didn't want them playing with being batted around the house.

It is probably something that will break or unravel.

Cats can hide the evidence the moment they hear your feet hitting the floor, and be long gone by the time you take your first step. They have mastered the "Who, me?" look.

That noise in the middle of the night is probably something you'd rather not step in being placed strategically where your foot can't miss it when you make your wee-hours bathroom stumble.

While kitty foot pads make for terrific acceleration, kitty claws are not as effective for braking on hard-surface floors. This can make for much amusement.

Until they crash into the bookcase at the end of the hall in an effort to bank off of it and into the bedroom without losing speed.

Getting stuck in a plastic grocery bag is only funny when you're not the one who's stuck (and trying to get unstuck by flying around the house at mach three).

Laser pointers are endlessly amusing.

Until one gets out the video camera with aspirations of YouTube fame.

The larger the house, the greater the number of potential secret repositories for all sorts of squishy things that one will usually find with one's hand while blindly groping for something entirely different.

Laundry baskets are the preferred methods for sharpening claws, despite the expensive, five level, five-foot high, carpeted kitty condo (with sisal rope wrapped around one leg and dangly! things! for swatting!) placed with great care in a sunny window. This is especially true if the contents of the basket will get snags and runs in them due to the talon sharpenings.

Laundry baskets with clean clothing in them are the preferred place to nap and/or shed copiously, and/or leave squishy gifts for the resident humans.

It is always a good idea to look carefully where one is stepping, unless one enjoys cleaning things out from between one's toes, or stepping on fur-covered, plastic mice or whatever hard, pointy things could be filched from the Little Boy's room and played with in the middle of the night.

Sleeping humans are the best place to promenade in the wee hours, especially their heads.

It is fun to curl up in a purring ball of contentment in the middle of a sleeping human's bed, forcing them to contort into pretzel shapes to avoid disturbing the kitty.

It is not amusing when the sleeping humans don't care about the sleeping kitty and feel free to thrash at will.

A fabric or yarn project in the lap is an invitation to leap up and begin making kitty-biscuits (or plucking cotton, if you prefer). It does not matter if said project is still in the working-on phase and not in the feline-ready phase.

One should never ignore an invitation. It's rude.

One should not look too closely into the communal water cup.

What do you mean, it's not communal?

Of course cats belong on the kitchen counter. Why else would you keep the butter there?

Meh-eh-eh-eh means "I love you", or "I desire to dine upon that moth fluttering about the light" or "I have left you a gift in the hall" or "I've decided that your stomach wants kneading, and have you seen how lovely and sharp my claws are?" or "You have trimmed my claws. Revenge will be forthcoming" or "Have you seen that half-masticated pizza crust I left on the kitchen floor?" or "I shall now regurgitate the houseplant I ate earlier, as I find it no longer pleases me" or "I adore you, but I adore this piece of lint more at the moment, so please go away" or any number of things...but it almost never means "I have captured a Leprechaun and forced him to hand over his gold (despite Leprechauns actually being the cobblers of the Wee Folk world and not treasurers as some folks would have it)(cats are so picky about mythology!) and am now triumphantly handing said treasure over to you so that you may purchase kitty treats, catnip, and soft, fuzzy places for me to nap. You are welcome."

What have y'all learned from your furry little roomies??
~~~~~
Mum's on a cruise and has asked me to post the Bourdain link where she can easily find it so she doesn't have to mortgage her left kidney to pay for shipboard Internet service...so here it is: ...:Read my Medium Raw challenge essay: It's not always about the ingredients, is it?
Feel free to ignore it, or go vote if you like...meh-eh-eh-eh...

You Know You Want One

Ferocious:

Bandit:

Squeaky:

They'll be weaned in a few weeks, have been handled by humans since they were a few days old, and come from a healthy population. So...any takers??

But There's Always This

An Interlude of Epic Cuteness

We interrupt this spate of garden-related blogging to bring you the following special report:


Don't panic. This is not a drill. We have kittens in the rosemary. Spotted a few days ago, these ferocious creatures appear to have taken up residence near the base of the pungent plant, settling in for the duration. The following images may be too graphic for some viewers - those with an aversion to unadulterated cuteness or low tolerance for adorability may find them too intense and should continue at their own risk.

Having been held, cuddled, pet, and adored by one of the local humans, they have been declared "Too freakin' cute for words!" and are therefore a Red Level threat to household equilibrium and feline maximum capacity.

As this story progresses, we'll keep you updated, because we here at Casa de Crazy know you're on the edge of your seats wondering what these terrifying critters will be up to next and how it affects your morning commute. Thanks for tuning in.

Cat

cat
black and white
cat
why do you insist
upon placing
your
furry buttocks
so close
to my face?

cat
sandstone tabby
cat
why do you insist
upon dashing
out
into garage
where you
get stuck?

cat
soft black
cat
why do you insist
upon meowing
crying
so loud
you wake
us all?

Anthropomorphizing Cats

Every morning, before I make my own breakfast, I feed the outdoor kitties. If I forget, or am running late, or have to get moving and go out, I feed them later, but they let me know about it - they linger in the driveway, under cars, on the steps, meowing at me. They've become quite vocal.

I watch them out the windows, when they walk about my part of the neighborhood. They make a little parade, sometimes the three young ones following Ginger Tom, sometimes following Little Mother, sometimes all of them together, promenading along. Their tails wave to and fro, they hold their heads up high - it's quite a sight.

I wonder, sometimes, how aware they are of their relationship to each other. Ginger Tom is definitely the papa of the young ones, and he may be the papa of the new batch Little Mother is carrying now. They way he lead them about when they were younger, it certainly looked like he knew they were his. The same with Little Mother - she led her little brood from place to place, and I know she was aware they were hers.

These days, Little Mother is as prone to growl and swat the young ones on the head if they try to eat before her. I think she's telling them "Hey, give me some respect!"

This morning, as soon as I stepped onto the front stoop, Little Bit and Ginger Tom ran up to greet me. Ginger Tom has humans who keep him, and he'll let me pet him. Little Bit is feral, and skittish, but she'll come quite close if I keep still. This morning, I held some bits of food in my hand, and she inched nearer, meowing and...purring! I know they purr when nervous as well as when happy, a sort of placatory sound.

She walked beneath my arm as I was petting Ginger Tom, a ghost of a touch brushing against me. I figured why not and reached out to her, and...she let me pet her! Only the slightest caress, the briefest contact - but I pet her! She ran a few steps away and looked confused, but she came back to me and tolerated another ephemeral touch before she decided she'd had enough, danced away, and sat meowing until I poured food into the bowl. She seems relieved when I came back indoors.

I'm hoping she'll let me pet her again, perhaps one day even sit with her for a while. Hope springs eternal.

Cats, Part Three (the last and longest)(with pictures)

Before our story continues, we bring you this special announcement: Unless you intend to be a breeder, please be responsible and spay or neuter your animal housemates. Even if they are indoor only, spay or neuter - you never know when someone will leave a door open a moment too long. If you have indoor/outdoor animals, or outdoor ones, and you don't spay or neuter...what the Hell are you thinking??? Do the world a favor and keep your pet from adding to the feral population...unless you like the idea of half-wild animals tearing up other people's pets, carrying disease from home to home, starving to death on your lawn, being hit by cars on the road, and being caught and killed by animal control. Not that I feel strongly about this...

And now for the conclusion of our story:

We had another gap in feeding - our budget got tight, and I had an obligation first to my family, then to the strays. I'd put a handful of food out from time to time, but not with any regularity. I prayed that they would find food elsewhere, and they seemed to be doing well enough through the fall that I didn't worry too much.

I also prayed that they would come here if something was wrong, if they were hurt or being chased. I know it's silly, but I hoped that some part of them would know that this house, these humans, are safe. I was constantly telling them that it was alright, that I wouldn't hurt them. I could not bear the thought that I might find one of them dead, hit by a car or torn by dogs or hunting birds. It worried me. As the days grew noticeably shorter, T and I began to debate what we should do...we're a pair of softies, and we worry that they'll be cold, get wet, starve.

I decided that we would feed them again, and this time there would be no gaps. We can do without a few boxes of Cheez-Its to feed our little family.

Now, their bowl is on the front stoop. I go out and fill it, making a purling sort of call, and they come running. One day last week, they were so hungry they ran right up despite the fact that I wasn't back in the house yet. Less than a foot from me, they ate...and ate...and ate. These little kitties can put away as much in a day as our three cats eat in a week!

Sometimes Little Mother comes first, shy and sweet, telling me about her night or how hungry she is but never getting too close. She waits, halfway up the front stairs, until I retreat into the house, behind the glass door, then she comes up. If she is first, the three children wait their turn. She will put them in their place if they try to share, but she always leaves them plenty.

If the kittens come first, they all three eat together, although once in a while they'll growl at each other.

I sit on the bottom step in the foyer and watch them through the glass door, usually talking to them. Peach (as I've taken to calling the grayish one) is the most wary - she (I think) will jump and run if I move to quickly. Doppelganger (the tuxedo, so called because it looks exactly like Little Mother) is less frightened, usually taking only a step or two before returning to the food. Little Bit (the mostly black runt of the litter) pays me no mind, letting me get within inches. If I get too close or try to touch her, though, she will run away. Like her mother, she will come sit in the driveway and chat with me - we meow back and forth and I'm certain the neighbors think me barmy.

I have named them. Oh, dear. Well, I knew it was inevitable. We're thinking about investing in have-a-heart traps and finding a vet who will spay or neuter for free. It would be nice if Neighbor would neuter his Ginger Tom...he chuckles when I bring it up, a sort of "boys will be boys" laugh. He's not a bad man, just not as concerned about Ginger Tom's wild ways as I am.

We wouldn't try to tame them or make them pets - that ship has sailed - but it would help control the feral population and probably give them a slightly better life.

I'm worried about a couple of other large, obviously domestic cats that are lurking in the yard - they've treed Little Mother several times and are not afraid of me when I try to chase them off. I don't mind feeding them, too, but only after Little mother and her kittens have eaten, and the big cats keep them away. I told one I would turn the hose on him and he stared down his nose at me as if to dare me to try! I showed him who was boss, though - for a big woman, I can move fast, and I scared the crap out of him when he was prowling my stoop one day. War whoops are still useful, it seems.

We're talking about buying one of those dog igloos and placing it at the top of the back steps for the family. I have some scrap fleece we could line it with. On the top step, they wouldn't have to fear being chased off by other cats or wild things - too close to the house, and they already know we won't hurt them. They trust us, in their own fashion.

I thought I had some photographs from when we first found them, but Bob the Wonder Computer begs to differ. Oh, well. here are some from the last few weeks. They're blurry and grainy because I had to shoot through the glass door or living room window, but they'll do for now.

Little Bit and Little mother aren't sure what they think of the flash.

Little Bit and Little Mother look on while Doppelganger has breakfast.

Peach keeps his/her distance, but sits still long enough for a rare photo.

Maya wants to be friends, but the wild kitties aren't sure how they feel about that.

Another day, and Maya is still trying...

The kittens have taken to climbing the Pink Popcorn Tree (Ornamental Cherry) and trying to catch the birds that wait there for a turn at the suet cages or the feeder. The birds find this amusing, as do we in the house. Here, Little Bit has just caught herself before falling - she has continued to try and walk on twigs, because if the birds can do it, so can she!

Cats, Part Two

I brusquely asked T to go fetch a handful of cat food from the house - he brought it out to me in a dish and I fed the little girl (I checked) a few pieces. She quivered in my hand, torn between lunch and fear. I put her down and let her be...I cannot bring another cat into the house - not fair to the three who already live here, not wise when I can't afford to get her shots, flea treatments, tested for communicable diseases. She flung herself away from me and I went in search of the others.

I found the little tuxedo kitten under a tree and managed to put a hand on it. It bit me but good, my own fault, and let me know what it thought of me. Mum was nearby, staring at me. I tried to soothe them both, but they were too wild. I let them go. Eventually, the peach/gray colored one rejoined them and all four were back on the steps, a blessing of sun-warmed wood during the day and a haven from cat-hungry critters at night.

Of course we started feeding them. We owe them. I will not let them starve. No one goes hungry 'round here if I can help it.

At first, they would scatter when we brought food out. We had a dish on the bottom landing of the back steps and fed them daily. Eventually, they simply retreated a short way and stared while we filled food and water bowls for them.

By late Summer we stopped feeding them - hunting was good and we didn't see much of them, just glimpses here and there in the neighborhood.

In the Fall, I notice that the mum-cat (I call her "Little Mother") was limping. Something was wrong with her foot...she couldn't run, or even walk very well, although she certainly tried.

She would never let me near enough to see what's wrong, let alone to touch and possibly help it heal. I decided to start feeding them again. I wouldn't make them endure cold weather on empty bellies, and with a pronounced limp/hobble, I knew Little Mother wasn't hunting well.

One morning, she sat in the driveway and cried to me. It had been a few days since I put out food, and she was hungry! At my behest, T ran inside and opened a can of tuna, which I placed on the ground. I sat on the concrete and waited, perhaps four feet from the tuna. Hunger won, and she came close and ate. I inched nearer, until I was perhaps two feet away. She always had an eye on me. I was worried about the kittens, because they used to follow her everywhere - but it turns out they had begin hanging out with the Ginger Tom (a neighbor's cat - I've asked him to neuter the lad, but Neighbor seems to think it's not necessary. Sigh.) following him around like a little parade.

I was putting their food near my trailer, because they like hiding under it. The little black one filled out nicely, no longer looked like she would blow away in a stiff wind. One evening, when some friends and I were sitting outside so our kids could run wild, Little Mother actually came quite close to our group and joined the conversation. I brought out some food and she ate, still watchful but not as prone to jump and run when someone moved. I was quite pleased.

To be continued...again...

Cats, Part One

No, not the musical - although I did see that when it came to the Fox Theater in Atlanta way back when dinosaurs roamed freely up and down Peachtree street. If you ever have the chance to see a show at the Fox, go - especially if you can get front row center loge seats...although, there's no bad seat at the Fox.

But I digress.

My friend Rachel wrote a post that mentioned stray cats. It reminded me that I haven't told you about our strays. I must remedy that!

First, I will share with you one of my (many) peculiar philosophies: We are responsible for cats. We, humans, are. We made them, manipulated their shape and size to become more pleasing to us. What we forgot to do was work out how to shrink their ego, their will, their spirit to a house-cat size. They all think they're tigers or the cats of the desert, not tiny little tabbies or tuxedos or jersey-spotted beasties. Because we altered them, we have a responsibility to them, to provide for them - we owe them. I did mention it's a peculiar philosophy.

So, on with the story!

Last Spring/Summer, a mum-cat had her kittens on our back steps. Hmm...turns out that black and white cat I thought was fighting the orange tabby tom from the neighbors? Was actually not fighting, exactly. The noises they make are not all that distinct, so it was (I think) an honest mistake.

I found out about the little family when I chased mum-cat away from the front of my house because she was pilfering my lizards (she had a big fat one in her mouth, still kicking). I felt awful - she was just trying to feed herself and her babies. She kept right on running, but the babies were halfway up the back steps and too small to jump. The peach colored one hissed at me and jumped anyway, following hot on the mum-cat's tail. The tuxedo (who looks just like its mum) growled and shot past me, tumbling down the steps and sailing off the bottom landing, utterly failing its saving throws for grace, style, and agility - it landed on its back, blinked, and hauled ass into the woods, meowling and feeding my guilt with worry I'd made it hurt itself. The last kitten simply huddled against a step and watched me with huge eyes. It was shaking, skinny, terrified. I picked it up, ever so carefully, and pet it a little. I could feel ribs, spine, leg bones. poor baby - it was the runt, and not getting much milk or prey. I honestly didn't know if the wee bairn would live very long.

To be continued (or this would be a very long post, indeed)...

It's A Tough Job...

...but somebody's got to do it.

In my next life, I want to come back as one of my cats - fed, petted, loved, pampered, with a place just for me in the sun (but maybe without the five-year-old child terror/fitness program).

Puss, Puss

The venue where PSG is held is a campground adjacent to a farm. The property is, if I recall correctly, a cooperative or planned community. It was once a strip mine and was purchased by the owners with the intent to return the land to something resembling its natural state. Most of it is a wildlife sanctuary, with only a tiny portion open to visitors.

There are no flush toilets and only one place to shower - the shower house near the gate at the entrance to the site.

Thank goodness, they rebuilt the shower house in recent years, because it was starting to get truly horrible in the old one, and on more then one occasion I wondered of I really needed to wash with something other than baby wipes that week.

This year, I had a visitor with me in the shower house during one of my sojourns there - a kitty! He was hanging around the door, and we commenced to meowing at each other, and he decided I would do, for a human. He was fluffy, part Maine Coon, black and white. His name, I later learned, is Oreo, and he was a sweetie.

I had occasion to speak with one of the land owners, and she expressed concern about Oreo - seems he's such a darling that she's worried someone will take him home one day. He isn't collared or tagged, and he's very friendly. I figured he wasn't a stray because he was obviously well fed and combed often...and she seems reassured by that.

In contrast to the happy experience with Oreo, we had a rough day mid-week. Mum's last cat, Water, died while we were away. Water was boarded at the vet's, and she went into congestive heart failure. The vet called T, who called my phone...and the call actually made it through. There is almost no cell service at this site, so it was astonishing to hear the phone ring and carry on a conversation. Poor Mum - she had to come home and burry her cat, and while she was sad about the dear old thing's demise, she was also feeling a load of guilt because she was a little relieved - no more cats to worry about when she's away at the lapidary school or visiting friends and family. I understand all those feelings.

When I got home, my own three girls wouldn't let me out of their sight for several days, and are still prone to piling onto me if I sit still for more than a minute. I missed them, too.

Mum can always come get her kitty fix here - they love to nest with her, probably because she doesn't kick them into next week when she rolls over (I don't do it on purpose - and you'd think they'd learn not to go to sleep near my feet!).