Once in a Blue Moon

Confused about what month the Blue Moon occurs in? This may help:


The 2007 Blue Moon: May or June?
Some sources say that in 2007, there is a Blue Moon in June. Others say that the Blue Moon actually occurs in May. Who is right?
Well, you could see a Blue Moon in May, June or even July, but it depends where in the world you live.
Read our 2007 Blue Moon page to find out more!

Do you in a time zone where the Blue Moon is in May or June? or even July? I live in the Northwest and we have two moons in May starting tonight.

Serene Wordless Wednesday

Cats on Tuesday: Memories of King Preyor

Every time I visit Gattina's site and see her dear Arthur I am reminded of my white cat, Preylor. He was only with us for about six months. He was abandoned along with his brother, a patchy gray and white. They had both taken up residence at my mother's place and she finally convinced me to take the white cat home. Three cats, her own boy, plus the two new males, were just too much for her to care for.

He was very friendly and I was so enamored with him that I eventually consented and brought him home. We had no idea how old he was exactly, or what his name was. His front claws had been removed and he had been neutered. He was clean and well fed. Mother had seen to that. We figured he was around two. He was very playful. Obviously, at not too distant a time, he'd had a good home. Mother had been taking care of the two strays for over a month. The only question I had in my mind then was how he was going to adjust from romping around in her backyard, to a small two-bedroom apartment. He would not be able to go outside here, and even if he did get out I worried about the busy road in front of our apartment building.

So, suddenly, on June 21, 2003, I had a cat. I had been pining for a kitten since I left Boo Boo Kitty with my daughters and headed west in 1995. Then, when one finally presented itself to me, I had been diagnosed with my first breast cancer and had just had my first surgery.

We named him King Preylor after a character in the Scrungy Series. Except for the eyes, he was what I had pictured when I was writing about the King in my story. He was large, heavy, to say the least, and he had been abandoned.

He took up residence at the foot of my bed, was not a lap cat, unless he just wanted a tad bit of attention. He loved to eat and when I wasn't fast enough at opening his cans he'd reach out with his paw and would open the cabinet door, let bang, (it had a spring type closure) over and over again. For a large cat he did not have a large voice. So it was kind of comical to hear him mew for something. Needless to say at that time I fed him on the floor like all the other cats in my life until Gretchen came along. She's been the only privileged feline in my life to have her own placemat at the kitchen table. But that's a whole other story in itself.

Preylor loved to play and jump high. He'd wear me out just keeping him occupied. It was summer and the windows were always open. He spent the nights, like Gretchen does, sitting in the windowsill and looking out into the darkness. When he jumped from the windowsill to the bed, as Gretchen is wont to do, I felt it. The whole bed shook and then he'd thunder down the hall to the living room window for further nighttime investigations. He kept up the window to window sorties all night. Of course it was always me he bounced awake, I was nearest the window.

Besides chasing feet and biting toes that stuck out from under the blankets, and nipping the back of the ankle or thigh in a tag, you're it, way, he had a fetish for wood. He loved the projects on my art table and I kept the table covered with a sheet, secured at the corners with clothespins. They were handy at the time. It wasn't long before my clothespins started disappearing and I'd find them hidden somewhere, half chewed.

I used clothespins for just about everything that needed closed. A fatal mistake. I had had a Flash Pulmonary Edema episode in November that year and was hospitalized in critical condition for almost two weeks. My daughter and her friend had flown in from the Midwest and stayed with her dad and Preylor. I had worked very hard to teach Preylor not to play rough, but all that was undone while I was away. Preylor had the time of his life while the girls were here and he was allowed to play as rough as he wanted. I know he missed them when they left.

After I came home from the hospital I was on oxygen for a while. The oxygen machine was to be kept in the living room; one, it was very loud, and two, it was to be kept so many feet from away from me and that was the largest space we had. So I solved that problem with extra long oxygen hose that ran from the living room, down the hall and into my room, to my bed. One night I couldn't figure out why I wasn't getting enough oxygen. I got up and checked the flow and all the tubing, but still couldn't find the problem. Eventually, at one point during the night I wasn't getting any oxygen at all, so switched the machine off and used the emergency tank, thinking I had something wrong with the equipment. The next day I discovered little tiny holes all along the tubing, and in the middle, it was nearly chewed in half. The next day I hung the new oxygen tubing from the door jam to door jam and taped it along the walls. It worked; I didn't have any more holes.

At Christmas time I was afraid that a big cat like Preylor would knock over the tree and because I didn't have the strength to put one together that year anyway, I omitted the tree. The rest of the decorations went up, but that was the first year, ever, that I didn't have a tree up for Christmas.

In January I had been contemplating finding a new home for Preylor. He was getting quite aggressive and wouldn't leave my husbands feet alone. He no longer waited for a toe to pop loose from a blanket, now he went under the covers after his feet. My husband is a diabetic and Preylor was drawing blood. That behavior had to stop. I hesitated to give him away for the very reason that he had once had a good home and then was either lost or turned out in the streets. And I didn't want to be the one to send him to a shelter or another home. Unfortunately, fate, or God, whomever, or whatever one chooses to believe in, intervened and Preylor got sick. Preylor had evidently gotten a sliver of wood caught in his intestinal track, probably from a clothespin that escaped my protection. At first I thought he had just gotten a bad can of cat food because, he seemed fine at different times throughout the day, but by the next day he was on the road of no return. He died January 20, 2004.

It was a hard thing to go through, for both Preylor and me. I've regretted since the day he got sick that I ever thought of giving him away. And now, when I view Gattina's pictures of Arthur, I think of him fondly and I miss him. Teeth marks and all.

By the way, his brother, whom my mother named Hobo, still comes and goes from her place. He is a roamer and a fighter and carries the wounds for his battles. In the following months I was diagnosed with a second breast cancer and had a double mastectomy. That's when Gretchen came into my life. I've written two books in a series of books about abandoned and unwanted cats. Evidently, Preylor just made a brief stop in my life to help me work out the details of the characters in my stories.

Poetry Monday and Memorial Day

Before I post the second half of The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe, I wanted to mention the Veterans for whom this day is memorialized.

My father and step father were in WWII as pilots. My first husband was a Marine and my husband served his country for ten years in the Navy during the Veit Nam war. All four of these men, my family, gave complete allegiance to this country, they gave their sweat, blood, and tears, so that I could remain free. So the shores and cities of my country were not bloodied and destroyed. The freedoms they fought for, the freedom for me to come and go and think for myself, were hard won.

I honor them for their duty, for their sacrifices. I honor all the men and women in the military, in past wars and the current war, and those who served in times of peace, and say thank you for your duty, your honor to your country and your people; and especially for your dedication to help other people in other countries share in the right to be a free people. You have my gratitude, support and prayers.

The Raven (part two)

But the raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only,
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered "Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow will he leave me, as my hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said, "Nevermore."

Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never—nevermore.'"

But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er,
But whose velvet violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o'er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
"Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he has sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Prophet!" said I, "thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels named Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels named Lenore?"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

"Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked upstarting—
"Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted—nevermore!

Saturday Sky:The Great Contrail Flyaway!

Happy Con-Trails To You . . .

Today it seems, now matter what direction I look in, there are contrails disapating in the sky.

The airport must be a busy place today. It's over 30 miles northeast from us. I often wonder where the traveler is going when I see one of these. I used to love to fly.

The last time I flew was in 1995.

From Chicago to Portland and back.

So much has changed about flying that I used to like.

Now I stay on the ground and look up!

Kinda like it that way.

For now . . .

New Baby Blanket in Soft Wave Ripple Pattern

I've started my first great grandson's baby blanket. He's due in July. I'm doing the soft wave ripple, using Lion Brand Yarn-Baby Soft sportweight and G hook. At first I was doing a lot of frogging because I was not paying attention. When I first wanted to do this project I couldn't decide whether or not to knit it or crochet it. Now that I'm doing it, because I frog so much, I'm really glad that I chose to crochet and not knit. I love the soft feel of the yarn. It should come out to about 45" square. Right now I think I'm going to use white to scallop edge it. I'll see how that looks when I'm finished.

You can see this project and many, many others on the Ripple-Along site. It's a lot of fun. We show off our starts, goofs, and finishes, using the myriads of ripple patterns in crochet and knitting. I've finished one project already, this is my second, and have fallen in love with rippling. I have started a piece to go over the back of my recliner in red, white, and green for Christmas. I'll show that later. I put it aside for now and got busy on this baby blanket. The baby takes priority over Christmas.

Peaceful Wordless Wednesday

Cats on Tuesday: Episode Three - Mike's Day in the Sun

I hadn't noticed anything unusual about the living room when I woke that morning, shuffled past the sofa, on into the kitchen in an early morning daze and spooned Gretchen a teaspoon of her favorite breakfast food, White Meat Chicken and Whipped Egg Soufflé With Garden Greens, into her crystal dish (in reality it was just a pretty glass bowl). I mean, if humans can start their day with coffee or orange juice, then why not let the cat start its day with a few bites of something with such a yummy sounding name. After all it's only eighty-nine cents a can these day. And really, Gretchen only has a teaspoon full each morning, so the cost is divided over how many days she actually eats on it, right?

On with my story . . . like I said, I noticed nothing unusual about the living room until later that morning when I was going through the apartment tidying up. Then it hit me, something was amiss. There was this gnarly, black, furry face with flashing, golden eyes, staring up at me from the edge of the sofa. The edge of the sofa where Gretchen always sleeps. The poor creature had nearly reached its goal, Gretchen's green and purple quilt, when I realized that it was actually Mike. Okay, I know this is spooky to have this stuffed cat with these crazy eyes that follow every movement you make, but now the thing is walking about, or rather seems to be, in broad daylight.

Mike was caught in the act! He was inching his way up the back of the sofa and when I asked him just what he thought he was doing, he only glared at me with those golden orbs and penetrated my thoughts with his answer. "I'm tired of that dark corner behind the end of the sofa and I'm lonely. I thought I would take a walk and see how the world looks from another view." I protested, "But that's Gretchen's favorite place, and I don't think she'd like it much you going there without her knowing it."

Mike's facial expression didn't change (it never does), "I have permission," he spoke rather stuffily, "just last week when we were playing with all her toys on the sofa, she said I could join her on her quilt anytime I chose to. And I'm choosing to now."

Mike inched his way up the sofa and crawled between the folds of the quilt. I went on about my business; I had a very busy day ahead of me and no time to waste on a mentally talented, stuffed cat. "Very well," I murmured, "It's your hide—fur." Gretchen was off sleeping on my unmade bed so I knew Mike was safe for the time being. Gretchen never leaves the bed in the mornings until I make it up.

Time passed by as I continued my activities and I had forgotten where Mike was. I had not even given thought as to where Gretchen had ventured off to after I made the bed. As I passed by the sofa on another trip to the kitchen I noticed a remarkable sight. Gretchen and Mike were sharing a bath. Together, on the same blanket! On Gretchen's special blanket! I was amazed. Speechless, even. Gretchen would never share her blanket. Up until now she'd not let Mike anywhere near her blanket.

"What's this?" I asked of the two cats. "Does this mean you're buddies, finally?" Gretchen just squeezed her eyes and continued her bathing, like I should even have to ask such a question. I turned my thoughts to Mike, "Well?" I tried my best at stuffed cat telepathy. Mike just squeezed his eyes and began to purr. Not a word of explanation did he transmit. "Oh, this is ridiculous!" I threw up my hands and left the room.

I had errands to run and left the apartment. When I returned with armfuls of groceries, Gretchen met me at the door, telling me all the news. She was all over the table as I emptied each sack, carrying on with happy trills, using her best cat language, a language I've yet to master. Then after poking her head into each grocery sack, she found her treat. I've learned a long time ago that a cat knows when you've been shopping and it's better to come home with a goody or two than to incur the wrath of a spoiled cat. Besides, Gretchen's the only one I have left to spoil.

Distracted by her new toy, Gretchen forgot the news she was telling me and pranced off to bat it about for a while. That's when I glanced over at the sofa and noticed Mike was still on the quilt. His eyes dazzling in the late afternoon sun. "Well, Mike?" I prodded, knowing he was better at communicating to me the goings on that afternoon than Gretchen was. "What's been going on here? What was Gretchen all excited about?"

Mike let go the white toy mouse he'd held firm under his paw, "Everything was going great until you left. Then that jealous ol' White Kitten, you let sleep in one of Gretchen's beds, wanted to climb up here and sleep on the quilt with us." Mike narrowed his eyes and lowered his dark brow, "but I promptly put her in her place; said she had to stay where she belonged. The sofa was mine and Gretchen's special place."

I glanced round at Gretchen's bed next to the organ. All seemed the same as when I'd left it. White Kitten in her place, Black Panther Cub (from the zoo), and even gray and white striped Beanie Tiger lay undisturbed.

"You're making this up," I reprimanded Mike. "White Kitten hasn't moved an ounce of fluff since this morning." If there's one more thing I don't need in this place is another spooky, stuffed animal. Then right before my eyes, and Mike's too, Gretchen came marching up between us and dropped the white kitten on the quilt and left. Mike inched backwards, hissed at White Kitten, crouched low, ready to pounce and throw her off, when Gretchen reappeared and sat down in-between the two with the Panther Cub from the zoo.

Whether peace between Whitten Kitten and Mike was ever restored or not, I'll never know. I'd seen enough and went to the kitchen to make dinner. They would all have new places to squabble over next week anyway, when I move the sofa into its summer place.


Who's to say what's real and what's not. Without the imaginings in our life, about the animate and inanimate, life would be so dull. Gretchen's on going relationship with Mike, a stuffed cat with pitiful fake fur and brilliant golden eyes that seem to glow and penetrate your mind, is always part real and part not. Only I, the author of these tales, know the difference. We can't all see fairies, or hear the thoughts of mysterious stuffed cats, but we can all imagine what it would be like to know them. DBB

Poetry Monday

At the park last week with the fry steeling squirrels, a huge raven sauntered over for a bite, also. My immediate thought was "Quoth the Raven, 'Nevermore.'"

Well, I just got a book of the Complete Stories and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe. I am anxious to get at it as soon as I finish the book I'm reading now. In the meantime, I decided to post the first 9 stanzas of the poem, The Raven.

The Raven - Edgar Allan Poe

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door –
Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; - vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow - sorrow for the lost Lenore –
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels named Lenore –
Nameless here for evermore.

And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me - filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door –
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; -
This it is, and nothing more,"

Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you" - here I opened wide the door; -
Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"
Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore –
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore; -
'Tis the wind and nothing more!"

Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door –
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door –
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven.
Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore –
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the raven, "Nevermore."

Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning - little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door –
Bird or beast above the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."

There are seventeen stanzas so I will post the rest next Monday.

Saturday Sky and Another Tag

For a rainy day it sure turned out to be nice. A little cooler and windier than it's been lately, but nice skies.

Paula, my daughter, tagged me with this meme.

8 Random things about me.

The rules -1: Each player states 8 random facts/habits about themselves.2: People who are tagged, write a blog post about their own 8 random things, and post these rules.3: At the end of your post you need to tag 8 people and include their names.4: Don't forget to leave them a comment and tell them they're tagged, and to read your blog...

So, here I go again.

1. My face is healing from where it met the sidewalk when I was working in my garden Thursday and lost my balance, and my glasses can be fixed.

2. I've found out that I can spend just as much time blogging as I once did playing Jewel Quest or Mahjongg.

3. I love taking pictures of the sky, so having an excuse like Saturday Sky is great.

4. I have learned to ripple crochet and made the traditional pattern, now I'm doing splendid on the soft ripple pattern in baby colors for my first great grandson due in July.

5. I've been working on novel number four now for way too long. Life keeps distracting me. I'm halfway through with it, Paula...I think.

6. I haven't read as many books as I think I ought to have by this time of year. Tsk, tsk. Life keeps getting in the way there, too.

7. I miss the Midwest where the majority of my children live, the lively weather in the spring and summer...the beautiful falls. I don't miss the ice and snow and that is why my husband and I are where we are now, in the northwest.

8. I have always been in love with trees and wind.

Okay, it seems I just did this a few hours ago.

I tag: (These are all the resources I have left.)

srp

Gattina

Meeyauw

Lu

I know it's only five but that's the best I can do for now... besides, you've probably already been tagged by Paula, so if you're reading this and want to volunteer, please do so. I'll get to know more people that way.

Ah Ha! Found Six to Tag

Okay. I want to play the game fairly. Yesterday I responded to Gattina's tag. I said I didn't know many people yet and asked to pass on tagging someone else this time. Well, I thought it over through the night and came up with six that I know of, who haven't been tagged recently. If I'm wrong and you have been tagged already...apologies please.

So pretend I did this yesterday at the end of my meme.

I tag:

Suzanne R

Celeste

Annicat

Feline Frisky

Luna

Paula (I know you've been tagged, and have tagged me, so because you're my daughter I feel like I can tag you back... Plus, I need your help

The rules are: each player starts with seven random facts about themselves. Cats who are tagged need to write on their own blog about the seven things and the rules. You need to choose seven cats to tag and list their names. Don’t forget to leave them a comment that they have been tagged and ask them to read your blog!

Since I don't know the name of every ones cat/cats, just assume your cats have been tagged, also.
And if anyone can come up one more person for me (you know, to help out a newbie) let me know and I'll tag them, completing the rules for seven.

Gretchen's Seven

Oh, I knew this was going to happen sooner or later. I've been watching what's been happening on other sites. I guess my cat has been tagged by Gattina--Cats on Tuesday.

I'm so new to blogging, finding others to tag may prove difficult, but I can sure come up with seven things about Gretchen. Myself? I'm not sure.

Gattina says these are the rules: each player starts with seven random facts about themselves. Cats who are tagged need to write on their own blog about the seven things and the rules. You need to choose seven cats to tag and list their names. Don’t forget to leave them a comment that they have been tagged and ask them to read your blog!

Seven Random Things About Myself?

1. I fell flat on my face gardening yesterday.
2. My glasses are broken.
3. I have a swollen face, long gash on the cheek below the eye.
4. A big lip from where my teeth went through the my upper lip.
5. My right shoulder is bruised.
6. I hurt all over.
7. I'm okay.

Seven Things About Gretchen:

1. Gretchen has five favorite sleeping places. My bed, made or unmade, the back of the sofa on a small purple and green quilt, a cat bed in the computer room with a red plaid fleece blanket, a bed in the dinning room with a pillow and stuffed kitties, and sometimes any pile of folded laundry or ironing. Whatever room I'm in when she's ready for a nap, determines the bed she uses.


2. Gretchen has two feeding stations. One on the dining room table, with her own placemat, bowl of water and bowl of dry Purina Cat Chow Indoor Formula. And where she also receives a teaspoon, at least twice a day, of Fancy Feast Elegant Medleys, White Meat Chicken and Whipped Egg Soufflé with Garden Greens in the morning and Fancy Feast Medleys White Meat Chicken Florentine in a Delicate Sauce with Garden Greens for dinner. At her second feed station, in the computer room on a red plaid piece of fleece, on a little wooden serving table, Gretchen enjoys Fancy Feast Gourmet Gold-Ocean Fish and Salmon and Whiskas Savory Salmon Temptations Treats for Cats in two little piles, no plate. If either pile is gone she will mew insistently, until I figure out what she actually wants. I've learned only just recently that when she's standing in the hallway and mewing like that, to immediately check her computer room food supply. Satisfied that both piles have been replenished to her satisfaction, she'll have a bite or two then leave. These are the only things she will eat. I've tried a lot of products that she's turned her nose up at or tried to bury.



3. Her favorite water bowl is the toilet. She has a perfectly good water bowl, which is filled with fresh water daily, sometimes more often, on the dinning room table. Which I've actually seen her use, but then I figured out that the door to the bathroom was closed or the toilet seat was down at the moment she wanted a drink.


4. As you've figured by now, Gretchen, who is of questionable breeding, is very sophisticated and prefers to be treated like royalty. She'd rather not take the time to write this herself, why should she, she has me to do it for her. I've gone to great lengths to find the brand and flavor of food that she likes, the most interesting types of toys. I've been through all the usual, string, feathers, mice, balls with bells… Her favorite pastime is flopping on the floor in front of you expecting a tummy rub that very instant.



5. Since Gretchen is a lady now, she has changed her play habits to suit her age and sophistication. When small, she played endlessly with anything that moved. At one time she had about fifty little gray furry stuffed mice. They were hidden everywhere and would show up anywhere. When all had been dispersed throughout the house, which means lost under the fridge, sofa, or dresser, she'd stand by the each piece of furniture and cry, and cry, and cry. It took some time to figure out what she wanted. Finally she had learned to look at me, cry, look down under the fridge—or other piece furniture that they might be hiding under, and cry. As soon as I took the flyswatter or the back scratcher and retrieved a dust-covered mouse, she'd pounce on it and carry it off. I did regular mice hunts myself. Once a week, when vacuuming, I'd locate all the mice and put them in a pile on the sofa. Now that she is a lady, Gretchen has a new game. Forget the mice. Now she loves pink plastic practice golf balls—the ones with the holes in them. So far she has two-dozen of them. And her game is new. Now we play, and notice the "we" part, "you throw-I watch-you pick 'em up-I cry-you throw again." When I get the ball basket she runs down the hall and crouches behind a corner ready to watch them roll by. Occasionally she pounces on one or two and chases them, but she'd rather watch me throw them and watch them roll by, one by one. Finally, when I'm tired of this game she plays by herself—especially at night.

6. Gretchen is an only cat. She loves to talk, however, and talks to the birds outside the window, the cats marking the fence—just passing through. Sometimes I think about getting her a playmate, a real live kitten-type, but we cannot just now. It cost three hundred dollars a piece to have a cat in these apartments, plus the fact that she is nearly defenseless in the front paws department. So, since the first of May, we've included Mike (black stuffed cat with really strange eyes) as a make-believe companion.

7. Seven already? I didn't think I had that much to say. Uh-hem, excuse me, Gretchen says I do. Gretchen is a lap sitter, and when there is a warm lap, which seldom happens in this apartment until after dinner when I sit down to crochet or read, she's in it. Sometimes, when she's bored with me puttsing around, she'll wind her soft, furry body between my legs, or follow me from room to room, trying to send messages to my brain, "sit down, sit down, sit down, I need a lap."

Okay, until I know more people in this group, everyone I know of has been tagged, I would tag my daughter, Paula, but she just got tagged and is planning on tagging me, so, I will have to pass on the tagging part unless someone else out there has any ideas.

Squirrels With Those Fries?

Champoeg State Park, 7 miles from us. We stopped by the park yesterday to have a bit of lunch and visit Ferguson's Fragrant Nursery near by. We hadn't been to the park since last fall. The squirrels were welcome, but then got a little greedy. Some came so close to my face it was scary. I think they were thinking the camera's little carrying string was more fries. I had to shoo them away. I was afraid they'd bite.

There were about six in all that kept stealing the fries. We had a crow too, but I'll save him for a later post.

They reached right in the fry container and took two or three at a time. I made a little movie of them but haven't figured out just yet, how to put it on this site.

This one had his mouth so crammed with fries his face was distorted.

Wordless Wednesday

Cats on Tuesday: Trapped

The trees have their leaves again; the windows are open all around the apartment. Gretchen is waiting, wondering what has happened to the young black cat with the bright yellow eyes that came to visit her last summer. From the beginning of the last leaf season until the end, when trees were bare once more, black cat came every sunset and talked with Gretchen through the window screen, long into the night.

Soon, by summers end, there were five cats frolicking in the late afternoon sun across the tree-shadowed lawn. A few came by the window and gave a brief greeting to Gretchen, but the black cat was her faithful friend.

We imagined they came from the other apartment buildings around ours. We have a strict rule where we live. No outside cats allowed. All dogs on leash!

Through the long summer months and into the fall we were entertained each morning as we ate our breakfast. It wasn't apparent at first that the cats were strays, until the rainy season set in. The building here has crawlspaces surrounded by a corrugated metal well with a piece of plywood lain over the top. Some of the wood platforms have rotted in places and we suspect that just such a spot had rotted through on this particular well and allowed the cats to take refuge in it, accessing the vast crawlspace under the entire building.

The air had turned colder now, autumn had arrived and the golden yellow leaves had left the branches overhead. At every breakfast we watched the cats, one by one, emerge from the crawl space, sit upon the platform, and bathe. It was a wonderful show. Then one by one, when they were clean, they'd go on about their day. Rounds to make, or homes to return to? By Thanksgiving time it was becoming apparent that they were planning to stay in the crawlspace through the winter. I'd often run across one or two of them on my walks; I'd see them scoot through a broken metal screen under another set of apartments nearby and wondered only briefly if that was their real home, or were they truly strays, abandoned kitties.

When December arrived, the cold rain kept the kitties under the building most of the day. If they had to go out and make their rounds, or mark their territory, they did it swiftly and then were back again, slipping silently under the platform into the dark underworld of the buildings. Gretchen kept her vigil in the windowsill. Black cat still came faithfully by to visit, if only briefly, because of the weather.

On one cold, very wet morning we sat at breakfast, looking out the window expecting to see the cats emerge, however, something looked different about the platform. There seemed to be a new piece of wood over the vent. This worried me. I was sure the kitties were trapped under the building and would get neither food nor water. They would become too cold, and sickness would overtake them. I was worried that no one knew but my husband and I, and Gretchen, of course, that they were trapped under there. During the course of the morning I often glanced in their direction, wanting to see that the cats were out, but my worst fears were realized when I saw a paw reach out from under the platform. They were under there, all right, at least one of them was. I put on my coat and in the pouring rain I sloshed my way through the wet grass and mud to the crawlspace. I could see a new piece of wood screwed onto the old. I tried it and it moved. To my relief the platform was not secured to the building. It lay loosely, but heavily, across the corrugated metal guard. I quickly nudged it away from the building, creating a small opening and hastened back to my warm, dry apartment to watch. Sure enough, five cats emerged and fled in several directions at once.

Another week went by and we observed the cat's comings and goings again. They were fat and seemed healthy so they were getting food somewhere, or they actually had a home of their own and just preferred to hang out with each other in the crawlspace.

We'd had great fun that summer, fall, and early winter, Gretchen, my husband and I. Gretchen whopped her tail against the glass with delight when they came out to play. Sometimes, we thought Gretchen would love to be romping around the lawn with the others. What fun she'd have in the late evening shadows and prowling about at night. But then we came to our senses. The wide world beyond the walls and windows of our apartment is something Gretchen should never know. She is better off to stay right where she is. Dry, warm, regularly fed, healthy, safe, and loved.

Time came to close the windows and turn on the heat. Gretchen watched them play through the thick glass, watched for the black cat to come by and mouth his comments through the closed window. And we wondered and worried what would happen to the cats if others had been watching them as we had.

Five months have passed now. Gretchen still sits faithfully each evening at sundown in the window. Sometimes checking each window ledge, incase she wasn't looking for the black cat from the right windowsill.

I didn't know how to tell Gretchen in her own language. I had to use human words, which I'm sure lost something in translation that black kitty and his friends would not be back. In the last week of December we woke to a startling scene, but not entirely surprised, because we knew in our hearts this was the best thing for the cats. The building maintenance man was pulling a trap out of the crawlspace well. The rain had kept them all under the building, and as each cat was trapped and carried away, the cage was rebated and replaced for the next one.

It was a horrible sight to see the cage pulled from under the building. The first to go, thrashing and clawing at the hands on the cage, was the large orange and white one with the white face and white paws. The next to go was the solid black, Gretchen's friend. Thankfully, Gretchen was napping in her most favorite of favorite spots, my unmade bed, when this scene was playing out, so she did not see her friend being carted off in such a traumatic and humiliating way. The third to go was the smaller gray cat with white paws. He had an injured paw and often walked holding it up, like it was too painful to put his weight on. So I was glad he was going. At least his paw would be treated and healed. Later, the putty colored cat, and then last was the large charcoal and white. It took several hours for the job of removal to be completed. I was glued to the scene, unable to look away. I had to know if all five cats had been captured, that no cat remained to be entombed forever under the building. I cried with each cat's traumatic removal, held my breath in anticipation of the next, then the next, and cried the rest of the day. I kept telling myself, it was a good thing. It was best for the kitties. I felt empty when it was over.

I'd never given them names. They were just Gretchen's friends to us. I'm glad now that I hadn't become too personal with them. They were treated humanly, of course. The maintenance man told me later that he took each one quickly to the animal shelter, one at a time. He'd covered them and cooed to them as they traveled in his car.

The vet found them in good health. They were vaccinated, stripped of their sex, and their ears clipped to identify them as strays. I hope they were given a chance for good homes.

Occasionally, we'll call Gretchen to the window. There is a black and white cat, or a stripped tabby, passing by, walking and marking the fence line. She eagerly leaps onto the windowsill, happily slapping her tail against the glass and uttering her little yik, yik sounds. They pay her no mind. They have a territory to maintain, they are on a mission; they pass on by without even looking towards the window where Gretchen sits.

The crawlspace now sports a new, improved cover.
Now the birds are filling up the lawn outside our dining room window. Soon it will be time for their babies to try their wings. The grass will be filled with dozens of noisy blackbirds chasing after their mothers with open mouths. Gretchen will be delighted and talk her talk to them once again. But I can't help but wonder if there's yet another little cat somewhere that will come and make Gretchen her friend for the summer. Then I hope not. For the sake of the cat.

(the new and improved well cover)

Poetry Monday

The Day Is Done

The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.

I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
That my soul cannot resist:

A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.

Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.
-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I know this is morning and we should be bright and cheery and ready to have a day of success, but I've been dying to put this poem and picture together. And to remind us that at the end of the day we should put thoughts of work and toil away with the sunset and fill the night with music and poetry and let it soothe our soul.

Saturday Sky

Clouds . . . Those playful fancies of the mighty sky.

-Albert Smith

Happy-Happy! Joy-Joy! It's Wordless Wednesday!

Cats on Tuesday: Mike's Retort

There was another wild scene in the living room last night.
I heard it this time. I got up and turned on the light and found Mike (formerly Homeless Mike) and Gretchen head to head.

Mike had crept from his darkened den onto the sofa, clearly Gretchen's domain.
He pulled the skeins of yarn from the knitting basket and strung them all around. Gretchen was not going to allow this kind of behavior from a stuffed cat, albeit a mysteriously catlike, stuffed cat. Mike had no defense except his piercing yellow eyes. Spits and spats flew back and forth between the two, Gretchen's voice being the only audible one, of course. Mike is telepathic and his feelings were not diminished one whit because he had no audible voice. He gave as good as he got.

The light bothered neither cat, so I sat down and watched them have their little tiff. It was bound to happen, you see, nearly a month had passed without so much as a peep from the fuzzy black creature.

Suddenly I was entertained by the sounds only the mind can hear, when one tends to tune out the world's definition of real, and uses the imaginary.

Mike stood his ground and turned his haunting eyes toward me, "I've been silent long enough," he screeched. "And you've ignored me long enough, too! I've sat here all this long time and watched all that you do, from morning 'till night. Not even once have I picked a fight with Gretchen. And you still let that old rag, White Kitten, sleep in one of Gretchen's beds. After you'd had me out last and wrote your cute little story, you tossed me back into my corner and left me there to collect cobwebs and dust. I'm hurt . . . I'm really hurt!"

Mike shifted his eyes and lowered his brow. Gretchen had taken possession of her quilt on the back of the sofa. No matter what, she was not sharing this spot, a favorite of five special spots. Gretchen had taken possession of the purple and green quilt the day it was brought home after Mike's owner died. Half out of her love for soft, beautiful blankets, and half out of spite, I'm sure, that it had belonged to the wad of black fur who had now encroached upon her sofa and was playing with her toys.
"You vowed you'd treat me like your own," Mike mewed again, his tone softer now. More pitiful than scorn. "You've not kept your promise. One day is all you gave me, one lousy day! You'd let me sit in your special room while you wrote your stories. But after that you've forgotten all about me." I opened my mouth to explain, but he cut me off. "You can't deny it. I know you're thoughts as well as my own."

Shamed into silence with the bare truth of it all, I sat and contemplated what I could do to make up for my thoughtlessness.

I spoke out loud to Gretchen. "Mike's been here for two months now and he's still very unhappy. Won't you please make a little place in your heart for this poor creature? Clearly you can see that he wants to play. He's been no trouble at all, he's good and kind . . . and patient." I added.

Gretchen's eyes glowed in the dim lamplight. A moment of understanding shadowed her eyes. She sprang from her quilt and pounced upon Mike, twirled him around, flipped him over with her hind legs, spilled the contents of her toy basket and proceeded to play.

This is where I left them. It was after all only three—in the morning. I could have been dreaming, or sleepwalking, for all I know. But I knew it wasn't a dream when I woke the next morning and found Mike asleep on the sofa, still wound in yarn, toys spread all about the room. This wasn't a dream, I told myself again, as I cleaned up the clutter.

At last I placed Mike back in his corner and asked him if he and Gretchen had had fun. "Oh, yeah," his eyes half open, his mew one of satisfaction. "Gretchen likes me now, just a little, I think. But she does like me."
"And so do," I whispered, wiping the dust from his golden eyes. "Go to sleep now Mike. You never know when Gretchen will strike next.