Cats on Tuesday: Befriending Ferals

This is a true story...

For the past eight years a sweet, disabled, old man, whom I've dubbed the cat-man for the purpose of this story, has driven fourteen miles, round trip, each day to feed several groups of feral cats. He has a soft spot in his heart that is filled to the brim with compassion for the abandoned and feral kitties there. He saves table scraps, leftovers, and sometimes when he has the extra bit of cash, he buys a large bag of dry cat food. He has a sweet kitty of his own at home, and also gives her all the tender love and care that he gives to his kitties in the wild.

Eight years ago cat-man began visiting a friend's farm. It's not the kind of farm where you think: barns, barn cats, lady of the house to feed them and so for. It's the business end of the farm, shop buildings, office, bunkhouse for their workers. There's no one there to take care of, or has the time to care about the kitties that have been taken out there and dropped off.

The Alpha Cat

Cat-man's farmer friends look forward to him coming out and taking care of the wild kitties around their out buildings. He was even given a key to the shop building so he could go out and feed the kitties anytime he wanted and hangout with them. Every morning he gets up early, has his breakfast and goes out to visit his family of cats; three males and one female with five kitties.

Gray male--and acting father

Groups of cats come and go at their buildings, in their fields, and orchards. Some get run over on the road, other's get sick and just disappear, but for the past two years now, cat-man has made friends out of this group of, now, nine cats. He has a way with wild things, a cat whisperer of sorts. He has not named the wild cats, and no one else can even approach any of them; they skedaddle whenever anyone else comes around. But the cats do know his car and come running when he pulls into the lot. The old guy sits in a wheelchair and they come to him to be fed and petted. They hang out with him as he watches television for a few hours and chats with the foreman and some of the help. He is a farmer at heart, and misses the days when he could do that kind of work.

the old man's fuzzy buddy

One male cat in particular, the one cat-man has describes to me as his fuzzy buddy, is the first to come up to him every morning as soon as he arrives. When he has eaten his fill he climbs upon the man's chest, rubs against his chin, sits in lap, and takes a nap, purring. This wild cat will not think twice about using his claws on anyone else on the farm that even tries to come near him. Yet he is as gentle and loving as a domesticated cat to the old man.

fuzzy buddy in the shade

Out of the three males, his fuzzy buddy is the lowest cat on the cat's chain of hierarchy. The Alpha cat is a large grayish, striped cat; next in line is a gray male, and then the man's fuzzy buddy. The cat-man tells me that the Alpha male is the meanest thing on earth and keeps everyone in line. Fuzzy buddy is the one that gets the most abuse from the big boss cat.

Earlier this summer a female came upon the scene. She had kittens suckling and hidden somewhere, but each day she came to try out the food. The cat-man patiently coaxed her to him, day after day, until she just came right up and ate beside the other cats at his feet. Not too many weeks went by after she had first appeared than she brought out her five kittens from their hiding place for the old man to see.

Kitties first outing, about 5 or 6 weeks old

The momma cat has taught her babies about how nice this man is and not to be afraid. Over the weeks, one by one, each has made approaches to the shop building and learned to eat the food. Now the kittens dash about inside the shop building, playing and napping on the furniture as if they owned the place.

Kitties playing in the shop's office

The mean cat, or the boss of them all, as the old man puts it, lets the kittens play near him and tolerates them. But will spit at them if they get to close. The all gray one tends to the kittens like a father when the momma cat is off somewhere. Fuzzy buddy is a little battle scared and worn, but the cat-man won't interfere because it means an execution for the Alpha male. He's at a dilemma over this situation, but because he loves all the cats, he can't bring harm to one for doing what comes naturally in a feral world. But, he says, sometimes it's hard to watch him beat up on the two other males, especially because he and fuzzy buddy are so close. Or maybe because of it.

Kitties test the food

Cat-man has tamed other little groups of wild cats such as these in the past eight years; watched them as kittens come out of hiding and make friends. And he's sadly had to bury a few. His heart breaks, when one is lost, but he lets them alone, and they have given him their friendship in return. And sometimes their mice.

Momma and kitties eating and washing up

From the variety of the litter, it looks as if each of the three males had a part in fathering the kittens. There's a gray one, a fuzzy one, like the old mans fuzzy buddy, and one like the Alpha male. And two like the mother.

They are growing up healthy and happy for now. But like most feral cats, they'll never be adopted by forever families. These cats are destined to remain wild and as long as the cat-man can get out to see them, they will not go hungry. Even some of the laborers that live in the bunkhouse are now saving food for them. Plus...as it is in all farm buildings, there are always plenty of mice.

Monday: Still Writing...

Off Writing...

Deedum Finally Arrived!

I was getting worried about this little squillion, because he was adopted a month ago, and I had to hunt him down in cyber-space. He is glad to be at his new forever home with Gretchen, Mike the Mysterious, and the rest of the Fluffheads. I'm so happy that he's been found. I named him after a Blue Burmese in Scrungy: Abandoned. Deedum is a savior cat. He found Scurngy in the woods and took him to his forever home in the great Kingdom of Abandoned Cats. So I think he would be honored for this little squillion to have his name.
Thank you, KC for hunting him down. He had been abandoned once in his life, and he was probably worried that he'd be abandoned again.

Thursday Thirteen #8: All Things Yellow

Thirteen Yellow Flowers I put in my garden this year.

I've decided to show you my planned yellow garden this year. Every year I've leaned towards purples and pinks and just whatever plant I see that I like. But mostly purple because I'm a purple kind of girl. So last winter, as I stared out my bedroom window each night planning my garden and the color scheme, I decided upon having an all yellow garden this year. I made my list, printed out my selections and took the pictures with me to every nursery that I visited in the spring. Some of the things on my list I couldn't get, so I decided white would be a good in-between color, showing up really well at night. I have a deep, shady porch so white impatiens always go on the porch. Where I couldn't get yellow, or white, I chose yellow-green foliage. All turned out pretty well.

1. These are Yellow Violets that were accented against four shades of yellow primroses in pots all over. I forgot to take pictures of the primroses. The primroses and the violets have now been replaced by the summer annuals. But take my word for it, the primroses were large, healthy and beautiful.

2. Zinnias

3. Marigolds, of course.

4. Butterfly Daisies. Had I known I was going to like these so much I would have filled the entire garden with them, but I also a have a tree that I cherish for shade. My front windows face south and the sun is always hanging around in the southern edge of the sky...we're very northern hemisphere.

5. Yellow Dahlias

6. Yellow Petunia, except these look a lot lighter than they actually are.

7. Yellow Lantana, a childhood memory plant.

8. Biden, first time for this plant and I love it.

9. Mose Rose or Portulaca

10. Day Lily

11. Yellow Calibrachoa

12. Snapdragons. I had to use a stock picture, mine are bloomed off at the moment.

13. SunsatiaLemon Nemesia

I also planted, yellow nasturtiums, yellow banana peppers, Cuzo Yellow Sanvitalia specosa, something, I like things with common names but it made a lovely hanging basket. Another new one for me was Hermanns Pride, Lamiastrum glaeobdoion...whatever, pretty green and white foliage and tiny yellow flowers. A yellow leaved sweet potato vine, two kinds of coleus with green and yellow foliage. Angelina Sedum, green and yellow foliage. These are all the yellow things I planted new this year. I have yellow four o'clocks making an appearance, and yellow cala lilies that haven't bloomed yet. Next year I'm going for red...and maybe some purple. But the almost all yellow garden was fun.

Here's an earlier picture of my little corner of the world. However, as we speak, the whole place is a disaster zone. I've had to move all my potted plants onto the porch and there are sheets of plywood covering the things next to the building. The roofers came Monday and they've got the whole place torn up. It doesn't look like they'll be done anytime soon. My garden may recover from this upheaval but some of my neighbors are completely ruined. They're been covered for two days with a blue tarp.

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

Wordless Wednesday

Cats on Tuesday: Neighborhood Nightlife: A New Gal In The Village

While you are sleeping, snug and comfy in your beds, dreams floating round in your head, do you know what your cat is doing at that wee hour, when moon has risen high, wind has stilled, leaving the air thickly perfumed with night flowers?

The giant moth hit the window screen, startling Necco from her dozing on the back of the sofa, at the close of twilight. The sofa was in it's summer position under the open, living room window; the moth's sudden appearance caused the pale tortoise shell cat to sink all four sets of her claws into the cotton throw, raising the hair along her spine from the back of her neck to the tip of her tail. In an attempt to get at the lamp's light inside the room, the moth fluttered against the screen again, but this time Necco was alert and pounced upon the screen, nearly knocking it from its framing. Last summer Necco had popped a screen from the bedroom during the day and scared the living daylights out of her guardian, and herself. It wasn't a long way to the ground; living on the ground floor, so flying out the window wouldn't have caused her any harm, unless you think about her dignity, and the fact that suddenly being outside in a world she'd only viewed through the window screens, would really be a terrifying thing for a cat such as herself.

Her guardians immediately secured all the window screens after that, perchance Necco should again, accidentally hit the screen too hard while after a bug, or in one of her wound up, fast-as-a-race-car, window-to-window midnight sorties. Spazzing out her male guardian called it. Racing from the front room windows to the back room windows, often with only one bounce onto and off of the bed, hitting the bedroom windowsill with perfect precision. Well, that's what cats do best, Necco had protested, after her guardian had once scolded her about it in the middle of the night. It’s a form of exercise that keeps my muscles toned, my claws sharp, and my senses honed, she'd complained to him. Like any human could understand her feline language. She couldn't exactly understand the human form of speech either, but she was a very bright cat and could figure things out pretty fast. She'd been in a human environment since she'd left her mother's side at five weeks old. More than three years now. So she's had a lot of practice at learning what humans had to say.

The moth rattled its wings against the screen again, bringing a sudden, swift, paw strike so hard that it was knocked from the screen onto the lawn below. The longest of the summer days had come and gone, almost a month ago now; hastening the darkness at an earlier hour; hastening the retirement for the night for her elder guardians. Soon they'd be asleep and snoring in rhythmic sighs and snorts. Soon the moon would be high and it would be time for Thorny to bring her, and all the other apartment cats in building four of the Rainbow Estates Senior Village, the latest gossip and happenings—the news.

Because it had been quite stormy out for the past three nights and the windows had to be closed to keep the rain out, Thorny hadn't come to visit. Necco wandered from window to window anyway, but he never showed. The rains had ceased around noon today and even though the breeze was still a bit cool for older folks, Necco's guardians had left all their windows open. They said it was ideal sleeping weather.

A lot had been going on in the little Village since Thorny's last visit, two apartments had been vacated, re-cleaned and received two new sets of tenants. Just before the rains came, Necco was sure she saw a cat carrier being unloaded from the moving truck. She was anxious to know about the new cat in the Village.

The night deepened, her guardian's soft snoring sounds filled her ears as she swiveled them this way and that, tuning out the mundane apartment sounds so that she could hear her friend approaching. The breeze had stilled, the harmonized voices of the crickets and frogs living in the ditches at the properties edge, echoed in the quiet air.

Necco heard the familiar thalump of thickly padded paws landing on the windowsill above her. Markus had awakened from his nap. He slept on the pillow next to his elder guardian's, head. Mo, short for Molina, a tall thin, silver headed lady that had been widowed for nearly thirty years, and only recently, in the past six months, moved into the Village. Necco figured by the way she went and up and down those wicked stairs that she was probably the most agile human in all of the four buildings in the complex. "Markus?" Necco pressed her face and whiskers against the screen, and whispered into the still night. "It's about time you got up. Thorny should be here any minute."

Markus yawned, stretched, then settled his butt on the hard surface of the windowsill before he spoke to Necco. "Yeah, I reckon he's got a lot to tell us tonight." Now, two pairs of ears studied the sounds of the night. The familiar croak of Frog, the orange tabby with the damaged vocal cords, shattered the stillness. "Hey over there, Markus? Necco?" he called. "Sure is good to have these window open again. Thought that dab burned rain would never quit. I guess Thorny's comin' tonight?"

Before Necco or Markus could answer, all three sighted the charcoal and black striped tom marching across the lighted parking lot. He jumped onto the hood of Necco's guardian's car and greeted all three. After a few niceties about the rain and how he'd stayed indoors the past three stormy nights—he was no fool. He had a whole neighborhood of warm, toasty homes to choose from. A gift he'd said. He was so charming and irresistible that all the neighbors vied for his attention. So to please them all, he spent equal amounts of time in each home, enjoying every last morsel of their finest cat dishes.

Necco couldn't stand it. Things had been too quiet in their little senior village since the ambulance took away the little dog, known only as the dog to all the cats in building four, and his guardian, at daybreak, over a week ago. Thorny had learned from Kitty Kat in number eight, that the squeaky little excuse of a dog that lived above Frog, in number six, had somehow gotten tangled up in his leash as he and the old gentlemen that owned him went out to pee. The little rat dog ended up tripping the old man and they tumbled down the stairs, waking everybody in building four, and building one, as four paramedic units, sirens whaling, pulled into the parking lot at four-thirty in the morning. How many pacemakers where jostled by all that excitement would have been interesting to find out. That alone had given the apartment cats in building four enough to talk about for days.

But Necco knew all of that, what she really wanted to know was who moved into the first unit in building one, number sixteen, where Nanny had lived. She knew she'd seen a cat carrier and wanted Thorny to go over there and find out if there was indeed a new cat in the village and all about it.

Thorny had been way ahead of her. He'd trotted over to the new tenants apartment shortly after they moved in, before the rains had started, and sat under the nearest shrub by the window. He saw the gal for himself. "You'd be pleased to know, Necco, that I've already introduce myself to her, and, of course, I told her all about the rest of you. She's a pretty little thing, if I do say so myself. She has a poofy little face and dreamy golden eyes," Thorny stopped, glanced over to the bedroom room window where she would be sitting by now, but because of the tree in front of her apartment, Thorny doubted she could see Necco, or any of the others. He scratched at a pesky itch behind his left ear with his hind paw.

"Well?" Necco egged, "What does she look like, besides her dreamy yellow eyes? What color is her fur and what is her breed? How old is she…I can't stand it, tell us all about her."

Thorny took another moment to wash the paw he'd just scratched his ear with, can't be too careful, you know. Necco stood up, hunched her back and spat, getting Thorny's attention again. "You don't have to go get in a huff, Necco. I'm getting to that part. She's got long white hair and a long poofy white tail. I think she said she's a Persian, or some such thing. She sure is sweet though. You'd all like her."

Thorny yawned, bored with the night and wanting to find a warm bed to sleep in before the day dawned, and before it got too hot. He had such a hard time sometimes, choosing the right house to nap in. They were all so cool and comfy. Life is so hard for a stray that is as charming as he is. "I'll tell you more tomorrow night," he said, turning to leave before Necco could stamp her feet and whack her tale against the widow pane, the way she had a habit of doing when things didn't go her way. "At least tell me her name…" Necco called after him. "Oh," he called back over his shoulder, "forgot to get that bit of information. Tomorrow night, perhaps," then he was gone.

Necco was frustrated and disappointed. Apartment life has its limits. She'd have to depend upon Thorny, a lovable and sassy stray, to bring more news tomorrow night. She said goodnight, to Frog and Markus, friends that she'd never seen the faces of; hearing only their voices echoing in the night.

This is a work of fiction based on real episodes in the life of an apartment cat. Any coincidence to any real human, place or animal is only in the imagination of the author. DBB

It's A Writing Day For Me...See Ya Later For Cat Tuesday

I've Been Schmoozed!

Thank you my friend, Thomma Lyn of Tennessee Text Wrestling, for honoring me with the Schmooze Award. I don't feel all that Schmoozy, I'm still learning the ropes of the blogging community. I enjoy everyone's blogs that I've come across and that have introduced themselves to me and have become or are becoming my friends. I'm also honored that Thomma Lyn thinks I've made a "delightfully positive splash" in the blogging community. But if it wasn't for my daughter, Paula (Basset Knitter) insisting that I start blogging back in April--gee has it been that long? I would have not had the chance I'm having right now of making friends with other writers and cat lovers. Thank you, Paula, you're next. Because I think you are a pretty good Schmoozer yourself.

Here's what the Power of Schmooze Award is all about:

"As it goes, schmoozing is the natural ability “to converse casually, especially in order to gain an advantage or make a social connection.” Good schmoozers effortlessly weave their way in and out of the blogosphere, leaving friendly trails and smiles, happily making new friends along the way. They don’t limit their visits to only the rich and successful, but spend some time to say hello to new blogs as well. They are the ones who engage others in meaningful conversations, refusing to let it end at a mere hello - all the while fostering a sense of closeness and friendship."

Besides giving my daughter this award, I'm also giving it to one of my first friends when I came online, Teabird of Tea Reads. She's a Librarian in New York and loves knitting and books. I love her interest in me from the start and the positive, interesting comments she gives me.

Next is another first time blogging friend, Meeyauw. She's a great photographer who lives in Vermont. A beautiful state that is filled with wonderful sights and wildlife which she brings to life on her site. She makes me homesick for the woods where I lived in the Midwest. A lot of inspiration for my stories came from those happy, wildness experiences. Srp from Me'lange is another first time blogging friend who lives in Virgina. Gattina in Belgium that has the Cats on Tuesday site and her Writer Cramps, keeps me in stitches with her stories and her comments. There are many others I'm beginning to know and call friend. All who have given me motivation and inspiration with my writing. And, of course, all of Gretchen's cat friends that got her started with her own blog. Whoopie...this is fun!

Thomma Lyn has been a great, instant friend, we seem to mirror each other's life and experiences in a sometimes eerie and interesting way. I think she could have been a sister. She's become a very dear friend, along with her adorable chatty blogging cats.

Thursday Thirteen #7

Thirteen of My Favorite Cats:

I've had a hard time keeping up with everyone this last week, and this week. My Cats on Tuesday story was late yesterday, I didn't even get to Wordless Wednesday today, how hard was that, and it took me all day today to think of something that has enough thirteen's in it to post tonight, Wednesday, so I can be out there with the rest of the group who have already posted Thursday on Wednesday. Take a breath! Okay! I've come up with thirteen cats that were my favorites over the years. In the thirty-nine years since I've been married I think I've had at least sixteen or so, if I count some of the babies from some of the mommies and some of the strays that have wandered in and out of our lives.

1. Sherry: A dark tortie female that I had for about three or four years, before she got run over on a freeway overpass behind our house in California. She had two litters. I adored her and she was closer to me than any I've had since.

2. Muffin: A pale calico long haired female that my children saved from a dog's mouth when she was just a tiny kitten. She was a lover, but also and inside/outside cat and about a year later she didn't come home one morning. I worked nights at that time and she was always outside the door waiting for me to come home at seven in the morning. She was hugger and I miss that cat for that reason. She actually put her paws around my neck when I picked her up and hugged me like a child would.

3. Flocon de niege: A pale Siamese female. We moved out into the country shortly after Muffin disappeared and there we had a number of cats, most of which I can't remember their names. We had a gopher getter that was the best in the business of gopher getting. She was actually my third daughter's cat. But hey, what mother doesn't take full responsibility for the care and feeding of their child's animal? We lived on a small mini farm of our making and so she had several litters of kittens there, some we kept and some we gave away. But this very pretty pale cat had to have her first litter of kittens in the wee hours of the morning on my lap. If I moved she'd follow and that got messy. So I sat down on the kitchen floor with her on my lap, on an old Navy wool coat of my husbands, and there the two of us had her kittens.

4. Black Cat: a male black cat that I really hated to leave behind when we moved from California. He was so good-natured, loved water and people. We lived in the middle of walnut orchards and in the summer the farmers flooded their orchards as a means of irrigation. Floclon de neige had a litter that was now about six or seven weeks old. We had a really bad hot spell one day and the kittens were suffering, so my children decided that it would be a good thing to toss the kittens in the flooded orchard, about three inches of water, and cool them off. Of course, the kitten's skeedaddled as soon as they hit the water, all except this black one. He just stood there, loving the refreshing coolness. We kept him, of course, and the others we found homes for. He would follow the girls down to the irrigation canal and go swimming with them, he loved water that much. Since he was a male and we were keeping him, we had him neutered at the same time we had our colt gilded. The vet just gave him a shot and put him to sleep. He told us after he'd performed the ten second neutering job, to put him in a nice quite place until he woke up. You've all seen the cartoons where a startled cat shoots straight up in the air and hangs by his claws from the ceiling. Well, when this cat woke up, the pain he was in shocked him so badly that he literally shot straight up, screeched and ran off to hide somewhere for the rest of the day.

5. Radar: A little black and white male kitten that we got after we had to leave California and moved to Illinois. He was a good kitty that fell of things a lot and ran into things. Hence the name Radar. We had him and other's that I can't remember their names, all my girl's cats, of course, until he got sick with a kidney problem.

6. We had a gray and white mother cat for sometime after we lost Radar, but for the life of me I cannot remember her name. I even have her pictured with the girls. So if one of my daughters reads this Thirteen and remembers her name, let me know. That was also at the time that we had guinea pigs, a humongous Irish Setter and a killer rabbit.

7. Bo: A beautiful large blue-gray male, already neutered and front paws declawed. He was a heavy sucker. He was my ex-sister-in-law's cat. She had had him for maybe two years from a kitten. She hated to give him up but she had moved into a tiny apartment from a big house and was gone nearly day and night. So we took him. We had a lot of room and he loved it with us. But then life changes and we ended up moving, our children gone by now, and living in a tiny place. We worked day and night and he was once again lonely. We had some friends at the time that had a spayed female identical to him and asked if they could have him. I knew he'd happier with them, and this female cat. He was. We got regular reports for a while about all the cavorting going on between a neutered male and a spayed female that absolutely loved each other.

8. Pumpkin: An orange and white-what we thought was female, but was male. This little guy I've written about on Cat Tuesdays. He was born under our shed, the first of umpteen-dozen litters form this mousey colored cat that had a litter of kittens under just about all of our neighbors sheds for the next seven years. Pumpkin was the runt of the litter, we brought it in and fattened it up and decided to keep her/him. We ended up loosing him several years later and three days after he got out, another identical male cat to him came adopted us briefly, but he had all his claws and his male appendages so we knew he wasn't our Pumpkin. I named him Scrungy, the books I've written are because of him.

9. Blacky: A solid black male with a dash of white on his chest. My number four daughter had come to stay a few months with me so I could have my back surgery and for my birthday, because she thought I missed Pumpkin too much, she found a farm down the road with free kitties and brought one home for me. A short time later we acquired another kitty, Jasmine.

10. Jasmine: A silvery gray and white female. My birthday was is in early October. Blacky came to us that first week, a week or two later, my husband found this little gray and white kitten about the same age as Blacky, cold and shivering in the woods near our house and brought him home. Now after back surgery, I'm at home in bed with two very young, needy kittens climbing all over me while I'm confined to a hospital bed. My daughter left for home a few weeks after I'm on my feet and I was left me to manage the kitties. Thank goodness for loving husband that loves animals, especially kitties. He had the litter box duty for a long time. Blacky and Jasmine are in the Scrungy stories. Blacky got run over on the highway first, then Jasmine in our yard a few months later, after she had a litter of sickly kittens. They didn't make it either.

11. Boo Boo Kitty: A solid black male cat. Medium long hair. It was a very hot, hot, summer day and daughter number three was on her way to work on the hottest day we'd had, and in the middle of this country road, lay this black kitten not more than five weeks old. She thought it was dead and stopped the car to remove it from the road. She discovered he was breathing, just barely, so she took him to work with her. That afternoon she brought him home to me and I sat the rest of the afternoon in the air conditioned house, with this limp little kitty in my lap, hanging on for dear life, squeezing water from an eye dropper into his mouth every few minutes. In the evening he just bounced back to life, like he'd never been near death, and was the most lovable, gentlest kitty we'd ever seen. My grandson raised him. But later Boo Boo Kitty adopted several homes in our neighborhood. But always remained faithful to us…his first family.

12. Preylor: A large, all white, neutered and declawed male. I think he was two years old when we got him and I've also told his story on Cats on Tuesday. He was named after the king in the Scrungy stories. He's the one who chewed on wooden clothespins and got sick and died.

13. Gretchen: I'm not sure really what she's called. A pale tortie, with white bib and booties? Anyway you all know her, she has her own blog site, Gretchen's Paw Prattle. She's my answer to a prayer kitty.

Whew! I'm long winded for someone who thought she had nothing to right about.

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

Happy Birthday, Dragonheart!

Cats on Tuesday: Squishy for Hire: Moles Beware

This spring the ground was terribly damp and spongy, bringing more moles to the backyard than Moochie, a small white and black man-cat, could handle. He was aging, you see, and these hairless little creatures were overrunning his territory. His owner, Granny, was getting older, also, making it more and more difficult to see to all the needs of her prized, private garden. Every morning Granny would find more evidence of the destructive moles, thus spending all of her imagination, time and energy trying to rid her garden of them. "Mooch," she often told her cat, "You're not doing your job. We've got to find a better way to get rid of these pesky critters. I just can't keep this up any longer."

Soon after the old ladies third, exasperating attempt to reduce the mole population, a young, smoke-gray, neighborhood cat slipped silently from atop the wooden, garden gate and introduced himself. "Squishy's my name, ma'am, and I've been observing your little quandary from the top of the fence there. If you'll let me come and sit in your pretty, shady garden where I can find some piece and quiet from the noisy little brood of youngsters at my owner's house, I'll gladly catch and kill your moles." The fearless smoke-gray sat back on his haunches and groomed one of his ears, waiting for an invitation. "If you don't mind my saying, I am the best darn mole destroyer this neighborhood's seen in years, ask any of your neighbors," he added confidently.

At that moment, Moochie, who'd been observing this boy-cat poking around in his territory for the past several days, lifted his aching, arthritic body from the warm spot in front of the small, oil-heat radiator, provided just for his cold feet, and padded out the door to stand between his lady and the bold, intrusive youngster. "My name is Moochie, and I've been watching you, son," he said with quiet authority, "I've heard of your accomplishments, and if you behave yourself and don't take advantage of my ladies kindness, then we'll give you a try at catching these troublesome critters. As you can see, I am unfit for that kind of duty anymore, and it's getting harder for my lady to tend to these matters, as well. What wages will you require, son? What kind of food do you want? Wet, dry, tuna, scraps?"

The young cat spoke boldly, "I am well-fed, thank you, and I need no payment for my work, but as I said, there is absolute chaos at my place and a cat needs a refuge once in a while. Your place is beautiful, lush and quiet, with plenty of shadows. Let me come and lay in the shade on warm days and bask in the sun, upon your rocks, on cool ones. Having such a place to relax without all those raucous youngsters about would be payment enough."

"I'm eager to have the moles eradicated," Granny said. "I'd be glad to serve you whatever you like for your hard work."

Squishy, snickered to himself, hard work? Why killing these pesky moles are a piece of cake for me. "No, thank you, ma'am," he grinned at her. "Like I said, peace and quiet on occasion is all I require. I've seen how feeble Moochie is getting and I know if he were able to, he'd be taking care of the pests himself. It would be an honor and a privilege for me to help you and old Moochie out." He stood up and touched noses with the older cat, out of respect for his age and his territory, and then he trotted off towards the garden gate. "I'll be back in the morning, while the grass is still damp with dew. That's the best time to catch them running through their tunnels and digging out," he called over his shoulder as he leapt upon the gate in one swift move, showing his massive muscle structure and mastered agility.

Each morning for the next several days, Squishy could be spotted posed upon the stone wall, watching and listening for just the right moment, the slightest movement of earth, or wiggle of a blade of grass. In one swift move, he had pounced time aftertime, catching his wriggling prey between his teeth. Unlike the mice he often hunted, played with before delivering the bite of death, he was swift to kill the mole. Moles did not give the pleasure of the chase the way a mouse or vole did. Besides, he was hired to do a job and he was bound to do it swiftly and cleanly.

A month has gone by and there are no longer any moles in Moochie and Granny's garden. If there were, they would not last long, for Squishy is always on the guard and would dispose of them quickly before the eye could take notice. Squishy now lounges about the garden patio at will, or lays shrouded in clumps of fern, or on really cool days, lays fully extended across the massive, moss covered boulders clustered under hundred-foot cedars and firs. He takes no offer of food, nor petting. A kindly word now and then from his aging friends was all he needed to be content as the silent keeper of their garden.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My mother has wanted me to tell the tale of Squishy and Moochie for sometime. I finally got some pictures to help with the story. Moochie is about thirteen years old and adopted my parents about that long ago. He has a bent tail and my mother has to watch out that he does not to catch his tail on a wire or small branch. Squishy belongs to a neighbor with children. The story is true, except for the talking to my, mother, of course, but who knows for sure if such words passed between them. I'd like to think they did. My mother is very kind towards all animals, and has had many cats, all of whom she's kept until it was time for each of them to go the way of all the earth.

Monday, Monday

I just recieved the Rockin' Girl Blogger Award from my daughter, Paula, who recieved it from Teabird. Gretchen already has one on her site. So I'm honored to have one, too. Thank you daughter.

Kitty Paw Clouds

Tonight's sky was filled with kitty paw prints. After a lazy day of lounging around the house and enjoying the pleasant weather, cloudy at times, but the temperature stayed nice and I didn't have to turn the air conditioning, I went outside to water my flowers and looked up. I immediately thought of kitty paws prints all over the sky.

Sunday - directely overhead

It was about 8:30 p.m. and the sun was getting ready to set. I waited a while after I took these to see if I could get a golden hue on the clouds from a deeper sunset, but the paws vanished from the sky before the sun went down.

Sunday - off to the west, the sun behind the tree on the right.

I wasn't going to post a Saturday Sky picture because I was gone all day yesterday and was extremely tired when I got home. I took a picture about 4 p.m., right after I came home, but forgot about posting until the day had ended. But tonight's sky prompted me to post anyway.

Saturday at 4 p.m. Very warm, humid and overcast all day.

Air heavy and tiresome.

Tagged with a Music Meme

Suzanne R tagged me for this meme; here are the rules:
1. Name between 5 & 10 songs that have made an impact on your life. I'll leave it up to you to decide how many you wish to describe.
2. Pass it onto five other people with a link back to your own post and this one as the original.

So here goes:
When one is older the mind gets stranger, add having chemo on top of that and you get really weird. So it takes my brain cells longer to kick in than the average bear/cat/dog, what have you. Here's some of the 5 or so kinds of music that impacted/impacts my life and what it meant/means to me.

1. I am a classical music person and listen to Oregon's FM public radio's, All Classical station out of Portland most of the day. There is a request program on Sunday afternoons that I participate in, so in order to get things right I have to go look things up on the net…composer and stuff like that, before I submit my little request. Anyway, the first piece of music that comes to my mind is my all-time favorite, Toccata and Fugue by Johann Sebastian Bach. I learned to play some of this on the organ as a girl in Savannah, Georgia (by some of this, I mean the piece is twelve pages long and I think I got pretty good at the first five and a half pages before I moved away from home. So I've not had an organ again until about seven years ago. When I started playing again, I can still only get through the first five and half pages, reasonably recognizable. But whenever I hear it being played I stop and listen carefully, I can see every note as it's written on page. Part of this piece was featured in Jules Verne's 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea.

2. I really like Rhapsody on a Theme by Niccolo Paganini, played by Rachmaninov. It was the theme song to Somewhere In Time with Christopher Reeves and Jane Seymour. My all-time favorite actor, actress and movie.

3. Another favorite composer is Edvard Grieg. Morning Mood, Spring, Hall of the Mountain King, Anitra's Dance, Wedding Day at Troldhaugen, and many more. I became familiar with Grieg's, Morning Mood when the movie Soylent Green was so popular. The old man requested that piece when he lay in the dying room. Or whatever it was called. I want that piece of music, Morning Mood, played at my funeral…someday.

4. On a more popular note, popular music of the 50's and early 60's is my favorite. I think you young folks call them Golden Oldies. I absolutely love Somewhere Over the Rainbow (Wizard of Oz with Judy Garland). Then there's the Beach Boys, and all that rock n' roll era. I recently posted Sealed With a Kiss for awhile on Gretchen's Paw Prattle, in memory of her sweetie in Sweden who's human's are away on a very long vacation. Blue Velvet, Blue on Blue, Roses are Red (My Love) by Bobby Vinton were/are some of the dreamy music I loved to dance to when I was a teenager with my first love. And of course I loved Elvis, the younger, thinner Elvis.

5. As far as today's music is concerned…there are a lot of beautiful and memorable songs out there. Michael Crawford and anything he sings, I like. I like country music, old and new. I like folk or mountain music, blue grass and Irish music. Or Celtic, however you want to call it these days. There's a lot of music I hear that I like but really don't pay that close attention to the titles or the singers. Basically, I'm a little bit country, a little bit rock n' roll and a lot of classical.

Okay, now I challenge 5 others to do this. Maybe it will be easier for you. My apologies ahead of time if you've already been tagged and I wasn't paying attention…if so, just ignore me.
1. Paula, because she's my daughter and I tag her for everything I get.
2. Meeyauw, because she's a really great photographer friend in Vermont, so I'm sure there's music in there somewhere.
3. Gattina, because she's my age and lives in Belgium and I'm interested in what kinds of music she likes.
4. Mom Unplugged, because she's got a houseful of kids unplugged from the TV, so surely there's music interests to be found there, also.
5. Teabird, at Tea Leaves, because this friend is a New York Librarian and loves books and knitting, so music has to be important to her as well.

(I would have named my good friend in Tennessee, Thomma Lyn, but I know she's buried in her writing right now, so I'll leave her out of this one.)

Thursday Thirteen #6

Thirteen Things about Bubba and Bean

1. Bubba and Bean is a novel I've been working on, off and on, for a lot of years…I'm embarrassed to say how many exactly, however, I am determined to finish it this year. The beginning is based on a true-life event. Yes, mine. But that is only at the beginning. Once I introduced the characters to each other they just took over and made it their own.

2. The story is about a fifteen-year-old tomboy transplanted from desert, western life in Arizona, to steamy, southern life Savannah, Georgia at the end of her Jr. High school year in 1956.

3. The only girlfriend she's made in the last month of her new school has abandoned her for the summer by running off to be with her daddy's new family in Atlanta.

4. Beanelda Jane hates her name and prefers to be called Bean. It rather fits her tall, slender, freckled frame at the time.

5. She is a tree lover, a wind lover, an all of nature lover. She would rather hang out in a tree all day, happily swaying in the breeze, than go shopping, flirting with boys, or whatever normal girls her age like to do.

6. Bubba is a tall, good looking, stocky sort of fellow, born and raised in the south with all it's southern nuances, who spends every summer with his aunt and uncle across the street from the house Bean just moved into.

7. Agreed, most southern boys carry the name Bubba. But this Bubba has a reason. His real name is Seymour Percival after his father, and he hates it.

8. Bubba and Bean's story starts with a blind movie date, arranged by Bean's mother and Bubba's aunt.

9. What starts off as a polite, do this for my mom/aunt, date, turns into a change in attitude, personality, and self-identity for Bean, and a long needed friend and confidant for Bubba.

10. Bubba is dealing with a terminally ill momma, a despondent, distracted daddy when he meets Bean.

11. Through their summer friendship, and blossoming first love, Bubba is able to overcome his fear of heights and make some hard life choices after the sudden, tragic death of both his parents.

12. Bean has discovered that there is a girl under her tough, tomboy skin after all. She embraces her feelings as her feminine side takes over. She tries on some of the southern belle sweetness that she once found revolting, and likes it.

13. The summer does not turn out the way Bean hopes, however, as Bubba decides on a future without her…temporarily…maybe…don't know yet. The characters haven't revealed the end of the story to me yet. I'm on chapter twenty, 58,000 words so far, hoping for at least 90,000. I need to buckle down and get this thing finished. I'm getting tired of dreaming about them. Not really, I rather like them. It's just that I'm easily distracted these days. I'm finding out that trying to be a normal, daytime person, isn't working for me. (Sorry that's a poor excuse and I know it.)

Wordless Wednesday

Cats on Tuesdays: Mike the Mysterious Episode 5: Feather Love

It's been about a month since Mike was appointed Employee of the Month by the real cat brains of the household, Gretchen, the Queen of Domesticity. Well, all during that time, the Queen has taxed her little kingdom of Fluffheads to the limit. Besides making them find and pick up all of her 84 pink plastic balls, whenever she's through playing with them, I suspect that she's also been having Mike fetch her treats in the middle of the night, while we sleep.

The only clue I have is the little trail of crumbs left behind in the morning. How Mike's getting the jar lid open is beyond me. I know Gretchen can't do it, so he must be using his special, mysterious powers to get the Temptations out of the jar. We buy Gretchen the Salmon flavored Temptations and pour them from the blue foil pouch into a jar with a screw on lid. Otherwise, Gretchen would chew on the pouch until she gets the treats out. I know plastic is not good for her and have to keep it away from her. Besides, once the foil pouch is full of little teeth holes the rest get stale. And she definitely knows which of the jars holds her treats.

Gretchen has been rather moody lately because her boyfriend, who lives in Sweden, can't talk to her on the computer for a whole month; his humans took a very long and far away vacation. So, she spends most of her time hanging out in a windowsill, daydreaming about her sweetheart. Meanwhile, Mike has been forced to do her bidding. The only thing I know for sure he can't do for her, and probably won't do no matter what the prize, is clean out the litter box. I still have that honor.

The other Fluffheads, White Kitten, Zoo Kitty and Beanie Kitty are all lazing about as usual. They give a good show in the beginning but as soon as Mike turns his back they're back in their cozy little bed, sleeping. I asked Mike why he lets them get away with so much? He just shrugged and said, "They have good intentions for creatures with heads full of fiberfill, besides, I can get the job done faster and better by doing it myself."

"Well," I said, patting him on his soft, little head, also picking a few pieces of lint from his crumpled up black fur, "You should be rewarded for all of your hard work. So what would you like this month? Did Gretchen name you her Employee of the Month for July, too?"

Mike's eyes stared at the floor. "I think she's too busy dreaming and thinking up poems to care about what I get as a reward. I suppose it would be nice, to be Employee of the Month again, but it's rather boring, I think." his golden eyes twinkled in the sunlight streaming through the window, brightening his countenance a bit. "Couldn't I have something different this time? Like some feathers of my very own?"

Feathers? I thought about what I had at the moment that had feathers on it that Mike would like. I didn't think it would be nice to take a feather or two from Gretchen's new feather wand. I'm sure that would make her quiet unhappy to share what was now her favorite toy. "How about a change of sweaters?" I suggested. "The bears aren't using them right now and you do look rather spiffy in them. Would you like to pick out a new color?"

I pulled out the craft drawer where I keep the bears things, placed it on the kitchen table and showed Mike a few sweaters. Mike looked interested for a tiny moment, and even picked out a red and tan colored sweater; I think just to please me. But I could see he had his hopes set on feathers. Mike was about to don the new sweater and cap when he spied the Halloween costumes for the bears. A witches hat with orange under the brim and a vampires cap, black on one side and orange on the other. "Oh!" he exclaimed excitedly, "Orange! More orange! I like orange. I look good in orange."

I said, "It's not Halloween for several months, why don't you wait. "No!" he said a little more forcefully than I think he intended. "Please excuse me," he said more quietly, "I really like the orange and if I could have some orange feathers on the hat…wouldn't that look great?" With sparkling eyes and upturned whiskers, the best thing he could do for a smile, he pleaded, "Please?"

Okay, I thought, why not. Mike does all the work around here for Gretchen; why not let him have what pleases him for a little while. The bears won't mind, after all, they've been unceremoniously dumped into a large, black, plastic garbage bag and stored in the storeroom. Then it hit me. "Go ahead and pick out what you like," I said to Mike, "I've got an idea. I'll be right back." While Mike, and now Gretchen, were going through the bears clothes in the craft drawer, I slipped off to my bedroom closet where I have hat's stored in boxes. In one of them was a bright, orange straw hat from Hawaii with lots of fluffy orange feathers on it. Mike nearly cried when he saw me come back into he room with it. So we pinched a few feathers from places that wouldn't show, from the brim of the hat, and I glued them on the little witches hat that Mike had picked out.

I've never seen a happier fluffhead. We turned the little cape to the orange side out and Mike posed with his new duds and the orange straw hat that my mother had bought in Hawaii over forty years ago; it's been in a hatbox in my closet for the past ten.

"This makes me look mysterious, yes?" Mike grinned as he posed for the camera. "I like to look magical and mysterious, you know."

I thought about it for a moment and realized that Mike did look good in the black and orange costume, but I think what he really needs is a black and purple wizards outfit, with sparkling glitter and a shiny moon, and some stars on it. Then he'll really look mysterious. Perhaps next month I'll get around to it.

After scolding Gretchen and the Fluffheads about getting into the treat jar, they all agreed not to do that anymore. Once peace was restored, I played a rousing game of feathers and pink balls with Mike and Gretchen, and now, all are off in their favorite napping places, sleeping away a very, very hot afternoon. This is the kind of day I pray the AC doesn't fail. DBB