What Are the Chances of This Ever Happening Again?

A package arrives for me via UPS from Massachusetts -- a camera lens rental. I receive the package, put it on the dining room table, and finish what I am doing. Later, when I finish work, I grab a knife, slit the tape, lift the top, remove the lens, and start to close the box.

That's when I see this below the lift-up box cover.

I Bet I Know What You're Thinking, Doodlebug

Let the cat out of the bag!

 

  NOW!

The Cat-Sack, a vet's best friend and a cat's mother's delight!

Oh, the Irony

More than two hours at the lake, almost 500 pictures including a number of 4K burst photos. 

Joy . . . and frustration. 

Learning a new camera is such hard work. 

Blue Corporal emerging

Took the best picture with the old one, of course.

Gus waits patiently for his family to walk around the lake.

 Back to the 403-page user's manual. 

(Now I need a rainy day, dadgummit!)

Sun Worship

Despite having had melanoma many years ago, I freely admit that I worship the sun.

Not in the way I did as a stupid teenager, lying on a towel atop an asphalt driveway, after having slathered myself in baby oil. 

But in a respectful way, wandering (in long pants, long socks over the pants, long-sleeved man's shirt, wind jacket as much for the pockets as any other reason, hat) somewhere, anywhere beautiful things can be found. 

Like these:

slider

water and algae

children at Lake Cheston

crocus

marmalade cat.

Everyone needs some sun. 

The Only Thing Missing Is

a book.

Not sure
Sister Baby
can read, though.

Do not underestimate the cleverness of a cat

when it comes to plucking,
delicately,
the one desired item
from among many
in the trash.

Whatcha doin'?

The cat in the chair offers feedback on my writing.

She has firm opinions and never fails to offer them.

Fierce, Isn't She?

Do not be fooled: this cat was a killer.

Caught in the act, more than once, terrorizing the tiny birds nesting under my porch and the bluebirds nesting in their box. 

She scared those bluebirds away.

But there's hope -- for the bluebirds and the feline.

She has moved a long way away to join her humans, and now she is living the good life. No longer an outdoor kitty with a killer instinct, Buttons is a cuddly bundle of fur. 

I know her humans, especially the children, are happy. She certainly looks happy.

And I am ecstatic for her -- and the birds!

Generosity

My niece welcomed all to the Thanksgiving table: her family, his family, and the family cat.

She knows a good thing when she sees it.

What Every Sensible Cat Does on the First Cold Day Since Winter

Doodlebug abed.

All That Glitters

The Paradise Gardens mirror house dizzies, inside and out. Reflections of reflections and windows on the gardens outside tumble and turn in a kaleidoscope of impressions and memories: a newer friend just beyond holding a bob-tailed orange cat, striped like my first kitten; displayed art in the new addition from a collection owned by friends of a an older friend; and so many visions of friends dead and lost to time and space, all of whom experienced Rev. Howard Finster with me some thirty years ago.

I did not expect the returning beauty of an environment I have long loved.

Nor did I expect the cathartic smack of nostalgia: a million pieces all in one. 

Rainy Day Amusements

Rain today, too much for me and my camera.  Off and on, it pelted the roof, bringing black walnuts down with it in an explosive cannonade.  Inside, I worked online, and read (for work), and worked online some more.  In between bouts, though, like a wine connoisseur, I cleansed my palate: no words, just kittens and a mama cat, being kittens and their mama.

Watching them, I slide down memory to my first cat, a marmalade, and all those since.  Such pleasure in something seemingly inconsequential: the biggest of the litter leaping about, the little white several paces behind, the creamy one patting his mother so she'll turn to the side and offer a nipple (my own cat pats me like that when I am about to fall asleep, only she wants petting), the last one falling asleep with its head in the hole of a cat play toy. 



I dare you to watch and not smile, even if you're a dog person.

Are You There, Heloise?

Hello Heloise,

It's me, Lucy.

My human said your human let us use your Furminator.  I am writing to say thank you.  (I am a polite cat.)  My human used it four times in three days.  She combed out a lot of hair.  I didn't swallow as much as I usually do.  I did not throw up either.  My human thanks you, too.  She does not like cleaning up my spit and kibble and hairballs. 

Do you like it when your human combs you?  I love it when mine does.  I push my cheek and then my backbone right up against that Furminator.  It makes me purr.  A lot.  And I want her to keep combing.  I even try to rub against the teeth when she is pulling out my hair.  I like seeing my hair in the waste basket.  That means there's less on me and in me!

Thank you, Heloise, for letting us borrow your Furminator.  We won't need it any more since my human got smart and bought our own.  Now I have one that smells like me and just me.  (I hope that didn't hurt your feelings.  Yours smelled very nice.)  If you ever need to borrow one, tell your human to ask mine.

Gratefully,
Lucy

The Cat Card

Sometimes, a simple card does more to heal than anything. Witness the cat card.

M. C. Escher cat: white, at ease on a linear surface, against a black background.
Personal message: "Hope this lovely cat card makes you smile. Writing this before I leave for the booksale at Latter. Just wanted to write three sentences which relate to our phone conversation yesterday. You were marvellous. You are marvellous. You will be marvellous."

Thank you, S.

Cool Cat

Lucy is the only cat I've ever lived with who has self-control. On sunny days or overcast days, she loves to sit on the deck, with or without me. She has never tried to venture off the steps although when deck-lazing was new, she did go so far as the last step. This summer she has never even gone down one step. Instead, she finds a spot and perches -- sometimes under the black-eyed susie climbing plant where she stares at the birds in the woods, sometimes under the gravity-free chair where she can watch the goldfinches, and sometimes under whatever object provides shade.

She has taken to telling me when she wants to go out: she'll find me, cry-meow, and go to the kitchen. There, she waits for me to open the screen door. Often, I simply close it behind her, trusting her to enjoy herself.