The Heatwave, and a Confession

So, I have to confess, I have tried not to warm up to Tristan. Chesney really, really didn't like him, and I have been harbouring - perhaps - some resentment that he somehow chased Chesney away. Only people with experiences with multi-cat households can fully understand how these things can play out,sometimes badly. In between my sorrow for my missing Ches - the horrible heatwave arrived. Extreme heat that didn't relent at night. And one evening just before bed, seeing Tristan lying on the floor looking like he was half expired, I picked him up and wrapped him in a cool damp towel, and held him in my arms for several minutes. In those few minutes I realized I loved little Tristan - already, and in spite of what my so-called rational brain was telling me.

And he has proved to be quite the little trickster. Needing some some work done on our chimney this week, a ladder was left against the house. So as I was getting ready for work this week, looking out the second story bathroom window, I heard some strange sounds and then - whose head do I see peeking up at me from the top of the ladder, but little Tristan's. What a sight that was!! Although he was "rescued", a part of me was tempted to see if he actually could make it back down on the ladder.

Indeed there were days this week that I seriously wished it would snow! I went to bed with a damp towel around my neck and a damp facecloth on my forehead. Sleeping was a misery - and I felt exhausted all the next day. Luckily I have AC at work, but getting there on public transit was horrible.

Like a Little Girl....

But lately I see her ribbons and her bows
Have fallen from her curls [....]
[...] she aches just like a woman
But she breaks just like a little girl.
(Bob Dylan)

One Month...and on...

The one-month date has come and gone, and Chesney is still gone/vanished. People around me try to console and say that he probably got picked up by someone who fell in love with him etc etc. I try not to dwell on the darker possibilities, but they are there, and always will be unless I find out for sure, and it doesn't look like I will. I wonder why fate would have sent me this gift, to console me for the sudden untimely loss of Timmy last fall, only to take Chesney the same way - suddenly? Cruel. A shadow has been cast over this spring and summer season.

But life goes on (*sigh* - I sometimes hate that silly, trite expression), and I have others than need my care and love. I also have an enormous garden, and lots to plant as I write, and some days it seems like a looming chore rather than a pleasure. But I love the cats and the plants too much to let any be ignored, so on I go.






This piece of salvage was intended for my various gardening pots and accessories, but as you can see, the fluffy ones, Manitou and Mr. Poole, think it really serves a much better purpose. In the third picture, Manitou seems to be thinking: "hmm, this place needs a paint job!" (Is anyone listening? IT DOES!!) Mr. Poole looks like he's thinking: "Hey, no one told me these were bunk-beds!"




Tristan reposes and recovers near the warmth of the brick border. He was recently diagnosed with an abscess on his back. Not the worst we have ever seen, but still nasty business: squeezing, draining etc...but he took it all very well indeed. Next to him is my latest purchase for the garden: a lovely garden wagon: it is very handy and attractive too!


Regular visitor, sometimes called "Mooch", Rascal relaxes on the cedar bench.




And last but not least, New solarium furniture! Here we see Angel and Longfellow obviously approving of the long-awaited purchase. The day the set arrived, Angel was the first to hop onto the the couch and sprawl at full length, so elegant her black against the vivid red. The old white wicker set had been with us since the house purchase in 1994, and was quite worn. It was not shabby chic anymore, just shabby!

Thank you to everyone who sent me their good thoughts for Chesney - I really, really appreciate it. Maybe we can keep it up for a little longer?

3 Weeks....

Last night I dreamed my house fell into a shallow sink-hole (this actually happened to a family in Quebec - they were in the basement watching a hockey game, when the ground opened up and swallowed them: mother, father, and 2 children). My house was in ruins, and people were taking all my clothes. I was searching for my cats...and waking up, exhausted, as usual my first thought is that Chesney is still missing.

Am I waiting for him to return, or is this just the beginning of forever gone?

Two Weeks....

....hope for Chesney is fading...

A Week: Heartbroken

Sometimes I am stunned by the lunacy of this world and its inhabitants: in one image we see the dying and dead wildlife produced by the gulf oil hemorrhage (spill is NOT the word most people are using) and in another, the mad frenzy created by the release of the ipad. More and more everything seems disjoint - illogical - and incoherent. Amid all of this there is no good news. Chesney is gone, and I am heartbroken. I have always said that not knowing is the worst - not knowing where he is now, how is is - if he is...is he suffering...

But that is just a little gray cat in a world full of unending misery, pain and bigger tragedies. Just a little gray cat.

And as I can often do, I thoughtlessly blame those close to me for not caring as much, or not grieving as they should. But of course, what can they say? Life goes on. How timely, then, that the following quote appeared in today's local newspaper:

"When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives mean the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand. The friend who can be silent with us in a moment of despair or confusion, who can stay with us in an hour of grief and bereavement, who can tolerate not knowing, not curing, not healing and face with us the reality of our powerlessness, that is a friend who cares."

~ Henri J.M. Nouwen

Chesney is Missing

Our Chesney has been missing since Saturday morning - anyone who has been through this knows how I feel. Please send prayers our way - a big storm is coming and I am out of my mind with worry he is hurt, hungry, thirsty....

Lilac-Time: Warble Me Now!

Warble me now, for joy of Lilac-time,
Sort me, O tongue and lips, for Nature’s sake, and sweet life’s sake—and
death’s the same as life’s,
Souvenirs of earliest summer—birds’ eggs, and the first berries;
Gather the welcome signs, (as children, with pebbles, or stringing shells;)
Put in April and May—the hylas croaking in the ponds—the elastic air,
Bees, butterflies, the sparrow with its simple notes,
Blue-bird, and darting swallow—nor forget the high-hole flashing his golden wings,
The tranquil sunny haze, the clinging smoke, the vapor,
Spiritual, airy insects, humming on gossamer wings,
Shimmer of waters, with fish in them—the cerulean above;
All that is jocund and sparkling—the brooks running,
The maple woods, the crisp February days, and the sugar-making;
The robin, where he hops, bright-eyed, brown-breasted,
With musical clear call at sunrise, and again at sunset,
Or flitting among the trees of the apple-orchard, building the nest of his mate;
The melted snow of March—the willow sending forth its yellow-green sprouts;
—For spring-time is here! the summer is here! and what is this in it and from it?
Thou, Soul, unloosen’d—the restlessness after I know not what;
Come! let us lag here no longer—let us be up and away!
O for another world! O if one could but fly like a bird!
O to escape—to sail forth, as in a ship!
To glide with thee, O Soul, o’er all, in all, as a ship o’er the waters!
—Gathering these hints, these preludes—the blue sky, the grass, the morning
drops of dew;
(With additional songs—every spring will I now strike up additional songs,
Nor ever again forget, these tender days, the chants of Death as well as Life;)
The lilac-scent, the bushes, and the dark green, heart-shaped leaves,
Wood violets, the little delicate pale blossoms called innocence,
Samples and sorts not for themselves alone, but for their atmosphere,
To tally, drench’d with them, tested by them,
Cities and artificial life, and all their sights and scenes,
My mind henceforth, and all its meditations—my recitatives,
My land, my age, my race, for once to serve in songs,
(Sprouts, tokens ever of death indeed the same as life,)
To grace the bush I love—to sing with the birds,
A warble for joy of Lilac-time.

- Walt Whitman's "Warble for Lilac-Time"

************************************
On my way to work, I came across a small bouquet of lilac at the bottom of a neighbor's lilac bush. Someone picked them, then carelessly tossed them aside. What a shame, to make it through winter and frost, just to be picked and thrown away. I pulled a plastic bag out of my briefcase and took them to work, gave them a drink and now they are sitting on my desk - the sweet scent of lilac filling my office.

Giant Plumes of Oil Found Under Gulf of Mexico - NYTimes.com

Giant Plumes of Oil Found Under Gulf of Mexico - NYTimes.com

As we recall Jim Morrison’s "prophecy":

“What have we done to the Earth?
What have we done to our fair sister?
Ravaged and plundered and ripped her and bit her,
stuck her with knives in the side of the dawn,
and tied her with fences and dragged her down.”

As much as I fear "the end", my end, I am glad I will not be around when it really gets bad....

Sleeping Cutie

Well, not too much to report other than to say Mr. Poole is still on poor little Tristan's case. And Tristan doesn't help matters by being extremely loud when accosted. I am glad it is not winter, as that would certainly make matters worse, everyone all cooped up inside. With the good weather, the culprits can simply be booted outside to calm down - gently of course :)





Pansies - I just love them, and hope to have lots more for next year.



Monsella tulips - one of my favorites, very sturdy and very colorful as you can see.