Gorgeous girls!

If I had room for any more cats, I would take these two beauties home with me.

Mary Jane (above) and Pookie Lynn are sister cats up for adoption with For Cat's Sake. They're currently living at the Glendale Pet Supplies Plus, where they are on the lookout for someone to take them home. I hate to admit it, but these girls are even prettier than my own kitties.

Yesterday, Mary Jane rubbed her forehead on my hand, through the glass. She has perfect little white mitts and the most luxurious fur on her tail. Pookie is a little more shy. They're about eight months old, complement each other perfectly, and are ready for their forever home!

New year

I love the first days of a new year. The Christmas rushing around is over; there is no pressure to go to any parties; life is quiet. The cold keeps the riffraff out. Or, rather, in. I love it.

Even kitties like the snow, as evidenced by wee pawprints.

Why does Wisconsin winter have such a bad rep, anyway? How come people aren't turning to each other and exclaiming, rosy-cheeked with great exhalations of steam, "Wow! This is bracing!" Or, with broad Chap-sticked smiles, "This cold air is so refreshing!" That would be great.

Bat murderer

I love bats. I love their stealthy flight at dusk, their wings that look like thin wet silk,their little sonar noises.


Many times I have been amazed at them, flying overhead like magic, in the golden hours. My first encounter with them was in Waukesha, some 20 years ago; I marvelled as they flew back and forth above me. Again, up north, on a wooded ithsmus between two lakes in the woods, they were thick in the trees as the stars came out; and again, one memorable time coming home late in my kayak as bats accompanied me, a thick low cloud. Last week, walking the dog through Glen Oaks Cemetary, we ducked, unnerved, as bats were low, flying, seemingly almost in our hair.


Once, someone who had two little brown bats hanging from the curtain on his back door called me, and I went; an expectant crowd gathered outside with the door open, and suddenly they both headed toward the sunset as we marvelled.


I have never once been afraid. The hair stood up on my arms, but I was not afraid.






Then last week Brain and I came home to find a bat inside a window, trapped by the braver of my two cats. I opened the screen. The bat flew outside into the night, unharmed. When I realized that the cat was overdue on her rabies shot, I made a vet appointment that turned into a report to the State Veterinarian, a lecture about why I should have killed the bat, and somehow involves a lot of hassle, including several home visits, the first of which is scheduled for tomorrow. That's fine, except that this morning there was another (different, larger) bat in the house.


It was flying in my bedroom when I was trying to get ready, and I shreiked a couple times (it really startled me!) and then closed the doors to the bedroom; I do have to say, it was very convenient that I found it in the only room in the house that I could close off. Sure that I was doing the right thing, I got the tennis racket, waited until it hung quietly on the wall above the door, and had Brain do the deed; I was saddened that I had to facilitate bat murder, but adrenaline and instruction-following won. It died quickly. I had been told that I was supposed to kill a bat in the house. So I did, again, what I thought was the right thing to do.


I called the DNR, certain that they would want me to deliver it anon for necropsy, and instead got a lecture about why bats are beneficial and that I should seal the hole through which they were entering. Duh. I do not need the DNR to tell me that. I do not need the DNR to tell me that I killed a bat for nothing. (Brain was just the hit man, having superior hand-eye coordination and strength; also, he is taller. I masterminded it, which is worse.) I do not need the DNR, either, to tell me that the State Vet was wrong, and that the DNR is superior; both are government entities that deal with such things.

Real life starts again

Kitties helped me blog while I recuperated.

I got released this morning to go back to work this week. I have mixed feelings about it. On the one hand, it's been great to sleep when I need to- staying up till dawn, if that's when I had energy and ability to stand up; napping during the afternoon, if that's what pain and meds necessitated; eating when I wanted and needed to; and most of all, spending time writing- and I've read and written a lot, even when nearly immobile! My days got all mixed up. Time flowed funny- or not at all!- how did I spend two weeks in bed? Did that really happen, or was it a dream?

Somehow though I had a lot of creative and emotional energy, (mostly positive, surprisingly) possibly due to having no way of releasing any physical pent-up energy at all. I had some surprising inspirations for new projects and feel compelled and moved to help people in a different way than I have really felt before.

Today I was up and about, which felt good too, even straightening up a few things around the house that have- ahem- gotten out of hand. The yard and garden is a different story, and a lost cause for 2009 I think. At least I had previously gotten rid of this year's garlic mustard. Is it too late to plant a few tomatoes though? Weeds have completely taken over. Sorry, neighbors.

And, is it forgiveable if I really started to appreciate- and almost enjoy, really, having time be "mine" like that? I really do like my job, overall, but with the laptop in bed with me, and Facebook 24/7 (other nightowls were there for me too) I never got lonely. Not once.

So I want to thank anyone and everyone who helped me during my time of need, even those who will never read this. Especially Brain and also Riverwoods Urgent Care and my chiropractor.Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

A parent's love

Jinxxx alerted me to the fact that another dove had babies on the windowsill (I do believe this is a different parent dove this time). It's an endless source of fascination for her. They are very prolific creatures, which is good, because cat entertainment is difficult to come by these days. They're so jaded.

I guess this post is a bit overdue, but the sight of this adult (gender unknown) bird going through such great physical exertion to feed its babies was an amazing sight to behold. It's hard work, feeding the fledgelings.
I just wanted to thank my own parents for helping me out while I've been laid up: my mom brought a homemade birthday meal with all the trimmings, my preferred cake (ok, I REALLY wanted the one from Little Anna's Mama has a Birthday, one of my favorite books as a child [I still have it!]) but she made my second-favorite, and it was amazing: the chocolate Bundt cake mentioned in my birthday post. I got some wonderful and useful gifts- a key holder for my wrist, for one (practical!) and also the Lustron DVD I so wanted (wahoo!!!). And my brother gave me a really cute Buffalo t-shirt that I promise to wear often, and not hoard for "special occasions" that, you know, never arrive.
I think I may make the Little Anna cake for her birthday, but don't tell her. I want it to be a surprise. Unless she wants something else: it's her birthday. Just like how I (usually) love my birthday, I want everyone to "have it their way" too. Mom, just let me know your cake preference. I promise not to wreck it.

Also, the next day, my dad brought over Kopps burgers for both Brain and me- and a decadent chocolate malt, which I didn't ask for- but he thought it would make me feel better. It worked! I sat up, ate, had a good conversation, and when I told him what I would buy with the gift card he gave me, he said, "Oh, I have one of those. I'll give it to you." Perfect!

So yes, this baby bird flew the nest long ago, but it's so good to know that when it comes down to it, my parents are there when I need them.

Cat-sitting for Gwennie

This is my friends' cat Gwennie. I'm feeding her while they are out of town. She sat in my lap whilst I perused a book from their shelves- they have a lot of interesting books, very conducive to cat-in-the-lap.

Dove

This dove nests on my windowsill every year, returning to its nest without fail, despite the cats perching directly on the other side of the glass.
My neighbors across the street mentioned it to me too. I suppose birds can do some damage to a house (DH thinks so, anyway) but it is just so darn cute. Can't wait for the hatchlings. It's tradition.

Fond memories part V- bittersweet edition

Back in the mid '90's I spent a lot of time in Brewer's Hill. The neighborhood at that time was much different than it is now. East of Holton Street, between North Avenue and Reservoir, was very quiet without the new construction, condos, and speed bumps that now grace the neighborhood. Instead, there were vacant lots, industry, and neglect.

The steep hillside leading south and down toward the river from Reservoir was covered with trees, and an unbelievable number of cats lived within. In my wanderings about the urban blight, I would stop and watch them, giving them food and water, as did others. I saw a little old lady get interrogated by the cops there, the trunk of her car open, bags of cat food inside. Shortly after that, the trees were cut down and condos sprouted up. The cats moved on. This is what it looks like now.

I found Action Cat on that hill on my birthday, in 1997- a beautiful, small black kitten, surprisingly tame. I wanted to pick her up and take her home, but I wanted her to be free to choose to come with me. She walked back into the woods to larger black cat; they meowed at each other, and then she came back. I petted her when she jumped onto the stone wall, and then gently picked her up and put her in my car. She lay down on the passenger seat, purring. I looked at the street signs, thinking I could name her after one of them...Hubbard? Buffum? Erm...no, thank you. As I drove away, I saw a huge (I mean huge) person on a motorized scooter topple over, into the street. I got out of my car and ran towards the person, not knowing how I alone could help...two muscular men came running out of one of the businesses- this was at that time a semi-industrial area- and the three of us helped the person, who seemed unharmed, back onto the scooter again, the front of which had a logo on it: a black cat with the name "Action Cat." (This was not the only time in my life when Two Men mysteriously appeared in a time of urgent need, then disappeared just as quickly.) Action was still purring on the passenger seat when I returned.

Action Cat found the rest beyond the river one year ago today. She was the cat by which all subsequent cats will be measured and found wanting.

Thanks to trap-neuter-return programs, there are now fewer feral cats; thanks to gentrification, there are now more condos. Change is inevitable.

All kitties like to nap

My own cats sleep in the exact same position as the King of Beasts himself. Photo taken this past Saturday at the Milwaukee County Zoo.