Harlequin

[click on any of the images to get the full details]

Some of the birds agreed.

Welford made a strong point. Several, in fact.

Mo

A year after Miss Thing passed away, we decided we might be ready to let another cat into our hearts. We'd planned to pick one up from the shelter, when we spotted the ad in the Missoulian, “Two Mousers for Free.”

So we drove out to a ranch in the Potomac, and brought home two cats. Females. Half-wild, they'd lived most of their lives in a barn. We named them Harriet and Maureen – Harry and Mo.

We hadn't had them a day, and Harry disappeared never to be seen again. We lived at the foot of Mount Jumbo, and I prefer to believe that she’d decided to live out the rest of her life free. She obviously didn't like the idea of living in a house, and there were probably some juicy, fat mice running around up there.

But Mo liked us. She loved us, in fact. She especially loved sleeping on us…on our laps, on Tom's shoulders, or tangled up in my hair.

It wasn’t long before we realized Mo was pregnant. We suspected that she came to us this way. And we might have taken her back, but we already loved her too much to let her go. So we took her to the Vet’s for a prenatal check-up. Turned out she was very pregnant, only a couple of weeks from delivering.

I cleared out one of the drawers in our highboy, and lined it with cedar shavings, newspaper, and wide strips of flannel, torn from an old sheet. I slid it more than halfway under my side of the bed, so that just a few inches would poke out. I figured it’d be dark and private in there, but easy for her to climb into. And it sure seemed like she approved, because I found her sleeping in there the evening before she delivered.

That night Tom and I were sleeping, cuddled up in our comfy new queen-sized Serta, and Mo was cuddled up, too, on my pillow, her body nestled in my hair…

In the wee hours of the morning, I woke to the sound of her crying. Meowing. But when I heard her purring in my ear, I let myself drift back to sleep. I figured I must've been dreaming. But then she cried out again.

Half asleep, I reached up to pet her. It's okay, sweetheart. Wassa matter? Mommy's here.

But my hand didn't pet Mo. It touched something not-Mo. And it was then that I realized that my hair was wet, and there was something besides Mo sitting it. Something soggy. Something lumpy. And what the hell's that smell?

I jumped outta bed, screaming bloody murder, with this wet thing in my hand, ready to throw it across the room. Tom woke with my scream, and turned on the light.

My hair, my face, and my pillow were dripping with goo, poo, and amniotic fluid. And the soggy thing in my hand? A newborn kitten.

While Tom stayed in bed laughing, I moved mom and first-born kitty to the dresser drawer, and she delivered kitten number two.

I stayed with Mo, crooning and cooing while she delivered two more. And still chuckling, Tom removed the soiled sheets, and tossed my pillow in the trash can, outside.

Once we were certain Mo was no longer in labor, Tom took over with the reassuring noises. And until we ran out of hot water, I stood in the shower, shampooing sticky poo out of my hair.

A Fluffy Lap

On fluffy lap
he falls asleep,
and dreams of tigers
in jungles deep.

Hunting food
and keeping guard,
he rules the world
his own backyard.

Nook and Cranny

Nook and Cranny hid for hours,
tucked away between the folds
of denim jeans and wooley sweaters,
warmed by love and wonders told:
dusty boxes, balls of string,
and waiting laps that never scold.

camouflage

Natural Order

Agent Orange

Kittens having kittens...

While visiting my parents, I've been feeding 3 cats: Puma, Snaggletooth, and Miss Thing**. Well actually... I've been feeding one cat, and co-feeding the other two...(Snaggletooth and Miss Thing are also fed by a neighbor. He feeds them more than enough to sustain them, but that doesn't stop my parents from putting out a bowl every morning at 8.) For a long time, the system was perfect. My stepmom had three bowls, and the three cats had 3 spots picked out by the door.

That was until Agent Orange started coming around - a pink tabby kitten - maybe 3 or 4 months old...? At first she didn't eat so much...just a little bit out of Miss Thing's bowl. She mostly hung around to play. She loved climbing the trees, and swatting at the other cats' tails. She was clean, fluffy, and energetic. We all assumed she had a home in the neighborhood, and was just coming by for the extra food and company.

Almost overnight she has become much more aggressive. First pestering the others while they ate, she now actually pushes them from their bowls in an attempt to eat the canned stuff I add to the dry food. It's gotten so that I have to stand guard over Puma's dish, because he won't stand up to her.

A little more than a week ago, I noticed that her tummy was too large for her body. For maybe a second, I thought to myself, "she's getting fat from all that food," because her winter coat was filling out, as well. But her tummy seems rounder. And it is her tummy that continues to grow. I think Agent Orange is pregnant.


**The names have been changed to protect their privacy.

Happy Birthday, Joan Miró!

Joan Miró was born today, in 1893. I love his sense of surrealistic whimsy.

This is my attempt at a tribute. ahem.

Wet Paint

Glamour Puss

The other day, I came by a little white cat mucking her way across the muddy road that runs by my apartment. She was wearing a rhinestone-studded collar. She couldn’t have weighed more than 6 pounds - I think the collar must’ve weighed 2. But she looked like she was born to bear it.

Picking her way daintily through the sludge, she looked like she was wearing four muddy little boots. With each step, she shook her tiny paws with such prissy annoyance, that I couldn’t help laughing out loud at the site of her. And when I did, she stopped mid-step for maybe a second. But then continued with her trek without even looking back at me…and I could swear she stiffened her back.

From the Alphabet Series: E

Take it from me:
There is no glee
greater for thee
than missing your knees
when stopping to pee
behind a tree,
where no one can see
your naked wee weee.

[click on image for important details]

(I hereby offer my apologies to the blog gods for any part I might have played in the current shortage of EEEEEs...)

Escape

In physics we learn
(in the nick of time) that gravity's force
is weak.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fundamental_interaction

Migrants

Mine is not a good yard for pink cats. In the 3 years I've lived here, 4 different cats have tried to take up residence. All have shared the IQ of a flat tire. Plump tabbies in various shades of orange and pink.

One by one, I've eventually taken them to the animal shelter for neutering and adoption. Otherwise, they might have starved. The squirrels refuse to share, and pink cats are lackadaisical hunters. And my landlord refuses to allow me the company of an indoor cat.

Not to say other cats don't visit. There was a little siamese kitten that wandered over once, and the people who used live across the alley had a black and white that used to come by for house-finch dinner at least once a week.

This morning, someone new is passing through. A lavender-grey cat is stalking the sparrows as they venture out from the bushes looking for bread crumbs and overripe plums.