Two Years, Seven Months, and a Day

Coffee in a stemless wine glass (we don't have any mugs here at the new house), "Cloudy This Morning" by George Winston on iTunes. It isn't cloudy this morning. It's beautiful, and breezy, and sunny, and I have a full exciting day ahead. Nonetheless I am a bit... sad. Two years and seven months ago yesterday I wrote a post about massaging my mother's feet. That was after her second hip replacement surgery. And after that life got... complicated. And dark. For a couple of years. Now I sit on (I hope) the other side of the dark, and I contemplate the gains and losses of that time.

The biggest loss for me was the passing of my mother in April, but to be honest, I was gradually losing her from the day my father died four and a half years ago. Living with her after he took his life (he had terminal cancer and time left, but he wanted to go out on his own terms) hammered a couple of hard lessons into me. You really can't live someone's life for her--or make her enjoy living her own life. Just because I saw a new world of fresh possibilities free from constant criticism and financial worry didn't make it her reality. However bad she said her marriage was and how much she seemed to want to be out on her own didn't make it true. I guess an anchor is just that; something that keeps you stable and grounded. An anchor, as such, is neither good nor bad. The person who is the anchor has all the personality traits and characteristics humans have and that can be a destructive and grim as you can imagine. But the anchor, that person's role as an anchor, is what keeps you set. When you lose your anchor, you can either sail or drift. Mom drifted and eventually broke on a reef. The irony that she died while in vacation in St. Croix with us is not lost on me.

Yesterday was her birthday and she would have been 75. She liked to note that she and Teddy Roosevelt shared a birthday. They also shared their the day with Captain Cook of the Sandwich Islands fame, Paganini, Emily Post, Dylan Thomas, Lichtenstein, Sylvia Plath, John Cleese, and my personal favorite, Simon LeBon of Duran Duran. During the past couple of years Mom remarked frequently that she had lived longer than her mother did. She followed that observation up with the bitter comment that people had an expiration date and she had passed hers. It has taken me until now to remember her as she was before Dad's death, before her numerous surgeries and health issues. When she died, at first all I could feel was a numb relief. No more fights with her to get up, to care, to live. And when I saw her in my mind's eye, I saw her as the old dried out husk of a person that she had become. No one should have to remember a loved one that way. But lately when I think of her, when I see something I would like to share with her or something that reminds me of a time we spent together, I see her as she was--mischievous, wicked sense of humor and fun, loving, strong, smiling, vibrant, energetic, athletic, up for anything, young at every age. And I am so happy to have her back.

My mom believed that when she died she would get to be with her parents, her sister, and maybe even my dad again. She believed she was going on to a better place and a new "life". I don't share her beliefs. I believe when you die that's it, there is no more. But I hope for her that she was right, and I know that even if it didn't work out that way so that she could be happy now, at least she is at rest. At peace. I love you Mom, and I miss you more every day.

Massaging My Mother's Feet

I just finished what has become one of the most soothing and rewarding routines of my day: giving my mother a foot and leg massage with shea butter from the Body Shop. I cannot fully communicate how relaxing, grounding, and centering this action is for me, and how wonderful and balanced I feel at the end of it.

I love my mother. I have always had a close relationship with her--strengthened, I believe, by the lack of relationship I had with my father. My mother comes from good Kansas stock. Her parents were no-nonsense, self-reliant people. They loved each other; they cherished their children (and grandchildren); they boot-strapped themselves up; and they never took anything from anyone. My mother was raised to do the same, and there was no time for pampering herself when I was growing up. She never used expensive (relatively speaking) creams on her skin--even though it was always quite delicate. She certainly never had massages.

Two years ago, after my father died, my mother moved in with us. She has since been obsessed with pulling her weight, not bothering anyone, not getting in the way, and not making anything more difficult. A few weeks ago, she had her right hip replaced, and her desire not to put anyone out had dire consequences when she carried some recycling out to the front porch--without her walker--a week after the surgery and fell and broke her leg below the prosthesis. The fall resulted in seven hours in the ER and then a transfer to the hospital where she had had her surgery performed so her surgeon could do another three-hour long emergency hip-replacement surgery again the next day on the same leg. This recovery has been physically, mentally, and emotionally much more difficult for her. She has needed me to do many more things for her--dressing and undressing her, carrying things, arranging pillows, leg support, getting ice packs and medications, etc--than I did the first time. I noticed the first night when I helped her get her support stockings off (she has worn them since the surgery to help keep down the swelling and prevent blod clots) that her legs were really dry. I asked if I could put some lotion on them. She said okay, and that was how we began. Now it has become a small night-time ritual. I apply the lotion, and then I stroke and massage. I try to soothe muscle and sinew as well as dry skin--and I feel so connected to life and family and time by this one, small act of taking care of my mother.

I finish this post with one piece of advice: Try it. Find someone in the generation above yours--preferably a parent, but aunts, uncles, and even random old neighbors will work fine--and do something personal for them that they would never do for themselves. Cherish them, and feel your connection to the cycle of life deepen. It's amazing.

Dee's Day of Fishing

(Pic 1) The day began, as fishing days often do (so I'm told) at the ungodly early hour of 8:00 am. Well 8:00 really isn't all *that* early, but we still managed to be about 10 minutes late arriving at the dock. But Captain Norm is a patient, happy man, we slid into the water with no further delays, and we were off! The sky was clear, the wind was still, and the Lake was like glass. It was already over 60 degrees when we started out, and the weather only got better.


(Pic 2) Our destination: where then mountains met the sea--or at least the Lake. Flathead Lake. Just about dead center in the second photo to the left, nestled at middle of Skidoo Bay, is our family place on Finley Point. Don't worry that you can't pick it out for the trees--we can't either. You have to come right up on it before you can see that there is something besides trees behind the dock, and the cabin is always hidden way out of sight at the top of the hill.

(Pic 3) We slowed to a trawl, and Captain Norm got our hooks all baited with a variety of flashy, scientific and smelly lures. On the scientific side, one of the little dangly bits of the lure emitted an electronic pulse that mimics a wounded fish. For the smelly side, there are a variety of sprays to use on the lures before putting them in to attract the fish. A fish's sense of smell, we were told by Captain Norm, is its strongest sense. And the stuff you put out to attract them varies from WD-40 (really? apparently so!) to anise oil.

(Pic 4) The other science used in fishing that was completely new to me (though not surprisingly new as my last fishing was 40 years and a rowboat away) was the fish finder. Captain Norm has three different varieties and they all tell if there are fish near and how big they are (it registers their air bladders and sizes them from them). Jessie and Captain Norm intently checked the depth gauges and the fish finders to make sure we had the lines all set up to the right depths, and we were ready!

(Pic 5) We were ready, it seems, to wait. Fishing involves a lot of waiting. But what better do you have to do when you're out on the Lake, in the sun, with coffee (even for me, it was too early for beer) and good friends? There were four rods set out at depths from 60 to 120 feet trolling along behind us as we sedately motored (1.7 mph) along the point.

(Pic 6) Dee was bursting with excitement (don't be fooled by her apparent calm pose) as she is a true fisher-san. I hadn't been fishing since I was Jessie's age, out in Grampa's rowboat with my uncle Ed casting for perch and sunfish--not too far from where we were currently trolling. It was the first time for Dave and Jessie.

Our quarry? The large and wily lake trout--otherwise known as mackinaw. These are not native trout in the lake. They were introduced in 1905 and are now considered a serious problem. They are voracious eaters and will attack and try to gobble down fish up to 50% of their size. They are a problem because the main  catch of fisherman when I was growing up was the kokanee salmon--a land-locked variety of sockeye salmon that lives and spawns without ever going to the ocean. I remember our neighbors to the east going out in their boat (well, I don't actually remember them going out because they went before it was light and I was SLEEPING) and returning with coolers full of salmon. Now the kokanee are gone from Flathead, eaten to extinction by the lake trout.

Lake trout are fortunately good eating so we were happy to be able to help out the whitefish, perch and bull trout species by thinning the number of their predators a bit. There are supposedly several hundred thousand lake trout in the Lake so we were eagerly anticipating filling our own cooler with our limit of 100 fish apiece. How would we eat that much? We'd smoke 'em, vacuum seal 'em and freeze 'em! Probably just as well for us that we didn't catch anywhere near anyone's limit for the day!

(Pic 7) Dave was the first of the group to spot the tell-tale dip and jerk of a rod tip signaling the bite of a fish. Dee got the honor of trying to bring it in as it was her birthday.

(Pic 8 & 9) She grabbed the rod, expertly set the hook, and started reeling the fish in. It was a fight as it was clearly not a small fish. But Dee slowly and surely brought it to the surface. When she got it close enough to the boat, Captain Norm netted it and brought it into the boat.

(Pic 10) What a beauty! A 29" lake trout--enough to feed all of us for dinner. Dee had trouble keeping her arm straight out for the photo the fish was so heavy! Sadly, though we saw a few more big fish on the fishfinder, we didn't get any more bites so Captain Norm decided to take us around to the other side of the point where he had heard there were some good-size fish being caught.

(Pic 11) As the point of the day was fishing, not sight-seeing, he didn't waste anytime getting us there, but opened the throttle up full. Look Ma, no hands! Jessie (and Dave) were quite nervous about my lack of anchorage so J grabbed my legs to hold me in the boat. Like I was going anywhere!

When we arrived at the other side of the point, in a tiny bay on the western tip, we found other boats already anchored and fishing. Captain Norm exchanged a few words with them--what kind of fish were they catching (lake trout or whitefish), etc. He determined that for the next round of fishing we would anchor over a school (there were some BIG schools down about 70 feet) and do some jigging. To jig, you cast your line out, let it sink to the bottom, reel it in about 6" to 1'--till it's just off the bottom where the fish are--and then you jig it up and down as you slowly reel it in.

(Pic 12) As at our first spot, we got a bite almost right away, but even with Dee's expert aid, the hook did not get set. However a few minutes later we got another one and this one was J's to bring in. She did a really good job reeling it in, and Captain Norm was there to net it in for her.

(Pic 13) Getting her to pose holding the fish was difficult as she would not open her eyes in case she saw the open gill slits (they're dark red/pink inside, very frilled, and completely freaked her out on Dee's fish). Her fish, though smaller than Dee's, was still quite respectable at about 20-22".

(Pic 14) Her fishing done, J went to lay on the front of the boat and catch some snoozy sun. The rest of us kept fishing, but alas, the fish managed to nibble off most of our bait without getting snagged on the hooks, and our fish count remained at two for the rest of the day. Did it matter to our enjoyment? Not a bit. In fact, in hindsight, it was probably better for Dave that we didn't catch more fish as he would have been charged with smoking them all and he is on his way back to Austin tomorrow!

(Pics 15-18) When it was finally time to make our way back to dock, our "pilot" called out the window to us, and we pulled in our lines. Captain Norm filleted our catch for us and neatly bagged it up--a novelty for me as the family rule is you catch it you clean it (maybe why I haven't been fishing in 40 years). Then it was full speed ahead back to the dock with only a beautiful wake and equally beautiful memories behind.

Last night while some of the trout brined prior to being smoked, we had a taste of Dee's big catch grilled and Um, um was it good. We'll go out with Captain Norm again, and next time, 'ware the fish who cross our path!

 

No Longer Far From a Montana State of Mind

It's been a long time since I posted here. Life got busy, and though I missed Montana, it was more of a gentle ache than a sharp pain. But now I'm back here for the summer trying an experiment in living in two places each year. Reverse snowbirding I think it would be called. Today I worked in the little glass studio I set up in the garage at my Mom's house here in Polson. I also took a walk down to town this morning with Dave. I was hoping to get a cup of coffee, but none of the coffee shops/espresso huts were open as it was Sunday. In the afternoon we stopped downtown again on our way out to the Lake (Flathead) at the local shoe store so I could get some rugged sandals. There were closed too--looks like everything but the hardware store and the grocery store downtown was closed today. The WalMart out on the highway was open, as was, of course, The East Shore Smokehouse where we stopped for a quick lunch and to pick up a friend of Jessie's whose Mom works there.

When we got to the cabin I discovered that we had missed closing a water valve when we were turning the water and electricity back on for the summer a few days ago, and the entire crawlspace under the cabin was flooded, the pump from the well was running constantly, and there was a huge mudhole around the entrance to the crawlspace so I couldn't even get close to it. There was no sump pump in the garage or the shed, and the neighbors didn't have one either. So I went with the low-tech solution and suck-started siphoning water through a 25-ft garden hose. All jokes aside it was really hard to get it started, and when I finally did, I swallowed a bunch of the water. Blech. But it was still draining when we left at the end of the afternoon to head into Ronan 20-some miles away for the 7:00 pm showing of Brave with Jessie and her friend.

There is a little two-screen movie theatre in Polson, but they aren't showing Brave. We did see Madagascar 3 there last week, and it was amazing. For the first time in a couple of years I was not deafened by the volume of the movie, and the print was really high quality and in focus. As soon as it was over, one of the employees came in *and swept every row clean*. The Ronan theatre is owned by the same company which is how we knew Brave would be there because it is advertised in Polson. It only has one screen, but it's a big screen and they have comfy large rocking chairs.


I put James McMurtry on in the car on the way home, and drove the speed limit all the way--even when it was 25 mph--never bothered or stressed or rushed. The movie got out at 8:40, and when we left the theatre the sun was still high in the sky. It had set behind the mountains by the time we got home at 9:30. Now it's 9:56, and as we sit on the deck sipping glasses of sauvignon blanc, the last of the pink and gold have faded from the clouds leaving only a light tinge of apricot above the deep blue grey mountains in front of the sun.  

The water problem today was a hiccup--not a major catastrophe. The lack of open services elicited a shrug and the responses, "I'll have an iced coffee when we get home", and "I'll come down tomorrow and get the shoes". Given that there are very few restaurants in town, none in Ronan, and the ones there are--besides the Smokehouse and maybe a new Grill and Restaurant out on the point by it--are nothing I'd pay for, and that there are a total of two theaters with three screens all told, you might think I was beginning to go crazy with rustication. You would be so wrong. Instead of resenting the pace of life, I am embracing it. I am thinking more sharply and clearly than I have in I don't know how long (a good thing as I have a book to write and a summerschool program to manage for J).


Maybe the winter in dark, grey, wet and cold would get to me, but that option is not up for consideration at this time. Now I'm here for the summer, and I couldn't be happier.

Lessons Learned From the Night

What I learned (was forcefully reminded of) last night:

Cats are nocturnal.

Ernie is amazingly playful for a 20+ lb teenage cat.

Ernie is *very* talkative when he's awake. And when you are the only audience in the house (all other humans and animals are presently elsewhere), he has A LOT to tell you--especially if you forgot to give him fresh water and stir his food around before bed.

Mojitos, while full of minty vitamin C goodness, do not actually contribute to restful sleep.

It's much lighter at 5:44 am in Boston than it is here in Atlanta, (as evidenced by what was on the HenCam at that time--and what does it say about me that I was looking at someone's live webcam feed of their chicken/bunny play yard at 5:44 am?!? Even the animals have the sense not to be up yet!)

Now I'm going back bed to try for a little more sleep (and leaving Ernie safely DOWNSTAIRS).

Let There Be a Post

Let there be a post. It's been a long time since I posted here, but life is in a Great Shift and I feel like waxing if not poetic at least philosophical. And I already posted on Glass Incarnate today. (Oh, and for those of you waiting for Ernie to post again, I have wrested the laptop away from him--maybe permanently.)

Cynthia had a profound affect upon me during my short week in Portland with her. A bit of it was surely the newly post-50 shift (really), and another bit was BECon (which always has a profound impact on the way I think and be), but most of it was Cynthia. Since I visited Portland, I find myself hyper-aware of every Story that passes by me. Well, let's be honest, I miss most of the stories that stream past my body on a daily basis--everyone does as there are as many stories as there are bits of pollen in the Atlanta spring air at any given moment around each of us.

Is the story I am thinking about now the man with the lovely Jamaican lilt is his voice getting up to board the plane while talking into the bluetooth Borg thing coming out of his ear, or is it the middle-aged woman (age determined by voice and circumstance alone--I never peeked) with the stern voice telling her children to "Stop it, stop it right now" as they get on the plane. Or is it the tanned, streaky blond-haired woman in the polka-dot dress who earnestly explains to the gate attendant that she and the kids (she needs a stroller check) are traveling with her husband who booked at a different time and they would like to be seated together. Maybe the story is the 23 year-old law student I talked to over Cesare salads who is from Southern California, and who lives in Birmingham now and was just home visiting his mother (his father died of a very rare cancer five months ago). No. The story is life. The life that streams by, the life that my 87 year-old step grandmother Marion would like to see tomorrow and is not sure she will. She told me today that she didn't really think about living til 90 until recently when the doctors told her to enjoy this summer as it is her last. Now every day that she wakes up is a welcome surprise...

I am one of the last ones on the plane. I sat at the departure gate and typed as fast as my spastic fingers would go, and then I got up, ran onto the plane, got out my laptop and am writing some more. I find myself bursting with a connectedness to the other Stories all around me and a desire to record, validate, revere them.

Thank you, Cynthia, for reminding me of this part of my humanity. It is too easy to retreat to the studio cave and forget that other (pesky) humans exist. But if one takes the time to notice them, they turn out to be not so pesky after all.

Krishna?

The day and the adventure go on. We are staying at the Best Western in Cave City KY tonight. I was somewhat startled upon our arrival in this tiny, sleepy town this afternoon--we were the only car in the motel parking lot--by the "This motel owned and operated by the Krishna of Cave City". It was a bit... unexpected... to say the least!

After checking in we headed up to Mammoth Caves--and a parking lot packed with spring breakers from all over over this side of the country. First we picked up a Junior Ranger program book from the information desk for Jessie, and she is on her way to earning her first junior ranger certificate. We were disappointed to find all the cave tours we wanted to take sold out for the next four days. We took a short self-guided tour this afternoon and tomorrow we'll do the New Entrance Tour and that will end our time here in Mammoth. Tonight I'm going to research a bit to pick another cool Kentucky State Park between here and Natural Bridge State Resort Park (where we have reservations for Friday and Saturday).

Eagle Falls--More Hiking...

I sit in the dappled sunlight on the little deck off the bedroom of our cabin at Cumberland Falls for a last post before heading to Mammoth Caves National Park a few hours west of here. Yesterday after the in-laws left we took a little 2.3 mile hike to Eagle Falls (including the bottom and the top of the falls) and the surrounding area. I am not whining or a wimp--really--but it was the weirdest hike I've ever taken.

First we went from the river at the top of Cumberland Falls all the way up to the ridge line on the eastern side of the river. Then we went all the way down to the river again--but this time at the bottom of the falls (also the bottom of Eagle Falls). Then we went up to the top of Eagle Falls, then up to the top of another ridge line, then down into a valley between ridges, then back up to the original ridge line, THEN, finally, back down to the river at the top of the falls. It was so steep for much of it that the trail had stairs--either rock, wood or metal--built into it.

We didn't see any black bears (in spite of the warning signs posted everywhere), nor did we see any other wildlife--not even a squirrel. Do you think they have all been eaten by the locals?

As with any good trail there were periodic trail markers painted onto the trees to let you know you were still on the right path. However when we got back down to the river by Eagle Falls, the trail sign was painted on the boulders in a follow-the-yellow-brick-road kind of way. I figured it was enough to hear the noise of the falls and follow it, but I guess a little reinforcement never hurts.


It was a gorgeous trail, I'm really glad we did it, but wow was it a tough 2.3 miles! The beer back at the cabin was especially welcome.

Spring Break

It's spring break. J has the week off and Dave took the week off (at my insistence) so the least I could do was take it off too. Our destination? Cumberland Falls State Resort Park in Kentucky, a place from Dave's childhood family vacations and source of find memories--just what we all needed after a long stressful winter!

We packed up the minivan and headed into the wilderness--just like our pioneer ancestors--to meet up with my in-laws here in Kentucky. I'm from Montana, how daunting could Kentucky be? Turns out to be pretty daunting. For one thing, it's dry, and I mean dry as a bone (as in NO ALCOHOL!). For another, Tennessee just across the border is dry but for beer... Oh joy. I am getting in touch with my inner redneck. Then there's the whole no cell phone coverage (even the cabin at the lake in Montana has cell coverage). At least there's Internet (wireless in the cabin!) and three tv's in the cabin--which is moot for me as we left the Apple tv at home the better to enjoy the wilds.

But it is beautiful here in a southeastern mountains kind of way. The first night we were sitting out front waiting to go off to see the moonbow, and we heard an irritated squeak followed by some rustling. Turned out to be a couple of raccoons behind the cabin. J was all excited and wanted to follow them down the cliff. We dissuaded her. We actually came a couple of days early just so we could see the moonbow (shown at left). The moonbow we saw was very subtle--only about 30% of the arch visible and a soft misty white instead of rainbow colors. The one in the photo is someone else's photo of another moonbow night at Cumberland Falls. For us, it was the last night of the full moon and maybe that made it less bright. We were also told to go at 1:30 in the morning as the moonbow is most visible a half hour later on each successive night of the full moon (it was at 11:30 on the first night).

We all took naps starting at 10:30 and got up at 12:45 to drive down. I'm glad we didn't try to walk the trail as it is steep and narrow and we only had one little flashlight between all of us (so much for our wilderness skills). Even with the nap J was pooped and not up for Mom taking pictures.

Yesterday we walked from our cabin to the falls. It is hard for me to refer to it as a hike because we went steeply down to get to the falls and I think of hiking as going up (first). We got the hike part on the way back up and it was really warm--84 degrees and it's only the beginning of April! The deciduous trees are all still bare of leaves which only emphasizes the stark columnar skeletons of the pines decimated by southern pine beetle. The damage is so bad they warn you not to hike on windy days as there is serious risk of damaged or dead trees falling (and killing you).

Okay, everyone's back from their walk. It's time to have some lunch, play a game or two
(Alhambra, Set, Race for the Galaxy, Waterworks or one of several others). Maybe later I'll have a beer and a nap...

Tuffy's Big Adventure

I have taken the blog from the cat. After the past two days, I am invincible! I am very tired, still thirsty, and my mouth is packed full of seeds, but I need a place to tell my tale and, well, the cat is snoring on the couch (as usual) so I just took over the blog. Here we go.

Friday afternoon the little girl had a playdate with a friend. She was showing me off (as she likes to do) and when she was finished, she and her friend went away to play somewhere else. I was glad because it was the middle of the day and, you know, hamster, nocturnal and all. I had sleep to do and didn't really want to be bothered. But later, later when I woke for the evening, I noticed that she had left the door to my cage open... Oh. My. To Mexico and freedom!

Just to be clear, I don't actually know where Mexico is. My family was originally from Syria, but I've been in this country for generations (lots and lots and LOTS of generations). But I've heard it's beautiful and warm with lots of senoritas and pina coladas. The closest I've come to a senorita here is the bunny, Jasmine, and she scorns me. (*sigh*). So I headed to Mexico via a long drop to the floor, and headed out the kid's bedroom door. But then I got a bit lost.

Somehow I ended up in the big people's bathroom off their bedroom. The last time I escaped I ended up there too, and I was so tired I just fell asleep in a corner. This time I managed to stay awake long enough to poop a lot in the corner and then skeedaddle for parts yonder. I think I really confused the big female human with all the poop because the little girl told me the big female human searched all three closets off the bedroom and bathroom several times looking for me. Heh. The little girl was also made to empty out her closets and look for me, and the big female human searched the entire upstairs--closets and all--again the next day. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I made good my escape on Friday and, apparently, the little girl didn't notice I was gone until Saturday afternoon. When my absence was noted by the little girl, she had several minutes of indecision and consternation, but eventually she went to the big female human in tears and said she was afraid the big female human was going to be mad at her, but she had to tell her she had left the cage door open and I was missing. The big female human sighed and trudged upstairs with the little girl to look for me, but it was in vain. They searched and searched the upstairs, but what they did not know was that I had, in the dead of night on Friday, braved the STAIRS. and not just the stairs, but TWO flights of stairs, the CAT and TWO dogs to get all the way downstairs to the basement--though I really shouldn't count the big dog because she couldn't care less about tracking down her own meals and just ignored me. In fact, the cat is pretty lazy too. I think he saw me come down the first flight of stairs and head for the basement stairs and he just kept dozing on the couch. Guess he's more into bacon than hamster (lucky for me).

So while the humans were all searching upstairs (even the big male human looked for me a bit on Saturday) I was down in the basement. I don't know how I got all turned around and thought Mexico was down there, but once I got down all those stairs (and wasn't THAT exciting!), I couldn't get back up. Heck, had it not been for the little girl having a playdate today, I might have DIED down there! She told me that when she and her friend came down the stairs, she was concentrating on something else, but then she saw a streak of brown move out of the corner of her eye (it was me, I was still looking for Mexico). She and her friend chased me round and round the room (and under the treadmill several times) before she caught me. I really wanted to go to Mexico, but then after all that running and two days with no food or water (the little girl told me they had been putting my sleeping box and food out for me in different parts of the upstairs each night since I escapayed), I decided it would be good to let the little girl catch me, cuddle me, feed me, and tuck me back in my bed.

So now I'm back in my home, the big female human came and petted me and made a fuss over me too, and I am none the worse for wear for my adventure. Maybe next time I'll get all the way to Mexico.

I'm Back...

Yo. I'm still here. Been hard to get to the computer even though the female human gave up Mafia Wars. What can I say? I sleep a lot. I have firmly staked out the couch as my own, and anyone wanting to share it has to bring me tribute. Life is good--though it did get annoying for a bit over Christmas when the little girl's grandfather came to visit and brought his obnoxious dog.

The grandmother brought her bird too--but they were smart and kept it upstairs in a cage. Too bad, it looked a tasty morsel. The one day the grandmother brought the cage downstairs and had it on the table I hopped up and peered in at the bird. It said "Hey bird!" to me. Stupid bird. Or maybe it was just hoping I was come to play a game with it. Yeah, I have a good game. "Here little birdie, let's play hide and seek. you hide, and I'll seek you... with my teeth!"

The grandfather's dog was a German shepherd basset hound mix (picture a shepherd on really stubby legs) and it's favorite game was to charge me as I lay on the couch and jam it's nose into my face. I thwacked it a few times with my paw (claws extended, of course) but it wasn't too bright and didn't get the hint. Dogs. Who needs 'em? The deerhound wasn't too fond of him either. She bared her teeth, growled and snapped at him when he got too close to her. Guess he wasn't too stupid 'cause he stayed out of reach. Man, she's got some serious teeth!

Now he's gone home and the I get to sleep uninterrupted again. It looked for awhile like I might actually finally move to the studio, but the male human deemed it too cold there for me yet so I still have the couch. The female human is preparing for my move by getting a studio cam (so you can all watch me sleep on-line) and a comfy bed for me. The male human apparently won't let her move the couch. *sigh*

Life is good here in Atlanta. I haven't had a chance to eat either the little girl's hamster or her bunny, but there's still time. They look tasty, and I can move fast when I want to. Just ask the female human when she tries to block the door and keep me in at night. I am a stealth cat then, and fast like the wind.

The deerhound was sick over Christmas--looks like cancer in her nostrils, poor thing. But she is cheerful and perky still--and best of all, when she gets her pills in raw hamburger, the Spaniel and I get balls of raw hamburger treat too. Sweet.

Thanks for all the birthday wishes. I got chicken leather dog treats from the new family, and it was good. Wish Dee would visit again soon--she brings the best tribute.

Keep those notes and letters coming, I'll get the little girl to read them to me while I lay on her legs.

Later...

Happy Thanksgiving (Yumm... Turkey)

Between the little girl and Mafia Wars, my life is pretty sweet. The female human is a soft touch and sneaks me ham, turkey, bacon and other meat treats. I surf the dogs food and water as I please. The couch is mine. I even race outside every few nights to do my business in the garden and test the chilly night air--and I just like making the human female sit on the couch waiting for me to be ready to come back in. Life is good. I am still enormous.

Love, Ernie.

To Mexico and Freedom!

I made a break for it tonight. The female human opened the back door onto the deck to let out the deerhound for her nightly facility visit. It had been raining and the deerhound--the royal dog of Scotland--was reluctant to go out and get her feet wet. Wuss. The female human scolded her till she finally went down the stairs to the backyard, then the human left the door open for her to come back in while she went to take the garbage out the front door. I saw the moment, I made it mine.

The female human noticed I was gone immediately when she came back in the front door and went to close the back door behind the deerhound. The last she had seen me I was snoozing on the back of the couch, then I was gone. I heard her standing in her bare feet on the wet deck calling for me in the dark. She sounded pretty frantic but trying to hide it and be perky and upbeat, "Ernie! Here kitty, kitty, kitty! I have some tuna for you!" When I ignored her (there were things to smell in the backyard and I knew she couldn't see me), she went back inside. She came out a few minutes later with a box of something crunchy sounding that she rattled saying "Ernie, dinner time!" Hah. Like I was going to be fooled by that box of the kid's goldfish crackers.

Finally the door to the garage under the deck opened the light from inside streamed out, and she came out calling for me. Even though it was drizzling a bit and I'm not so fond of the rain (cat and all), I made her wait. I let her walk all the way to the end of the driveway right before she would've had to walk out onto the grass of the backyard and I watched as she hesitated walking out there in her bare feet. Then I slipped in behind her and sauntered into the open garage. When she turned around and saw me, "Ernie! (sigh of relief) I'm so glad you're back. Come on in now for some tuna.", I nonchalantly sat down, washed one paw and waited for her to coax me back in.

Sure enough, she opened a can of Spam for me (though I had to share it with the dogs). She fretted about the sodium, but she couldn't find the tuna and she wanted to reward me for coming back in (sucker, I have her trained now) so she gave me (and those dogs--you should've seen that spaniel slather) the Spam (and lots of fresh water). I was dignified. Yeah, I trotted after her a bit quickly as she headed to my food dish, but can you blame me? I'll say it again: Dry Diet Senior Cat Food. Blech.

Tomorrow I heard that Dee is coming with more tribute--this time in the form of bacon treats. It's about time!

Taking Charge

It was a good weekend: I am finally getting the humans and the spaniel trained. I'm still not sure how I feel about the Unfortunate Event of Saturday night, but the outcome has been okay so I'll let it slide this time. Around 9:00 pm the little girl went out onto the screened-in front porch to feed her bunny (yeah, she can feed the bunny... to me!) and I strolled out to look at the moon and test the scents on the Atlanta evening air. Well, clearly the little girl was not paying attention to me and she went back into the house and closed the door behind her! No one even noticed I was gone until the next morning. Apparently the little girl went looking for me first thing on Sunday and finally spied me out the office window. There was much exclaiming, much petting and many belly rubs (but still no bacon), and all was forgiven. It would have been better if I could have figured out how to get the bunny cage open while I was out there, but there's always next time.

My night on the porch taught me one good thing though, I need to have more of a presence around here--no more days under the bed. It's time to sleep on top of it--make the humans move. I have finally located the refrigerator in this house, and another good place to sprawl is right in front of it. Every time the humans open the door there is always the possibility that something yummy will drop out, and even if it doesn't, if they are cooking, they will get so irritated at having to step over or around me that they'll give me a treat just to get me to move.

Last night the humans here had friends over for dinner. One of the guests brought tuna. I could smell it, but no matter how closely I clung to his leg or how nicely (loudly) I asked, he would not give me any. He said it was because it was a Thai salad and had a very spicy sauce on it that wouldn't be good for my stomach lining. Whatever. But he made it up to me at dinner by feeding me tidbits of baked chicken with chevre at the table. The humans here initially thought this was a Bad Idea, but the females succumbed readily enough. I now rule. I did let the male guest know that I was still miffed about the tuna by taking a bit of his finger with the chicken (but that could also have been just a slip because these were the first treats anyone had given me since I arrived and I was hungry and tired of diet dry food).

Today I have made my place on the back of the couch here I can watch the rain and snore. Loudly. Ah, just like home.

(Hey! The female human just sat down in her chair with a chocolate donut... I wonder if she'll share?)

Still No Bacon

They have begun to bring me tribute, the natives of this place. The first day two men named Todd and John brought a pink and purple mouse hanging from a purple stick on a pink string for the little girl to bat me with. They apparently thought I should chase it or something. Sniff. Then Becky brought a small white. blue, and pink mouse filled with catnip for me. Now that's what I'm talking about! I spent the day under the big humans' bed again--with the mouse--only coming out for belly rubs and to let them know the facilities were lacking.

I think my former landlady needs to have a talk with these people. I mean, I climb all the way up those stairs to get under the bed, and I'm pooped! Downstairs they have a bathroom with a glass and tile cabinet in it where they keep my litter box, food and water. They also have another cabinet just like it in the bathroom right off their bedroom, but, hey, no litter box, no water, no food, zip, zilch, nada.. I walked up to the glass door while the man was in the bathroom today and I told him--loudly, he doesn't seem to hang on my every syllable yet--that I thought there should befacilities in there too so I could avoid that annoying spaniel that hangs out on the top stair (he's not allowed upstairs--thank heaven for small mercies). The man ignored me! Can you imagine? The little girls is still my slave though, she accompanied me downstairs this evening and kept the spaniel out of my way.

Still no bacon, nothing but this dry diet stuff. But one more day of the big pitiful-eyed look, and they'll come around.

Day 1 in Atlanta

The big female human that got me out of that crate last night went out for awhile today and left her laptop behind. I'm not sure how much time I have before she comes back, but I have to get a message out to let everyone know what's going on. There are *dogs* here! I hate dogs. There also appear to be tasty grey squirrels, but they're outside the screen of the porch I'm on and I can't get to them.

After I got out of the crate last night I spent the night in a bathroom with a litter box, a cat bed (I preferred to sleep in the corner under a lean-to of plastic bin lids), a water dish and some kind of limitless food dispenser. I've got to say, I was pretty jazzed about the food until I tasted it. Blech. Dry, diet cat food. I must've died and gone to hell. Where's the bacon?!? I was told there'd be bacon here, and tuna, and fish... All I have so far are a couple of stinking dogs and diet cat food!

Oh yeah, I apparently also have a little girl. I spent the day under the big humans' bed--no, I wasn't sulking, I just wanted to be by myself and away from Those Dogs for awhile. Anyway, the little girl went off to some place called school this morning (she wanted to take me with her, I'm glad the big humans said no) and she earnestly promised me she'd be home soon to cuddle me. When she got home, I wouldn't come out from under the bed. The big female human had come upstairs earlier in the day, and when she called me, I came right out because I was sure she had brought me an offering of bacon. But no, she carried my downstairs and put me next to her on the back of the couch to pet me. All the while the dogs kept giving me the hairy eyeball because they wanted her to pet them and she kept scolding them and telling them to get down and leave me alone. Hey guys, this wasn't MY idea!

Now I've taken control of this communication device, and I'll use it to keep the word about my captivity in the south coming out. Uh, oh. She's home and calling for me... something about introducing me to the bunny. More joy.

Tuffy Love

Got the permanent cage for Jasmine Bunny yesterday, and picked up a little play yard for her while I was at it. Jessie thought Tuffy Hamster would also enjoy playing with Jasmine in the play yard so she brought him out too. I was afraid he would be slipping through the bars and scampering off into the long weeds every other second (to Mexico and freedom!), but my fears were unfounded. Tuffy fell passionately, madly, instantly in love with Jasmine and did not want to leave her side. Jasmine's reaction was a decided "Meh", but she tolerated his small crush. Between the Flip video camera and the iMac, it was easy to whip out a video of their tryst. According to our friends Keith and Mike whom I subjected to the video last night, maybe a little too easy (oh my, look at the time! Got to run!).

After Note: Moved the video to YouTube as they have better quality than MobileMe and don't require downloading anything to watch the video (Becky got prompted to download some Mac something or other yesterday from MobileMe and so missed seeing Tuffy's antics).

Jasmine Bunny

An unexpected amount of my time today has been spent trying to find the perfect rabbit hutch. There are numerous plans on the web for hutches to build--all with their scathing detractors--and expensive pre-built bunny mansions which are nonetheless not for the immediate-gratification-inclined--taking anywhere from a week to 10 days to arrive. I have not yet arrived at the optimal solution, but I will say I am not inclined to spend $350 to get there...

Another thing about bunnies, they are the *perfect* kudzu-eating machines. We ran out of lettuce5r8g[[[[[[[g[[[[[[[[[oooi] (Jasmine had to add a bit to my typing and paraded over my keyboard--Dave's big worry was that she would pee and ruin a $2,000 laptop...). So anyway, we ran out of lettuce earlier today (she may be a bunny, but she eats like a horse--reminds me of Keith's turtle who only wanted to eat strawberries) so when we got home tonight and had to feed her, I went down into the backyard and stripped off a bunch of kudzu vines. Then J and I stripped all the leaves off the vines and filled the cage with them (spritzed with water as she still doesn't drink out of a water bottle). See how she likes them? Then it was cuddle time with various members of the family. I think she makes a great hat for Dave.