A Full Bed

Ready for sleep, I see my bed is already full where one dog sometimes two, and three cats sleep.  With a sickly sweet tone I say, "Move over." Waiting a second for any sign of movement, I decide to turn down the covers and slide into bed anyway. Inch by inch I push my way with my legs into my own bed. I am teetering between the bed and the floor. "Impossible," I yell into the air and more gruffly order, "Move!" Nothing. I slip my hands under Rex's body and with all my strength I roll him over so I can get just a little room to sleep on my side in MY bed. Once I am fully on the bed, I realize that my 50 pound dog is on the top of the blankets and I can't cover to get cozy. Finally, I order him off the bed and quickly pull up the covers, my movements quick and jerky because I fear that I won't be settled  before he hops into bed again. This always ends with a chuckle.

The funny thing is this scenario plays much the same most nights, but it takes me by surprise each time it happens. A curious thing!

Gone

The Shore Path crawls with strangers and their dogs.  Rex breaks the ice as he wags and sniffs.  We strangers laugh and smile. What would we do without dogs and their non snobby ways?  The Shore Path would crawl with strangers minus the dogs.  With hands in pockets, the strangers would brush pass each other looking at their feet. The potential for connection is gone.

the quest

The winter layers finally shed, we walk in the woods dressed like spring,  REAL spring.  Tails in wag, nose in sniff, hyper-vigilant puppies in a quest to not miss a thing. Each step  slows to the present.  Birds welcome in song.  Trees dormant all winter wear buds tightly wrapped, just in case it snows in May.  Uncertain times.  We press forward along the path of mottled light, trees cast shadows, but the sun warms.  My eyes and ears open to this moment. The only one that matters.  Now.  This day. And all is perfectly as it meant to be.

In Celebration

 Animated, my co-worker was telling me yesterday about early life in his marriage.   He surprised his wife with two little calico kittens.  He carried each in his large pea coat pockets from the old barn where they had lived.  Presenting one in the palm of his hand, his wife cooed in delight.  As she was bonding with one, he surprised her with the other. He had never been a cat person, but I think that experience converted him. Paul proceeded to tell me about every cat he and his wife have loved in their long marriage.

As he was sharing, I was thinking about all of our cats.  Growing up we had a multitude of cats.  Always.  Like Polly who got stuck in the chimney and George who survived a through and through wound (we think from an arrow) or Frosty who lived to be more than twenty years old. My brother remembers them all and the stories bind us in our love.  The tales go on forever.

My husband and daughter through the years have brought home nine cats.  They each have their own personalities and quirks. For instance, Maggie likes to drink directly out of the faucet and gives kisses when I ask on my nose and lips.  Abbie, a tiny calico  squeaks rather than meows and gave birth to Harry (named after my father) a long sleek gray beauty who can’t seem to get enough of me. Our big calico Julie Jewels robs shiny things. We had named her Julie long before we discovered her affinity for jewels.  What a delightful alliteration: Julie Jewels-and so appropriate too. 

Then there is Charlie, our gentle old-timer is thirteen years old. Duke a long haired marmalade is a bit of a brute swatting others away from the food dish. The last to join our family is Lilly, a feral born in a wall.  She is more than two years old, but remains the size of a kitten. She has adjusted just fine to our crazy house filled with teenagers.

Each morning we are surrounded by cats. We wouldn’t want it any other way.

Potential Trauma Event

I stepped sideways through the door  and Charlie escaped.  Normally our cats come and go as they wish, but today they are all held in captivity. Seven are scattered through the house anticipating something.Two are missing. Hauling cats to the clinic for rabies shots does not really constitute a good time, so that is why my husband is in charge.  He has it down to a system, but I don’t know what exactly. Putting ordinarily docile cats where they do not want to be turns them into wild beasts with extra sharp claws, pointy teeth and pitiful feline cries. I’d rather not be witness to this angst.  Will they ever forgive us?

Tomorrow will be the true test of faithfulness because each morning we are surrounded.  A few are curled at our feet, while others are sitting on the shelf of our headboard looking down for a possible chance to dive bomb. Max a black and white short hair gives me my first kiss with a sandpapery slide across my lips.  A chisel faced beauty Harry wants attention. Unfortunately for me every slight movement I make signals to Harry my possible passionate interest in patting him at 3:30 AM.  Harry is always poised for love.

I am not certain I could live without animals especially my kitties.  I grew up with cats taking them for rides in my rickety baby doll carriage, but not before dressing them for the trip. Now, they occupy my lap at night while I am reading, writing or sipping tea and they follow me to bed.   Some of our best family stories are about our cats.  

Post Potential Trauma Event:  Seven cats crammed into my Subaru making the short ride to town and listening to their blood curdling cat screams was the worse part of the trip. We left home and was back again in twenty-five minutes.  And now….where is Harry and Gato Negro?

The Importance of Place and Time

There have been missed opportunities.  Storms have stacked up this winter one after another like bills, left in piles-expected, but not entirely embraced.  Out of shape, I am unsure that I can slog through the depths with snow shoes.  As I drive passed my favorite rolling hills with a perimeter of deep, magical woodland I long for those walks and Rex my dog gets excited. I feel guilty and recall a special day in April.

We decided to walk later in the afternoon when daylight stretched before us. Doggies in tow panting with noses smudging the car windows. Once at the field the dogs let loose running and zig zagging.  Trudging up the hill through the once tall grass pressed by winter weight, we sat. Then we lay on our backs.  Quiet.  Content.  Breathing. We squinted through the sun. Clouds filled the sky. We lost track of time.

This Moment

My friend began laughing, "You.  Shy?" Describing myself as shy is akin to admitting that I can sit down and eat my weight in ice cream in one sitting.  I wish I wasn't so painfully shy in crowds and with people I do not know well, but I am what I am.  As I lean against the wall busying myself with a cup full of water, I watch others in the large room effortlessly move from person to person and group to group.  Someone rushes passed me, I am unnoticed as though I  blend in with the wallpaper.  My eyes shift along the perimeter of the room searching for a clock.  This has to be over soon, I mutter to myself.  I wasn't always this way.

It is dark when the alarm goes off.  My girls still asleep, will only rouse when the first light pierces the night sky.   I am curled on my side, just resting and waiting for daybreak.  Every morning is the same.  The gentle cooing of the birds is often the first thing I hear in the morning as I shuffle my way to the coop.  Once I open the door,  a spring of wings and feathers is released and they flood toward me.  Some begin pecking at my broken boot strap that hangs loosely.  Some mornings, I talk.  Some mornings I move through the mental list of chores for my hens in a silent monk-like state. Mostly, I move slowly and deliberately so I don't step on a bird.  They depend upon my care.

By the time I return into the house, Rex my dog has ambled out of bed and is ready to give kisses, to go out and to be fed.  Before I rush off to work, my large lap dog will sprawl across my lap, while one cat curls on available lap space while the other sprawls against my shoulder like a fox stole.  My morning has been punctuated by crowds of creatures with the only alone time recorded to be while showering.  Yet, I am in a state of peaceful acceptance for who I am at this moment.  Time might as well stop.

So Much Depends Upon

So much depends upon
The warp of a wooden door,
And fat, little chickens
Who morph
Into
Escape artists,
Skinny ones,
Who will
Never
Return
Home.

(This poem is inspired by William Carlos Williams' Red Wheelbarrow)

Gifts

Gifts

As all the hens approach adulthood, their personalities have changed.  This transition coincides with my recent weeklong departure. Could it be that they just missed me and are happy to see me or is this truly some expected hormonal personality re-ordering due to egg production?  I have personal experience with hormonal fluctuations and it isn’t pretty, so I prefer the initial explanation: my hens love me and just plain missed me. 

Prior to my trip, the girls paid no particular attention to my presence, except when I gave them food.  Just before I vacationed, they were introduced to a daily serving of old bread and oats rather then their simple ration of cracked corn, laying mash and veggie scraps.  As an additional treat we drilled a hole in a cabbage and suspended it on a clothesline rope, so they could peck away at it.  I read that it relieves boredom. Upon my return, my voice signals them to congregate close to the gate and cluck loudly making entry impossible.  I carefully time my entrance, slowly opening the door, squeezing through an opening not wide enough for passage over the dirt threshold.  Eventually, I risk their escape and push through a wider berth.   Walking through the yard, I am surrounded by squawking chickens quickly closing in on me, no longer soothed solely by my sweet talk.  They cannot possibly be hungry, but then again, I begin to argue with myself, they are growing and maturing chickens. Maybe they eat like our teenagers.  So I proceed to get more grain or bread to suffice. This does not change their behavior.  They continue in their crazy, obsessive ways.  As I am standing motionless, observing their nesting instinct hoping to observe the actual laying or dropping of an egg, I feel a tap on my turquoise ring.  While my arm was by my side, a hen hopped up and pecked the interesting blue stone with the gold colored veins.  “That’s not food.” I respond in alarm.  You can’t possibly be hungry, but then again I begin to argue with myself, this egg laying business is hard work.  My girls have me just where they want me to be, in the center of their yard tossing bread, corn, oats and hanging crispy tight heads of organic cabbage.  Well trained am I, but I must thank someone for the three fresh eggs I got today.

Borrowing Birds

One Good Reason Birds Stay Clear

Despite the threat of two resident felines, the birds abundantly surround my niece’s yard.  The tree just outside the second story window is lush with shiny green leaves and little sparrows that flit from branch to branch waiting for their turn at the nearby feeders.  The cats in my house outnumber the birds that have visited our birdfeeder outside our bedroom window.  Every few years, the feeder returns to the spot or we try a different location, expecting different results, but the birds remain high in the tree tops far away from the house.   Joyfully, I hear evidence of their presence a distance away.

When I was about eleven years old, and my sister was an infant, my mother began studying birds.  The double-sided bird feeder hung just outside the window and nearby, inside the house were binoculars and a Peterson’s Guide to Birds in the Northeast and a small black binder with journal pages where my mother recorded bird sightings.  She made a few visits to the Scarborough Marsh with Audubon members noting encounters with the Great Blue Heron and the Snowy Egret. 

Prior to my mother’s interest in birds, I was able to identify a blue jay and a robin.  Under her tutelage, I began my careful observation, noting various shaped beaks, markings and sizes of birds.  The most elementary knowledge of the difference between males and females had previously eluded my need to know.  My mother’s enthusiasm and persistence to learn more about birds and pass this knowledge to me helped to cultivate my interest in nature, and now that I think,  this was the beginning of my interest in quietly observing and noting what I see.  

Somehow, I wish that my kitties and the wild birds would be able to co-exist. Right now, I will enjoy their song and make visits to other people’s houses (borrowing birds), where the cats can inhibit their true nature or the birds can fiercely overcome their fear of felines. 

10 Ways Life Has Changed (Really in no particular order)

10.  There are not only bones in fish, but bones in our bed.

09.  Even though the kids have grown, our laps are always occupied.

08.  Strangers stop and ask for a photo with him.

07.  Kisses are given liberally and sloppily, everyday-several times a day.

06.  Co-existence among species is bliss.

05.  “Chick-magnet” takes on a whole new meaning.

04.  Consideration is given to wearing black clothing with newly applied white

        accents before going out in public.

03.  Sleeping in a double bed means curling one’s body into a tight postage

        stamp-sized space to accommodate, as well as sharing a pillow.

02.  Packing now is similar to packing for a baby when we travel.

01.  Each day is filled with undying devotion, contentment and gratitude.

Tangled Thinking

          My husband making conversation on the way home from work mentioned, "Elizabeth said that there was going to be a kissing booth at the Pet Fair for the SPCA." I laughed, not really imagining who in their right mind would volunteer to be kissed by every stranger that walked passed the booth and furthermore in this day and age wondering if this was such a good idea.  "I think Elizabeth mentioned it because she thought that Rex gives good kisses!" he added. He started to add all of his doggy friends to the list of good kissers, "There's Baxter...oh and Charlie, that cute little Charlie..." Sometimes, my mind is in a tangle. I thought chuckling aloud.  And just so you know, Rex loves everyone, including strangers and he is a darn good kisser.