Author: housekeeping

Let Me Tell You About the Bees and the Bees

housekeeping

Feature Moon Beams….And the flowers and the fleas and the Moon up  above and a thing called…

Spring has sprung…it is actually at the tipping point of summer.  The dead brown grass magically pushed its way out of the earth and turned a lush Irish green. Flowers  appeared, perfectly formed, like a paint by number canvass set strategically created by an artist of nature, with a vision.  Buds, like little fists, opened on branches of the trees, once again dressing the limbs in glorious green and red leaves that shade the heat of summer.  It is what we wait for through the trials of snow, ice, and those dreadful Arctic vortexes.

And yet, it also brings, well, you know, the undesirables.  I am talking about bees, big as humming birds, noisy as jet fighters, on a mission.  I know, they are part of God’s plan. I know they pollinate our food crops, produce sweet honey that is consumed, added to baking, used in healing processes.  Still, I am not feeling them.

Now, if those bees want to flit from cherry blossom to cherry blossom,

Bee hones in on blossom. Fr: Morguefile By: ranbud 11/l/1447552342mwa60.jpg
Bee hones in on blossom.
Fr: Morguefile By: ranbud 11/l/1447552342mwa60.jpg

no problem.  I am on the down low, they are high in the tree, doing whatever they do.  Or if they are in our flower garden, buzzing and pollinating, I will stay out of their way. I mean…it’s their thing…do what they got to do.  But don’t go crowding my front door, trying to enter the minute an unsuspecting Momma holds it open for the Kitty Club Med members to leisurely saunter in. Momma is not as fast as she used to be and as fast as she is, she can not match your top speed of  15 miles an hour.

A summers day. Got the garden, check, the grass to chew, check, the flowers to sniff, check, the stone steps to nap on, check. Paradise, check.
Gen on Quality Control duty, looking for birds and bees to catch.

Just today it happened.  Who knows how you entered…you are like a stealth jet when you invade our air space.  However, as soon as you see a light, you are drawn to it and dive bomb it, going around and around it, at dizzying speed, emitting that high-pitched buzz…and that annoys me.  Even more infuriating, Diva Calico Gen Cat goes leaping in the air, trying to catch you, but p–l–e–a–s–e, she is thirteen now so  she lands back on the floor with a thud, winds herself up and tries all over again.

Butterflies and bee sanctuary.
Butterflies and bee sanctuary.

I start whining and warbling, ‘Momma, do something.’  I know Momma always has a plan.  She grabs a bar stool and a squeeze bottle and starts squirting water at the bee…mostly she misses and there is water on the ceiling, the walls, the kitchen floor, the stove, the dishwasher, the microwave.  I take off for the living room.  I was already groomed once today.  I am not looking to be blow dried again today, even if I get more treats for my outstanding behaviour.

Finally, Momma connected, stunning the bumble bee which fell to the floor still buzzing and complaining.  Momma covered him with a glass, slid a piece a paper under and released the unwanted trouble making, peace disturbing, jet propelled wonder of nature, outside.

Is that a Bee headed for the door? Do something, already, Momma!
Is that a Bee headed for the door? Do something, already, Momma!

Bees will be Bees.  Just no breaching security put in place to keep you out…Not-In-My-Neighborhood. Read my Policies and Procedures for All Creation and get with the program.  So, are you with me or are you going to be a problem?

Super Star, That’s What You Are (Part ll)

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That Super Star gene.  It is hard to attain….but even harder to restrain….I mean, I can not help myself.  I am what I am… Momma claims (very lovingly, you understand) that I am pig-headed (somewhat stubborn – I will own that fault…as in one of today’s cool, but irritating catch phrases) and big-headed.  Don’t get me wrong.  The size of my head is just perfect now, not like when I was a little pup with a big head and a small body.

As a Super Star, I also play, 'She shoots, she scores', because I am a Canadian doggie.
As a Super Star, I also play, ‘She shoots, she scores‘, because I am a Canadian doggie.

It is just that, well, I think highly of myself and my God-given (to tell the truth) abilities to be an Einstein Super Star which takes brains, management abilities and of course, don’t forget, my good looks and athletic abilities.

You see, having an almost old world mind of  Socrates, I realize where would Momma have been without me, in her life, pestering her, annoying her – the yin to her yang or the yang to her yin.  In truth, I was the first little seed, buried deep in the rich earth that Momma tended, watered, fed, talking to me until I pushed my head out of the ground, towards the light of the sun.

What is that?  You want scientific proof?  Why can’t it be like the Good Old Days when a dog’s paw shake and tail wag was her bond, never to be broken, So–Help–Me–Dog.

So for your Doubting Thomas’ (and Thomasinas’), I know Hot Dog Cool Cats, though buried in Momma’s subconscious, never saw the light of day, until I gazed in to her eyes and commanded, ‘Do it. Just Do It.’…..and I did not even have to give her a treat for her to comply.  I guess Momma takes direction better than me! But don’t let that go to your head, Momma.

Only A Super Star could wear a Purple Polka Dotted Scarf.
Only a Super Star could wear a Purple Polka Dotted Scarf.

Through the process of osmosis, gazing deep in to my eyes (let it be underlined, ME first, then those Cool Cats, amazing wildlife, inanimate (not Ruby, she’s alive, I pinkie swear) and all those other tales dripped out of Momma’s fingertips, to the keyboard and in to posts.

Super Star though I am, it is still hard for me to imagine that my Plan, Check, Do Process actually achieved its long-term goal.  I am ready to be a Chief Executive Officer (CEO) of a Fortune 500 Company. Proof is in the pudding. I can develop, implement, all the while making life and death decisions. Oh, and I don’t need a contract or break the bank bonus, whether the company is profitable or not, just food (I have an Executive’s mind. I eat the cats’ food but I have a restraining order against the cats getting anywhere near mine), treats (small and soft), dog bones (only certain types), and walks (It’s ‘Good for Me.’ Brings down my blood pressure).

I'll do anything to fiesta, even wear this itchy pink tutu that Momma and her guests thinks I look adorable in!
A Super Star suffers to be beautiful!

Still, it is hard to convince Momma that I am a Super Star because she is very stubborn.. the curse of  Scottish blood.  She says I am so vain that I should be doing a Novena, to beg for mercy because I am so conceited. Apparently vanity is one of the Seven Deadly Sins. I mean, private or public prayers repeated for nine successive days in belief of obtaining special intercessory graces. A bit harsh.  I mean, we are not even Catholics.

Seal you a deal, Momma.  I will be modest when you can come up with a better explanation the genesis of Hot Dog Cool Cats….

Till then, I am plastered all over your blog and too many websites to count, so I am a Super Star …Not What YOU Are.  Deal with it!

You Have Got To Be Kidding!!! (Part lll)

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Yes, that would be Mother Nature, a bird’s Curse and a bird’s Blessing….She brought us back to our nests each year, and or helped us find the twigs and straw to make a new one.  Then, out of the blue, she would snatch them away from us, even the very tree the nest resided in…And no one can agree on what happened that day. It was a severe thunderstorm, no, it was a twister, looked like a cyclone…I mean if the good Two Footed did not have it straight, pity the poor Bird Brains.

Just a hint of light in the grey skies.
Just a hint of light in the grey skies.

Let me tell you what I remember of that fateful day…well, from the perspective of a limited bird brain.  The day was hot and muggy.  I had to keep flapping my wings to cool down my three little Little Peepers, keeping a wary eye on the sky, looking for answers to what to expect next.  I had my hands full, I tell you. 

 

My beautiful turquoise eggs...only three made it! Fr: Morguefile By: Taliesin File 000313526538
My beautiful turquoise eggs…only three made it!
Fr: Morguefile
By: Taliesin   File 000313526538

Although I had laid four tiny, perfect turquoise eggs, only three of them hatched.  Two of my Little Peepers were perfect, (like me) always staying close by their Mama but the third one was a regular Daniel(a) Boone.  She chirped first, gobbled the worms first, flew out of the nest first…a frontier explorer.  I couldn’t decide if it was because she was too smart or too dim-witted to understand the wisdom in caution.

As the day grew more ominous, my Perfect Peepers clung to me like velcro, my Daniel(a) Boone Peeper strained to see what was happening. She flew out on a limb and scanned the horizon, refusing to return to the safety of the nest and her Mama’s wing.

I can’t say for sure, did the rain come first, or if it was the deafening thunder, the blinding lighting, followed by the high gusts of winds that lifted roofs off houses, picked up cars in its path and splintered centuries old trees, ripping them and their contents up, sending them sailing in all directions… like they were toothpicks, I tell you. So Wizard of Oz.  Since a picture is worth a thousand words, see for yourself.

Where were my Little Peepers in this devastation?
Where were my Little Peepers in this devastation?

One minute I had a home, and a family….the next I had joined the legions of the destitute, seeking shelter under a felled but still leafy tree branch.  But where were my Little Peepers?  I stretched my neck out, listened, scanned as far as my eyes could see, willing the wind, the rain, the thunder and cracks of lightning to cease and desist.

As morning broke, so did the freak of nature storm – surely no Mother (Nature) would sanction this.  I stepped out cautiously, from under the leafy branch, trying to interpret the chirping, deciphering the humming-bird, from the blue jay, to the black bird, to the dreaded crow…It was them, I was sure.  With great joy, I flew towards their little chirps.  There were my two little Perfect Peepers but where, oh, where was my Daniel(a) Boone Peeper?

Mama Robin surveys the damage. Fr. Morguefile By: Castlelass File P1040833
Mama Robin surveys the damage.
Fr. Morguefile
By: Castlelass File P1040833

I would like to tell you a happily ever after story but the truth is, I never saw my Daniel(a) Boone Peeper again.  I choose to think, she had a safe landing and at this very moment is telling her own Little Peepers about the storm of the century. 

But you have to help me…If you see her out there tell her (like E.T.), Daniel(a) Boone Peeper, CALL HOME!

 

 

Should I Stay Or Should I Go?

housekeeping

Like the first night at an AA Meeting, I must confess.  Hi, I’m Clem-Ka-Diddle-Hopper and I am Feral, by choice, not design.

Oh, I am so torn.  It would be so easy, joining the Kitty Club Med, just being an Indoor / Outdoor Cat,  eat a few kibbles, go outside, lay in the sun, hop on the bench, wait for Momma to open the door and leave me back in like dozens of times a day.

Look at my picture perfect strands of color. No wonder I have tortitude.
Clem at the door,  on his way out.

What is stopping me, you may ask?  Momma and Wonder Boy fuss over you, every time they see you, feed you, stroke you, brush you.  I have Diva Calico Gen wrapped around my grey and white Tabby paw-paw.  Even Bad Boy Andy gives me the respect I deserve.  He air kisses me when we meet up, either in or out doors.  When I come in and he is at his food station, he saunters off, as if to say, ‘Hey Clem, help yourself.’  But the big one, really big one, is if I am asleep on a dining room chair, he will hop up on the chair beside me, and fall asleep which tells me an Ally Cat like Bad Boy Andy, trusts me.

Jakita, well she always respected me.  I won’t go within a country mile of other dogs, but Jakita is Special.  That leaves Charlie Cat, who skulks around, ready to hiss at the drop of a hat…well not at Jakita or Diva Calico Gen, although, she will extend her white-tipped calico paw and smack them across the face if she feels injured at something she perceives they did to her…Yet, she will let them be on Momma’s bed, on one condition…If Momma is there, Charlie is the only one allowed to be wedged against her. Law abiding as they are,  Jakita and Diva Calico Gen put up no fight because they know, well Charlie is Charlie.

In case you are interested, my home away from home. I cross the street, have woods to hide in, wildlife to catch, water to drink, slabs of cement to lay out on, in the sun. What else could a feral want?
My home away from home.

Who could walk away, tail in the air, when offered such cool accommodations? A wild cat, with responsibilities at the Cat Colony, that is who. Say what?? You must be having us on.  You are feral, stray, homeless and you are worrying about your cat community.  The world needs to know about you. Even the Two Footed are dismal at giving a hand up or a hand out to their own kind.  Where did a Pussy Cat with a Conscious come from?  You have got our attention. Tell us more.

cropped-The-Family-JPEG.jpegOkay, I will…but ssshhh…keep it a secret…no broadcasting it because I don’t want Momma’s family thinking I don’t appreciate them.  You want a Job Description, I will provide it.  It’s not pretty, but it’s what I do, but never to Momma, Wonder Boy, our Special Jakita or the Kitty Club Med Gang.  Trust me, there is more to tell.  Like Arnold Schwarzenegger, ‘I’ll be back.’

I will let you decide if I should turn left or I should veer right or just follow the same path to gain Pet Paradise at the end of my days.

Life Is Nothing But A Funny, Funny Riddle

housekeeping

Miss. Misfit. Molly. McMatchet.  The Miss was a label.  You hadn’t quite made the grade.  It told the world, (her world), that she hadn’t been able to snag a man.  Who needed one?  Miss Misfit Molly had a roof over her head, food for her belly, the Scryers Club, oh and her truck.  What else does a body need?

Mirrors are so spooky. There is always an image hovering, lurking, breaking through the surface.
Mirrors are so spooky. There is always an image lurking around, breaking through the surface.

Truth was many young farmers came calling ‘in the day,’ but Miss Misfit Molly, had the gift.  She saw right though those suitors.  They wanted the McMatchet Farm, not her.  Anyway, what husband in those days, would put up with a wife going off on a full moon and creeping back when the sun rose?

Everyone knew Miss Misfit Molly in Momma’s little town.  They heard her boxy old  1940’s something classic black Ford pick up truck coming, long before she arrived…and if a chicken crossed the road, at the exact moment, she would engage her ship-like horn  that could be heard in seven counties, so the story went. Now, not too many women were driving in the 1960’s and certainly, if they were, they had a car, not an old pick up truck with a sumptuous cab, classic truck bed and white wall tires.

Ah, but those country folk, they smirked when they saw her coming.  They kidded her unmercifully about her mechanical skills. What woman could change the oil, put on tires, fix the engine of a pick up truck? Miss Misfit Molly could….and she would do yours as well, if you could stop laughing long enough to ask her.

Miss Misfit Molly’s passion was the Scryers Club which she had managed to wangle a front row seat, as a child,  many years ago. Having a Teflon Brain, she would race home after every meeting and record minute detail of the images on the mirror pool,  of who said what, the plans going forward and the results to date. 

Misfit Molly's MagicTeapot and what do you know.... Is that her image on the silver tray?
Misfit Molly’s Magic Teapot and what do you know…. Is that her image on the silver tray?

Then it started happening to her.  Miss Misfit  Molly started having visions, seeing things, not only in the mirror pool but in a teacup….a suitcase meant, you were going on a trip, a star, you would be honored before your peers, a heart, you would receive a marriage proposal, a black crow, very ominous, get your affairs in order, your days on earth were numbered.

Now the housewives liked to dilly dally in this nonsense, get their tea leaves read but sshh, they did not tell their husbands who would tell them it was all stuff and nonsense. No, they kept it a closely guarded secret, never even telling their mothers or sisters or friends, for fear of being laughed at. Yet Miss Misfit Molly knew and although she never told in life, had legions of ledgers, filled to the brim with the names of clients  from the very families who founded this town. However, in death, when her black crow came calling, she was set free and could divulge all. 

Oh, to be in that place, at that time as the ledgers opened and the secrets poured out.  Kind of put life in perspective….What the world needs is more of the like of Miss Misfit Molly. Yep, those ledgers, like Facebook today, gave more information then we ‘needed to know.’ 

Ruby shares the story with Charlie, Gen, and Jakita using Tigger as a head rest.
Momma shares her story with Ruby, Charlie, Gen, and Jakita using Tigger as a head rest.

Still, the shoe was on the other foot.  The smirking faces went stone cold serious, because like Momma always tells us, ‘The truth can set you free or bury you,’ as it hovers over you, revealed only in God‘s good time.

Be sure your sins will find you out, one day!!!

If Only You Believe

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You know, I love thinking there are Angels and Fairies that make our world a better place…oh and sometimes, I may be naughty because of those little red devils with pointy ears, long tails and pitch forks  that lead me astray, a bit.  Now there are no devils in Momma’s front garden (well, that I have actually seen) but one time we had a swarm of insects, straight out of the book of Exodus.  However, Angels and Fairies…we have them in plain sight, or hiding under flowers, even peeking out from behind the rocks that bleed rivers of silver, in the sunlight.

Surrounded by Garden Angels, I ponder Momma's dreams and Heaven. Look at the Angel of Beauty on the left, holding a Baby Angel blowing bubbles. At the bottom see another Little Angel, fast asleep. See all the other pensive Angels. I believe I fit nicely in to this picture.
I believe I fit nicely in to this picture.

I know what you are thinking.  Those Angels and Fairies… are man-made not heaven divined.  You would be correct, of course. That is why, I was so stoked the day Momma told me that  one night at midnight, we would watch the Circle of the Angels and Fairies Dance, sitting right on our front step because 1) it was summer,  2) the moon was full and  3) the Angels and Fairies had auditioned, practised and were ready to give a performance of a life time…..if only you… ‘Believe.’ I believe Momma…Yeah, I’m a Believer (not so much Belieber …but he’s okay).

Round about midnight, when the moon was high in the sky, the Believer Team consisting of Bad Boy Andy, Diva Calico Gen, myself (Jakita) and Momma walked out to the front step to get a first row seat.  Out of the shadows came Call of the Wild Clem to join us, not really sure why we were there, but willing to give it a try.

So we waited, and waited, then waited some more.  The cats were ready to leave, I was bored and Momma kept cajoling us to just have patience.  We waited some more…I am so ashamed to tell you but like the disciples in the Garden of Gethsemane, I found myself drifting off to Never Never Land.

Clem hears the call of the wild.
Clem hears the Call of the Wild.
NOTE TO SUPER BOY: Andy: The Self Appointed Boss Friendly, Non aggressive but sometimes swats to keep other pets in line, usually inside most of the day – outside @ night Gen: The Diva Calico - Sister to Andy - Most Likely: To Clone because of looks, temperament and playability at 11 years old. Loves Wonder Boy's bed at night , my bed in the day but usually goes Out with Andy @ night
Andy and Gen

Wait, what’s up?  Momma is saying, ‘Look, Jakita, Kitties, do you see them?’ I strained to make out anything in the inky darkness but wow, what was that?  An unseen orchestra played a lilting, whirling, twirling melody…..and like a Aurora Borealis light show, I am blinded by a circle of little tiny Angels and Fairies, on pointed toes in adorned ballet slippers, their diaphanous wings and tutus, the subtle hues of the miniature roses and impatiens from pale shades of yellow, pink, purple to vibrant reds and dazzling whites. I could not blink nor breath, for fear the spectacular scene would disappear as quickly as it had materialized.

Look at these tiny little Garden Fairies, relaxing before the Circle of the Fairy Dance has them twirling on their toes, to music only they can hear.
Garden Angels and Fairies

I sensed,  rather than saw the Cool Cats, as captivated as I was, none of us moving a muscle, caught in space and time as we stared in wonder and bewilderment. Through the fog of mystery and reality, I heard Momma calling my name and in that instance, the bright lights receded, the music faded away, leaving only the beams of faint illumination from the full moon.

‘Momma, Momma, what happened?  Did you see that?  When can we do this again?’  We were so disappointed when Momma said it is a once in a lifetime occurrence to have been blessed with a vision of the Circle of the Angel and Fairy Dance…but scientists would scoff at us, tell us it was just a thousand fireflies, lighting up the night. Best we keep this citing a secret…but we know, truth is definitely overrated because……

This says it all - the description and image of a Fairy Ring, the windmills and the Maple Leaf Forever, protecting the little benched angels and fairies who are resting until the moon comes out again.....
The Angels and Fairies 

If only you Believe, on a Moonlight Night, the Angels and Fairies will reveal themselves, If only you Believe…

These Paws Were Made For Walking

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It is so uplifting, when the sun shines.  I love when Momma says, ‘Walk, Jakita?’  I am off that couch double-quick in case she forgets. It has happened, in the span of mere seconds, something else catches Momma’s attention…like the phone rings, the cat meows…it doesn’t take much.

When the walk is done, I wait patiently for paws to be cleaned, sweater and leash removed.
Patience is no virtue of mine!.

I tell you, I am a pro at putting up with things….for instance wearing a doggie sweater or coat, waiting patiently to get my paws cleaned when the walk is over, having the leash almost yank my ears off when Momma removes it, all the while standing on the mat.

Yesterday was no exception.  It was a cold one for April yet the sun was high in the  blue sky, radiating warmth, urging me to trot faster, reach my destination so I could sniff every burgeoning blade of grass in the cemetery. Momma says, ‘Not so fast, Jakita.  We have to stop and talk to the Keeper-of-the-Cemetery-Lady, whose front window faces the graveyard and RIP Daddy’s plot.’

I understand it is the Keeper-of-the-Cemetery-Lady’s job to report to Momma if she sees RIP Daddy roaming around.  But today the talk between Momma and the Keeper-of-the-Cemetery-Lady started on politics, griping about the city councillors, the mayor, the premier…with so many questionable decisions handed down on a daily basis, it would take ages to get to my grass sniffing….so I tugged the leash, gently at first, continuing with more force, warbling, then whining…next thing they’d be on to the prime minister…I could not let it dissolve to that!  I had things to do, places to go, NOW!

Eventually, I won and we were on our way, enjoying the day and all if its hidden treasures, like a twig, a stick, a squirrel high in the tree, shrieking away at me. What is with those squirrels? They are as shrill as poor Hillary Clinton. No matter, I still would vote for her. It was so fabulously marvelous.  Who knew, cute Little Rascal Reilly would be free, adding to the excitement?

Our adorable Fidel (RIP) ...that is who Little Rascal Reilly looks like.
Our adorable Fidel (RIP) …that is who Little Rascal Reilly looks like.

As Momma and I meandered home a little white and black fluff ball came tearing across the street, looking to make friendly.  I stopped dead in my tracks.  This was not good.   I knew because when I was a puppy, I was just as wild and free, taking off any chance I could get.  The only difference was in my world, poor Momma and Daddy chased behind, trying to catch me (in vain, I confess).  It seemed Little Rascal Reilly had no one that even knew he was missing.  What should we do Momma?

Which home had he escaped from, Momma and I wondered?  We knew the dogs up and down and all around, but never had met up with this little puppy before.  Time to knock on doors, said Momma.  We will ask if anyone knows who this sweet, scatter brained puppy belongs to.  Sometimes, it is just plain, dumb luck and playing the process of elimination. We knew most of the people on the street so figured it had to someone we had not yet met.  Still, it was a eureka moment to actually knock on the right door the first time.

As soon as the door opened you could see they had been so preoccupied with their new-born baby that they had not even realized Little Rascal Reilly had made his Great Escape. Probably this cute little fluff ball, always demanding and getting all the attention, was feeling under appreciated and overwhelmed with the presence of competition in the form of a precious, yet squawking baby whose every sigh was met with adulation.

The Cemetery, padlocks on wrought iron fence, after Sundown, before Sunrise. See the stones and monuments of various ages, sizes, colors. Look at the massive old trees that are home to the birds and squirrels.
The Cemetery, padlocks on wrought iron fence, after Sundown, before Sunrise. Begs the question…Keeping the living out or the dead in?

At different point in our lives, it gets complicated.  Though I am not making judgement today about how Reilly made his get away unnoticed, I’m just saying, I am keeping an eye on it…just in case we got a situation, on our hands.  I  am trusting that by helping Little Rascal Reilly go home, (somewhat like Lassie?) that I gained some good Karma t,o make up for some questionable deeds in my past.…because in life you spend faster than you save…at least I do.

Oh, and you know me. I love a happily ever after ending!

You Have Got To Be Kidding!!! (Part ll)

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So you think you have a hard life? Think again, you indulged kitties and lap dog puppies. Oh, no I am not done yet…all you wild life who walk freely among the Two Legged and Four Legged. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you too have to scrounge for food but does a gust of wind pick you up like you are Toto in the Wizard of Oz transporting you to the land of, you know, Oz.

The Wizard of Oz
The Wizard of Oz

Like, we are not in Kansas anymore. More often than not we don’t even get to Oz but are catapulted head first in to a building, a tree or a pane of glass…Now that is bad news for the superstitious Two footed, unless we are just stunned, shake our heads, flap our wings and take off again.

OMG 2I know, I know, like me, Ms. Robin Red Breast, you are always being hunted….but if you are careful and ahead of the curve, you can go incognito, hiding from the enemy. You know, all of us beautifully feathered flying fowl, have a reputation of being well….bird brains. That is just so discriminating. Like some of us got ‘em, some not so much…

You know the ones I mean. The birds that think it is safe to swoop down and pick worms out of Momma’s garden….big mistake, I tell you. Bad Boy Andy, RIP Beau- Beau, even Diva Calico Gen are sitting on the fence, eyes slit, tails just flicking, biding their time to pounce. All signals point to, ‘Oh, Ye Of Little Brains, Be Gone or Ye Be History.’ Now, I’d do anything for a fat, juicy, worm but I won’t do that.

Angel Praying HandsThen just like in the days of Pax Romano, you always have to worry about your very own species robbing your nest, especially those shiny black crows who would trade their soul for a delicate turquoise robin’s egg. The good thing about crows is they are so noisy, other birds can hear them coming and fortify against the inevitable skirmishes. Then, then there are hawks. Oh, yeah, you can see their brain turning as they plan their silent vicious attacks, swooping down, robbing, plundering and departing in swift order. In my Heaven, all hawks are grounded with one foot, no beaks and dependent on their prey to bring them a worm, everyone in a while….not too often, you know. A bit harsh, you think? Uh, did they ever steal your loved one?

A Safe Bird's nest
A Safe Bird’s nest, in a gutter, not a tree.

Still Mother Nature is the best friend yet most feared enemy of all wild life. There is so much more to tell and it is coming very soon so don’t go to sleep like those disciples in the Garden of Gethsemane. Pray, stay watch till it comes……

The Buck Stops Here

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Yes, I, Bad Boy Andy, am an Indoor/Outdoor cat but I am not stupid.  When Jack Frost comes calling, it is time to find a cozy corner and hunker down.  I mean you don’t have to be a rocket scientist, just look at the window panes strewn with frosty icicles rivers and tributaries, diamonds, circles and stars – to die for beauty, especially when the winter sun enshrines them in a golden haze.

Jack Frost is about. See the roads, rivers, tributaries and diamonds. Time to hibernate.
Jack Frost is about. See the roads, rivers, tributaries and diamonds. Time to hibernate.

Besides when  Jack Frost paints our windows in the deep of an Arctic vortex, I feel it in my thirteen year old arthritic bones.  Oh, I can still put the fear of the Good Lord Almighty in to all the cats in the neighbour hood and our Indoor Cat Charlie but I know, I am failing fast when it comes to terrorizing (but  sshh…that is our secret).  Here at home, they haven’t noticed and everyone knows, what you don’t know can’t hurt you, right?

Now, my dear sweet sibling, Diva Calico Gen doesn’t read window panes or feel it in her bones.  No, she coddles herself.  I think she follows the calendar and reacts accordingly because early in December, even before winter descends, she hibernates inside, getting in to all kinds of mischief because she is full of unspent energy, still as agile as a kitty, while wily like a fox which means every once in a while, when Jakita is asleep (she runs interference for her Best Friend Forever, Gen) and Momma is busy, I board Gen to put her in her place because, well, Gen doesn’t seem to know she even has a place.

Gen and Jakita. Hour after hour spent, close to you.
Gen and Jakita. Hour after hour spent, ‘close to you.’

Yeah, yeah, yeah, she is pretty, a great fisher of things out of wicker baskets, a tried and trued Olympic Hockey player but she is not as discerning and bright as me.  How can she be if she will curl up beside that poor demented Charlie?

What’s that you are saying?  Okay, you are right, I am a bit psychotic, purring one minute, prowling and snarling the next but I am no fool.  I am very loving with Momma and Wonder Boy and all of the guests that come over – well, except that one time, when Momma’s Sister-Who-Taught-Her-Most-The-Things-She Knows, slept over.  I mean, she slept on the couch, my bed, so I had to slap her with my paw, across the cheek, just to wake her up, so she’d move you know.  Instead, I got pushed in an embarrassing heap on the floor.  Momma would never do that to me.  Not all Two Footed are created equal. 

Bad Boy Andy, sitting in the sun porch, catching the rays, pondering on a winters' day.
Bad Boy Andy, sitting in the sun porch, catching the rays, pondering on a winters’ day.

Live and Love.  That’s my motto.  Too bad no one took the time to teach Momma’s Sister-Who-Taught-Her-Most-The-Things-She Knows.