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« August 2010 | Main | October 2010 »
Miss Ysabeau has recovered nicely from her sojourn at the Spay-Neuter Clinic (nice folks, and affordable—only $50 for her, and another $10 for a rabies shot. I recommend them highly.), and is back to her usual hell-raising self. Of course, she was back to that half an hour after she got home . . .
The green spot was a marker for surgery; it's gone now.
This is Dinah, who was foisted off on us has come to live with us: John's daughter and her family are moving (or may have already moved; I've lost track) and can't take their cats. (I, personally, would simply not move into a house where I couldn't have my cats, but . . . their cats are pets. Ours are small furry people who happen to have four feet and speech difficulties, and have managed to arrange the household to their liking while our backs were turned. We exist only to serve them.) So we now have Dinah, and Darla—of whom there are no pictures yet, because she immediately disappeared under the bed. The next day she moved into the linen closet. Two days later she disappeared completely, and we were sure she had gotten out somehow. That was nearly two weeks ago; yesterday, she was spotted sliding under a shelf in the pantry, where no other cats go. So . . . stealth cat. Catching her for a rabies vaccination—we're told they've both had their shots, but they have no tags, so we'll have to get them again—ought to be loads of fun.
This wasn't exactly ideal timing—John had already told them we didn't want or need any more cats, but they showed up on the doorstep with cats in carriers, food, litter/litter pan, etc. . . What are you going to do? Say, sorry, take them to the pound? I don't think so. We had interesting times for a couple of weeks: Ysabeau was in heat and dying to escape, Widget was failing badly . . . at least Pixie was still OK then. But now everything has settled down—more or less—and Dinah is fitting in well. (Now, if I can only coax Darla out of the closet . . . but at least she's still here!)
Isn't she lovely? I'm not sure what you'd call her color: it's gray and rosy tan. Honey and ashes. I don't think that makes her a tortie, just an interesting mix. She loves to be petted, she's found the toy basket (the bunch of feathers with the little bell on it is hers, and she goes and gets it out when she wants to play), and claimed the space on the floor under the shelves in the hall closet to nap in. (That used to be Kali's napping place, but she is moved to an old towel on the counter next to my sewing machine. Then I needed the space for actual sewing, and she didn't like the place I moved her towel to, so she's sleeping on the bench where Ysabeau slept for a week or so before deciding she needed to sleep on the round toy with the moving ball—the one that used to have cardboard in the center before she chewed it all up—so no one could play with it unless she allowed them to. Musical cats. . . )
Never a dull moment . . . and I suspect that if one were to occur, we wouldn't know quite what to do with it.
We were going down toward Swannanoa and saw this gentleman hanging out in a yard about three hundred yards from our place . . . that's three hundred yards as the bear travels, not by road.
I didn't have the camera with me (note to self: must carry at all times, just in case . . . ) so we drove back to the house to get it.
He was still there! Isn't he nice and slick? We figured out that he was eating acorns—there are two small oak trees where he is (which is, by the way, in someone's yard. I just didn't get the house in the picture.). John said he'd weight about 500 pounds . . . We think he's the same one who was down in Willy's yard (across the road from us) the other week, and who's been seen by several other people John knows. If there aren't any fences, he can go pretty much wherever he pleases; but bears are lazy if there's plenty of food . . . which is probably why my birdfeeders are safe so far.
"Mom! He's eating out of my bowl again!"
(Yes, he's gone already. See the edit on yesterday's post; I can't bear to write it again. It seems like all we've done is bury cats this year.)
I completely missed posting about Mabon, so I shall simply point you to two posts which discuss the way I feel far better than I can at this point: Ruby Sara, here, and Sia, here.
Things are still in somewhat of an uproar here: we are still dealing with Widget's death, and Pixie is not well. He has gotten clumsier as he's grown, and I don't think he is quite right: he doesn't play, he doesn't run and jump (though he does climb some), he's terribly timid. Most of the time he prefers to simply lie in his nest of blankets under the end table and watch what's going on around.
We had thought he just had to grow into himself—he has lots of legs and a big head and not much body—but he's clumsy and wobbly and doesn't walk right, and it's getting worse as he grows. But he eats well and uses the litter pan, and isn't sick—there's just something wrong with him. I suspect he won't live long; if he were still outside, he would be dead already, one of life's culls. But he's as sweet as can be—he's always happy to be petted and he has a sunny disposition, and on his good days, he does a little exploring.
There's no reason not to make whatever time he has as pleasant as possible, so I am attempting to just be thankful that he's here for now and enjoy his presence.
(On a brighter note, I have finished one Halloween costume. Two more to go . . . )
EDIT: Well, his time here was even shorter than I'd expected. He fell from the ironing board (where he had, of course, no business) and hurt his back to the point that he could no longer walk. My poor baby; we'd only had him a month, but he was such a little charmer. We couldn't bear to see him hurting . . . so we buried him next to Auntie Widget . . . they can play together in the Summerland. She'll be young and strong again, and he won't have trouble running and jumping.
This makes five dearly loved cats gone since the first of the year. I'm not sure how much more heartbreak I can stand.
My old girl (she was nearly 16) has gone on . . . she'd been declining, like a Victorian lady, all summer. She'd finally reached the point where she wasn't grooming, had to be coaxed to eat, used the litter box only sporadically (no, dear, just because you're in the same room and you're looking at it doesn't mean you hit it . . . )—so this Sunday was her last day with us.
She went out Sunday morning and spent some time lying on the step in the sun. She was having a fairly good day, but those had become more and more infrequent. It was time, we thought—although that's the hardest part of loving an animal. When do you need to let her go on, no matter how much you want to keep her with you? When is it just being selfish to keep her alive one more week, one more day, just because you love her as you have for years, even though she isn't herself any more, only flesh and bone that aches and doesn't work well most of the time, with a mind that's there sometimes and, increasingly often, is somewhere else entirely?
John buried her out by the weeping cherry; the ground was so dry and hard he had to water it first in order to dig a deep enough hole. Then we built a cairn over her grave. I'll plant catnip there in the spring, just as I do for the others—Earl, Brownie, Theo—and in memory of Jane and Serena, who have no graves here but are remembered just the same.
Lady, look after my little ones—clover to roll in, trees to climb, mice to chase, a sunny spot to nap in, a loving hand and a kind voice to make them welcome.
We actually had rain the other day—half an inch or so. I love autumn rain. It's melancholy, like autumn itself. Things are winding down, settling in, getting ready for winter, when all we will see is the bones of the trees and the earth Herself. The leaves are beginning to turn and fall, slowly—although the tame cherries have already yellowed and gone bare.
The grapevines are bare except the ever-present morning glories. The summer garden is finished and the chickens have taken possession. Things have been harvested and put away against the cold days. Now comes the tidying-up, and putting pots away from the weather—and this year, experimenting with dyeing. The goldenrod is blooming and I have several skeins of ready-to-dye yarn. We shall see, soon . . .
I finished her over the weekend. (This bear has the official Ysabeau Seal of Approval.)
And now she has clothes . . .
and an admirer.
"Oh, stay with me, Miss Magenta!"
"Alas, sir, I may not. I am bound for the flat country, to grace the bedroom of the fair Emma. But I will remember you kindly."
(The badger is mine. I bought him at last year's church bazaar for two dollars, and have enjoyed his company a great deal.)
I made the bear from a piece of fleece I got in a trade; I backed it with interfacing to control the stretch. The dress is made from what I thought were leftovers from Emma's new dress—
but they weren't really. I cut it out (with feline help, unfortunately), except that where I was supposed to cut two of each skirt piece (you know, one front, one back . . . ), I only cut one of each one. Then I thought, hey, there's a big piece left, I can make something else! (I didn't buy the fabric for this dress; I bought the pattern last time Hancock had a $1 sale, and I had bought the fabric three or four years ago to make an apron for the tailgate, but could never find a pattern where it looked quite right. There was a yard and a half, I think, or maybe two yards.) I was thinking of a dress for Emma's panda, and then remembered this fleece . . . so I cut all that out and stowed it in a plastic bag, and started sewing the dress. Then I got interrupted and didn't get back to it for a few days, and when I got to the skirt . . . I've been sewing, for what, nearly fifty years now. You would think I wouldn't make stupid mistakes like this any more. You would, however, be wrong.
So, there was enough of the bottom piece to cut another top piece out of, but I didn't have anything that would go with it. Off we go to Hancock . . . since it had been several years, of course they didn't have any more of this; I'd intended a lighter pink, but this was all I could find that went with the original fabric. Then I added rickrack and a band of the print around the bottom, in hopes that it would all come together and look intentional. I don't know that it does that, but I don't think it's bad at all.
This is a Simplicity pattern, size 6, and I'll probably use it again. It's easy—no zipper, no facings, just elastic in the neck and sleeves, and there's also a version with a plain gathered skirt that has lines of ribbon down it on the front. I'm thinking maybe a gingham with ribbon all around . . . or maybe a solid with bands of that embroidered peasant you used to be able to buy everywhere. I bought some on ebay a couple of years ago, and I think there are five yards or so. I could add some ribbon if there's not enough.
The bear pattern is an old Vogue (I bought it when I worked part time at Hancock in Charlotte, and that's been at least twelve years ago); it was done for fur fabric with real bear eyes, none of which I have, so I improvised . . . we have been referring to her as the "M" bear. (And, no, Brian, there will be no C, Y or K bears forthcoming.)
Now to find something large enough to mail it in.
Emily and the five adolescent turkeys that survived. (out of 16! from what I read and hear, though, that's not unusual; they have a pretty high mortality rate unless you coddle them, and we didn't these. Since they were born outside and we hadn't been trying to hatch any, we let Emily take care of them as she would. And we have a semi-resident hawk.)
They have taken to flying out of the chicken lot early in the morning and browsing about the yard. Here they're under the bird feeder tree in the side yard eating up spilled birdseed, which is fine with me. In the evening when John goes down to feed and gather eggs, they all come back to be let in the gate. (These pictures were taken a couple of weeks ago; after many days of no rain whatsoever, things don't look nearly so lush any more.)
There are three hens (all brown) and two toms, one brown one and one colored like Emily. (He goes by the name of Dummy, since he's the one who is always stuck on the wrong side of some fence and unable either to remember that he flew over and could therefore fly back, or to find the open gate not five feet in front of him. The others have no names.)
NOTE: Ysabeau has an appointment at the Humane Alliance Spay-Neuter clinic on Monday. Only $50, and they'll give her a rabies shot too (I'm sure she hasn't had one, and they require proof or they give the shot themselves.) for another $10, and that will put her in line to get a 3-year shot next year with everyone else. Unfortunately, we have to have her there at 8 am, and it's across town which will require leaving at 7:15 or so, which will require getting up about 5:30 in order to deal with everyone else . . . and there's the matter of no food or water after midnight, so I will have to pick up ALL the bowls and EVERYONE will be highly insulted . . . but it's only temporary and they will all survive, even though they may not think so. And then we wait for Pixie to get old enough.
At least HE won't go into heat . . .
And I'll be able to open the windows! Ysabeau has chewed holes in one screen door and two window screens, so we've had to just close them all. And there's all that lovely fall weather outside!
She may not appreciate what's going to happen to her, but I certainly will, after nearly a week of clinging to my skirts and yowling plaintively. She even approached Sam last night, writhing seductively on the floor in front of him and murmuring sweet nothings in his direction.
He went to sleep.
So did she. . . eventually.
