Midnight Kitty Madness

With Gandalf gone, the house has been catless. This is strange for all of us, but particularly for me, used to not just cats, but lots of cats.

This weekend we had Lily, the Skier's Dog, to visit, while the Skier was casually knocking off another practice ski marathon (in prep for the Big One: the American Birkebeiner, February 26, 2011). Lily is great, and gorgeous. Priscilla is also great, although she's a little less platinum blonde than Lily (Lily is Carole Lombard to Pris's Debbie Reynolds). But I miss cats.

Here's an ad for the Manitoba Humane Society.

Wolves

Tuckered out by our adventure of yesterday, Dog of was not interested in a walk until after dark this evening.  Street lamps are dim, few and far between in this rural town, so we chose to walk south along the quieter street.  The air smells of melting snow; the jet stream is moving north and tomorrow promises highs in the low 40°s.

I slept badly last night -- maybe too much espresso.  It occurred to me as I lay awake, listening to the odd clicks and rhythmic creaks of the house, that I'm not frightened at night here.  The doors lock, but there's glass right next to the handle, so that's a trivial obstacle for a professional. The surrounding area is dark, good for getaways.  There is a dog, but she's so deaf she'd only react after being tripped over.  I don't know most of the neighbors, and cars speed down this street to busier streets nearby all the time. Yet I'm never spooked.

But tonight, in the starlit darkness between street lamps (which is to say, pretty durn dark), I realized that I could hear wolves howling.  There's a wolf preserve about a mile from the Heartbreak House, if that far. They were making long hulloos, with lots of little yips chiming in (pups?). (You can hear something like it, without the yips, on the home page of the preserve by clicking here: Wolf Hollow.) It was a happy, convivial sound, of creatures communicating, sharing, celebrating. Glad to be alive and in the pack, and glad to tell everybody about it.

I like wolves -- HOWL (Help Our Wolves Live) was the first progressive group I was ever a proud, card-carrying member of (although I joined because my big brother did, and because we thought our pet husky was 1/4 wolf). I know that wolves don't attack without provocation. I know that these wolves are in a compound with 8-foot walls, and have daily human interaction. But those howls tickled the back of my neck; there seemed to be danger in the dark. I found myself thinking of werewolves, dancing around a fire (because even my subconscious knows I have more to fear from humanoids than from wolves). I found myself welcoming the occasional car on the road, and wishing more people had lights on their mailboxes.

I reminded myself that even though I could hear them, they were clearly at a distance.  The time to worry, with creatures in the night, is when you can't hear them -- that's when you don't know where they are.  Even so, Dog of and I returned home not long after.

Previously on Cattus Dommus

For those viewers who haven't read the blog entries I haven't posted over the last month, here's a short summary of what has happened.

Shortly before I last posted, FemmeDommi accepted a job in another state. The job starts next week; she'll be able to work in the Portland office for another month or so, and then she will move to Idaho. The Nuclear Family Unit of Cattus Dommus will follow her mid-summer, after school is out and after various family vacations around the USA. The extra bits of our extended family (the Texan, myself, and all the cats, because the rental in Idaho won't accept cats) will remain behind. The Cattus Dommus domicile, with the mural and the bike cellar and the gardens and the studio -- well, that's for another entry.

During the hiatus, Nuclear Family Dommus took a trip to Idaho to check it out. Many fears of the unknown were allayed -- the children will each get their own room (Girl-child a large, meandering Little Princess space on her own floor under the dormers, Boy-child a small, snug chamber with his very own bathroom) and the neighborhood they will be living in is a little piece of Portland in Boise, complete with a nice used bookstore, youth soccer, and liberal thinking.

HomoDommi being artistic on the trip east

The day they left, as I was writing an email message, between two wo





My computer died. I may write an entry about this later, but for this Previously on... segment, suffice it to say that it's been three weeks and a bit, and I'm still straddling critical gaps in information due to learning a new OS, updated -- and therefore strange -- applications, insufficient file organization, and feeling all around pissy about supposedly "user-friendly" technology.

I do, now, have a shiny new laptop but it only occasionally brings me a moment of pure happiness (for instance, I have iSight now, which is fun, and a great new trackpad -- but nothing is where I expect it to be, and the computer is significantly bigger than my old one). Like the woman said to the younger, more-puppyish brother of her dead fiancé, "Marry me. My heart is constant, but my needs are constant, too." I did manage to carve the heart out of my old beloved (i.e., rescue the hard drive intact with all data) but because of the age and uniqueness of the drive, that took an additional week of frantic scrambling to achieve.

Continuing our story, I was stumbling back towards computerized normalcy when I was invited to house-sit for Bride of COG (and COG) while they visit the scene of their early married life. Happy to oblige, this left me a mere six days to file and pay my taxes (all financial data carefully kept on that old hard drive) and prepare for three weeks on the other side of the country.

A Canada Goose on the pond in the COGses garden

So that brings us to today. After an unusually long jet-lag recovery period (4-5 days), I am comfortably ensconced in the House of COG, still learning the ways and needs of the resident household -- Dog of and Cat of. While I speak fluent Cat, my Dog is worse than my French (usually involving a raised voice and much gesticulation -- both Dog and French, actually). Dog of is missing the COGses, and is not interested in learning the vernacular of strange west-coast Humans. She sits frustratingly still, head cocked on one side, tail down, uncomprehending of anything but dog treats. So we communicate largely by dog treats.

The COGses return a week Sunday. During my time here, I plan to take full advantage of my opportunities. Yesterday I was treated (by Neighbor of) to a day in Boston, during which we attended a marvelous performance by the Boston Symphony Orchestra. Tomorrow I drive down to the Cape to visit Son of. Crane Beach is just a couple of miles away. When Bride of has returned, we hope to get to the Museum of Fine Arts, to the Titian, Tintoretto and Veronese exhibition there.

There is also the blessed solitude. This house is comfortable, with a marvelous garden popping into Spring, birds by the dozens, a rollicking wood-pellet fire, wireless internet and oh glories of glories a 60-inch HDTV with an unlimited Netflix subscription and complete control of the remote. And an equally unlimited supply of books, owned by the very woman who serves as my book-pimp, so reaching out at random is all I need to find one of interest. I'm going to pester the COGses to build an ofuro, the only thing wanting in my spa vacation.

It has been a somewhat stressful and strained six weeks past, and I am hoping that this coming week by myself will be restorative. I have a lot of thinking about what's to happen next in my life, and this is a good time and a good place to do so.

One Wedding and a Blood Clot (or two)

I went to Minnesota for a wedding (see previous), I stayed for a blood clot. Not my own, rather it belonged to, and was suffered by, Postnatus (my eldest brother). Poor guy -- he had a sore arm, but it led to 11 days of hospitalization and many many tests by the doctors, trying to figure out why a guy with a heart as regular and strong as Yellowstone's Old Faithful was getting clots in his arms.

I stayed over, to help out as I might. Which wasn't much, except getting Mater there and back. The VA Medical Center is near the airport, but you can only get there after navigating a tangle of old and new highways, complicated by the light rail, which neatly stops in front. Oh, and I served as ears and secretary -- writing down everything the doctors said and relaying it on to family members not present. I got home a week ago Thursday, and it's taken me this long to get back to blogging -- and I'm only barely here, bringing you up to date.

The photo atop is my pride in the wedding. The bridesmaids wanted to have a specific look for their veils, and I took it upon myself to achieve said look (since no one else was doing it). However, it proves (after shopping around at bridal shops and upscale -- and downscale -- fabric stores) that this veiling is not currently available to the general public. (It is known as "hat netting", or "Russian netting", by the way.) The knowledgeable ladies at Treadle in St. Paul said that it once was standard; went out with veiled hats, and now is in fashion again, but they can't get any to sell to their customers.

So I went to a vintage store, and bought some old hats. Stripped the veil off (it was similar, not identical), and created bridesmaids' veils with headbands (which I wrapped with ivory ribbon provided by the bride). They served as "something old" for the wedding. And then I forgot my camera, and took no photos of the final products.

The photo below is similar to my entry when I last visited MN, before Christmas. My color-coordinated companions, with whom I sleep. Or should I say, around whom I try to sleep.

More Cats I Have Slept With

Gandalf the Mostly Gray

And Dogs I Have Not Slept With

Maurice (Mo) and Louis (Lou) looking wary.