My two darlings are delighted that two large hanging planters are growing their favorite treat. These bountiful baskets have become the focus of much attention from my feline friends.
Stanley Kubrick after his indulgence in the wicked weed
My ginger cat makes no excuses and could care less what others think of his fondness for catnip. And yet he requests that I hold the fresh, aromatic leaf so he can nimbly bite and lick it until a bird flutters by the screen porch or a squirrel barks in protest. Then he’s gone in a puff of orange and white fur. Stanley is a recreational user.
Gracie anxiously awaits more ‘product’….Thinking CNA (Cat Nip Anonymous) might be called in for an intervention
The hard core addict is my shy girl. Any time I walk out the back door, she is now on my heels and eager to have another…another…another. She consumes huge leaves, stems and I’ve wondered what would happen if I smeared fresh juice on her orange brother. So far I cannot convince him to participate in my science experiment. Her normal behavior is to get up to sleep more. With an occasional break to eat, get brushed, and contemplate more cat napping. They say addicts will do anything for another fix. Reminds me of the search for fossil fuels….hmmm.
At this rate I’ll have to create more baskets of herbal delight to keep up with the demand. My courtyard might become as famous as the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. But it was also the only wonder that might have been purely legendary. Maybe their grew catnip, too.
I grew up having tea time with my friend Bridget, a beagle. Our ‘cake’ was Bridget’s biscuits. Milkbone makes a very good tea cake…in case you are wondering.
Stanley Kubrick, my current orange tabby friendGracie, my darling queen of the manor cat friend
My best friends have always been four-legged. Their unconditional love, acceptance and loyalty have been, without a doubt, vital to my happiness. It started with Bridget and then there were others…Freckles, Sarge, Inka, Jake, Pete, Ben, Jessie, Uriel, Stacey, Angie…and the cats Hazel, Maya and Maat and others that left too soon. And Yokie, Gracie and Stanley.
Tommy with my three year old daughter and me…1988-ish.
When I was 13 or so bigger four-leggeds came into my life…’D’ and Tommy (Tomahawk Red). Tommy and I participated in horse shows and my relationship with him was my most important teenage friendship. A short story I wrote about our relationship was published in WNC Woman and it remains one of my favorites.
My manatee friend…our story is in another blog post from January 2013
Over the past several years there have been wild animals that became my friend in a moment, from first contact, and that heart-felt relationship has lasted for years..the memories still precious. Those would be manatees…flippered-ones.
Henry Flager, my salty sister Renee and her husband Hans’ wild boy.
People that make room in their hearts for animals are worthy of their love, of that there’s no doubt. When we commit to a relationship with an animal, be it one that lives with us or a wild animal whose cause we champion, we make an expression of love and compassion. You, my friend, are worth caring for. You are worth the energy it takes to keep you well. Why is it so difficult to maintain human relationships when we do this so easily with animals? It remains a mystery to me.
Sambeaux, my mom’s lab
To all the animal companions I have known as my own ‘child’ or as friends in the wild or in other’s lives, I say THANK YOU! You make life wonderful!
Abbey, my friend’s Phyliss and Bob’s companionOllie, my daughter’s and her fiance’s companionYokie, my true friend of many years…RIP buddy
This is NOT representative of this morning’s behavior from my darlings.
I awakened to soft thuds overhead. Cat play on carpet. I had been dreaming of a white vulture soaring overhead and waked in the middle of the dream. I lay there half awake wondering the meaning of such an unfamiliar symbol. Heady thoughts so early in the morning and soon interrupted by the thundering of cats down the stairway.
Gracie practiced her balance beam act on the footboard while Stanley practiced his gymnastic moves above me on the headboard. The hawk screeching outside my home and the combined acrobatics of my cat companions called me to get up and check the weather forecast.
Last night I read where high winds were predicted for today so when it was quiet outside I literally ran to put on my SUP boarding shorts and shirt and was out the door before coffee. I could smell the salt marsh far upriver so the wind announced itself with gentleness, prior to anything more than a whisper. By the time I reached the downriver side of Bemis Bay the ripples began. As I rounded the corner at Washer Woman’s Point, I saw and felt the beginnings of the ‘serious’ wind…but that wasn’t what really caught my attention.
Black vulture near Crystal River, FL
Perched on a cypress tree was a beautiful vulture, wings spread, heart facing the morning sun. Her wing feathers were white and so I remembered the dream. But I had the rest of my four mile paddle to complete and lucky for me, had a downwinder on the way back up river.
My experimental wall garden..the 2 x 4’s will be painted once they are dry
The rest of the day was spent putting together a project I’ve been dreaming of for weeks–designing and building a system to grow veggies and herbs on the east side of my home. Literally…on my home. It’s very sunny there, while the rest of my yard isn’t and the garage gets very hot in the summer so I wanted to install some sort of green wall to see if it would keep my garage from boiling during July and August.
My new bromeliad friends make the courtyard an even happier place
I would rather grow flowers because I simply have a thing for them. But my farmer genes nudge me to try my hand once again at growing food. My dad and grandfather would probably laugh at my vertical garden. And honestly, I bought more flowers—some outrageous bromeliads. I can’t help it. Can’t I live off of beauty? Do I really have to eat?
All through the day of building, possibly cursing at trying to hold 8 foot 2 x 4’s up while screwing them into the wall, attaching the boxes, planting the plants into the boxes….I kept thinking about the white vulture. When I finished my farmer-girl activities I ran upstairs and looked up ‘white vulture’ on my trusty internet search engine.
It is a symbol of the feminine in Egyptian mythology. In Pueblo mythology it is a symbol of restored harmony that had been broken. It is a symbol of the return of the self. (Pause…..and repeat please).
Photo of me probably 17 years ago….
How appropriate. How perfect. Since my father’s illness and death (when I was 21) I have been in a series of relationships with no gap between them. Recently I have done some deep healing as I find myself alone for the first time in 32 years. And I wanted to be alone as I found myself repeating the same old patterns. Sick of myself, I journeyed out on my own to heal. To grow. I couldn’t repeat the familiar behaviors anymore. It was deadening.
At this almost year mark of my time with only me and my baggage, I find myself dreaming of white vultures and realizing that I am discovering who I am…I had never given myself space or time to figure that out and in some ways had remained the wounded young woman throughout my relationships. How appropriate that in my time of conscious healing, the goddess of feminine energy pays me a dreamtime visit.
Self-portrait 2013
After all these years I am finally healing the old wounds. I have no idea where this new-found wholeness will take me but I’m guessing it has something to do with growing flowers or morphing into a vulture….once I figure it out I’ll let you know.
Stanley Kubrick exhibiting his dynamic personality
From Stanley Kubrick’s point of view my purpose in life is to keep him cuddly-warm and cozy when he sleeps. Being an 11 pound orange tabby of most unique style and personality, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. His sister, or HRH Gracie as she is known, is terribly embarrassed by his behavior, but then she’s the one wearing gray and orange polka-dot pajamas.
It’s not that I mind being Stanley’s cat bed. I’m portable with a build-in heater. If I’m in our purple, leather recliner he’s in my lap. When I’m laying on my side, he’s perched on my hip; when I’m on my back, he’s on my chest or belly. And none of that is really so bad. But I draw the line at his recent slip in etiquette.
Never known to shy away from attention, Stanley Kubrick delights in warming the hearts of all humans who adore him.
I was sleeping on my back and was suddenly awakened by a certain orange and white cat leaping on to my head and settling over my face with his soft, white belly. I’m not sure what I said but it was probably something I really can’t write in a G-rated blog. He scrambled. But not before communicating through our special, secret, telepathic language that he was only trying to stop the snoring. Whatever, Stanley!Whatever!!
Gracie functioning as Stanley’s cat bed for their afternoon nap.
Both of my cat friends were rescues kitties adopted from Brother Wolf in Asheville, NC. I treasure my them. I wish I could adopt many more. But then I’d be known as the middle-aged women who lives with cats….and snores (on occasion).
When I recently felt a bit poorly, Gracie stuck beside me and nursed me back to health. Stanley brings humor to every day. I feed them, scoop their boxes and adore them. The more I open my heart to them, the happier we all are in this house of love. Everything else is just details.
