The Six Pound Portrait

Day 299: On June 10, Merry came home with me as a little bitty pocket cat weighing two pounds eleven ounces (I actually didn't weigh him until the following day). He was such a tiny, delicate thing, all turned over for ears, and with golden eyes just starting to show green around the irises. He's now just shy of six pounds, and his eyes have become much more green, the colour typical of adult Russian Blues. Average weight for an 18-week kitten according to Mr. Google should be about 4.1 pounds, but even at 6, he's rangy and lanky. In other words, he's going to be a moose when he grows up! I couldn't resist snapping this photo this morning. I have one of Tippy in almost the identical pose.

My Good Little Boy

Day 235: My love, my good little Boy, Tickle-Monster, Spaghetti Monster, it was a long, long way to Tipperary, but when I brought you to share my life, you gave me so much love. When you got into mischief, it was funny: shredding an entire roll of toilet paper, pulling spaghetti out of the cupboard and playing with the spilled jackstraws. You demanded your tickles, urging me to chase you into your tunnel where you'd roll over and bunny-kick my hand while I tickled your tummy. And the "Gotcha game"...never a claw, never a bite as we roughhoused. And you wanted your hugs, arms around my neck, wanted to be tipped over in my lap and held against my chest, purring, purring, purring. You let me do those "wicked things" to kitties without objection, like baths and toothbrushing, trusting me completely because you loved me so much. My little Boy, my Tippy, my love!

From the East, the direction of the Mountain and of the rising sun
Comes strength.
From the South, the direction of the Earth
Comes stability.
From the West, the direction of the sea and of the setting sun
Comes harmony.
From the North, the direction of the wind and of the aurora borealis
Comes the Current of Life.

Tippy's Post

Day 234: Update: There were complications. My little love Tippy is no longer with us.

 We are not out of the woods yet because he has to be anaesthetized for the procedure (a dodgy proposition, given that he has a Grade 4 heart murmur), but at least we know what the problem is. Tippy is in the hospital with a UTI and concurrent urinary blockage, and will remain there at least overnight, possibly until Friday. I'll spare everyone the details, but he had a very rough weekend, and I could not find an emergency vet to take him to unless I went to one almost two hours away with a long list of Google reviews complaining that although they gave good treatment, their prices were three to four times what any non-emergency vet would charge. I made an appointment with Tippy's regular doctor for this morning, and was there when they opened the doors. While they did x-rays and an ultrasound to determine if there were stones or a mass (neither was present), I sat in the car and waited. When his doctor called me in several hours later, she said, "The good news is that we found the type of crystals we expected." He'll stay in the hospital until they get him drained out and rehydrated, and then he'll be on antibiotics for a while, with several follow-up visits. And that's all I know at this point, but at least it's encouraging.

Homespun, Handwoven And Approved

Day 227: I took the handspun blanket off the loom day before yesterday and set myself to the task of tying the warp threads together in pairs, preparatory to crocheting an edge around it. Tippy jumped up on my lap, sniffed it all over, inhaling the sheepy scent of the wool, patted it a few times and settled in for a nap. When I got up, I folded the blanket in quarters and, since he seemed to like it, laid it over the arm of the chair so that part of it was on the seat. He promptly settled in, and when I say "settled in," I mean SETTLED IN. He did not budge off the blanket for at least six hours! My original intention for this 48" x 60" throw was to donate it to my favourite environmental group, but it seems it has a higher calling. I can always make another one for the Land Trust.

My Fuzzy Valentine

Day 124: Cats are notoriously reluctant to pose for the soul-stealer, but I caught my fuzzy Valentine in an obliging moment. He trusts his mama not to do anything too wicked to him (baths notwithstanding), but no cat is fully comfortable in the glaring eye of the lens. My Tippy is almost sixteen, and a more loving and gentle little person I have never known. Even when we're rough-housing, I do not have to worry about teeth or claws rending skin, and there's nothing he enjoys more than being chased and tickled, and then chasing me in return. What greater love is there than that shared between a companion animal and its human? Don't forget to give your Valentine a scratch under the chin or behind the ears.

Tippy Stakes A Claim

Day 97: I settled into the chair and began tying the fringe on the longer of two "Log Cabin Gone Mad" table scarves, and Tippy jumped into my lap and almost immediately began digging at the cloth. When he wants the chair to himself (it's his chair, mind you, not mine), he indicates that I should move out by digging beside me, but that wasn't what he was doing this time. He was digging at the weaving, specifically. When he had raised a fold of it, he burrowed in underneath, and after several more contortions, got himself comfortable and laid down. Why this particular weaving, and none before it? Was it the texture or the pattern? What was the appeal of this piece? I can't answer that, not being able to get inside the feline logic processes going on in that sweet little head. I just know that I may have to give up my "table runner" to a higher purpose.

World's Best Cat Toy

Day 48: Are you looking for the perfect gift for your feline friend? My resident expert assures me that there is no better toy than a Pink Spring! It bounces, it rolls, it behaves unpredictably, and it can provide hours of fun (or at least until Mama wears out of tossing it). And yes, it must be pink. The green ones, blue ones and yellow ones from the same package aren't nearly as interesting.

Such has been the story with several of my companions over the years, and I'm sure that with cats at least, that the preference for pink has something to do with their vision. On the other hand, my Cockatoo had pink feathers in his crest and around his beak, and birds' colour vision is much better than our own. I could understand "like attracts like" as it related to his preference, although it meant that he had a pink blanket and pink toys despite my aversion to the colour. Science tells us that cats can see blue and yellow wavelengths, but not red. Why, then, does Tippy prefer pink, as Skunk did as well? Given a pile of toys in the kitty toy box, the pink ones were those my cats would select for play. In any event, I still have trouble finding the pink springs when he swats them around the room. At least they don't break easily when I step on them.

Sittin' On The Cat

Day 270: This silly occupation is known as "sittin' on the cat," and begins with Tippy inviting me to follow him to the bedroom doorway and then back to the middle of the living room where he then stops, expecting me to perform my role in the game. I step so that my feet are on either side of his midsection, then kneel down, letting a small part of my weight rest on his hindquarters as he lies down on the carpet. He starts purring even before I begin rubbing his chest and throat, and I often bend forward so that we can touch noses. "I'm sittin' on the cat," I say. "You're such a silly little Boy." Skunk also enjoyed the same routine when she was still with us, although Tippy only began requesting my participation over the last year or so. That said, both he and Skunk would grab my ankle if I tried to walk away before they'd had enough. My Boy is about to celebrate his 15th birthday, still a silly kitten full of love.

Spring

Day 158: Spring - snow possible later in the week
Spring - Nuthatches engaged in courting behaviours, gathering nesting material
Spring - leaf buds on the contorted filbert
Spring - the return of Evening Grosbeaks and a single swallow of indeterminate species
Spring - snowdrops in the garden
Spring - the best cat toy ever

It's Spring! Hurray!

Cat Scan

Day 139: The second "jeans rug" came off the loom yesterday and I wanted to measure it for my weaving records. I tossed it down on the living room floor, intending to go for the yard stick, and the next time I turned around, it was being cat-scanned. I hadn't even tied the fringe yet, but apparently it has the official seal of approval. The next (last) rug on this warp will be made from t-shirt strips. In fact, I realized I was running out of denim halfway through this one and had to put in an emergency call to friends in the hopes of someone having a pair of jeans they were anxious to retire. As it turns out, I have half a dozen strips left from the donation, the "seed" for another series of rugs somewhere down the line. How well do these hold up? Suffice to say that I am still using a couple I made over thirty years ago.

Valentine Boy

Day 124: It made me laugh. Tippy took one of his toys to bed with him. It may have been accidental (they do get caught on his feet sometimes), but there he was, all curled up and dreaming about playtime. The photo is from a few days ago, but I decided to save it for Valentine's Day because he is my little sweetheart (all 14 pounds of him). He's silly and funny and very demonstrative in his love for his mama. He often pushes my needlework aside and demands to have a hug, which is to say he wants to sit on my lap with his arms around my neck, rubbing noses with me as we purr at each other. He is very aware of his position at/as the Center of the Universe, and while I can't accuse him of exploiting it, he does know how to work it to his advantage. Of course I stop doing whatever I'm doing when he demands attention! Isn't that what this relationship is about? Happy Valentine's Day from me and the sweetest Boy in the world.

Christmas Portrait

Day 72 (bonus): Tippy would also like to wish you a Merry Christmas! He very obligingly posed for his Christmas portrait last night. Isn't he a handsome lad?

Who's Watching The Watchers?

Day 7: I am not the only member of the family who finds amusement in birdwatching, but unlike many cats, Tippy is quite content to merely watch. The only time he shows any inclination otherwise is when one of my avian friends flutters against the window to let me know that the feeders need refilling. The suet feeder hangs a foot away from the glass, and its visitors include the usual complement of Steller's Jays, Spotted Towhees, Dark-eyed Juncoes and so on, but lately, three Canada Jays have been quite literally hanging around. This has gone on for several weeks now, the longest time they've stayed. My suet budget has been adjusted upward accordingly because...well, because you just can't let a sweet little jaybird go hungry now, can you? The Nuthatch also occasionally stops by, and the Chickadees have returned from summer vacation, chattering with great enthusiasm about their experiences. Wildfire smoke must surely affect birds and critters in many of the same ways it affects humans. Maybe their internal weather sensors are telling them that the rain is coming. I hope so, because I have only the NOAA forecast to rely on.

Tippy At Fourteen

 

Day 280: "We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you this announcement of a Special Event. It's Tippy's birthday!" Today his age matches his weight, but we wouldn't want to call him stout because he carries it well. That said, other than a tiny bit of extra canned food for his breakfast, he won't be getting any special treats in honour of the day. What he will be getting is concentrated Mama-time, either on my lap or playing games. Oh, he loves to play games! He's even invented a few, like trap-the-foot. When I'm down on my knees with him, he circles me, making head-butts, running his tail under my nose and making me sneeze, and then as he moves past, he trails one foot behind, sometimes holding it suspended an inch or two off the floor until I grab it gently and allow it to slip through my fingers. Then I'm expected to trap the other foot before he makes his next pass. And almost without fail, when he's tired of this game, he steps to one side and flops, at which point I put one arm under his head and the other curls around his back so that I can pet him as he kneads my bicep. He developed the routine himself and patiently schooled me in it until I had it down pat. Smart little Boy! They say that in a relationship, you get out what you put in. There's a lot of love here, going both ways.

Tippy Over Tippy

Day 150: "Over" is an essential part of our morning routine. After he's through with his breakfast, Tippy sits beside my chair and waits for me to ask, "Where's my Over? We gotta have Over. Over is the most important part of the day!" Then he jumps onto my lap and expects to be turned sunny-side up, whereupon he "goes boneless" and rests his head on my chest, purring constantly and occasionally looking up at me so we can touch noses. He'll stay that way for five minutes or so before indicating to me that he wants to roll up, pivoting on the heaviest, bulkiest portion of his anatomy until he can stretch out long with his head on my knees. Over is performed several times throughout the day, but seldom for the length of time devoted to it in the morning.

When Skunk was still with us (today is the third anniversary of her demise), my lap was her domain. She only shared it with him on two historical occasions when he managed to squeeze into the space between my legs and the arm of the chair. But only a few days after she left us, my Child asserted his claim and now spends the better part of his day holding his Mama down.

Skunk's Howe

Day 129: The snowdrops are blooming on Skunk's Howe. It has been just shy of three years since our kitty-girl left us, and sometimes I think Tippy misses her as much as I do. I've seen him catch her scent on a favourite toy, on a blanket, and the questioning "Mirrl?" he directs to me as he makes eye contact defies any suggestion of anthropomorphization that might arise. If I could think as he does, I might understand his emotions better, but although I cannot do so, they are as genuine as my own. Humans, prideful and pitiful subjects that we are, cannot even bridge the gap of cultural differences among our own kind. How can we possibly hope to comprehend how another species thinks and emotes? What goes through Tippy's kitty-mind when he remembers Skunk? Would a human recognize the emotion, or would it be entirely alien? We have a long way to go in our evolution before that question can be answered.

Hearth And Home

Day 59: What little snow we had disappeared overnight as temperatures rose slightly and rain moved in. I should have known what was coming next. Yep, power outage. A month or so ago, our little rural PUD sent out a letter of apology to every single one of its customers for the number of outages we've had recently. The fault lies primarily with aging infrastructure which they're working on replacing, but they also promised to be more aggressive with tree-trimming and keeping power lines clear. What happened today might not have been preventable even so. As I understand it, a tree fell on the substation and knocked out power up the whole valley, and all 1600 of us were left in the dark from 7:15 AM to 4 PM as the crews worked to repair the damage. It must have been bad, considering that not too long ago, they rebuilt a whole transmission tower in a shorter period of time. At any rate, it was yet another day of camping out in the living room and a "hearth and home" day of weaving at the bonker loom and reading. When I finally did resort to turning on the gas fireplace, the Heat Sink was grateful and moved off my lap to rest his head on the warm slates.

Post-op

Day 33: He's not exactly the happiest camper, but Tippy is home again, minus one incongruously-named "canine" tooth. It's been troubling him for some time, and I thought it was only due to plaque build-up, but when I took him in for his annual exam yesterday, his doctor noticed that the tooth was actually loose. She wanted to remove it immediately before it became infected. There was one particular concern: Tip has a pronounced heart murmur. The cardiologist who examined him at six months old had told me that it would be dangerous to put him under anaesthetic. The vet was aware of this and convinced me to go ahead with the procedure on the grounds that an infected tooth would be equally dangerous (or even moreso), but despite her assurances that she would take every possible precaution with my Boy, I came home last night worried and fearful. A few hours later, I called and was told that the extraction was done and that there were no issues, but that Tippy was still sleeping off the anaesthetic. Another call right before closing time let me know that he was awake but groggy, and that I could pick him up this morning. It will take a few days before he's feeling like himself again, I'm sure. Quiet time is what's needed now, and a lot of love.

Proper Perspective

Day 172: I have often remarked to friends that I have no artistic talent whatsoever, at least as far as putting a medium on paper or canvas is concerned. My "art" is fiber art. I create with threads and yarns (and sometimes create those very yarns and threads in the first place). That said, when I was actively hiking several hundred miles each month, I kept a journal to document the events of the day, illustrated with a Sharpie since it was the only pen available which didn't bleed through the paper of the book. I developed a scribbling style which was quite effective for rocks and trees and mountainous horizons, but when it came to drawing a coffee mug or a sign on the trail, I could never get the perspective right. Since the journal was for my own enjoyment, it didn't really matter that you couldn't tell my tent wasn't an elephant in repose, but I was dismayed by my inability to translate what I was seeing to a flat surface.

One of my sisters-of-the-heart is a talented artist. As I have monitored her activities in classes and on line, I was taken with one of her instructors whose style seemed to be along the lines of my own scribbles. I began following him on Facebook just in time to tune in for a two-hour lesson in perspective. His simple "one-point" method inspired me to make this sketch today in Sharpie and watercolour, drawn entirely from my imagination. While still not exactly what I'd call "artistic" when stood side-by-side with Patty's paintings, the technique helped resolve my issues with perspective. Our other sister dubbed my picture "Tippy Under the Tree." Hey, if they both recognized him as a cat, I must be doing better.

Cat Nap

Day 98: Years ago, I saw a cartoon of two cats sprawled on the back of a couch. One was saying to the other, "I just don't know how I can get by on only seventeen and a half hours of sleep a day." I was amused by the accuracy of the observation, but it raised a question in my mind: How can a cat who spends 90 percent of life relaxing or otherwise idle still have the muscular vitality to leap three or four feet into the air to catch a fly and then take off running at high speed without a warm-up? It made me painfully aware (perhaps literally so) that as chemical machines go, the human body is astonishingly inefficient. Could I slam-dunk a basketball immediately upon getting out of bed? Could I run a mile at full tilt without first stretching? Certainly not now, not at this age, and probably not when I was in peak form forty years ago. Tippy is no spring chicken. I see signs of his age creeping into his eyes and posture, yet he does dashes like a kitten. Maybe the secret lies in that seventeen and a half hours of sleep he gets each day. Maybe I should give that a try.