This Day, That Day, One Day

 

Well, here we are at the end of February; cold, grey, and wet February.  

February has been motivationally and inspirationally challenging for me; thinking or acting with intent

toward anything creative has been like fighting a four alarm fire with the garden hose.  

 

I attended an event with co-workers on Friday. In conversation with one of them helped me see that I may approach February with a different mindset; that rather blanketing in the emotions of the losses, there may be ways to allow myself to celebrate the joys of those lifetimes. 

But, then again, that is is okay to have experience the grief, to acknowledge the loss and the void.  

 

Well, here we are at the end of February; cold, grey, and wet February.  

Brrr

Pete, keeping warm

We have had some chilly weather. There was even snow one day this week. Not earth-shattering news. It is, after all, November. And this is, after all, the Midwest. It is what happens.

Still, most, seem to be of the opinion that it is too early for such folly.

But, not I. (mostly) 

It is November in the midwest. Chilly and snow, (more often than not) are on tap. 

That said, it would not hurt my feelings one bit if the 50s would return for the next two (or three--okay, that is pushing it) weeks. 

PS: cauliflower masquerading as mashed potatoes, not half bad. 

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Be Still

Pete in the Middle

When last we met Buttah was the featured feline planting himself in the middle of a project. Not to be outdone, here is Pete smack dab in the middle of a different project. Pete, unlike Buttah, isn't about offering any advice or wisdom. His motivations are: 1. feed me and 2. crank up the heat. He cares not what is going on unless he has determined the goings on are interfering with 1 and 2.

Pete, Buttah, and their canine counterpart, Cinnamon impact operations; most every task, most every project. How little or how much depends on the energy emitted into the atmosphere. The dynamic of the trio of fur has shifted in the last few weeks. We are still working through the newest normal. Winter (even unofficially) is not our signature season.

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Pete, My First

I AM the CAT. 

Like Pulling Teeth

 The title, until about five minutes ago (it is 11:52 pm) was going to be . . "I've got idioms on my mind"  (you know, like sung to, "You Are Always On My Mind") which is in reference to the fact that I was going to write and post this entry last night might one thing and then another thing and then . . well, I went to bed thinking and feeling like the entire week (and it was only Wednesday) was like . . yeah, the title.

But when I got up this morning the title was gone. Vanished. Out of my mind. All day I was trying to remember and all day nothing. Na da. Zilch. Finally, I just said the hell with it, forget the plan, do something about idioms (in general) and move the frack on. Hence, :the new title idea.

After an evening of quality time with Cinnamon and Buttah (Pete requires no such interaction save the sneers exchanged when kibble is dropped in his bowl) heating and eating dinner, cleaning the kitchen, beginning and finishing two holiday greetings (with "love lists" enclosed to be posted Friday I sat down to dash off the, "I've got idioms on my mind" post still hoping to get to bed by eleven. Until someone woke from their mid-evening slumber eager to share a rousing, amusing, and winding tale of a dry cleaner's passion, fake Valentino suits, sweat stains and more . .  

It was in the midst of that story where the original idiom (like pulling teeth) that prompted the idea or the post I was going to write last night, that was lost during the course of the day, reappeared. Waving hello, howyadoin? like nothing ever happened.

And now, still, not saying what was on my mind to say last night (or rather, Wednesday night, for it is now very early Friday morning) it shall have to keep for another time. For time, is no longer on my side. Five AM will roll around much too soon and . . . damn, now Cinnamon is pacing. Must get dressed so she can poop. She only paces when she needs to poop. Or after vomiting. Since she hasn't vomited, out we go.

Happy Friday getting here was like pulling teeth.

P. B. and C.

The Boys - couple years ago*

The boys have decided that I am their new best friend. They have made it their mission to break into my bedroom at 30 minutes prior to the crack of dawn each day for the past week.

During the week, the workdays it isn't a humongous deal since I'm up pretty early anyway but I'd still like the option of not having two sacks of fur scratching and cat-body knocking on the door--causing the larger bundle of fur (Cinnamon) pretending to be asleep on the other side of said door--to whimper and pounce around, making it near impossible to ignore the scratching and cat-body knocking.

Again, during the work week, not a humongous deal, but on the weekends? Large. Deal. Larger? the weekend where I was to have gained an hour of . . . if not, sleep then certainly rest.

My Saturday and Sunday mornings are designed (in my head) to be lazy, hazy risings. No alarms. No alerts. Letting the day unfold somewhat organically. After a trip outdoors to allow the puppy dog to do her puppy dog business, all bundles of fur are fed while coffee is brewing or water (for tea) is boiling. After all are settled, a cup is poured, and . . .  

This weekend, in addition to the hour (earlier) scratching and cat-body knocking the boys has made it their mission to sack out on top of my bed most of the day. Now, again, not a humongous deal because of course, I love the boys and as they are relatively small cats (compared to the good sized dog) and were not in the way. They also didn't make a nuisance of themselves. Much.

The problem with the boys deciding to be my new best friend and wanting (needing) to spend so much time with me, next to me, is . . . Cinnamon. She is extremely excited to play with her personal radio control pets. She is mostly frustrated because they (normally) spend so much time on their higher perches and when they are not on higher ground, they are shielded against her ministrations by myself or daughter--mostly.

Now, as the boys have spent so much time on the floor, or bed, just nearer to Cinnamon, that it has been . . . let's us just say,  the opposite of lazy, hazy.

All that said, I'm happy that Cinnamon likes to play with the boys, that the boys recognize what she's doing as play and that their interactions are of a mostly friendly nature. My concern is that she is so much larger and heavier that she might injure them without meaning to do so. Or that they (especially Pete) might become less than pleased with her attention and strike out.

I feel, however,  they are all coming to a meeting of the fur minds and working out an arrangement that suits them all.

My interests don't seem to be part of the overall negotiations.

Though, I must say,the loss of lazy, hazy aside, it is pleasant having so much company.

Mostly.