The Cat That Came in from the Cold or The Tale of Simon Leofritch

            I named him Simon.  That’s the name I place on every cat I don’t know and I think that needs a name for me to give him.  The neighbors call him “Leofritch.”  So, he is Simon Leofritch.

            On a cold winter’s evening, Simon came tiptoeing at my back door.  He’d seen cats come and go from that door, and arrived for a closer look.  The snow was blowing, the evening dusk ready to blacken the earth.  

            So, I put a bowl of food out there on that little stoop.  Okay.  Go home now.  This routine went on through the cold winter nights and then into spring.  Finally Simon Leofritch decided that it was time to come in (that, and I forgot to close the door).  We finally had to close the door.

            Simon Leofritch did not see that as an obstacle.  He camped out.  He came in whenever he saw the door open.  I finally took him to a rescue so we could at least get the rabies shot and a neutering.  I left his cat carrier out on the front porch.  “For ME?” said Simon Leofritch.  “Yes, for you,” I said.  Old soft warm towels and a cotton bath mat for the lid (for those nice summer days) and Simon Leofritch was in heaven. He ate, he drank from the artesian well, he lounged!  Every time we’d look out, there was Simon Leofritch.

            Our girls do not like Simon Leofritch.  They have ganged up on him and cornered him, simply because they feel cornered.  We have been trying to bring him into the fold (winter is coming).  They will have nothing to do with him.  But we did catch them randomly sleeping on the same bed at the same time, but each time, the feline female involved was way down at the end of the bed, with all kinds of disapproval on her face!

            Did I mention that Simon Leofritch may have a little spot of PTSD?  He loves climbing into my lap for a little nap, but needs constant monitoring, any sudden movement he will grab you and there may be fangs involved (which is why he ends up outdoors randomly when we see feistiness and possible danger—the danger any feral cat would probably offer).

            But we will deal with Simon Leofritch.  He’s the cat that will not give up.  He wanted a better life.  What is better than a life of freedom and chasing barn mice?  A life, even if the women don’t like you, indoors.

            Besides, he is very photogenic!

It’s Snow Comfort

It just keeps falling out there, though the forecast is for only 1-3 inches.

Despite the terror of the drive down the hill earlier, a slow peace envelops my soul, as I watch the flakes pour down, not being lazy at all about their duty this morning.

The comfort is in the white mystical wonder and magic of wiping the slate clean. The comfort is that the snow can make you feel hidden from the world of care and woe, and it will be okay.

The comfort of things past. A child on a sled or trudging through the deep snow, just because it’s there.

So, I welcome the snow, despite its trouble. There’s always a silver lining, isn’t there?

Rural Dirt

We were heading up to the next town yesterday. It was bright, it was sunny. It wasn’t quite as warm as the day before, or the day before that. The wind had that spring crispiness attached to it! I contemplated this two word statement “rural dirt” and decided it would make a good title for what I am about to say.

We have dirt here. We have mud here. You can’t go down the road without that little cloud following you. If someone is ahead of you, welcome to a world with dust. If you don’t have the quarters in your pocket ($3.00 says a lot when you have to drive up and down the road a lot, as opposed to the credit card and a $10 quick automatic wash), you just get through it! The good news is, you are not alone. Everyone else shares your plight. Oh, once in awhile you can say “Wow! Look at that car! Not a drop of dirt! See how shiny it is?” and then you hold your hand up to shield your eyes, you hope that the dirt doesn’t come off on your pant leg as you get out of your own vehicle in the parking lot.

There are worse things. For this rural gal, my list is: we don’t have (much) traffic! Our 5 o’clock rush hour isn’t nearly what urbanites experience anytime after 3 p.m. We have cows. We smell the farm. They spread manure. But, it isn’t exhaust from automobiles and trucks. Oh I know the findings: cows emit gas. They’ve done it throughout history. But they also provide us with essentials: our dairy products, our beef. Their excrement provides the earth with fertilizer for those fields that yield gardens and crops. And yes, we can argue that it’s better to eat plant based burgers. But, man was a carnivore for many years. He will continue that, despite what the civilized world wants, which it appears, basically, to shut out the meat eaters and make everyone eat vegetarian style. (There goes the animal world.) I digress. This is not what this essay should be about. It’s about dirt. And the freedom it brings. The happiness of a child, playing in her mud pies. The cat, who appreciates the warmer weather, and celebrates by bringing in at least one mouse a day. Some of them are still alive, we took one back down to the old church building and let it go. “Hope the poor little guy makes it,” my (retired) farmer said. I had to laugh. “Listen to us! We tell others that mice are dirty, their feces contain parasites, they can chew through wires and cause fires, and we hope ‘the poor little fellow’ makes it.”

Spring is upon us, the grass is slowly starting to green up. My one succulent is popping up above the ground, seeking sun. I trimmed back the mums and others that died in the autumn of 2020, so new growth can occur. That is the nice thing about spring. Along with the niceties of spring come everything else, but I keep reading that you take the good with the bad, you control what you can, accept even what you don’t want (I did see one yellow jacket–or was it a wasp–whizz by as I was wiping down my porch).

Let us welcome it all.

Take of the Woollybear

The front is big and black, predicts that the early part of winter will be severe. Look out east coast, as the storm rises from the south, working its way up the coast!

This Old House, cont’d

Remember this old house? Still working on it.

I cannot say “we,” but he has been working onward with this house. Walls have been stripped to the board, windows removed, flooring taken up. Electrical wiring (mostly) removed. Exterior siding and tin roof removed.

This has been an experience and a long walk down memory lane for this man. Perhaps just short of a spiritual experience as he tears down this childhood home, to prepare for our future.

I’d love to take this into the woods and become Thoreau. Wouldn’t you?

Exploring New Heights

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The Tale of 3 Little Kittens

Cats.  Can you do it?  Can you truly invite them into your home as a guest?

No.  I’m afraid not.  You invite them to rule.  They dictate.  Even at a tiny age.  This is what we have endured and enjoyed for the last 3 weeks.

They were “dropping like flies” in the milking parlor.  Kittens mixed in with cows haven’t got much of a chance.  The cows are gentle, yes, but they are BIG.  And kittens tend to get lost outdoors.  So, as a last ditch effort, as we found, we brought into the house (even though forbidden by the farmer, the farmer brought them in)!

This is Olive and Rambo.  There is always someone mewing!  Olive can be quite vocal.  And she talks in her throat quite a bit too, when not commanding.

We have learned to tiptoe so as to not wake them.  (I have dubbed them screaming meanies–they hear and they come running, they all start mewing and trying to climb upon you!  You hide in the bedroom, hoping they will fall asleep, and the last 3 nights, they have found us anyway, and climbed into the bed with us, I gave in, what can I say?)

Very smart, they took right to their facilities and have eaten quite well.  We spent time on the internet to try to figure it out, kitten milk vs. cow milk and digestive systems, etc.

Being so little, we have had to teach them to bathe.  They get bathed daily.  So far they don’t know that cats and kittens don’t like water.  And then they get a blow dry.

They are front and center on love.

Or waiting for it.

They have warmed their way into our hearts!

They all will have new homes today.  And we will have kitten liberation.

But we will miss them, just a little bit!

Stuck in the 60s Tonight

I got stuck in the 60s tonight. I watched one of my favorites: The Newlywed Game. All of them. On YouTube. I admired the bride’s hair: the big beehive ‘do. The mascara and eye shadow. The California lifestyle.

Do you remember that game? We would play it by the hour. You’d draw a chart, naming your choices of places to live, boys’ names (to marry), a car to drive and a career. I cannot remember the counting formula, perhaps one of my readers can. Anyway, count away and you’d find your destiny.

I think I always had choices of California, Florida, or … I don’t remember having any other! Maybe I chose Hawaii. But certainly not my home town.

I’m not sure of his profession, but it was the man’s profession, for sure.

I do not remember the rest. I’m sure a color and a car were significant.

I will always remember how I thought the best place in the world had to be California. I was definitely a California girl. In my dreams.

I’m 61. My dreams have changed. Oh sure, I have visited California. A Californian friend even stated that there is no other place in the world to live! But I do admit, i love my small village I returned to, I love my farm and I love (even more) my farmer, who makes life worthwhile and every day a priceless treasure! (Thank you, Ross).

Still, there is a little girl…and her little girl dreams….

Setting Pace with Nature

A friend pointed out to me an article in The Conservationist, a circular that encompasses New York State wildlife.  An Emerson fan, she thought of me when the author of an article spoke of Emerson.  Naturally drawn to Emerson, I looked up the article, Chomping at Nature’s Bit by Eli Knapp.  There it was.  “Adapt the pace of nature, her secret is patience.”  

I can agree with this concept.  Nature is very patient.  She wait for us to mess up, then she calmly takes over.  Paved roads break up while she takes over.  Brush grows up in fields that the farmer has kept plowed, our neglect becomes her tapestry.

I have forbidden the groundhog hunt here on our civilized patch.  Build more garden, share it, I say (I’m not the one building the garden, easy for me to say).  Then again, if you need to remove them, do not ever let me know.  I cannot bear the thought.  I’m definitely a human heart here, while they live on instinct, and the reality of the world is that, if we want to keep our crops for harvest, we need to limit their “help” in harvesting!

Back to the subject at hand, Emerson and Nature.  I encourage you to read his essay.  Absorb it.  Be patient with it.

In patience, I seek a word from this essay to inspire you, my readers, to seek.  Difficult at the least, I send you this:  Nature is loved by what is best in us.  It is loved as the city of God.  I dare not say more, at least, not now.  Emerson is difficult in that we cannot take mere quotes and have them realized in and of themselves, they must be coupled with the rest of the essay.  The one thing I have learned from Emerson can bring my defeat as his follower:  Lay this volume down.   You had better never see my essays than to be warped by their attraction out of your own orbit and be made my satellite.  Then let me lay this volume down, and step outdoors where my dog absorbs nature, she is my lesson.  As are the birds, the groundhog, and the breeze which blows against my face.