Salad Days

Dear Readers,

Like a lot of life, I meant to get this finished and posted over a month ago.  But I have been back East twice during that time, with the second visit a final goodbye to my father…

I thought that talking about everyday kitty undertakings would be too mundane, too ordinary—my mood being as somber as it has been of late.  But then I thought, well, what better way to acknowledge the gift of the everyday than with a post about the everyday.  So here is that post, kept mostly intact with its original title:


It’s mid summer, and the kitties and their humans have gotten into a routine.  Life is “normal”; well, as normal as you can get when you have two humans living with five felines.  Vacuuming should be constant, but I’m not a fan of the chore…  (And for those of you who wonder why the husband does not pitch in:  Roger’s domain is primarily house repair and outside maintenance—both ongoing, year-round activities!)  And then there is the continual changing of cat alliances and the breaking up of kitty skirmishes.   And the constant cleaning of daily hair ball pukage (yuchhh, gross).

Then there are, of course, the sweet routines:

Ø  Puffy supervising the making of the bed in the mornings.  Well, mostly he waits in a corner of the bedroom—patiently I might add—until I am roused enough to realize his presence.  Then he plops in the middle of the bed-making action and raises his rump sufficiently high to ensure rigorous rubbing.

Ø  Cuddling with the Tiggster at night on my office floor before bedtime.

Ø  Head nuggying (is that a word?) with Junior, chirping his way of happiness.

Ø  Even Blackie ensuring—through plaintive mews—that I don’t forget him during mealtimes.

And then there is Chewie with his food fetishes.  Zucchinis have been handled and are no longer left unguarded on the kitchen counter.  And this summer I’ve discovered that he loves… salad!   No iceberg  lettuce for him. Green leaf lettuce is a favorite, although he also has a liking for arugula, red leaf lettuce and mesclun.  I may not have seen the goofy critter for hours, holed up in some closet somewhere… but as soon as I start preparations for the evening’s salad, invariably up on the counter he emerges from nonphysical to inspect the progress—and to steal a leaf for munching when I’m not looking.  What an odd appetite indeed…


This time of year, with the summer waning and hints of fall in the cool night air, has always been a special time for me.  It is particularly poignant as it will be the first time without my father’s physical presence.  Being a product of his generation and a survivor of The Holocaust, my Dad never truly understood my choices of creative output.  Yet, he loved animals—especially cats.  And he always asked about my brood.

So these moments of mirth—when the unexpected collides with the everyday during a time when I feel very sad, indeed—have been a wonderful reminder and acknowledgement of the gift that is the present moment.  A gift that is  fleeting, momentary—and never guaranteed.

I’ll end with a video snippet of my father from 2009 (I was testing my former BlackBerry’s video capabilities) talking about my parents’ cat, Lilly.  He just loved and spoiled that cat!  She died two summers ago… I’d like to think that my father and Lilly have now reunited on the Rainbow Bridge to cross together into eternity…


The End of an Era

A little over a month ago I bid adieu to the house that was my childhood home.  With my sister, Robin, we made one more trip northward from the Philly area to remove any remaining items before we close (hopefully, soon!).  After completing our appointed tasks, we expressed our heartfelt goodbyes to our neighbors of 30+ years.  And then we made one more sojourn through the halls and rooms of the house that was once a home.  Now vacant, we visited the each room and floor one more time, taking in the significance of this life transition.

And, of course, there were a handful of cats that roamed its corridors, cracks and crevices throughout the 40 years my parents made it a home.  Buried are two in the backyard, and we paid our respects to their spirits that brightened our lives so long ago…

I haven’t lived in that old Cape Cod style house in Union, NJ, since I was 22; no matter.  It was the home of my origin, for better or for worse.  I returned to that home for many years for brief visits of respite and solace—during my 20s and first marriage; throughout the time I lived a “single” life in my early to mid 30s; and all throughout the time I have lived in Colorado.  And it was the home of my parents until late last spring (2012) when life abruptly decided enough was enough…

History.  We humans are blessed (or cursed) with the ability to recall history.  My childhood home is replete with this history.  So much sorrow and pain.  But yet there were moments of joy and happiness.  Cats, though, are not burdened by memory.  They exist in the moment.  There is no significance to time—other than they’re either happy to see you or upset you’ve been away for however long—A day?  A week?  A month?  But after a little softening, they cuddle and purr as if you were never gone.  It is the present—not the past—that matters most.

With the sale imminent, we’ve come to an end of an era.  I’m not going to miss this house; not really.  The only reason why I returned to Union for so long and so often was because of my parents.  And they’ve been aging quite dramatically in the year that has passed…  I just realize that, for better or for worse, my experiences in that house helped forge the person I am today.

So the house will be sold.  As we were locking up for the last time, Robin and I gave our silent blessings to the new family that will mark a beginning of a new chapter…

That’s Life

Now that we’ve allowed all five kitties full access through the house –except during the occasional cat skirmish—there always seems to be a cat (or three!) in bed during any one night.  On the surface, this is quite cute…it is a king sized bed.  But in reality this has impacted my ability to get a full night’s sleep….seven straight hours..oh, the hope and the glory.  Junior (the mostly grey short haired tabby), has a thing for my pillow.  Yep, my pillow—not Roger’s, mine.  Fine, he sleeps on it during the day.  But at night, it’s mine.  Well, maybe.  I gently toss the furbeast off my pillow, only for him to return stealthily during the night.  I awaken to a furried  paw on m’noggin. Junior’s quite persistent… And last night, he cuddled next to my head while I was half asleep and he began to lick Roger and his pillow.  Vigorously!  Odd and strange…

And Puffy and Chewie, the two half brother litter mates, have taken to sandwiching me in.  Chewie prefers my right side and Puffy, my left.  That’s fine until I need to move or stretch.  Then I’m the baddie for (again) gently repositioning the furried ones.

Junior & Chewie a'nappin

Junior & Chewie a’nappin

To balance all this whining  (yes, I’ll admit to it!), there have been some nice benefits to full house access. Blackie—  Roger’s partially feral project—is now exploring the nooks and crannies of the front sunroom.  And Tigger has expanded his in-home territory.  He spends time now in both the sunroom and the den.  In fact, Tigger has become quite the couch cuddler and futon napper— remnants of his kittenhood when he was the sole furbeast…

Balancing the good with the annoying…well, that’s life.  And perhaps I can look at the annoying as yet another opportunity for learning greater acceptance …

Hello, 2013!  As part of my effort to lighten the mood of this blog (per the husband’s feedback) at least occasionally, this first post of 2013 will focus on a positive change in the feline household:  there appears to be subtle shift in feline relationships—as evidenced by the photo below (taken by Roger when I was still half asleep!):

Early Morning with Chewie, Tigger and Junior

Early Morning with Chewie, Tigger and Junior

As you can see, there are three cats on the bed:  Chewie, Tigger and Junior.  The significance to this is that both Junior and Tigger are sharing space in relative close quarters!  You would never have seen this six months ago.  Since the beginning of the year, Tigger not only has been frequenting the sunroom and den much more regularly, he does so regardless of which cat might also be present.  Yes, there is still a bit of spatting between Tigger and Junior , but this is balanced with a seeming reluctant acceptance, finally, of each other’s presence.

Now, if cats can ultimately learn to accept the existence of each other and perhaps live in a tenuous harmony, what does that say for the potential of us mere humans?  We may not like everyone we meet, but does that really matter?

Can’t we all just get along?

I think it’s possible.  At least I hope so.

A Year in Pictures: 2012

To bid the year adieu, here are our cats past and present with which we shared this wondrous and sometimes vexing life experience.  These specific images I included in an annual personalized kitty calendar for Roger.


Orange Kitty & Sylvester.

Orange Kitty & Sylvester

Chewbacca, aka Chewie

Chewbacca, aka Chewie

Tigger, Chewie, Puffy & Junior

Tigger, Chewie, Puffy & Junior





Sluggo, aka "Mama Girl"

Sluggo, aka “Mama Girl”



Junior and His Daddy

Junior and His Daddy

Chewie and his froggies

Chewie and his froggies

Puffy & Tigger

Puffy & Tigger

Chewie & Tiggy

Chewie & Tiggy

Junior & Chewie

Junior & Chewie



Turn Turn Turn

And the leaves that are green turn to brown,
And they wither with the wind,
And they crumble in your hand.*

As we approach the last hours of late autumn, a few remaining golden and crimson leaves cling to their branches, struggling valiantly against the inevitable return to dust.  The crunch of fallen brothers and sisters, whispering in the wind the promises not kept yet not forgotten.  And a time, too, of spectacular sunsets, filling the autumn sky with hues of blue, pink and gold.

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven…**

For me, autumn has always been a season of reflection, remembrance…and transition.  It was this time of year in 1993 when I realized my first marriage was truly over, and with it the broken promises of a life by which I could not abide.  And as of late, my parents’ situation seems to have stabilized—for the moment.  But now my father is also presenting with Alzheimer’s symptoms, and my mother is firmly entrenched in stage two.  Both my parents have now entered the final chapters of their lives, precariously perched on the threshold between here and … beyond.

A time to be born, a time to die…
A time to laugh, a time to weep…
A time to dance, a time to mourn…**

The ongoing saga of the outdoor ferals is a poignant reflection of this cruel reminder of life’s precariousness.  Of the half dozen cats that were once regular visitors during mealtimes, only Mama Girl, aka Sluggo—the feline mother of four of our indoor kitties—remains.  It’s now been nearly two months since we’ve been graced with the liveliness of Orange Kitty.  I saw him last the evening of Saturday,  October 20.  And Sylvester (Chewie’s baby daddy) has been AWOL since mid summer.  One warm evening he showed up after an absence of many days, seeming sad and alone.  He ate the meal we put out for him, and by next morning he was gone.  Why can’t they just stay and enjoy the largess that is our haven for them?  But no, these outdoor cats are compelled to explore and to roam.  And to meet their fates, no matter how harsh and heartbreaking it may seem to us mere humans.

With the acceptance of the transitions of Orange Kitty and Sylvester, an era is slowly closing.  It’s now just Mama Girl.  She comes around regularly during meal- and snack-times and spends overnight in the heated garage.  And yet in the morning, off she goes to explore the great outdoors, because she must.  And thus a return in the evening is never guaranteed.

Yet our indoor kitties continue to do well, oblivious to the changes to their external world.  As long as we keep them warm and well fed, their lives continue in a comfortable, purring love-fest.

In fact, we have just recently celebrated a significant autumnal moment:  on November 24, we rejoiced in Tigger’s five year anniversary of his adoption (yep, the only furball we actually sought out).

While completing the paperwork at the Denver Dumb Friends League, I remember gazing into the bright yellow eyes of this beautiful, perfect three-month-old kitten.  Tigger returned the gaze, full of expectation, adventure, impishness, love…and trust.  Trust that I would take him home, love and care for him.  Be his forever caretaker in a world that is both beautiful and harsh.

And I also remember thinking that there will be a time—perhaps in 15 or 20 years—that I will have to say goodbye to this wondrous spirit.  And for an instant I became overwhelmed with heartbreak and pain…  Roger then indicated that the paperwork was complete, and I got pulled out of my momentarily morose reverie back to my current, joyful reality.

To Everything (Turn, Turn, Turn)
There is a season (Turn, Turn, Turn)
And a time to every purpose, under Heaven **

Ok, no need to practice heartache, for in a world of opposites—of yin and yang—there will be an abundance of both pain and pleasure.  Many years ago I took a ten-day Vipassana (insight) meditation course.  One of the major key points I gleaned from this experience is that humans create even more suffering by one of two means:  by wishing that the present painful circumstances be different from what they are, or by desiring that the current joyful moments stay with us forevermore.   We humans just can’t seem to accept that our realities are in constant flux.  That there will be seasons of great joy as well as dark sorrow.

Perhaps here is another lesson we can learn from our furry companions:  they are creatures of the moment.  They do not worry about the future nor ruminate about the past.  They experience their moments vividly, viscerally.

Despite our best efforts, we don’t have a patent on certainty.  Just like the feral kitties, we go out every day to explore and to play in this game called life.  Depending on the season, we might feel this game is rigged.  Or we might experience an unexpected win.  No matter.  We fully expect to return home every evening, to the blessing of those we love and cherish in this lifetime.  And for every day except our last—when me make our final return to the home that is the infinite—this expectation holds true.



*  words from Simon and Garfunkel’s, “Leaves That are Green”

** Words are adapted from The Bible, Book of Ecclesiastes; music by Pete Seeger; The Byrds’ single made it famous

Revisiting….the 3 Ps

Maybe I should just come to terms that, until I earn enough from my creative pursuits to justify the expense of a regular housekeeper, my home will never be completely clean from….poop, puke and pee.  Yep.

I envision a time when I can feel comfortable inviting someone to my home at a moment’s notice, without fear of retribution due to the wafting odors and dried vomit that seem to multiply exponentially.  Yes, I know we’ve chosen to share our lives with five cats and I’m bitching, but every so often I just need a release.

We’ve developed certain coping strategies.  Our couch is trashed pretty much, covered with two drop cloths that we change and launder several times a day.  We keep a constant supply of spot carpet cleaner and antibacterial spray.  My current products of choice are Woolite Heavy Traffic Carpet, Rug & Upholstery Cleaner and Method Antibac Kitchen Cleaner (orange zest).   Maybe I should look into buying stock in these companies… And it’s primarily Roger’s task to scoop the five litter boxes daily.  But, still.  It’s just maddening to take pleasure in the vision of temporarily clean carpet after 1.5 hours of vacuuming toil, only for the moment to be obliterated by a furball puking up a hastily eaten snack.   Grrrr.

Perhaps if I just enjoyed cleaning, I would attend to it more often.   Naaa.   It’s just not in my DNA to enjoy the process of housework.  I get it done when required, and I know logically that if I vacuumed or mopped more often, I would accomplish these tasks more effortlessly.  But I would just rather do so many other things—drum, write, experience a crisp fall afternoon walking with a friend…

If I were to glean any positive aspect from my continual annoyance with the 3 Ps, it’s the tips and techniques I’ve garnered from my coping efforts.  Which I will then pass along to a cleaning person once I’ve sold my first book.  Or sooner.

Oh….Is that the unmistakable sound of puking? Sigh.  Now, where did I place that carpet cleaner….