SOFIA THE CAT DISCOVERS TREES

 

sofia tree cat

 

Earlier in the day I saw Sofia dart by the window, tail straight up, Corena behind her. Cat ran up a tree where dogs can't go. Sometimes I see her stand on the ground below a tree and look up it, assessing the branches and, I suppose, seeing herself climb it, like a Himalayan climber reading the side of an ice mountain, climbing it in his mind. Dog and cat were interacting outside. I took camera and watched them. I went out mainly because Martha was out there and I wanted to keep an eye on her. Cat was comical. Martha is here every morning waiting for dog to come out. She's enchanted by the new dog, a bit jealous too. Sofia would taunt Corena to play chase. Dog would dart at her, cat ran to nearest tree. She goes up a tree like a squirrel, high enough at first to be out of reach, stops and watches to see if she need go higher.  

 

sofia surveys the playground in the sky

 

On the ground she's somewhat anxious with two dogs. Her tail was fluffed and sometimes her body hair sticking straight out. She ran up in front of Corena, hunched her back, a ridge down her spine that stood up like a donkey mane, tail bristly like a bottle brush. She'd hop up and down on four feet in front of Corena, saying, Don't chase me...chase me...don't chase me...chase me. Dog looked at her like to say, What's up with you? She did it with Martha too. Cat did every kind of provoking Corena she dared with a dog. Eventually, Corena caught on the cat wanted to play chase. I took it she was apprehensive cat wanted to fight. In their world of international body language, fear and aggression read alike. Dog darted at Sofia and cat ran laughing up a tree. I was glad to see Corena take off after Sofia with a smile on her face as big as Sofia's. It was the first time I'd seen Corena catch hold of the spirit of play. It's subtle enough I might be imagining that I see a closer connection between cat and dog since I left them in the house together yesterday for five hours. The place was not torn up, nothing out of place, nothing broken. The day's learning for dog was waiting several hours in the house with cat while primate socializes among other primates. The two-leggeds are social animals.  

 

I'm scared of you, no I'm not, scared of you, not

 

Today, they are more relaxed with each other than before. Sofia likes Corena, wants to be close to her, wants to be her friend. When Corena relaxes into her new home, she will already have a best friend in a cat, something she'd never wanted for herself, a gift from out of the Blue, the best kind.  Sofia is now acquainted with the outdoors and knows the area around and under the house. I feel like her game with Corena is about racing dog to the nearest tree, learning how fast she needs to run to escape a dog. She goes inside and outside at will now. I feel she's safe, learning as fast as she learns. She's aware this is her territory. She knows the view out the windows, every detail. I saw her first time out there going from one rock to another, tree trunks, recognizing them up close, finding out what the objects were that she sees from the other side of the glass. The windows are her cat televisions she can go in and out of at will. She understands glass well by now. She also understands mirrors. At night when I have the floor lamp on, she can see herself in the window when the glass becomes mirrors. She humps her back. She jumps at it. She stalks it. She knows it is her own image, but plays pretend like a child that it's another cat, reacting as if it is.

 

our lady of the trees

 



She likes to see herself in a mirror, will sometimes sit beside the mirror like a parakeet, though not for long. She likes to see herself, but dwelling on herself does not interest the cat. I think of her image her imaginary friend. While I'm pecking at the keyboard, she will walk down from her window seat, step between my arms and stop. I scoop her into my arms, and she stretches front legs all the way out, back legs relaxed. She stays like that awhile, then turns around and looks at herself with the primate in the mirror for a minute or less, turns back around and settles into a relaxing session in the primate's arms, listening to him affirm her beauty, her charming personality, her clever pranks, telling her I appreciate how well she is doing with the dog, how fast she's learning, how happy I am to be able to trust her home alone not to tear up. I wondered how Sofia would change with a dog in the house. She has changed for the more familiar. She's more relaxed at home with the dog. She has somebody to pay attention to besides herself. She likes dog. Dog is slow to want to know her. Everything is new for Corena. I tell her, be kind with Sofia, the day is coming she will be your very best friend.   

 

sofia's deer skull with antlers tattoo

 

 

*

 

 

 





THE NEW DOG ON THE MOUNTAIN

kutra meets sofia

 

I was making phone calls to see who I could watch the Carolina Panthers stomp the New York Giants with. Had a good place to go and good friends. The phone rang from Raleigh telling me friend in Raleigh was on my road bringing my dog, a three and a half hour drive. This is somebody whose life is dedicated to the four-leggeds. He had found the dog a home, but it was not a good home. He called me to ask if I'd take the dog, a lab mix. It only took two hours to decide. I weighed why I don't want a dog against why I want a dog. The latter tipped the scales all the way. After going over why I would like a dog, like eight years without a dog, I could see it had to be. I knew already it was the right dog, dog and Sophia would become friends right away. He drove up with the dog riding on the seat. I knew as soon as she jumped down from the door and looked at me, this was my dog. We took to each other on sight. He told me her name was Lil Bit, but I had another name for her. Kutra, as I've been told, is the Sanskrit word for protector. Whether or not it is actually the Sanskrit word, I don't know. It is in my mind. The only Sanskrit I think I know. The Hindi version of it is kutta, their word for dog, the protector.

black dog cammo

 

Whatever the case, dog's name is Kutra. Even if it's nonsense syllables, I believe it means protector. If it is not a Sanskrit word and means nothing, I don't care. I like the name. I give her this name wanting her to be Sofia's protector from a cat killing dog that lives nearby. Plus, I like the sound. I took her for about an hour walk through the woods around the property line soon after friend left. I wanted to give her experience exploring her new home. Friend was not enthusiastic about a name change, and I don't like to change a pet's name, but do. Jenny was Daisy before. Changed it because I can't have a donkey named Daisy. I can't call a dog Lil Bit. I called her Kutra hundreds of times on our walk, familiarizing her with the sound. We walked the woods the other side of the road. She responded to Kutra the same as I was told she responds to Lil Bit. She doesn't respond to Lil Bit from my voice. I realized it was not a problem for dog to be called by a new name. She responded to being called Kutra. Perhaps it's reasonable to her that a new primate would call her a new primate sound. I don't know what dogs think, though was given the impression by her that she connected with the sound of Kutra. She looks to me like the word sounds. I carried a leash around my neck, believing she would stay with me, but not sure.

water dog

 

Several times she ran out of my sight. I trusted that, like my dogs before her, when she was out of sight I was still in her sight. She'd be out of sight for a short time and come running back. Her nose was going in overdrive. Scents of the night animals. She followed a scent a ways, found another, followed it, found another. Throughout the walk she sniffed scents going every which way. I noticed she handled her footing well on the new, uneven ground that had a spongy quality from several years of decaying leaves. She found a place beside Waterfalls Creek where night critters drink, stepped into the water feeling it on her feet. She sniffed around on land awhile and walked back into the water, walked in it almost deep enough to cover her back. I don't know if she'd ever had the experience of a creek. The lab within drew her to the water. The first time she stepped into the creek she squatted down on all fours lowering her belly into the water and relaxed into the sensation of moving water for half a minute, feeling the water stimulate her inner lab.

she came running out of the water

                 eyes sparkled

smile so radiant it bared her teeth

 



 I saw a few times everything here was new to her. She ran under the lower wire of a patchwork barbed wire fence and let out a yelp. It bit her. Trial and error. Now she knows. Her mind catches onto things instantly. I  saw her walk into an area with several briars growing. She went into it rather quickly and slowed down just as quickly. She learned to step gently among briars. Toward the end of our walk I questioned whether to take dog on a short stretch of road or take her through the woods all the way to the house. I chose the road to give her the experience of road, supervised. I walked along the edge of the road and she ran everyplace that was green. The walk turned out to be so much like walks with dogs that have lived here before, I questioned if she might already know the place. She is the perfect image of the last dog that lived here twelve years, Aster. Kutra has a white spot below her throat, as did Aster. It was the spot of white that gave Aster her name, star. I can see that already Kutra is beginning to claim me. She gives Sofia looks when she thinks I'm not looking that tell cat to be very afraid. Sofia backs up. While I hold Sofia, she makes eye contact with dog and gloats. I'll be having some interpersonal dynamics to work with over the next weeks.

ninja cat aint afraid of no dog

 

 

*

 

 

 

 



BAT MEDICINE AND PLAY

neighbor gary chauffeur of trees and sky

 

Brought more hay for donkeys up from the barn before the rain. I can fit three bales in the trunk of the car with lid up. Park beside the road and roll the bales down the hill to the place I stack haybales. A blue tarp protects them from the rain. Donkeys have a ball when I deliver new hay. Jenny and Jack stand at the corner of the fence ready to watch, like me waiting for the mailman, expecting a new book in the mail. It alarms them slightly, the bales rolling down the hill. Jack jumps and frolics in a small circle. Jenny stands back and watches. Neighbor Gary came down the road in his PT Cruiser and stopped. I stepped up the hill to the road to visit for a few minutes. We talked about baby donkey and I noticed a red bat flying up and down the road, cavorting, playing, up and down, in circles. It looked like the bat was indeed playing, putting on a bat dance in the air for me personally. It flew back and forth, about a hundred feet up the road one way, then about a hundred feet down the road the other way, this way, that way. I couldn't stop watching it. I'd never seen such a demonstration of bat flight in the past and knew I never would in the future. I gave it my full appreciation.

 

find the bat

 

Attempted to take some pictures of the bat, but none of the still pictures worked out. The camera focused on the trees in the near distance, putting the bat out of focus, it's in swift motion too, I could not find the bat in the still pictures. Made a brief video in which  the bat, a speck, can be seen flying for maybe two seconds. The air above the road along there is a channel for air flow between my trees and the bank across the road. The bat flew from one end of my trees to the other, leading me to believe the open air along that stretch of road is a good place for a bat to find flying bugs. I googled red tree bat, found a description, notes about their habitat and how they live. And red tree bat is what they're called. I had several good looks at it flying by. Can see it clearly closing my eyes. I asked Gary to step outside the car to see it, billing the flight a once in a lifetime moment. A time came I was impressed by the bat's stamina. It flew for so long we stopped looking and went about or ways. Birds need rest after extended flight, but the bat kept on flapping wings, cavorting, diving, circling. It looked like it was putting on a show, though I doubt it was aware of being watched, though an observer does change things. 

sofia observes the primate

 

In the house, I went to Jamie Sams' book, Medicine Cards, to see what bat represents. The book came with cards, each having a picture of a form of wildlife, like bear, dragonfly, hawk, deer, skunk, 52 of them. It is a form of consulting chance, like tarot, I Ching, and others. In the Native American way, medicine means anything that improves one's connection to the Great Mystery and to all life. A few pages in the book tell the spiritual gift of each animal, bird, reptile or bug. Once, a hawk flew above the hood of my 78 Toyota pickup for about a tenth of a mile, looking back over its shoulder at the primate through the windshield. At home I looked up hawk to see what the hawk might be saying. One of the aspects of Hawk medicine is a message that I should circle above my life and examine it from a higher perspective. I take a visitation by one of the animals for the same as drawing one of the cards. It felt so much like the bat was telling me something, I looked it up. In every case, Bat signals rebirth of some part of yourself or the death of old patterns. Bat represents what is called the shaman's death and rebirth. Rebirth is the main theme of the bat. 

miss ed says this is different

being a donkey

Two strong cases of rebirth came into my life lately with a kitten in the house and a donkey foal in the meadow. Reading of bat I felt recognition that rebirth, a change of patterns, was in the works. Before kitten came into the house, I was feeling fairly glum. Caterpillar was gone and my heart was mourning her. Jenny kept on expecting. I faced Jenny's expectation with sorrow, hoping, daring not to hope, her baby would live and be in good health. I did not want Jenny to suffer again her grief from losing her first baby to premature birth last year. I still miss Caterpillar who lived here eighteen years, though sorrow turned to joy when Sophia entered the house. Old patterns going away. Caterpillar leaves her old cat body, Sophia new in her cat body. The successful birth of Miss Ed turned sorrow to joy like bringing Sofia home.  Feeling a renewed sense of my own life. Sophia has taught me how to play. We have play time every day. Noting the value of play courses through my mind. I play better with four year old Vada from awareness of play's importance, and how to play, not just in child development, but all along the way.

 

vada

 

 

 

*

 

 



BIG MAMA DONKEY AND THE CURIOUS CAT

miss ed's seventh day a donkey

 

Handing carrots to the donkeys was fun this morning like always. I stepped aside while Jenny was chewing to visit Miss Ed face to face the other side of the fence. Jenny was comfortable with me so close to her baby. I told wee furry donkey her name is Miss Ed, told Jenny too. Jenny and I looked at each other eyeball to eyeball and I told  her she is a beautiful donkey. She heard it. I could see it in her eye. I'm a believer, because I've seen it bear out in my dogs and cats of the past. I tell a cat she or he is a beautiful cat every day, it's not long before the cat starts seeing itself beautiful and becomes beautiful. The four-leggeds are every bit as vain about their appearance as we humans are. I've seen a couple of articles lately from different sources about a teacher who, each day, tells every kid in the class, individually, how wonderful they are as human beings, tells them what is special about themselves. The kids bloom and become what she told them, following their talents she unveiled from knowing them.

 

sofia the beautiful

 

I was heartened to see this being applied to kids. When I started each article, I already knew where it was going, I've been practicing this for years. I did not start telling them they were beautiful to test a theory, but because I thought they were. A cat is one of the most beautiful forms of life there is, especially in motion. A dog is too. Every four-legged I've ever seen I'd call beautiful. And looking at the birds, they're all beauty itself. Not much is more beautiful than a red squirrel sitting on a flat rock next to a fern, sitting up, nibbling a sunflower seed's shell held in both hands, framed by the window. Birds are the essence of beauty. Even buzzards are beautiful. I've seen over twenty buzzards circling a draft that went straight up in clear blue sky, the birds at various levels like a living mobile, slowly circling, some one way, some the other, all the way up to out of sight from clearly visible. I hold Sofia and look at her up close in awe of the beauty. I tell her she has beautiful eyes, beautiful whiskers, beautiful nose, beautiful fur, beautiful tail, beautiful feet, because she does. I see in her now awareness of her beauty. She moves about and sits with a subtle self-confidence that her beauty is appreciated. I also praise her behavior, which is exemplary.

 

sofia tree climba

 

Returning to the house from seeing the donkeys, Sofia darted through the door at my feet and went up the screen door. She wants out so desperately, I've decided to let her outside with supervision to watch for dogs and keep her out of the road. I make it into our play time to avoid making outside a taboo. When I'm with her, the birds see me when they may not see her. I let her out the door, propped the screen door open with a rock in case a dog appeared and she made a dive for the door like last time. First thing, she sniffed the footprints of the coons and possums she sees through the window in the night, tail fluffed out like a squirrel's, creeping such that if I were to clap my hands once, she'd go three feet straight up. She ran to a tree and up its trunk, then came back down backwards like they do. She was an outdoor kitten where she came from and has a longing to be outside. I've attracted the birds here for too many years to turn a cat loose on them. She likes having me with her outside. I'll solve the conundrum by making outside our play time.

 

looking at jenny from a safe place

 

I followed her with the camera, going up tree trunks and down tree trunks. She went around to things she was familiar with through the window, investigated them up close, curious to find out what they were. Her tail was fluffed out all the time. She saw the donkeys from the big white pine between house and donkey meadow, and crept toward Jenny standing at the fence watching this new cat she'd seen in the window. Sofia knowing the donkeys through the window, she was curious to see Jenny up close, but hesitant to step too close, donkey so big. I picked up Sofia and held her to Jenny's nose, Jenny wanting to sniff the cat. Sofia did not mind. Jenny felt Sofia's fur with her lips, and Jenny touched her nose to Sofia's nose. Sofia was a bit nervous, donkey's head was twice the size of Sofia's whole body, but she was also curious. She felt safe with me holding her. She seemed to me fascinated seeing Jenny up close, impressed by her size when seen through the window she's the size of a cat. I showed Sofia to Miss Ed, but Miss Ed was too new in this world to take an interest in the primate holding a cat. I want Sophia to be comfortable with the donkeys and see she already is. I think they're ready to be acquainted. Both are curious.  

 

note the fluffy tail

 miss ed nursing

jenny multi-tasking

 *

 

 

 

 

A DONKEY NAMED EDIE

baby edie and mama jen

 

Today, Wednesday, I took carrots to the donkeys in the morning. All three were out in the meadow. Jack came running. Jenny and baby walked. Every time Jack arrives first for carrot, he's difficult for Jenny, won't let her near the carrots. Jenny stood a ways behind Jack and I tossed the carrots to Jenny over Jack. He gets weird when he's the first one at the fence. He will not let Jenny near the fence. When she's the first one, she's fine with Jack at the fence and Jack is not a problem toward her. Both are unreasonably jealous when they're eating. Sometimes eating his grain in the afternoon, he turns so jealous he snorts and growls at me if I am too close to his grain even the other side of the fence. Jenny, the jealous natured one, won't let Jack near her grain, but is fine with me nearby. It seems odd every time Jack acts up over his food, he has no apparent jealousy in him. Only eating. Jack backed up a little too close to Jenny at grain time, she popped him on the rump with a back hoof, and he popped her in turn. The baby stepped a little too close to Jenny and she popped it on the rump. Baby wobbled and looked around like to say, What was that?

 

one-eyed jack

 

I thought when baby was looking bewildered, You'll get used to it, baby. This is your donkey lifetime. The kicking has begun. Baby came to me at the fence. I touched the top of its head, rubbed it's neck, talked to it. It's first touch of the human hand. Like all animals the first time they're touched and rubbed they think nothing of it. We train them to let us pet them. I leaned my head down close to the ground to look up between donkey's legs. Saw nothing but white fur. Lifted the tail and saw nothing. So I figure it's a girl. Her name now is Edie. If it were a boy, the name would be Ed. I did not know what to do for a name and decided to ask the youngest person I know to name the baby. Lucas and Judy Carpenter's girl, Meredith, I've known since she was a baby, has a three year old baby, Teddy. Teddy is a sharp little kid. Judy talks with him on the cell phone regularly. I asked her to ask him if he would like to name the baby donkey. He was taken aback by the suggestion unto stumped. It was like a whole new concept for his child mind to be asked to name a donkey. He said, "I'll have to think about it."

 

two hours old

 

Three days later, he gave his answer: Mr Ed if it's a boy and Miss Ed if it's a girl. I can't quite see myself calling a donkey Miss Ed, though it is a fun name. I decided to go with Edie, the same as Miss Ed in one word. I wondered how a three year old child in San Francisco knew about Mr Ed the talking horse. It puzzles me. He's been in Montessori school at least a year. Maybe they show old movies like Ma And Pa Kettle Go To New York, movies I saw in childhood. I doubt he knows about the Little Rascals. I checked out some Little Rascals videos from the library earlier this year. It's a sight how politically incorrect they were, sexist and racist unbelievably from today's perspective. They were so insensitive, even I, repelled by political correctness, was sometimes wide-eyed over what I was seeing, my grandparents' generation. The little black boys pushed the little white boys in wagons. The little white girls were pre-pubescent sex objects. The kids were even a bit unsettling in that regard. Of course, they were directed and scripted by adults. 

 

jack rolls in a dust circle

 

I was watching a movie a little while ago with Sofia on my lap, thinking how fun it is now with a kitten, a baby donkey and Vada. In my advanced years, suddenly I am lured into play every morning with a wide-open kitten. On Sundays I see Vada. This last Sunday, she took hold of my hand before I could take my coat off, wanting me to go with her to her room and play. She wanted to show me her toys. Later, during football, she brought out her hand-puppet turtle, wanted me to put it on my hand and let her feed it fart putty. The turtle acted like it was chewing the fart putty. Whenever Vada would look away, I'd take the flattened chunk of fart putty out of the turtle's mouth and hide it under my leg. The turtle swallowed and Vada gave it more fart putty. This went on until the fart putty ran out. When she looked away, I stuffed all the fart putty I'd collected into the turtle's mouth and said to Vada, "Turtle's not feeling good. He's gonna puke." Mouth opened, a glob of fart putty fell out. Vada squealed delight and began feeding the turtle again. "Make it puke." At home, I flip a string for a kitten and soon will be playing with a baby donkey. I did not foresee that in my seventies I would learn how to play. 

  

vada

 

 

 

 

*

  

AT PLAY WITH THE MIND OF A CAT

 

the goat rock in the fog

 

Sofia is watching a possum through the window. I threw some small dog biscuits outside for the possums or coons passing through, to give Sofia a chance to see them. She crept toward the window in slow motion like a lion crawling through tall grass. The possum did not see her. She sat before the glass following the possum's movement with intense interest. The possum followed its nose like a pointed vacuum cleaner scanning the ground for the scent of a snack. Sofia is no longer a kitten. She's a cat now with kitten energy, growing fast. We have play time in the mornings. A string two feet long is our toy. I make it jump and move around with my hand. She knows it is my hand that animates the string. Makes it all the more fun. It is interactive play. The footstool has become the dojo for our play. It is shaped like a rectangular ottoman. She likes the texture of the material. It accepts her claws when she needs traction. She's a feisty cat. I like the feistiness in her. 

 

the woods in light fog

 

Drove to town today to pick up the things that have been showing at the library the last two months. I call it a successful show in that a lot of people liked what they saw. While I was in there taking them down, a woman who had seen them told me her favorites and said she liked about them that they are fun. I said inside self: bingo. Seeing them for the first time in two months, for a minute everything was new when I stepped into the gallery space. It was like I saw them the first time as just images on the wall and no reference to self. The familiar came flooding in immediately, but I had the one fleeting moment of seeing them fresh without "mine" attached to them. It is years before I have enough distance from something I painted to see it freshly that first moment, like seeing La Dolce Vita again twenty-five years later. 

 

the woods in light fog

 

Sofia saw three raccoons. They looked young and well rounded for winter. She walked low like a panther to the window and they saw her. They turned and walked out of the light in a hurry, their faces white with black masks, their fur perfectly groomed. Sofia watches the window, waiting for them to return. They sniffed the places on the ground where the dog biscuits lay before the possum found them first. They won't be back tonight. I see different possums and different coons. At first, I thought it was the same ones that lived around here. I'm seeing that possums may not live anywhere in particular. They seem to wander, scavenging along the way, hobbling from food source to food source, water. I've seen pictures from the trail camera of a whole extended family of coons. I feel a little guilty about throwing them the dog biscuits. My feeling is the dog biscuits have zero nutritional value like Jell-O and Ketchup. I don't think either one ever hurt anybody. I doubt the dog biscuits will hurt the possums and coons. They don't seem to hurt dogs.

 

the woods in light fog

 

Sofia knows her new home better every day. She explores. I let her go where she wants to go. I've found when I treat a cat right, they don't break things or rip furniture. I give Sofia loving attention and she, therefore, is attentive to not upsetting me. Now and then when we're playing, a claw will penetrate my leg and I'll let out a loud yelp. She backs away and studies my face to see if I'm mad that she hurt me. No, I'm not mad. We go on playing like before. In one of our games, I scratch the surface of the footstool. She hears it and hunkers down to pounce, jumps up onto our dojo, and I raise my open hand at the same time. She jumps straight up. When she lands, she darts in one leap to the cat tube, runs through it and into the next room. She returns ready to play again. We repeat everything the same. Her jump straight up makes me laugh every time. A string two feet long is our toy. She will chase the string as long as I keep it in motion. It's the game we play together, consciousness to consciousness.   

 

sparta in light fog

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

   

THE GHOST PARAGRAPH AND THE CIRCLE

sofia and cat toy

 

This the final day of Thanksgiving weekend, a thankful attitude has been with me for four days, looking at the world that is my life, noting gratitude unto overwhelmed. It is seeing in a new light, though not altogether new, in a light that has joy in it. I look out the window, see Jenny eating Jack's grain and laugh within. A few minutes ago Jack was standing at his grain pile eating, Jenny standing behind him after she'd finished her grain, like waiting in line. She eats faster than Jack. She will eat three carrots while he eats one. Jack was aware she was standing behind him and knew what came next. He could have easily popped her on the chin and chose not to. She was anxious, shifting her weight on her feet, watching Jack. After waiting long enough she walked around to Jack's right side, nonchalantly turned her rear end to him and stepped backwards, placing her back knees under his belly threatening. He stepped aside and let her have the last of his grain. She could not have taken his grain soon after I poured it without a fight.

 

 

 

The first day of thinking about thankfulness because we're s'posed-to was Thanksgiving day. Tapped into facebook, it's impossible not to think about it. First thing I came up with was just about everything. I woke from a nap a little bit ago, during which I composed in a dream the first paragraph for a subject I thought I'd write about today. It happened in half dream state and half slightly awake, though the awareness of being awake may have been part of the dream. I wrote it out, sentence by sentence, thinking I'll get up and write down this paragraph composed in sleep. Waking, I sat up on the side of the bed, slipped feet into shoes, Sophia jumped onto my lap. I looked at the dream for the paragraph and the first sentence was gone, then it was all gone, then I forgot what it was about. In subconscious mind, while writing the paragraph, it came to me I am grateful for each one, individually, of my readers. The reader completes the circle of the writing, like a band and the audience. One needs the other to complete the circle.

 

 

 

I'm especially grateful for the people I've met through the writing, the Daily Creative Practitioners among them. This is the best part of every day for me. I enjoy writing to you more than watching a good movie, even. Some years ago, I wrote a weekly column for the local paper. In conversation with the editor one day I mentioned that the time of writing was my favorite time of the week. He said, Really? I said, Yeah. He said, You need a life. I heard his remark as the stupidest assessment I'd ever been offered about myself. He had a passion for changing my punctuation. One day I told him I'd like him to stop messing up my punctuation. He said, What? I told him it changes the meaning and the rhythm when he changes a comma to a period. He said, The rhythm? You're strange. I couldn't hold back. I said, Remember this: I am the strangest individual you will ever meet in  your life. I felt it a safe prophecy as he had the most limited mind of anyone I know.

 

 

 

I especially like about writing in a blog the absence of an editor. Everyone I have talked with who wrote a newspaper column for a period of time said they left it over an impossible editor who could not refrain from making disruptive changes. I left after being censored the third time. I was told at the beginning my column is in my name, independent of the paper. That didn't last long. The final one was in the time of Abu Ghraib prison torture in the headlines and photographs of Geneva Convention atrocities. I was saying this is an embarrassment to all that America stands for around the globe. He said, We are not a political paper. I said, This is not politics; it's history. He said, We can't run it without changes. I said, Then you'll not run it. He said, What should I put in its place? I said, I don't care; you're the editor, figure it out. I wrote a farewell piece to my readers for the following week and was done with it. Five years was enough. Time to pass it on to somebody else. Writing daily is fulfilling. Not in a big external way like appearing on the Ellen DeGeneres show, but in a big way within. I use it as a psychoanalyst's couch, to see more clearly.

 

 

photos by tj worthington

 

 

 

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ONE OF THEM AWKWARD MOMENTS

from air bellows gap road

 

Sofia is back to her perky self today. She seems to hold no resentment for taking her to that place where she got stuck twice. I know the first one hurt. It was a thick needle. She jumped when it penetrated her hip, jumped with intent to get away. I held her while the vet emptied the contents into her. I knew it hurt her so much I had to let her go enough to stand on her feet and be back in herself if for at least a few seconds. The next shot did not hurt her. She was drowsy when we arrived home. I felt like she would want to have a nap, imagining she ached all over. I took a nap. She naps when I do. She likes to be up when I'm up. I don't play with her all the time. Much of the time I'm sitting at the desk. Yet we communicate by eye contact, I talk to her, hold her when she wants to be held. We stay in mental touch all the time. I see a kitten needs another kitten to romp and tumble with. She's learning to entertain herself and plays by herself well. I enjoy watching her play. A playing kitten is one of the joys of this world. I do feel joy watching her antics. There is not much in this world that is more beautiful than a cat in motion.

 

from air bellows gap road

 

I've had something on my mind the last few days I would rather not be there, but it sticks around like it's wanting me to pay attention and I don't want to. A chance encounter Wednesday with somebody who used to be a kind of friend, who I realize is not, or if so, a very overbearing friend. Constant one-upmanship. My least favorite of the games people play. It gets tiresome quick to be talked down to like you're a damn moron, disrespect after disrespect, but if I do a payback disrespect, not acceptable. I'd not seen him for about three years. We used to have lunch together in town until one day I was sitting at the table thinking, why am I expected to take disrespect and think nothing of it, but can't give any disrespect in turn. So I challenged him on one of his bullshit remarks, his face puffed up like a red beach ball, he got up from the table and left. I said, Hooray, within, and gave self permission never to submit to his contrarian boasting in future. And I've not. I observe the truth in the saying, if you don't want it started don't start it.

 

from air bellows gap road

 

It was an awkward few minutes standing in the Food Lion parking lot, cars going by, people walking by. I had a bad itch to get out of there. I despise moments like that. I was being not unfriendly, was telling self not to be so hard hearted. He was talking around saying let's get together for lunch one day, and I never let him say it. I would have said no. Didn't want to. Awkward. About the first time he talks to me like I'm a fool, I'll talk to him like he's a fool. He's a keyboard and a minefield of buttons. That one would punch the volcano button, the one I've avoided in the past. One day years ago he told me I was a fool. I thought, do I bash you in the head with the nearest thing I can pick up or show mercy and save you from a severe headache? Next thing to mind was Jesus telling his inner circle never to call somebody a fool. I tell myself he doesn't know what the hell he's saying. He's so wrapped up in self, he's entitled. I've never got over being called a fool when it didn't bother me at all at the time. I thought it foolish of him to say it. It killed my respect for him, what little I had. Still, I find I squint my eyes when I think about it, the look that says I mean business. I saw Vada get her rear end popped for looking at her daddy with squinted eyes when he'd made her mad. Don't you look at me like that!

 

from air bellows gap road

 

I feel peace when I'm not around this kinda-friend. I say kinda as a qualifier. The time he walked away from the table, I was thinking of every time I drive home from one of our periodic lunches, I kicked myself in the ass all the way home imploring self, When are you going to get it? You voluntarily do this to yourself. He's not the problem. Your own ignorance is the problem. By this time it had come to the place that I was telling self I have control. I don't have to go. I realized kinda-friend's ego was out of bounds and allowed for it. Whose isn't? Some control it better than others.  I get with myself about love your neighbor, but the real deal was that he has worn me out with his ego in my face. I have taught self over time to pay attention to myself; I don't want to, so don't do it. It's easy. I found face-to-face the other day I have no spirit for him. I'm of an age that I don't feel like submitting to something I don't want to do when I don't have to. It is so much easier and costs one hundred percent less to stay home where a fun kitten lives.

 

from air bellows gap road

 

all photos by tj worthington

 

 

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DONKEYS IN THE GLOAMING

donkey jen has burrs in her mane

 

The sun lowers in the sky, the shadows grow longer. The line between sunlight and shade creeps across the donkey meadow. The red oak leaves in the distance glow red. Birds, chipmunks, squirrels dart about after siesta gathering seeds for supper to keep them warm through the night. Jenny and Jack left the hay I put out for them midday to graze on the short grass given a tiny boost by days of sunlight after a good rain. While the meadow has a bit of grass to nibble, I throw them a little bit of hay per day to supplement their diet. They like this fresh hay. The donkeys are grazing in the direction of the watering hole. They find patches of growth they've missed. Last year I gave them more hay than they ate. They would not eat the broom straw that was thick in the hay. Every day the broom straw was left over. I started feeding them hay the days of the rain, under the trees where the rain is not so direct.

 

jenny scratches her neck on the fence

 

I sit here looking out the window at the grazing donkeys, see their constant awareness of the other. It is a loving awareness between them, not fear. They are so equally matched one cannot dominate the other. Jack can take Jenny down, only when she's willing. Throughout her pregnancy she kicks Jack when he gets frisky. Websites I've looked at about donkeys say to keep them apart when the one is pregnant. Like that's going to work. They'd be braying for each other all the time, just for the presence of the other. I like to think Jack knows her condition and respects it, but know better. He is driven by the mind between his back legs such that Jenny has to keep him reminded she's not ready. It frustrates Jack, though he handles his frustration well. He's not one to be belligerent and hateful. He goes about Jenny gently, more for his own safety than consideration of Jenny's condition. I'm guessing she has maybe two more weeks. Their gestation period is a year, though often goes into an extra month.

 

 jack anticipates something to eat

 

Jack's most outstanding characteristic is his humility. Before Jenny entered the meadow I was guessing humility might be a donkey characteristic. Jenny popped that assumption. Jenny has a humble nature too, but she has to trust you first and Jenny does not take trust for granted. Jenny has a jealous streak strong as Jack's humility. Jack and I have learned to keep the peace by letting Jenny be first in all things, first with the carrots, first with the hay, first to talk to. She does not like being fondled, so when I want to pet on them, I pet Jack first. Jenny gets jealous watching and wants to be petted too. Jack doesn't care. Jack has a great longing to be first when I take the grain to them, though he defers to Jenny every day. If she sees danger he might get some of the grain first, she snorts, grunts, growls, and Jack backs away squealing to me in agony while he waits for me to pour his portion.

sofia grooms her cat fur

 

The gloaming has settled over the land now, the last sunlight gone from the trees on the ridge in the distance. The squirrels and birds went home for the night. Cat lies curled in her window seat. I'm half way into a Romanian film, California Dreamin. It is two and a half hours long. I don't have it for a movie that long to sit all the way through. I have no problem cutting a film in half. In childhood, daddy, who had been a WW2 marine hated standing in line after his experience in chow and other lines. When we went to a movie, we went in the middle and sat through the theater emptying and refilling, then previews and cartoon. I learned early to see the second half of a movie first and use the first half to fill in the blanks. I saw the movies from beginning to end by myself. I learned along the way to see movies by myself. I tend to like movies nobody else likes and tend not to like the ones everybody else likes. Last time I went to a movie with somebody, it was Derek Jarman's Richard II. Walking away from the theater, I said, "Good film." The retort: "It was Terrible!" My friends Lucas and Judy are the only people I can watch movies with in full enjoyment.

rhododendron leaves and shadows

 

photos by tj worthington

 

 

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THE JOY OF LIVING WITH A YOUNG CAT

sofia likes her new window seat

 

Sofia took to her window seat the moment she stepped into it. The cushion is a foam rubber just right for a cat. She curled up in it and took a nap. It has become her favorite place. She can look onto the donkey meadow and see the donkeys. The view out this window is different from the view out the other windows. She could see me through them when I arrived home and when I left. First day with the window seat I walked in the door while she was napping. She jumped up hearing the door open. The surprise on her face was true bewilderment. She did not see me through the window. I don't recall ever seeing a cat so surprised. She was unaware this window gave no access to seeing me approach the door. I throw seeds on the ground outside new window for chipmunks and squirrels now. Cat tv. I'm making places for her at the windows. The window seat is above the kerosene monitor that exhausts outside, the warmest place in the house during winter. Sun shines through the window in the mornings and the moon at night. Good place for a cat.

 

sofia grooms her fur in the window

 

In town today I picked up a  12x14 mirror to put on the wall beside a place she likes to curl up on top of a bookshelf. She feels comfortable seeing herself in a mirror. The window at night makes a black mirror she can see herself in. It's not like vanity for her. I see her glance at herself with calm in her eyes, recognition it is herself, her imaginary playmate. Though I say it is not vanity, cats are vain about how they look. So are dogs and donkeys, all the birds. Every animal I've known has been particular about appearance. Sophia does not pose in front of a mirror. She glances at herself to see if she's looking good and looks at her eyes; I see you. Satisfied she passed inspection, she looks away and shows no more interest.  I like the bumper around the edge of the window seat. It will prevent her rolling off it in her sleep and it makes a cushion for her to curl up against. Her energy is perking me up. The house has a lively spirit leaping and running about.

the sponge and the string

 

Cat is in the window looking at birds, squirrels and falling leaves. I glanced out the window and saw Jack with a bird on his back. It looked like a titmouse. It flew over to Jenny's back. The windows are ideal cat tv, no commercials, public television for cats. She just now saw a squirrel on a tree trunk and leapt from the desk to a wooden bench under one of the windows, slid to the glass and scrunched up like an accordion when her nose touched the glass. This one is a young gray squirrel. It nibbles sunflower seeds and Sofia sits at the glass, full attention on the squirrel, drawn by catness in her soul to jump at it and chase it. She has a deep longing to be outside, which I cannot permit. Dogs the reason number one, including coyotes, and number two the road nearby with heedless drivers going up the hill in a hurry and down the hill in a hurry. Summer weekends I feel like I live on a racetrack, a race going both directions at once. As each generation is less respectful of others and the rights of others, it's hard to tell if television imitates social trends or social trends imitate tv. The increasing passion for killing on tv suggests to me a parallel of diminishing respect for others in the tv viewing audience.
 



eyes of sofia

 

The giant in the house makes a sedentary playmate for a leaping, twirling kitten. I sit still, use hand and fingers to make the string jump. Attention is what she needs most of all. I give her attention by assisting her play as well as looking at her and talking to her. One of our games I can play sitting at the desk, fingers pecking the keyboard, is to lower my head far enough she can't see my eyes for the back of the chair. I'll raise my head, she'll see my eyes and jump toward me, hop into the air, twist around, land facing the other direction, dart over the chair and footstool and leap to the pile of packaging paper on the floor that came with the window seat. Free cat toy inside. She'll hop around on it, roll on it, act like a mouse is hidden inside that she's on the verge of catching. I raise my head until she sees my eyes, slowly lower my head until my eyes go out of sight, then raise them enough for her to see. Her eyes spring wide open and her legs into motion. She runs up to me, looks into my eyes, turns, runs and leaps onto the mound of paper, turns around and looks at me saying, Do it again.

 

a grumpy old bastard lives there

people that know him say he's cool

but I've never seen it

 

 

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