For Shelter, the World

Heat wave

Yep, we're having one here in the Pacific Northwest ... several days of temperatures over 100 degrees Fahrenheit, with more humidity than normal. Since I'm a former Southern girl, hot days don't scare me the way they do folks here. However, I'm glad this kind of weather doesn't go on for months the way it does on the Gulf Coast. My body and my emotions do a lot better without the oppressive feeling that hot and humid weather bring.

I'm especially happy the heat doesn't last long here, inasmuch as I don't have an air conditioner in my house. Usually, that's not a big problem, because on most warm summer days, the night-time temps drop well into the 60s (or if we're lucky, the 50s.) The two big box fans that I place in the windows to draw in the colder night air serve quite well as cheap air conditioners for all but the very hottest days, such as we're having this week.

Oh, well ... a few less-than-comfortable hours are a small price to pay for living in such a beautiful place, and the veggies growing in my garden are loving the intense attention from the sun.

In honor of the "excessive heat", as the National Weather Service calls it, here's something to help cool off: a picture I took during last winter's blizzard.

That's Malcolm (on the left) with his big sister Tink, discussing the situation. I recall how excited Malcolm got the first time he saw snowflakes falling from the sky. He was running from one end of the house to the other, from one window to the next, sitting right up against the sliding glass door and watching the snow (getting cold in the process), and then jumping into bed with me. I wonder if next winter he'll remember what snow is about, or whether it will be new to him, all over again.

Out like a ...

Lion ... a little lion named Malcolm, to be precise.

The "throwaway" kitten I adopted last October has turned out to be a longhaired cat with a plush coat of dilute orange. He's developed a lovely ruff like a lion's mane around his neck, and has grown into his ears, which were proportionately larger than the rest of him last autumn.

Here he is, enjoying the first signs of spring, which include the birds and squirrels that come to visit the birdfeeder I got for the front deck.

Escape!

Well, we had a bit of excitement at my house this evening.

Here we are, getting ready to go onto Daylight Savings Time, and another winter storm is moving through tonight and tomorrow. After a mild and sunny day yesterday, it was overcast and misty today. During the afternoon we had a brief spate of hail, not unusual in the springtime here.

Around 6:30 PM, the teenaged neighbor who mows my lawn during the summer knocked on my front door for a chat. Right after that, I decided to run out to the little grocery store on the highway. By the time I got back, the sun had fully set and the rain had started, mixed with a few flakes of snow. As I drove up the steep driveway, I noticed that my front door was ajar. Apparently, it hadn't latched completely, and when I'd gone out the back door to the garage, the change in air pressure pulled the front door open.

I immediately took a head count ... 1, 2, 3 ... and oops, where's No. 4? Ms. Tink, the plump and sturdy brown Mama cat who came with me from the Gulf Coast and will be ten this summer, was unaccounted for. (Her story can be found here, here and here.) I don't let my cats go outside, because between the coyotes, bobcats, geese, moles and assorted neighborhood pets, they could get into some serious trouble. So I picked up a flashlight and went out into the cold and rainy night to look for her.

Tink's gotten out only once before, a long time ago when we lived in Mississippi. I knew from experience that she wouldn't have gone far and would probably be disoriented when she "came to" in the midst of her big adventure. I also knew that because she was confused (or maybe just being ornery), she might try to run if I approached her. My house is surrounded by wooden decks, so I figured she might be in the crawlspace underneath one of them. But she's brown, and the crawlspace floor is bare earth (brown), and it was dark out besides. I searched and called, looking for a cat's eyes reflecting the flashlight, but ... nothing.

I put some dry cat food in a dish and took it out to the front deck, shaking it to make that wonderful "chow time" noise, hoping to lure her out. Then I got my walking stick and prepared to search the neighborhood. As I headed down the driveway, I looked toward the front deck steps, and there was a familiar little brown critter, looking just a tad lost, not to mention wet.

*phew*

And here's the sweet miscreant now, warming up after her escapade, in her favorite spot next to the wall heater.

The Great Blizzard of '08

So that (from my most recent post, "Deep Freeze") was what my front deck looked like last Friday. And this is what it looks like now, after the three-day blizzard that started Saturday morning and didn't end until Monday evening.

This afternoon a neighbor cleared a path to my front door and dug my car out from under several feet of snow.

I'm told this is highly unusual weather, even for the Columbia River Gorge, where weather can be a bit wild. Over the past 11 days, we've had three successive winter storm fronts come through, one right after another without any respite. One more is scheduled for tonight, and then finally a warming trend on Christmas day. (Meaning the temps will get above freezing.) The city of Portland itself has essentially been shut down for days with snow and ice, although they didn't have the wind problems that we did in the Gorge, nor quite as bitterly cold temperatures. The Gorge was in the teens Fahrenheit for three days, and with the wind chill factor that was way below zero.

The thing about wind and snow is that you get blowing snow, which results in a much deeper accumulation. Where I am, between the heavy snowfall and the 65 MPH winds blowing through the Gorge for two days, we ended up with three feet or more of snow on the ground. Some of that is attributable to already-fallen snow being picked up and deposited elsewhere. That's how snow drifts are formed.

I guess I've earned my stripes as a "real" Gorge resident now. Although I don't expect there to be this much snow every year ... it's not International Falls, Minnesota ... I am coming to know this kind of weather and be comfortable in it. In fact, looking at the photo above, something in me resonates deeply and says, "this is home."

Deep Freeze

We've had some fairly extreme winter weather here this week; at a certain point last weekend there was even a blizzard warning nearby, although it didn't come to fruition. Last Sunday and Monday, the wind was howling through the Gorge with gusts to 65 MPH, which got to me emotionally ... a bit too much hurricane-like for comfort, plus it put the wind chill factor in the single digits.

The temperatures remained well below freezing for several days, with some dry snow on Sunday and Monday. The temps are a little warmer now (I never thought I'd refer to 30 degrees F as "warm"), with wet snow falling today and more snow and possibly freezing rain predicted for this weekend.

This is all still new to me. I'm still learning how things operate in winter weather ... what to wear when, how to drive, when it's safe to go out and when it's best to stay home, and how the weather patterns work (although I'm told this one is rather unusual.) I'm being pretty conservative about it  -- not taking any big chances, since I know how much I don't know, and asking for help when I need it -- but I'm already gaining some confidence. I feel like a baby learning to walk.

In the meantime, this has meant a lot of quiet time alone at home. Perfect winter solstice conditions, for contemplating and deeply letting go of the past, relaxing into the present, and preparing for the future. In a way, it seems almost like the "winter solstice" of my entire life, and perhaps the same holds true for the world. A sacred and powerful time.  At this moment, I feel stronger and clearer than I ever have.

The cats have been enjoying the snow, too. Malcolm in particular was beside himself on Sunday when the snow began to fall. That was during the windy period, so in addition to falling flakes, there was also blowing snow. It was a bit wild, to be honest, and Malcolm loved it. He was running from one end of the house to the other, racing from one window to another, sitting right up next to the window panes, getting cold and then jumping into the bed with me.

My home is heated by wall-mounted electric heaters. One of them runs along the baseboard underneath the big picture window in the living room, and you can probably guess what the cats' favorite place to sit and snooze is. That's Willow on the left and Lakshmi on the right.

The setting sun was making some beautiful light patterns on the snowy mountain ridges this afternoon, so around 4 PM, I went out onto my front deck to take some photos. At that moment a BNSF freight train passed by, heading up the Gorge toward the east.

Malcolm

As promised, some pics of my new feline boy, Malcolm.

He's about four months old now, and he is so Taurean (read: stubborn and persistent about getting what he wants). I figure he was born around May 20th. He's definitely grown some in the last week since he arrived at my house.

He is one of the most self-possessed cats I've ever met, on a par with my Calvin (to see a picture of him, click here ... he's the gray and white cat on the far right.) Malcolm seems to have no fear; nothing seems to faze him. One night, he was lying on his back napping, totally relaxed, with both front legs extended back over his head. That's one of the most vulnerable positions a cat can be in. One of the other cats decided to assert her territory, and started swatting him. He looked at her and just continued to snooze, legs outstretched.

You can see the tabby markings on his front and hind legs, with a trace of tabby on his forehead. The rest of his fur is solid color, and seems to be getting a bit darker as he grows.

 He's definitely a kitten ... he plays hard for 15 minutes, then crashes and sleeps hard for 30 minutes. He talks a lot, too. Some of it sounds like "hormonal" vocalization, so later today (Friday), he's going to the vet for his little operation. Oh, no complaining about him "losing his manhood", as someone said to me the other day. He'll be a lot happier and healthier, especially since he's strictly an indoor cat.

It's a boy!

Well, this past Tuesday I went to the veterinarian's office to get some flea medicine for my girls, and came home with a cat carrier with a kitten in it. Now how'd that happen?

Lakshmi celebrates her 11th birthday on October 1st; Willow was born at approximately 6:45 PM, Friday, April 7, 2000 (I was there, acting as midwife); and her mama Tink was born sometime in late summer or early fall 1999. We've been quite happy together, the four of us. For some reason, though, a couple of times in the past few weeks I found myself thinking, "what if we had a new baby kitten?" But I didn't actively go out and look for one. It was just a passing thought.

So as I was paying for the flea medicine on Tuesday, the vet's receptionist asked, "You wouldn't know anyone who wants a new kitten, would you?"

Oh, isn't that the way it always happens? During the past eight years, whenever someone would say something like that, I'd automatically say, "No." But this time, I didn't. I figured that was a clue. (Of course, I'm also having my astrological Mars return, so maybe it's time for me to have some male energy in my home.)

He is around four months old, with medium-length fur that's colored a light apricot-spice-cream, a lovely fluffy tail, and golden-green eyes. He has the sweetest disposition, loves to be held, and lets me handle him as if we've been together forever. He seems to have no fear.

The girls have been doing well with him, too. There's been some sulking and spitting, and they're letting him know the boundaries, but Tink already seems comfortable with him, and the others are coming along. I've told them that it's their house and he has to find his way to fit in ... and it's their job to teach him how things operate here.

Oh ... since he was a stray, he didn't come with a name, but he told me he is "Malcolm". Nicknamed "Bubba". ;)

I'll have some pics of him up soon. My first Northwest cat. (The others are all Bay St. Louis babies.)

Living on the Edge

A bird dropped this on my front porch today ...

The friend who drew it said, "Kitty, you are a daredevil ... you live on the edge." That's after we discussed the fact that I went through a major hurricane and now live 30 miles from an active volcano.

Aren't we all living on the edge now? The creative edge, the leading edge, dancing on the edge ... Thanks, sweetie. ;)

A Cat's Life

A friend of mine just reminded me of this little masterpiece I wrote a while back:

Cats

by Kitty

eat
sleep
pee
wash
sleep
poop
wash
play
sleep
eat
sleep

5 Cats

Before I had my girls (my current little cat family), my original group of cats during the 1980s and 90s, in New Orleans, were mostly boys, except for one girl.

The Siamese at the left is Leo, who was my cats' cousin. Then going clockwise, there's Clovis (my very first cat), Little Girl, William, and Calvin (named in honor of "Calvin and Hobbes".)

They are all gone now. William and Little Girl lived to 17 -- a good long life for a cat. I like to say they knew me better than any human ever has, because they were with me from kittenhood. Most marriages don't last that long.

Welcome to Portland

When I left Dallas yesterday, it was 95 degrees and humid ... the oppressive kind of heat. I got off the plane in Portland late last night into temperatures in the mid-50s. It was rainy and cold all last week here while I was gone, real Louisiana-style rain with lightning and hail. The creek rose some, although nothing like what it was when I first moved in during the winter rainy season.

When I got home, the cats had to let me know that they weren't too happy about me being gone for ten days. They all ruffled their fur and hissed, and Willow stayed on top of the cabinet in the bathroom, one of her favorite "high-up" perches, and growled and carried on for about 45 minutes. Then I fed them, and all has now been forgiven.

I've figured out that one of the reasons I went to Dallas, aside from taking care of my father, was to "test" my decision to move to the Pacific Northwest. It's pretty clear now that I'm living in the right place for me.

The trip to Dallas was successful in many ways. Closure, coming full circle with some things, doors closing and doors opening. Somehow I feel a lot freer now to move on with my life.

Edited to add: After I posted this, I realized that this is my 100th blog entry. There are no coincidences ...

I've come a ways since that first blog post written on September 28, 2005, using my friend's computer while I was staying in Baton Rouge.

Leo

Sometimes I go about in pity for myself, and all the while,

A great wind is bearing me across the sky.

-- Ojibwa saying

In three words I can sum up everything I know about life: it goes on.

-- Robert Frost

In Memoriam:

Leo

1992-2006

Namaste, feline friend. I'll never forget you.

Birthday Girl!!

If you've been reading my blog for a while, you might remember the series of photos I took of my house in Bay St. Louis in early November, after the church group from Kansas had started the gutting process and all of my possessions were piled up outside, waiting to be hauled away to the dump. As I was walking around the debris, taking pictures and seeing if there was anything I could salvage, I looked down and saw a little gray 35mm film canister with an undeveloped roll of film inside. I thought I knew what the photos were and was hoping I was right. Later in the month, before I left Baton Rouge for the West Coast, I had the pictures developed, and here is what they showed.

(Make sure to click on the pictures for close-up views.)

That's my girl Tink, having just given birth to her first (and only) litter in a box in my living room. (I've talked before about how she came to live with me, already pregnant at the time although I didn't figure that out for a few weeks.)

There were 3 babies in the litter, two boys and one girl. The girl was the first out. It's a good thing she was the smallest, because as I discussed in the post linked to above, she stepped out backwards; the first thing I saw was this tiny hind paw coming out. The second kitten was a boy, who was delivered in normal position, and the third baby was a breech birth. The two boys were pretty big.

The kittens didn't let me know what their names were going to be until they were a couple of months old. By that time, there were only two of them, because the little boy born last died when he was three weeks old. One night, around 4 AM, I woke up and heard one of the cats making a cry of distress. When I went into the room where they had their little "nest", the third-born was dragging himself around by his front legs; his little hind legs weren't working  anymore. I'll never know for sure, but I had noticed the night before that Tink was playing roughly with the kittens; she's got very strong legs; and I think that while playing, she kicked him a little too hard and broke his spine.

This is still hard to write about, and it's actually the reason I never got that roll of film developed. After he died, I didn't have the heart to look at the pictures. Then a couple of years later, when the remaining kittens were 3 years old, the other boy (a magnificent and sweet cat named Leonardo) died of a urinary infection. So it is a little difficult to look at these photos of them right after birth.

Kitten pile!!!

Willow ended up on the bottom of this pile, beneath her brothers. That's her head pointing downward at the bottom of the picture. (I decided a long time ago that the third-born kitten would have been named Sammy if he had lived.)

I had read up on how cats deliver their babies (it's called "queening", and the mother cat is referred to as the "queen"), but I knew that this was Tink's first litter; she was only about six months old at the time. So I was a little concerned that things would go OK. I remember thinking to myself, it doesn't matter if you or Tink don't "know" how to do it, these babies are going to be born; the life force knows what to do and birth will happen.

(Interestingly, I felt the same way a few months later when my 17-year-old cat, William, died of old age. I observed his dying process as another kind of "birthing" process, another kind of labor. There is a natural force behind it, and it knows how to do itself.)

On Friday, April 7, 2000, about 6 PM, Tink climbed up onto the sofa in the living room where I was sitting and started to lick herself; her water had broken, and she apparently had decided that the sofa was a great place to have her babies. Not!!! Childbirth is messy. I had already gotten a big cardboard box ready, and that's where her babies were born, within the space of 1 1/2 hours.

Tink nursed her babies until they were five months old. (By that time, they were eating solid food, so I don't know how much milk she was still producing.)

That's Willow's head and face you can see at the left.

Happy Birthday to you, 
Happy Birthday to you, 
Happy Birthday, sweet Willow, 
Happy Birthday to you!!
 … and many more 

Contentment

I've figured out that Tink's a southpaw. Whenever she reaches out to touch me or get my attention, it's usually with her left paw. This is such a special cat.  (What can I say, we adore each other.)

Creek House

Make sure to click on the pictures to see full-size views.

This is the view from my kitchen window.

The house I'm renting is situated near a creek that winds from the western foothills of the Cascade mountain range down to the Columbia River near the Pacific coast. Right now, because of the winter storms we've been having, the creek has turned into a rapids. Having just come from a place that was destroyed by a storm surge, living a few yards from a "raging" stream of water is an interesting experience. It fills all of the senses ... the roar of the water rushing downstream; the vivid colors of the trees and leaves, contrasted with the gray of the sky and the brownish-green water; the crisp air that somehow doesn't seem as cold as the same temperatures (40s F) did back on the Gulf Coast; and the rain.

The entire area is currently under a flood watch due to the rain.  Yes, I moved three-quarters of the way across the U.S., and once again, I am living in a flood plain. How did that happen?

Tink and Willow do not seem to be too concerned that their new home is surrounded on 2 1/2 sides by a creek and is also located 40 miles from Mt. St. Helens, the volcano that erupted in 1980 and regularly experiences temblor (quake) activity.

Our pets are our little mirrors. I watch my girls bouncing around their new home, playing like kittens although they are six and eight years old, and then snoozing in a state of total relaxation, and I have to figure that I'm in the right place for me at this moment.

Apparently, my learning to relax within (or maybe into) a very dramatic environment did not end when I arrived in the Pacific Northwest. A necessary skill to have in the world we live in, I think.

We're Almost Home

Yesterday was the longest traveling day for me and my cats in our cross-country move. Twelve hours driving from a small town on the southern California-Arizona border, through Los Angeles (that steep mountain pass northeast of L.A. makes for some wild driving, especially to a former flatlander like me), then north all the way up California to a town south of the Oregon state line, near Mt. Shasta.

We're taking a day off here to rest, then will make the final leg of the trip to our new hometown tomorrow.

I've been amazed at how well the cats are doing with this. How well they've done for the last 3 1/2 months, in fact. You hear how sensitive cats are (and they are), yet mine have handled with great fortitude the many moves, hours of car travel in their cat carriers on the back seat, and staying in other people's homes with other people's pets. When they see the cat carriers coming out in the morning, they aren't too pleased, but once we're in the car, they settle down with just a little fussing now and then. ("Meow! Meow! Are we there yet?") Except for the time we had just left Dallas, and Tink decided she had to poop. How do you know a cat needs to poop? Well ... it poops.

At the end of each travel day, when I get their carriers into the hotel room (this is not a paid advertisement, but in the U. S., "LaQuinta" is Spanish for "pets welcome for no additional fee"), the cats immediately come out and start surveying their new domain. I can see how self-confident and self-possessed they have become. I guess they've figured out that everything is OK and they're safe. When I first began thinking about making a big geographical move a couple of years ago, I started talking to my cats about it. I asked them if they'd go anywhere I went, and they said yes. They must've meant it.

Being a sensitive person myself, I've always found traveling rather challenging. The Sagittarian part of me loves the excitement of exploring new places and experiencing the differences in energy and culture.  At the same time, those very things also tend to overwhelm me.  There is a definite part of my personality that wants to be at home in my own bed at night. I need time to retreat into my own space, my sanctuary, where I can recharge.

Since I have not had a home or been in my own bed for 3 1/2 months (those ceased to exist on August 29), I have had to deal on a daily basis, for an extended period of time, with the lack of a place that's "mine" to retreat to and recharge. It has been very challenging, and I can also see good things that have come out of it. I said above that my cats seem much more self-confident and self-possessed -- the same thing can be said about myself. Our pets generally tend to be our little mirrors.

Ironically, where before I resisted staying in hotels because they were not my own space, the last few days staying in hotels have been wonderful ... it's the nearest thing I've had to being in my own space for a long time. Ultimately, of course,  I'm emerging from this aspect of the Katrina experience understanding that "being in my own space" has nothing to do with whatever geographical location I may find myself in, but in being present to myself. My own space is inside of me, not outside.

I can see that the more I can live from that standpoint, the more at ease I will be living in the world and the less my tendency to approach the world by fighting and struggling. I lessen my need for externals to be a certain way in order for me to feel comfortable. To take that thought a little further, perhaps I lessen the extent to which I am willing to compromise in unconstructive ways in order to avoid feeling uncomfortable. "For shelter, the world" can then become a reality.

That said, I'm still really looking forward to having my own home again.

A side benefit of all of this is that I am much more OK with the idea of traveling now. There are places I'd like to see, events I'd like to go to, and I can see myself doing those things now.

Could be trouble ...

This was one of Willow's favorite places to perch (pardon the pun) when we were staying at a friend's house in Baton Rouge during October.

Cat heaven.

Willow

This is Tink's baby, Willow.

She was born in a box on my living room floor, after I rescued her mama when her previous owners (who used to live here) moved and left her behind. Tink hung around my house for a couple of months but wouldn't let me touch her. Around Valentine's Day, I said to myself, if you're going to adopt her, you'd better do it now before she gets knocked up and has babies under your house. Within a couple of weeks, it became apparent that it was too late.

Willow loves to s-t-r-e-t-c-h her hind legs way out behind her. That's how she was born. She was the first one out, and one of her hind paws came out first. I was expecting to see a head, or maybe a little cat butt if it were a breech birth. So when this tiny foot and leg started to emerge, the first words out of my mouth were "what kind of cat is that??"

Turns out, a very wonderful kind of cat indeed.

My Girl

My sweet Tink. Is that a face, or what?