Stunning blue skies, golden flowers in the fields, hungry kittens, energetic chickens. So begins my week.
Since I'm leaving tomorrow, much of this morning is spent on last minute details: cosmetics case, torn. Damn! Why didn't I notice it earlier? Amazon to the rescue. Let's throw in a few chapter books for my young traveling companion while I'm "shopping." Okay, what else? Bills to pay, flowers to water, suitcase to pack. Easy stuff. Summer travel is a piece of cake. (Inner voice warns me: don't get too cavalier, too cocky!)
Let's give the garden one last quick peek. August gold!
And let's enjoy an extra leisurely breakfast.
And, too, a delightful afternoon with my granddaugther.
(She made a 'placemat' in school, a collage of some favorite foods, flowers, and a picture of a girl, likely sporting her name...)
(at the farmhouse, with a story in her head...)
Toward evening, I see a bird hovering over the yard. I don't think it's a hawk, but I'm programmed to go out and check on these things. The cheepers, thinking I'm out to feed them hover at my heals. So do the kittens.
Alright, cheepers, let me feed you first...
(on the way to the barn, such pretty evening light!)
As I return to the garage to feed the kitties, I hear it -- that meow of the littlest ones. Dance's littlest ones. Only they're not up in the rafters any more.
Who knows how they got down (did Dance carry them? she's not around this evening...), but they are scared and meowing their little tails off. I can't remember when they were born. Maybe four weeks ago?
We pick them up and plunk them down on the food bowls (the older kitties are not amused; they scatter and watch from a distance)...
The wee ones are confused, scared... Picking them up seems to relax them a little...
(the size of the littlest of the lot, as compared to, say, Ed's shoe...)
Within a few minutes, they begin to eat. (One needs a little coaxing...)
And then they follow us around. Because without Dance, they latch on to the food source: us.
It is an interesting evening!
Ed, do we really have 11 cats living in the garage?
It seems that way.
All from the same family! One looks like the next, with a mix of the other.
You have to admire the stamina of these littlest ones. Their mom was way too young to be a mom, especially to a litter of four. Then came her capture. The surgery. The release, followed by her illness. She became so bony that I swear, I could wrap my fingers around her sunken stomach. And through it all, she kept them fed, up there in the rafters.
So, we have four more cats to take to the vet in a few months. Perhaps it'll be easier. At least they are learning not to be skittish.
Ed, are you going to manage all this while I'm gone? (I'm leaving tomorrow.)
Yes, gorgeous.
Since I'm leaving tomorrow, much of this morning is spent on last minute details: cosmetics case, torn. Damn! Why didn't I notice it earlier? Amazon to the rescue. Let's throw in a few chapter books for my young traveling companion while I'm "shopping." Okay, what else? Bills to pay, flowers to water, suitcase to pack. Easy stuff. Summer travel is a piece of cake. (Inner voice warns me: don't get too cavalier, too cocky!)
Let's give the garden one last quick peek. August gold!
And let's enjoy an extra leisurely breakfast.
And, too, a delightful afternoon with my granddaugther.
(She made a 'placemat' in school, a collage of some favorite foods, flowers, and a picture of a girl, likely sporting her name...)
(at the farmhouse, with a story in her head...)
Toward evening, I see a bird hovering over the yard. I don't think it's a hawk, but I'm programmed to go out and check on these things. The cheepers, thinking I'm out to feed them hover at my heals. So do the kittens.
Alright, cheepers, let me feed you first...
(on the way to the barn, such pretty evening light!)
As I return to the garage to feed the kitties, I hear it -- that meow of the littlest ones. Dance's littlest ones. Only they're not up in the rafters any more.
Who knows how they got down (did Dance carry them? she's not around this evening...), but they are scared and meowing their little tails off. I can't remember when they were born. Maybe four weeks ago?
We pick them up and plunk them down on the food bowls (the older kitties are not amused; they scatter and watch from a distance)...
The wee ones are confused, scared... Picking them up seems to relax them a little...
(the size of the littlest of the lot, as compared to, say, Ed's shoe...)
Within a few minutes, they begin to eat. (One needs a little coaxing...)
And then they follow us around. Because without Dance, they latch on to the food source: us.
It is an interesting evening!
Ed, do we really have 11 cats living in the garage?
It seems that way.
All from the same family! One looks like the next, with a mix of the other.
You have to admire the stamina of these littlest ones. Their mom was way too young to be a mom, especially to a litter of four. Then came her capture. The surgery. The release, followed by her illness. She became so bony that I swear, I could wrap my fingers around her sunken stomach. And through it all, she kept them fed, up there in the rafters.
So, we have four more cats to take to the vet in a few months. Perhaps it'll be easier. At least they are learning not to be skittish.
Ed, are you going to manage all this while I'm gone? (I'm leaving tomorrow.)
Yes, gorgeous.
