Once again my phone rings late, very late. Once again a good Samaritan wants to report a cat sighting in Stoughton. Should we drive down and do a search? The caller doesn't give a lot of details, but she feels "fairly certain" it's the missing kittie. But we are just about to dig into our popcorn! No, no, not pleasure over effort. We should give it a try.
And so we drive to the downtown neighborhood the caller identified for us. We walk, we call, we shake a container of kittie treats. And we do see a cat. We immediately know it's not the one we're looking for, but it strikes us as a good reminder that it is dark, and a cat looks blurry and dark, and there is nothing to stop you from calling when an animal sort of looks like the one in the ads. You do your good deed. You pick up the phone. And we come out and we search, even though it's about time to acknowledge that this search is wild, really wild -- pulling on strings that aren't at all connected to the ultimate goal of locating the cat that our granddaughter once named Cutie.
As we drive slowly back, passing the neighborhoods that we have searched so thoroughly so many times, I see a small cat hovering by a house. And she has that telltale white chest that is such a marker of Cutie. I literally stop the car on the spot and jump out with my familiar call. She watches me as I shine a flashlight on her. She's a little far and the light isn't strong, but the markings seem correct. I move forward. Slowly she retreats. I call. She hesitates, then disappears into the bushes. Ed shakes the food, I take out a can with the familiar smells, but she has moved away.
We leave the food in someone's yard and write a note to the home owners. Something to the effect of "sorry to have trespassed over your yard, but we think we saw our cat. If you spot her, please call."
We drive home and eat our popcorn and wonder why the news we read and hear is so rarely good these days.
And let me jump ahead and finish the cat story, because it really is the end of this chapter of our kittie saga. Today we decide to go back to Stoughton and search around that house again. I convinced myself that shining a flashlight into her face had been a mistake. In the unfamiliar setting with shadowy people lurking there, this would surely have spooked her. So let's try in the daytime.
As we drive up, Ed says that we should talk to the homeowners. We knock, masked, waiting, me, a little uneasy because we so trespassed their property and I always feel that this is a real no-no in this country. Like, reason to take out the family rifle. But in this case, the homeowner come out. Ed asks if they'd ever seen a cat like Cutie.
Oh yes. With a white chest.
This one has lived around here for years. Yep, she's small.
That closed the lid on the search for us. Any call we get can be about this cat. Or any other cat. Indeed, in a few minutes I will be getting yet another call from a well meaning sleuth child -- one who wants to help us with the search because she swears she saw a cat a week ago just like Cutie.
Enough. It's a lovely day, so we walk at the periphery of Stoughton, right there by the cornfields. We're in Wisconsin, we've walked past a lot of cornfields.
I call out, but rarely. It really is pointless. She could be anywhere at all. Sometimes, I expect her to show up underneath our parked cars once again, like a homing pigeon who knows instinctively which way is home. After all, Stoughton is only twelve miles away. Less, as the crow flies. How's your magnetoreception, little girl?
All this happened in and around our daily routines. I mean, there was a cold morning (in the mid 40sF, so around 7C). Before even feeding the cats and cheepers, I have an early FaceTime visit with my growing-oh-so-fast Chicago grandgirl, Primrose...
And then breakfast. Believe it or not, we ate on the porch. Something about that sunshine...
And in the early afternoon, I go to my daughter's yard to have a socially distanced visit with Snowdrop.
As always, I bring fruits. And she rearranges her chair and blanket.
It's cool and so very warm all at the same time! The breeze blows cold air, but the sun dazzles.
We read. Oh, do we read! Three chapter books, one Katie Morag. The girl plays with stickers, then draws some "find the treasure" pictures...
... and we continue thus, for a long long time.
And when I have to go, she says oh so simply -- I wish I could hug you. I mumble some stupid reply about "soon" and "distanced hugs" and we practice those...
... and she scowls and says -- not the same.
I pick up my CSA box downtown, admire the beets, the peppers (so many peppers!), the tomatoes, the last ears of corn, the romanesco with it's funny shaped head, and the green leaves of Rapini. Beautiful, but not for tonight. I shrug off anything that requires thought and effort. Too much sadness out there right now. Sometimes you just have to take a pause. Go easy with life. Coast a little. Put off ambition. Think good and kind thoughts and love that crisp air that comes to us for free, in abundance, especially now, toward the first official days of fall.
And so we drive to the downtown neighborhood the caller identified for us. We walk, we call, we shake a container of kittie treats. And we do see a cat. We immediately know it's not the one we're looking for, but it strikes us as a good reminder that it is dark, and a cat looks blurry and dark, and there is nothing to stop you from calling when an animal sort of looks like the one in the ads. You do your good deed. You pick up the phone. And we come out and we search, even though it's about time to acknowledge that this search is wild, really wild -- pulling on strings that aren't at all connected to the ultimate goal of locating the cat that our granddaughter once named Cutie.
As we drive slowly back, passing the neighborhoods that we have searched so thoroughly so many times, I see a small cat hovering by a house. And she has that telltale white chest that is such a marker of Cutie. I literally stop the car on the spot and jump out with my familiar call. She watches me as I shine a flashlight on her. She's a little far and the light isn't strong, but the markings seem correct. I move forward. Slowly she retreats. I call. She hesitates, then disappears into the bushes. Ed shakes the food, I take out a can with the familiar smells, but she has moved away.
We leave the food in someone's yard and write a note to the home owners. Something to the effect of "sorry to have trespassed over your yard, but we think we saw our cat. If you spot her, please call."
We drive home and eat our popcorn and wonder why the news we read and hear is so rarely good these days.
And let me jump ahead and finish the cat story, because it really is the end of this chapter of our kittie saga. Today we decide to go back to Stoughton and search around that house again. I convinced myself that shining a flashlight into her face had been a mistake. In the unfamiliar setting with shadowy people lurking there, this would surely have spooked her. So let's try in the daytime.
As we drive up, Ed says that we should talk to the homeowners. We knock, masked, waiting, me, a little uneasy because we so trespassed their property and I always feel that this is a real no-no in this country. Like, reason to take out the family rifle. But in this case, the homeowner come out. Ed asks if they'd ever seen a cat like Cutie.
Oh yes. With a white chest.
This one has lived around here for years. Yep, she's small.
That closed the lid on the search for us. Any call we get can be about this cat. Or any other cat. Indeed, in a few minutes I will be getting yet another call from a well meaning sleuth child -- one who wants to help us with the search because she swears she saw a cat a week ago just like Cutie.
Enough. It's a lovely day, so we walk at the periphery of Stoughton, right there by the cornfields. We're in Wisconsin, we've walked past a lot of cornfields.
I call out, but rarely. It really is pointless. She could be anywhere at all. Sometimes, I expect her to show up underneath our parked cars once again, like a homing pigeon who knows instinctively which way is home. After all, Stoughton is only twelve miles away. Less, as the crow flies. How's your magnetoreception, little girl?
All this happened in and around our daily routines. I mean, there was a cold morning (in the mid 40sF, so around 7C). Before even feeding the cats and cheepers, I have an early FaceTime visit with my growing-oh-so-fast Chicago grandgirl, Primrose...
And then breakfast. Believe it or not, we ate on the porch. Something about that sunshine...
And in the early afternoon, I go to my daughter's yard to have a socially distanced visit with Snowdrop.
As always, I bring fruits. And she rearranges her chair and blanket.
It's cool and so very warm all at the same time! The breeze blows cold air, but the sun dazzles.
We read. Oh, do we read! Three chapter books, one Katie Morag. The girl plays with stickers, then draws some "find the treasure" pictures...
... and we continue thus, for a long long time.
And when I have to go, she says oh so simply -- I wish I could hug you. I mumble some stupid reply about "soon" and "distanced hugs" and we practice those...
... and she scowls and says -- not the same.
I pick up my CSA box downtown, admire the beets, the peppers (so many peppers!), the tomatoes, the last ears of corn, the romanesco with it's funny shaped head, and the green leaves of Rapini. Beautiful, but not for tonight. I shrug off anything that requires thought and effort. Too much sadness out there right now. Sometimes you just have to take a pause. Go easy with life. Coast a little. Put off ambition. Think good and kind thoughts and love that crisp air that comes to us for free, in abundance, especially now, toward the first official days of fall.
