Find the good, be grateful, keep the hope -- remember how hard it was to live by those words at the beginning of the pandemic? Things have improved. It's less of a stretch to search for joy when infections rates are going down and hospitals (at least here in my region) are discharging many of the Covid patients. And we are finding the good in this snowless winter. And we are grateful that we had this short time with the sweetest cat we're ever likely to know.
It's not that RD Berry has died. Quiet the contrary -- he is doing well. Ed did not manage to comb out many of his clumps of matted hair, but he looks only a little ugly now. And the face and the soul -- all charm.
But he wants to go out. It's not good to keep him in the shed, even though it is warm there and we bring him lots of food and rub his cheeks and Ed plays a solid hour with him each day. RD Berry looks out the window, he sees the other cats, he watches the deer graze at dusk and he wants to be part of it. Even as we have 6 stubborn cats who have marked their turf and accept no other feline into what they consider to be their farmette lands. You know, they pay the taxes, and feed the cheepers, so it must be theirs.
If we let RD Berry loose, they will chase her away, just like they've chased all other ferals and strays -- Pancake, Marmalade, Coon Guy -- they came, they stayed for a bit, loving the food we left for them and then they got chased away.
The only thing left is to take the abandoned and neglected RD Berry to the Humane Society. They will care for him, they will chip him, and they will find him a good home. That is the hope. (I refuse to go through Craigslist again: placing two reasonably friendly feral kittens through Craigslist was awful: they switched homes constantly and in the end one escaped and never returned.)
We sure will miss his gentle ways and gracious acceptance of whatever is handed to him.
It's very sad to see him go.
At home, I bake. When in a kerfuffle, I bake. I pick out a Ricotta Blackberry-Blueberry cake. Many berries to honor RD Berry.
And in the afternoon, I bring Snowdrop to the farmhouse.
She is in a philosophical mood. I should be able to handle a 7-year old's philosophical mood, but I find myself stumbling. She goes right to the heart of it: meaning of life, what if this, what if that... Surely it is not my place to punch holes in her belief systems, her dreamy imaginative world -- who am I to say no, Virginia (Snowdrop), there is no Santa Claus (quest for magic in real life).
We stay in the car in the farmette driveway, motor off. She seems determined to get me to commit to something. I go for the copout -- "different people believe different things..." But in today's times, I feel this has to be further qualified. I mean, there are verifiable facts and there are wild conspiracy theories. How do you preserve fantasy for a child and at the same time teach her that truth is fact-based?
I remember this happening with my kids too: when they were very young, I thought -- my, the physical work in caring for them is brutal! I can't wait until parenting moves to challenging discussions, rather than wiping noses and playing dress up. And then one day it moved to challenging discussions and I thought Holy Granola! They can really ask the tough ones!
And then, in one snap, Snowdrop turns off her serious deliberations and skips to the farmhouse.
I had moved a bookshelf from the upstairs bedroom into their playroom. The chapter books have been stacked in piles all over the place (there's no room on the picture book shelves). She needs easier access to them. Too, I have to get her permission to move out the endless series that she has outgrown. Sophie the Mouse -- all 40 books. Critters Club -- same thing. I doubt her brothers will reach for these. Maybe Primrose and Juniper would like these books with strong female protagonists. Daisy Dawson, Cam Jansen, Just Grace... But do I need to keep dozens upon dozens on the off chance they might someday like these when passing through here?
As I bring Snowdrop home, I find her two brothers playing with blocks and structures on a mat together. True, the little guy is content just clutching a block in his sweet chubby hand. Building is not in his skill set yet. But it will be. Very soon, it will be.
At the farmhouse, the cats come in, go out, come in again. I shake my head at them: guys, you shouldn't have chased Berry out. I know you cant help yourselves, but still, you shouldn't have. Sigh... We love you anyway you crazy animals! Yeah, we love you anyway.
