sunshine and its impact on stuff

We knew we would have ourselves a gorgeous winter day and indeed, the weather gods delivered: plenty of sunshine and by afternoon, we'd crossed that magic divide, drom frozen to melting and on our way toward spring.

(Please do not remind m that tomorrow we're getting another ice storm. Perhaps the weather gods will be kind and will push the thermometer just one degree up. Rain would be preferable. Thank you.)

Pretty, pretty morning walk to the barn!




It's on the early side: I have a full day before me and I know that feeding the animals takes time these days, what with the drama, the searches, the calling, the moping.

Also an early breakfast for the two of us.






And then a second breakfast -- at a very sunny bakery...






... one last one with my out-of-town friend, before she returns to her home in the much warmer Albuquerque.






Grocery shop, unload, get in the car, pick up Snowdrop.






The girl is all over the place today. Read this book. Play that game. Do a very complicated art project. ("Can you cut this out for me in a rectangle? Here, sort of like this...")






Play! She is insatiable: her pretend games consume her and she pleads for my participation. I beg off for a minute. Stop Sign is at the door -- a sign that her food dishes are empty. I want to refill them. Snowdrop asks -- can I do it?
We're off.






She wants to stay outside. Here she is, wanting so much to build another snowman!





But, I ran out with just a sweater and I'm cold. And it is getting late. And there's an ice storm coming, followed by rain, followed by a deep freeze. Uff! Let's go in, Snowdrop!



The sun is long gone by the time she leaves. I take out the veggies and start in on a reliable seafood stirfry.

Ha! You thought you'd get through a post with no reference to cats? Not possible! Each day leaves us wondering -- how do you explain this scene? That movement? The only difference is that today, you're getting the synopsis at the end of the post. It does not mean that I spent less time thinking about the cats. Their behavior has grabbed our emotions and preoccupations -- mine, even more than Ed's, which is curious, as he is much more of a cat person than I am.

Today's story is different yet again. When I went out in the morning to feed the animals (mind you, it was earlier than usual), the garage was empty. No sign, no sound. I called Stop Sign high and low. No response. No Whiskers either. I got some satisfaction talking to the chickens. They clucked loudly to let me know that nice weather tugs at their little sun starved hearts. Sorry girls. Not yet. We're still contemplating what to do with you!

Right before I left for my various meetings and chores, Stop Sign showed up. Without her babies. Still, if I can at all read her mood, I would say that she was very undisturbed. She ate a little, then did a thorough bath routine on the plush old blanket we've left out for them. Honestly, she seemed content.






I told Ed to call me the minute a little one returned! And he did. Just before noon. In fact, his report was so beautiful that I deeply regretted doing grocery shopping rather than lying in wait for them all. He described all three cats playing in the sunshine on the picnic table and, too, the appearance of Whiskers, who now gets his own food by the writer's shed.

When I pulled up on our still slick driveway, I saw them all...










... though Whiskers lingered only for a minute. He is still a very shy huge shaggy guy. (Or girl. I tried to explain to Snowdrop that only Stop Sign's gender is a sure thing for us. I tied it to the fact of her having had babies. Perhaps that wasn't too clever. She now evaluates cat gender based on whether the given animal has had babies -- a bit too dismissive of feline's who decide to pursue careers or artistic endeavors rather than going from one pregnancy to the next.)


You could say that these last two days were nearly perfect cat days: all were here, at least for some portion of the day, all were content, all were well fed and well rested and I could engage in their lives, even if a little at a distance. I am living a fiction, of course: I'm wanting pet like loyalty from animals that live in the wild. Most feral cats are too antsy to stay rooted to one place. Still, Stop Sign is a bit of an exception. She looks for us when she wants something. In the summertime, she hangs out close to where we are. She feeds my image of a nearly perfect animal companion (perhaps human companion too) -- free to move as she pleases, but with seeming affection that always brings her back, not just for the food, but, too, for the conversation.

I have no idea what tomorrow will bring. Rain, for sure. Otherwise -- no clue.

is this day real?

If animal life, sweet sibs, youthful innocence, etc etc are not your thing, read no more! This post is saturated with all of that.

Do you have the kinds of dreams where you are sure that it is a dream because it does not comport with reality and still, you toddle along because you don't quite want to let go of the story line and are curious how it might end, despite the fact that it is, after all a dream?

In the wee hours of the morning, I dreamed that a test revealed that I was pregnant. Still dreaming, I said to Ed -- that cannot be, but here you have it! Must be a dream!

Believe me, it was a dream.



The morning is beautiful! Sunshine! Just below freezing, but with that gorgeous cover of a fresh  snowfall.






I go out to feed the animals. Stop Sign hasn't returned yet. Gone a whole 24 hours. Where is she? I'm not worried. She has been able to fend for herself for a long time now. But Dance is concerned. I can't speak her language, but she is significantly more cautious when I come into the garage. She is hungry...






... but when I fill her bowl, she wolfs down just a few mouthfuls, then retreats.


I go out, feed the cheepers, and call for Stop Sign. Loudly. Repeatedly. And I am much relieved to see her coming from whatever far away place she had been to!

Great exuberance on Dance's part! She returns to the food bowl, but mommy pushes her gently away."I'm more hungry. I need to eat first."






She takes a few bites, then retreats and lets Dance continue.






Happiness is having mommy back.






With a smile on my face, I fix breakfast (because of course, there is breakfast...)






Ed and I talk about strategies for keeping the animals safe. I put out some shiny stuff by the garage to deter hawks, but neither of us feels confident: the cats do roam outside of the garage. Sometimes beyond the property line. Even at a tender age, Dance knew enough to run far and be gone a few days after the garage massacre.

Ed brings up some more info about hawk deterrence.
Hey, listen to this! American crows protect birds and small pets from predators! They swoop down on the hawks and chase them away. You can encourage crows to hang around your property -- here are some tips. (He reads off suggestions about foods, roosts and stuff that actually seems a bit contrived.)
If you put all that out, you'll attract a lot more than just crows.
Ed laughs -- it's like that song about the old lady who swallowed a fly! One thing leads to another and soon you'll have killed off everyone!

We put away thoughts of encouraging crows.

So that's today's animal story?

No, not finished yet.

I glance out and see Whiskers, licking his paws by the writer's shed.






We think he's been raiding the other kitties leftover foods. It's not that we don't like having him here -- quite the contrary. He's so beautiful and, too, he may be offputing to hawks with his massive presence! (And if he is a Maine Coon, then his disposition is admirable: friendly and smart; a people pleaser.) Still, we're not sure how best to help these ferals eat.

Should we try giving him his own food by the shed?

Yes, that works.






As Whiskers eats, Stop Sign perks up.  She gets up and starts heading out. What's going on, girl? Do you sense the presence of Whiskers?

She ignores him and keeps going. Toward the road. It's one of her two typical routes, so we don't pay much attention. She seems to be roaming a bunch these days.

But hold on to your hat, Hannah! Ten minutes later she is back. And who should be trailing after her if not Jacket, the second little kitten!

Everyone is pawing everyone else! Reunion supreme!





Jacket is one hungry little guy!

(Stop Sign comes over to the farmhouse door -- her old way of asking "um, can we have some more food?")






So what the hell happened??


 



All my grieving, who was it for??

Digression: I am at the very end of a mystery novel. I cannot wait to read the last few pages, but so far, the morning has been devoted to animal discussions and one conversation with the Social Security Administration. Really, no time for anything else! In that mystery novel, Monsieur le Commissaire has this habit of writing in his little Clairefontaine notebook all the facts surrounding a case. Eventually, it allows him to reach sensible conclusions.

What are the facts surrounding our apparent murders in the garage?

Well, in January, a hawk did kill Cupcake. That's a fact. We picked up her body and chased away the bird.
We locked up the chickens.
Stop Sign brought her two kittens (less than a month old by our estimate) to the garage.
In the course of the next two weeks I heard a big bird fly out of the garage.
And then, a week ago, all the cats disappeared and we found a sizeable pool of blood, with some tuft, resembling cat fur and a feather. There is no blood outside the garage.
Stop Sign came back after a day and spent the day listlessly laying down on the cardboard where they once hung out. She wailed, she ate little.
Three days later, Dance showed up. A happy reunion followed.
Five days later, Stop Sign heads out, listens carefully, and comes back with Jacket.

So who was murdered, or at least badly butchered on the garage floor? Ed's guessing a squirrel, caught by a hawk. But why in the garage?

I suggest that Whiskers and Stop Sign had a fight but honestly the two seem indifferent to each other and neither seems injured. And there is a lot of blood.


I have no answers. Just four cats that are grateful for food during this cold and snowy winter.

But I must say, it feels like a dream. I could not shake the belief that I am close to waking up. We were so sure that the little guys were the victims of a brutal attack. Were they? If not, who got killed??

We have been so consumed by all this that I insist we clear our heads and go out skiing.

(A squirrel keeps to the track, Ed follows.)












I needed that!

And of course, in the afternoon, Ms Distraction herself comes over and so I switch my attention from animals to pretend play.












(Her toy breaks. Ed takes out his pocket tool kit to fix it. She is fascinated by all the sharp and in my view terribly dangerous parts.)






Toy fixed.






(I get her ready for gym. In waiting for her dad, she runs non stop. That she still has energy for gym is nothing short of amazing.)





So this is our day. A beautiful one, if slightly unreal. More than slightly unreal. Completely unbelievable. Except -- I never did wake up, so there you have it: the real deal.

and so it continues

I'll say this much for February: the forecasts have been accurate. When they say "snow on Wednesday," I listen, because sure enough, it's Wednesday and there is snow.

The farmette animals, on the other hand? Everyday there is a new surprise and not one I would have guessed. I thought we were in a holding pattern. I step outside to clear the walkway (from the snow, because you remember -- it's Wednesday), glance over at the garage and there he is, right by the garage door, the visiting Maine Coon, aka Long Whiskers, or Whiskers because we're mixing up the adjectives too much to keep them going.






So we know now for sure it's not a raccoon, just a Coon. He flies off pretty quickly once he sees me, which affirms a need to always dangle a camera around your neck because otherwise you'll miss stuff. Not that I could get much of a shot of a flying Coon, but still, I love the sense of motion here:






So, how do Stop Sign and her Dance feel about this visitor? I look around the garage. Nothing. Silence. Well, at least there is no new blood! I'll roll with these animal permutations and surprises, so long as they don't result in death or dismemberment. We had enough of those. And yes, I am relieved that Whiskers is definitely not a raccoon.

I put a little cat food in the step-and-dine (only Stop Sign knows how to work it) and move on to the barn to feed the cheepers. All quiet in that great big structure, except for the impatient clucking of the girls.

I walk back, calling out to Stop Sign, but everything is very quiet, in the way it gets when we have a snowfall.






As I pass the garage, I see movement. Oh, there you are, Dance! Where is your mommy? 

She does not answer. I give her some food in the regular old dish and retreat. She's very hesitant when Stop Sign isn't around. Best to leave her alone.






You can imagine any number of explanations for the current status quo: Stop Sign is hunting, for food or for a mate. Or, she just needs to move, explore, mark. Or she's looking for Whiskers and they passed each other by. I'm a little disappointed to learn that cats don't bond with their mates at all. Mom and her kittens? Siblings? Very much so. Too, a cat may enjoy a playful camaraderie with another pal cat. But tom cats are a fleeting presence in a female's life -- she doesn't swoon for him and he doesn't care about her nor their kittens. And so imagining that Whiskers would stick around as a companion to Stop Sign is unrealistic. (Though I must admit that I'm only sure about the gender of one cat -- Stop Sign. Every other cat here is a guess.


The farmhouse is warm and quiet. February is zipping along. Breakfast is lovely.





And honestly, I do not spend an excessive amount of time worrying about the unknown. I see our hawk fly just over the courtyard. I don't flinch. For now, we're all okay. We lower the garage door, consider adding some visual distractions, keep an eye on who comes, who leaves. That is our job.


Snowdrop is with me this afternoon...






And you might remember that Wednesday is her Storybook Dance day, so I take her to that class toward the end of our time together. And for once we are on time! She joins the line of little dancers.






... and eventually reenacts some fragment of the Pinocchio story.






And then I return home, check the garage (Dance -- yes, there, Stop Sign -- nope), shrug my shoulders and reheat bowls of home made chili. It's such a good dish to eat on a snowy February 20th!

a winter of animal worries and snowstorms

Have we finally finished with the winter stories from our modest farmette animal kingdom? I surely think so, as we wake up to yet another brilliantly sunny day. We are, I think, in a holding pattern: the chickens are safe for now (though their future is much under discussion here, at the farmhouse, as Ed does not want to pen them for good and we both agree that a release is asking for trouble). Stop Sign, our sort-of-feral cat is slowly climbing out of despondency and showing some interest in Whiskers, the perhaps-feral cat whom we encountered yesterday. We will see where all this will take us, but for now, we toddle along, cautiously, warily, but without terrible trepidation.

I look out and see many many tracks, in every direction, but I am not surprised. Most likely we had a herd of deer pass through in the light of last night's spectacular full moon.






It's really more than just lovely outside -- there's an icy glitter on the delicate branches...






.... especially visible and stunning on the two great willows.






And to top it off, I'm beginning to hear the chatter of birds -- as if telling us they're ready for the return of spring. Soon, so very soon... (A spot of red on the old crab apple! See it?)






Breakfast in sunshine. (A spot of red in Ed's hand!)






And then I have a coffee date with my visiting friend.

I'm in a hurry. She is already waiting for me. As I walk to the car, I automatically throw a glance toward Stop Sign, who does love to sit on a cardboard shoe box positioned well to capture the sunshine. And what do I see? A kitten bounding to her, a teen-age kitten, a white socked kitten -- yes, it is none other than Dance!






The reunion is spectacular! Dance is meowing, mom is meowing, they paw each other, sniffing, meowing, laughing I'm sure at this miracle.

And then Dance immediately goes to the food dish. Clearly she has not eaten for several days: she wolfs down every last morsel.






We wont ever know her full story, but it is obvious now that we lost only Jacket, her brother, in the hawk/or-was-it-an-owl raid. (Which of course, makes more sense: we could not understand how a hawk could carry off two kittens.) Dance ran, only to find her way back, to reunite with her mother. And now there are these two.






Don't ask where we go from here. There is much to review and consider. It's hard to imagine how we can successfully keep the young cat safe: close the garage door more fully? Coax them both into a better space? Can that even be done? What's a good outcome for them? There is much to think about and discuss.

In the meantime, I'm late for my meeting with my friend. She is understanding. Friends are good that way!






And in the afternoon, I pick up Snowdrop and I tell her that she is still shorter than the curbside snow pile.







In one of our pretend plays, she fishes out books from an old stack. She vaguely remembers them. When I had read them way long ago, she had an "eh" reaction. Today, at the more mature age of four, she's delighted with the characters. She wants to play Madeline. The stage is set for a new game.











Time to go home. I'm in a hurry. It's cold. I have a sweater, my warmest jacket, a cap and mitts. And still, I hurry her. I want to get in the car and turn on the heat. But she has a different body thermometer. Her story takes her to one of her favorite play stations -- by the "cliff string," which marks the spot beyond which you should not drive or park the car, or else you'll roll over "the cliff." Oh what stories follow! But Snowdrop, I'm cold, aren't you cold? No, gaga.





Perhaps she has adapted to Wisconsin's extremes. It will put her in good stead: we're about to get pounded by another snowstorm tonight.

If you like quiet and dull winters, this one may leave you disappointed. But if you like snow, oh, is this one for you! We'll see what this next storm brings to the farmette.