Wednesday, April 30, 2014

Geriatric Gato

(Big doings! This is my 100th post!)


I’m living in Backwards Land.



Unlike most women who spend much of their life campaigning for lowered toilet seats, I patrol my house putting them up.
Satchel's preferred position nowadays 



My cat Satchel is now seventeen years old and one of the side effects of his advanced years is a raging thirst. He’s on medication, which helps to some degree, but his deep naps are still interrupted by a need to find the nearest water bowl.







  We've accommodated him with water bowls by his food, on the porch, outside.



    They're everywhere.


One more water bowl




In spite of this, he must feel age has its privileges, and will sit by the toilet calling me loudly until I raise the seat.

For my part, I’m amazed he can climb that high. As it is, I have an old ottoman next to my bed so he won’t break a brittle old bone jumping up or down. This works well except for my own midnight runs to the toilet when in the fog of sleep I forget that it’s there and almost die in the night falling over it.
Once a hunter who brought home everything but a live deer, he’s less sure of himself now, perhaps due to failing eyesight or hearing. When I’m home, he’s constantly stalking me, waiting for me to provide a lap. If I move to another room, he’ll wander through the house calling until he finds me. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to sit and read without having a tail or furry arm blocking the print. Much of my time at the computer is spent removing his paw from the space bar.

In his prime he was so hefty that visitors to our neighbors have mistaken him on more than one occasion for a bear cub. 

I’ve often wondered if he’s really a dog in a cat suit. 

As a teenager he would play fetch, retrieving tin foil balls and bringing them back and dropping them at our feet. And he’s always been friendly, coming over to join in when we stood in the road chatting with neighbors. On one occasion I looked up from my magazine out on the deck to see him chase away a red fox. The fox stopped on the edge of our property and looked back at us and Satchel went after him, only stopping when it disappeared in the neighbor’s shrubbery.

He’s what, ninetyfive? He's a sweet old cat. But I still remember him as the little black kitten that, unlike the others mewing shyly at the shelter, jumped right out of his cage into my arms seventeen years ago. 


Sunday, April 27, 2014

Spring Get-a-Way





     
    The other day we made our annual pilgrimage to Manchester, Vermont.

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Springtime for Satchel

I think most of us will agree it's been a long winter. 
Maybe longer for some. 

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Resemblances


It’s interesting how years will go by and something will trigger a memory.

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Storming the CIA



No, not that one. This one has secrets too, but of all the best kinds.

Monday, April 7, 2014

Saturday, April 5, 2014

Square One

Here's my contribution to this week's
  
Five Sentence Fiction
                                                             
The topic is Whimsical



You'll find other entries at:





Like tiny brown autocratic pillars, the medicine bottles were still rowed up by the kitchen sink with his name on them.  The empty hospital bed dominated the living room with its blank whiteness.  Five years gone, years that had been long on schedules and loneliness and exhaustion, and lean of conversation, freedom, and sleep.

Her life had been squeezed tight, the very breath of it boiled down to small gasps of a few moments her own - a chat with a neighbor, the walk to the street to gather the newspaper, or a pause by the window.

Now she opened all of those windows, turned up the radio, and began painting the living room bright yellow. 

Friday, April 4, 2014

Spring in My World


Everyone experiences Spring differently depending on where they live. Here in Western Massachusetts the seasons are, as usual, being obstinate.