Memorial

Many moons ago a scared, injured tortoiseshell showed up at the door. Cats have that way of knowing. That yard. That door. Those people. We took her in.

She was one of those beautiful torties whose face was half black, half caramel.  Dad named her Eurydice, after the wife whom Orpheus was able to bring back from the underworld. She was gentle and not meant to be feral: her hunting harvests usually consisted of insect parts and leaves. When we took in a stray kitten, she mothered her.  As with all our cats, she had other names, but came to be called “Momcat.” She remained with us 23 years.

While dad still had his sight, he lovingly painted a memorial stone, which overlays her remains in his back yard beneath a towering bougainvillea. 12-24-2018 MomCat 2.jpg

 

What I want to be when I grow up.

Forget astronaut or fireman or rock star. With the half-century mark looming, this cat embodies my latest grown-up ambition.

cat sleeping in the sunshine
This barn cat enjoys a snooze in the sunshine after greeting guests.
Old pony sleeping in the sunshine.
A pony, still wearing most of his winter coat, dozes in the warm spring sun with his "herd" of Shetland, Haflinger and other assorted equine munchkins. Not a bad way to live out your years, if you like a group setting.

Sweeter than honey.

My cousin in Bangkok loves ruang phung (“honeycomb”) flowers. Coming home from work, she was surprised to see a vase full of them. She loved these flowers that grew at her old house. Alas, the plant could not move with the family. She missed the sweet fragrance and how the shrub would explode into a yellow mass, alive with bees.  The gray cat in the background, Sour Orange, does not seem to share my cousin’s enthusiasm for these spectacular blooms.

ruang phung flowers
Ruang phung flowers brightened my cousin's day.