Steamy Evening

A troubled week is predicted in the heavens, so some folk say.

I am concentrating on peaceful resolutions and safeties.

Sylvio's most recent car was closer. You get a fright, that's a good thing.

Anna brought an exquisite Margaret River Camembert, deliciously sloppy by today.

When Grace came inside she tasted it and even when I took barbecue chicken in for her and slimmer Stan, she just said she liked the cheese..

Princess, well I give her herbs when her nose gets dry and her temperature rises,

She spends time inside during daytime and if times weren't so tough, Anna would be taking her to the vet and saying well it LOOKED like Princess was on her last legs last time.

Today, Princess did get expelled to the bathroom after she peed on a library shelf, but Scrap consented to come home last night and.. I guess Princess felt like she needed to make her mark, today, just to say to Scrap, 'Well Sucks, I'm here too!'

O, it's like every other complicated relationship.

I shared my bed with Princess when I was so ill Up River and later.

I adopted Scrap because I thought that she and Princess might bond. I got ill AGAIN etc.

I minded a coupla dogs & Scrap was OK as a kit, but Princess got badly done by in a couple of Dog arguments.

If Marvin weren't bad enough, after Bindi, Princess cleared out back to where I'd sheltered in Col's room for a time.

She bonded with Jos. Then alas, as I described some time ago, she got seriously crook.

Now this elderly girl needs attention and special care. I'd initially imagined that Scrap and Princess might tolerate each other when it all first happened, but there are matters of pride and precedence.

Princess in the daytime means that Scrap can come at night time if she feels like it.

I find I'm having long talks with both.

More fans of the Mobs stopped to talk today.

(Anna says she'll do a card with a pic and this blog number for all the friends we make each day.)

It's a hot spring night, howling cats over toward the northwest, storms threatening and humidity has had us crawling through today. Typical Sydney.

All are inside excepting for Scrap and Tabs and the She is winding up energy to go and call them.

Friday

Inside Cats

The cats are introducing me to more people and especially to more children.

The cats act charming, they curl up under the flowering bushes looking graceful and whiskery and they accept praise and worship from us all.

Princess doesn't come out of her bathroom nest very often, but every few days she's restless and wanders around with her characteristic cry which sounds like a hoarse Wowwr!! Wowr. On those days I take her across the road to visit Jos and Mick and to assume her old place on the verandah where she has watched the street go by these last eight years or so.

Not every day. A day out, then two day's rest.

Even though the vet said that her kidneys are remarkably good for a cat her age, she sometimes pees in her bed.  More work for she but Princess still does her cat work, slipping out from her curtained bed, saying hello, lip marking the red shelf in the bathroom, accepting caress and praise, then slipping back to bed.

She's eating well and her arthritic back legs are less shaky than they were a few weeks ago.

She can still leap onto my lap. She can still run nimbly up Jos's front steps although I'm not sure that she still ascends the mulberry tree to get to Jos's roof.

She said she wanted to go out in yesterday's blistering heat. As I carried her past our front gate, she had the energy to hiss at Scrap, who looked  surprised.

Me, I didn't do much at all, a bit of study, a walk to the Post Office to pay bills, some kitchen work and so on.

I collected Princess in the evening. As I chatted with Jos, Sylvio dashed across the road to talk to us. Friday evening's traffic is always dense. Jos and I were frozen with horror. Sylvio timed his run well. I brought him back first. Usually Sylvio, Grace and Stanley are inside by evening time being the first of all the cats to enquire about dinner....

Next time I'll make sure he's in before I cross the road. He's too daring, that small silver boy.

So all are inside and fed except for Greyling. I try to fetch her a few times, but she dances away. 

I go outside to look for her and notice fine drops of rain.

Too tired, too hot to bring the washing in earlier, I get the basket and fetch the washing, not even bothering to fold it.

When I return to our small back yard, the garden is full of silver whiskery faces, mischievous and mysterious.  I'd closed the door without locking it and it must have been Zorro who teased the door open.

They've had their dinner and now they aren't going to come inside, thanks all the same!

I go to get the camera. The pattern of the little faces among the flowering silvery mauve heliotrope and the silver dragon shapes of the artichoke is lovely. They are all in the wilderness by the time I return to the garden and No, when I call, they will not come.

I give up and go inside.

The rain gradually gets heavier and pretty soon there are faces at the kitchen window.

"Can we come inside now please?"

"Oh, all right," she growls.

But Lucibelle and Balanchine didn't escape. They knew the rain to be on its way.

Greyling

Formerly known as Grey Boy, Greyling is a small cat with a big soul.

She's not just spoken to me in my dreams, she's even visited friends locally in their sleep, especially since she became a Mum. (Fred is the only one of her kittens who has found a home so far. Is she looking for homes for the others?)

(She likes Zorro best, big sooky gentle Zorro.)

Sometimes Greyling comes in for dinner later than the rest. Usually I feed the latecomers separately in the Bathroom or in the Hall because, of course, those already fed will all just keep eating. 

Greyling won't touch any food  until she can share it with the rest of the tribe. 

She's not a cat you'll meet out front. She's shy. She hides in the Wilderness behind the place.

Once Greyling decides that she loves a person or a fellow cat, she is the most loving sweet-natured affectionate little feline I ever met. (And I have met some very special ones in my time!)

Most of my cats are very figurative if I dream of them, they may have fluffy blue or green fur or polka dot markings or even pony tails. If they talk, they say they like their food and they don't like dogs, they say they like this plant or that, and, (apart from Sylvio),  they don't much like rain. Sometimes they tell me what they feel some people really are like in their terms.

When Greyling arrives in a dream, she is always her own self and she makes unusual sense.

'I like this place. I want to stay around here,' she said before visiting another local friend in his dream. He was so convinced she was in the house, he got up to look for her, but that was when we all thought she was a boy on account of the size of her balls.

Stanley is spending more time inside recently, the only one not precisely tempted by the odours of Spring. I think he's enjoying the pats and the cuddles as I work out back in Kitchen Dining and Lounge Rooms. (Possibly also he's looking for food handouts when I cook!)