🐈‍⬛Why Do We Have Tails? A Sympurrsium™

 

Now, there's a handsome tail!

 

           “Alright, you two, down in the front!” said Suzy, from under the desk. The Scouts had been invited to join the grown cats for a Sympurrsium™ on the important subject of tails. “Cool it!”

            “I have a tail because I was born with it on my butt!” chortled Sweetie, to Booker’s giggling approval.

            Toots took the podium, so to speak, saying, “The question on the table is why, not how!”

            “Why?” said Sweetie.

            “Huh?” said Booker.

            “Well, to begin,” said Mr. Baby, who hadn’t been joining in much lately, “To be a little obvious, a tail is a tool of balance. It’s part of how we maneuver so well in space.”

            “Point taken,” said Toots. (general purring approval ensues)

            “A tail! Ah, a tail is a means of expression,” said Buddy. “With my large, luxuriant tail I signal my pleasure, or distress. I mean I do yell sometimes too, but my tail speaks volumes silently!”

            “Hey! When I’m scared my tail fluffs right up,” said Sweetie.

            “No problem knowing when you’re scared, Sweetie, you holler like a little kitten, but louder,” said Suzy.

            “My tail follows me around like an antenna,” said Booker. “It’s amazing. I keep it up so I’m visible!”

            “Sometimes I wrap my tail around my feet, to keep my little toes warm,” said Suzy. “I’m sure we all do that!”

            “Most of those points are practical matters,” said Toots. “We need to think a little more about why we have tails. I will admit that it’s an odd question, seeing as we are cats and cats manifestly have tails, as do lesser creatures, such as dogs and monkeys.”

            “It may be that Sweetie swerved into an important issue,” said Charley. “We are born with tails. Why oh why, were we created that way?”

            “The way I see it, we are born to embody beauty. A tail is a necessity for beauty,” said Toots, “regardless of those unfortunate lesser creatures and their poor tails. Just think of all of those hairless, tailless human people! How sad it is that they must struggle through life without this badge of honor and grace! It’s just sad.”

            “No wonder they have to wear clothes!” laughed Booker. “No fur! No tail!”

            “Ew!” said Sweetie.

 

            A slight electric charge ran through the atmosphere, almost like a ripple in their sense of the present. Everyone noticed it immediately…

            “I found you!” said Minerva. “You two never told me your names, but I sort of followed you here anyhow. What a strange world this is! I’ve never seen such things! It’s so busy! So fast! So much of everything, and wonders such as I never dreamed of!”

            “Well! Welcome, Minerva! I am Toots. The other one you met is Suzy. There are several of us here discussing our tails. The question on the table is why do we have tails!”

            “I see,” she said, thinking. “I have never questioned why I have a tail. I use my tail to gather my children to me sometimes. That’s just practical.

            “But I think that there are only two possibilities. Either there is no answer, or we have tails because God made us with tails. I don’t see any way around that.”

            “That’s positively existential!” said Buddy in admiration. “I’d like to talk to you again!”

            “Why, thank you, Sir! I must return to my children, but perhaps sometime we can talk again,” said Minerva. Then her presence was gone.

            There was a moment of silence, everyone thought their own thoughts for a while.

            At last, Toots said, “Maybe it was a foolish question, born of our confusing times. Maybe looking back to when Minerva lives would be wiser. To merely thank the great Power that made us the way we are, rather than seeking His reasons? What do you all think?”

            “I think we must all admit the wisdom of Minerva’s words,” said Mr. Baby.

            “Indeed!” said Suzy.

            “Agreed,” said Charley thoughtfully.

            “I just can’t argue with it,” said Buddy.

            “Huh?” said Sweetie.

            “Let us Purr™,” said Toots, “and be grateful!”

            So, they did, and they were, and also were proud to be the bearers of their wonderful tails!

 

MEOW!

❤️

           

It's Just a Phase

 

            OK, so, Mürg was just a kid when he happened upon the Great Forest. But he knew a few tricks, which came in very handy sometimes.
            He had wandered down from Alaska, because he didn’t like the scene up there. Violence wasn’t his trip. Mürg was a trickster. Incurable, up to that point. He had cut a merry swath through Canada. But it wasn’t much fun because the Hairless there were so stuffy, and they didn’t seem to know a good joke when they saw one. So, he headed on southward, coming at last to the Mt. Baker Snoqualmie National Forest.
            It was still winter so there weren’t many people in the forest, pretty, but pretty boring too.
            Then he discovered Ralph’s domain. Things were looking up he thought. Not in so many words though, because Mürg didn’t speak a word of English, or, in fact, even Saslingua. The boy was as au naturel as they come.
            He came walking down the near side of the Silver River. When he got close to the Home Clearing, he began to smell something interesting. It was like food, but ineffably better. He made a hard left right into the forest on the usual path everyone took to the river.
            Things were definitely looking upward. He could see a nice motherly person, a little child, and a white wolf. But they couldn’t see him!
            There was a fire burning in a circle of river stones. On the fire was a metal contraption, and on the metal, were a couple of dozen fish lying there cooking. Now, apparently, the appetite for cooked food in innate in hominids, because though he had never eaten a cooked anything, that fish smelled very edible to Mürg, nature boy that he was. But his familiarity with fire was non-existent. Additionally, he was very hungry.
            Naturally, Ramona knows about phasing in and out of the common visual range, but a girl needs a little clue that it’s that which is happening. She got none, and she was busy too.
            Mürg slipped on over to the fire and picked up a very hot frying fish. It doesn’t take long to look at a hot fish, so, he dropped it on the ground and stood their shaking his burnt fingers. Hm, he felt thwarted.
            He was still hungry. So, he looked around. Ramona didn’t notice her basket of mushrooms vanishing. Then he spied her little jar of butter. That didn’t seem to be hot either. Using his burnt fingers for utensils, he scooped out the butter and finished it off. Then he dropped the jar on the ground.
            Ramona turned and looked at the fish on her big flat pan and noticed that one of them had escaped, and it was on the ground. Then she noticed that not one mushroom remained in the basket, and that her butter jar, empty, was on the forest floor too.
            “Cherry?” she said. “Did you drop a fish on the ground? Or eat the mushrooms and the butter?”
            Cherry looked up from making something with leaves woven with little twigs, and said, “No, Mommy! I’m busy. I didn’t do that!”
            Putting her hands on her hips, Ramona looked at Blue. “Blue, did you pick up and drop a fish, and eat my mushrooms and lick out the butter jar?”
            Blue looked alarmed and ran to Cherry.
            “Oh!” said Ramona. “Oh!” She gazed all around the area. She was getting a clue.
            There were faint ripples and tiny sparkles, like waves in water standing quite near to her actually. This wavy area in the visual field was roughly the size of Twigg. “Ah!” she said, and struck as quick as a rattler. She had ol’ Mürg by his ear and he was stuck.
            This could have gone a couple of ways, but how it did go was that Ramona hollered “Ralph!” at the top of her lungs and held on. Mürg didn’t want to lose his ear so he phased back into the visual range and stood there looking sad, and hungry.
            Ralph strolled down out of the woods where he had been thinking about stuff on his log, and smoking a cigar, while discoursing with Maeve. Maeve flew ahead to see what Ramona was yelling about.
            Ralph threw his cigar butt in the fire. Maeve settled on his shoulder. Ramona let go.
            “There’s a story here, I just know it,” said Ralph, amiably.
            “He was rummaging through my cooking, phased out, Baby!” said Ramona, indignantly. “He dropped a fish on the ground, ate the mushrooms and the butter to cook them in!”
            “Bad form, Son,” said Ralph. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
            Mürg squeezed out a couple of tears and broke out into a series of grunts and squeals and couple of mouth knocks. But he didn’t run, because, well, because he knew he was had.
            “Oh, Mona, the boy’s wild. No wonder,” said Ralph.
            “Well, do something with him!” she said. “I’ve had enough!”
            “Take him to the river!” said Maeve. “Evermore!”
            “Good idea,” said Ralph, and he draped an arm around the wild boy’s shoulders and led him away toward the river. It only took a moment to get there, and the river was running swiftly, cold, murmuring, promising.
            The boy slammed on the brakes when they got to the water’s edge, but that didn’t stop Ralph. He pulled Mürg into the deep middle of the stream. He sang a new song called Look Who's Talking, then he ducked the boy under the water and held him there for a few seconds, just long enough to change him.
            When Ralph pulled him up, he said, “My name is Ralph. What’s yours?”
            The shivering boy, stripped of his wildness, said, “Mürg. Ralph?”
            “Good start!” said Ralph. “Let’s go see Ramona about some fish, once they cool down.”
            “This is gonna be great, Mürg, you’ll see!” Ralph laughed as he led the boy back to camp.

💦💙💦

Toots and Suzy Hit the Dusty Trail

 

 
            It was November everywhere, a rather soggy month in many places, especially this year. But, of course, that fact doesn’t affect those who travel the fitful winds of time. Why, with time travel a person can get right out of the rain, if they want to..
 
            “Suzy, Tiny Toes, are you there? Are you getting this?” sent Toots one day recently. “How is every little thing down there under the desk?”
            Suzy woke and looked all around before she realized who was talking.
            “I do have very small toes, Toots. You remembered!” said Suzy.
            “How could I forget? Anything exciting going on down there? You know, I can see you!” said Toots. “I see a half-eaten bowl of cat soup, a little empty kibble bowl, and not much else besides you and a box of alabaster pieces.”
            “The only thing happening down here is that I am getting quite round, and I have to hiss at those big goofs a few times a day, Toots. That’s about it. I am too nervous to be held by P very long. I feel exposed,” mewed Suzy.
            “We have some research to complete. Remember? The old West?” reminded Toots.
            “Sounds better than hanging out under the desk, though I must say it’s quite comfy, if a little boring,” said Suzy, yawning and stretching.
            “I think that if we are going to check on cats in the old west, that the most reasonable place to go back to would be a ranch. I hear that cats practically ran those places! This I gotta see, since we are both in protective custody,” miffed Toots, with a glance out of her window. Her tail twitched a few times, then she spoke.
            “In those days, cats were allowed to take their chances, to range freely. To have a home all they had to do was hunt for those who despoil the grain, or whatever. Right? Rats and mice, the usual culprits.”
            “Uh, right,” said Suzy.
            “We need to end up in the same place together," said Toots, "so I’ve picked a place. We can branch out from there. The year is 1881. The place is the Gooding, ID train depot. So, on the count of meow, when I say one, two, meow, just think Gooding train depot real hard. OK?”
            “1881.Gooding train depot, right,” said Suzy.
            “OK, here goes. One. Two. Meow!” said Toots, with her eyes squinched shut and using all of her powers of concentration. Suzy was concentrating too….
            …When the girls opened their virtual eyes, they found themselves standing on the platform of an old-fashioned wooden structure. It was a sunny day, but not too hot. Train tracks ran alongside the platform. No one was about.
            Apparently, location and year worked well enough, but picking a particular day wouldn’t have been a bad idea. But at least they were together. That’s the main thing!
            A dusty road ran past the station on the other side of the tracks. It made a sharp turn in among some fields of beans on one side and sugar beets on the other side.
            “Wow, it’s like looking into a book or a movie, but it’s real,” said Suzy.
            “I think we can find a farm around here somewhere and they probably have at least one cat, but if they have one cat, they probably have more cats,” said Toots, also gazing about. “Lets wander down this little road, Suzy, and see what’s over that little rise.”
            Locomotion methods while time traveling in virtual form are a little unclear to this writer, but nevertheless, our little explorers set off down the narrow country road. Maybe it was all in their minds.
            Before they knew it, a small farm appeared on the right side of the road. A canal ran under a bridge right before the farm.
            “That must be for watering their beans,” said Toots. “Let’s take a look!”
            Into the small dusty farmyard they wandered as if in a dream. No one was walking around right there. No human that is.
            A flock of red and also white and black speckled hens walked about picking at this and that and making chicken chat among themselves. A much larger red rooster strode among them, watching them carefully and making acerbic chicken remarks.
            “Very useful on a farm,” said Toots. “They eat bugs, which is disgusting, but then they are chickens, who eat bugs.”
             There was a metal granary a bit further back near a sort of barn/garage type building.
            “If there is a cat, she will probably be near the granary or in that building,” said Toots.
            “I don’t see her out here,” said Suzy, “Let’s go inside and see if she is in there.”
            The building was low and shady. It was full of all kinds of tools, shovels and such. There were many things the girls couldn’t identify.
            “I hear something,” said Suzy. “Up in the rafters.”
            “I hear mewing!” said Toots. “Bingo!”
            Up in the rafters, there was a structure holding some long boards. On these boards there was a wooden box, which had once held oranges from California. Inside the box there was a lot of straw and some old cloth rags. On the rags lay a black and white mother. At her outstretched bosom were four kits. One was gray, two were black and white, and the fourth, a small Tom, was striped orange.
            “Oh, look, she has kittens!” said Suzy. “I’ve never known any kitten except those two big bruisers at home!”
            “What a beautiful way to live,” said Toots, in admiration. “She is free, and she has children to come after her!”
            They watched the family for a few moments, purring at the purrfection of the moment.
            The mother picked up her head, “I can hear you, you know,” she said, “though I can’t quite see you. Come closer, maybe I will see you then.”
            “How can she hear us?” whispered Suzy.
            “I don’t know,” said Toots.
            “Where are you from?” said the mother, looking right at them!
            “How can you see us? We’re not here,” said Toots. “We’re in the future. Just doing a little exploring.”
            “My name is Minerva. I see ghosts all the time,” said Minerva, sitting up in the orange box with her children around her. “Why did you come here, Ghosts?”
            “We’re really not ghosts, Minerva. We’re totally alive, just not alive here or your now,” said Suzy. “We’re curious.”
            “We wanted to see how cats get along in the old west, and here we find you, free, alive, and rearing kittens. In the future, it’s a rare sight to see among cats,” said Toots.
            “I will admit that most ghosts aren’t rational,” said Minerva. “Perhaps I believe you.”
            “Do you have a message for the cats of the future?”  asked Toots.
            Minerva thought for a moment, then said, “Remember who you are. All the wild world is yours. May your children be many, and prosper.” Then she lay back down among her children.
            “We will tell them, Minerva,” said Toots.
            Evening was coming. Shadows were growing long in the farmyard. The chickens had found places to rest, and the girls could see a man walking toward the house from down in the near fields. He walked with a weary step, turning for a moment to assess his surroundings.
            “It seems to me that cats in the old west were doing well,” said Toots.
            “At least here,” said Suzy.
            “I’m glad we met her,” said Toots. “Let’s go home. She was a fine example for us all!”
            Just before they left the farm, a whippoorwill called, and the wind sighed.

🍃💚🥬

November 9, Morning Greeting & Open Thread. Meow! 😻

 

The photo was taken in March of 2023.

If you look carefully, you can see the corndog my giggling daughter

threw out there for some wandering Squatch to find.

She was laughing so hard she nearly fell in a snow-filled ditch

and didn't do much of a pitch.

💚

🐈‍⬛An Exercise in Essential Cautiousness™🐈‍⬛

             OK, Catfurday was the day. It was their first outing on leash. I suspected that they would be Cautious™.  And so, in fact, they were. They did not run eagerly out of the back door.

            Here we are staring out of the open door. Hm. Didn't expect that.

            Booker's preferred location. Under the bench.

            With encouragement from BW, he climbed the handrail. Check out the claws.

            Find the kitty! It's Sweetie down in the gravel, checking it out. He yelled a lot!

            Basically, he wanted back in the house! Did I mention he yelled a lot?

            There wasn't a lot of exploration, though Sweetie did get kind of stuck up in the pear tree. I didn't get a shot of that. I think they were just kind of overwhelmed by the out of doors. Booker did a lot of sniffing once he consented to touch the ground.

            Sweetie mostly yelled and stared at everything.

            He has not been running to jump through doors. Interesting. They seem thoughtful, if cats can be thoughtful, and somewhat subdued.

            I knew that teaching them to stroll along would be a process. They're just big babies.

M'WOW!

❤️

Happy Catfurday from Ralph & Ramona & All

 

A scene on the Rez.

Oh, he was out there of course, but darn elusive.

I happen to know that he vanquished a shapshifter that one time,

And had a swim in Tulalip Bay!

It's an open thread of course.

No different from any other day!

Photo shot by BW on October 8th.

A most blessed day to you!

🦬💛🫈

He Dreamed of The Mountain

       The mountain always has snow on it, in patches, lying in shadows, even in the center of summer. But in summer the bones of the mountain show through what’s left of the snow. It’s a good time to visit the mountain, if you’re not going there to ski. There are things to see.

          So, it was that one August Ralph began to dream about the mountain. It was a persistent dream. It rose in his mind, implacable and silent, and yet beckoning.

          That morning, after a cup of cowboy coffee and a few hazelnut cakes, he kissed Ramona, placed his hand in blessing on Cherry’s head, told the animals to watch out for his girls, and he started walking. As the Maeve flies, it’s not a great distance, but on foot it’s a number of miles.

          When it was convenient, he walked the highways, when it wasn’t he went cross country. He was walking up a steep hillside when he heard a voice above and behind himself.

          “Boss!”

          “Greetings, Birdy!” said Ralph, looking up into the sky. “What brings you here so far from home?”

          “Ramona said you were going to the mountain,” she called, plopping down on his shoulder. "I’m coming with you.”

          “You’re always welcome. I’ve been dreaming of the mountain and I don’t know why. So, I decided to go there and maybe I will discover the meaning of the dream.”

          “It’s good,” she nodded.

          At last, they came to the foot of the mountain.

          “I’m looking for a landslide,” said Ralph. “It’s by a river.”

          “I will look,” said Maeve, and off she flew, up into the mountain.

          In the meantime, rather than just waiting for Maeve to return, he followed the narrow two-lane road which leads to the ski area. There was an occasional car, so as not to give anyone a great story to tell their mama, or their buddies, he stuck to the trees beside the road. But there aren’t many trees there, so cover was scarce.

          Just at the right moment Maeve reappeared and landed in her usual spot.

          “I’ve seen the place,” she said. “Will you come up with me?”

          “I will, Birdy!” he said.

          “Remember the feather I gave you, and trust me,” Maeve said.

          “I do, and I will,” Ralph said.

          Together they rose into the air. No one saw them, either because no one looks up, or because the impossible is hard to see. They circled the great mountain, passing over granite, small valleys full of last winter's snow, and small groupings of firs. At last, there was the river and on the west side of the river, the landslide.

          “It looks just as it did in my dreams,” Ralph shouted as they landed. All around were tumbled rocks which had been exposed by the landslide. Some of the rocks held mysterious markings.

          The wind came rushing through, and in a playful way, it blew Ralph’s deep brown hair upward. It blew his beard up over his eyes, and flew away laughing. Ralph laughed too, and rubbed his eyes.

          When he opened his eyes, he was standing in a jungle clearing. The air was warm and very humid. Ralph looked all around himself. There were palms, not as tall as Douglas firs, but very tall and lush. There were ferns, as tall as his waist. He touched them softly to see if they were real. When he looked at his hand, it was covered with yellow pollen.

          Large shining insect-like creatures whirred and darted about. Strange vines climbed the palms and each other in great heaving mounds. At some distance he could see a stretch of blue water, as if it were an ocean. He trembled.

          “Is this the dream, Boss?” called Maeve from overhead, stark against the misty sky.

          “Yes, Birdy, this is the dream.”

          “What does it mean?” she said, near to his ear, from his shoulder.

          “It is time. Time is deep and long. Things change. The world rolls along. Who can know it? It’s a mystery,” said Ralph.

          He sighed and closed his eyes, perhaps to consider for a moment. When his eyes were opened again, he saw that the jungle was gone. Once more he stood on granite, and the wind blew cold. The small river ran downhill, pretending to be always present, murmuring.

          As he began to take a step, he stubbed his toe on a flat piece of stone. Imprinted in the stone was the impression of a palm’s fan-like leaf. Of course, he picked it up to take home to show Ramona and Cherry.

          “Shall we go home now, Boss?” said Maeve.

          “Yeah,” said Ralph.

💚🌴💚