Purrsday is for Purring™

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Zonked and purring up a storm at the same time!

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            One of the cutest things I’ve noticed about having the new kits, is that if they are disturbed while sleeping, or getting into something, their first reaction is loud purring.

            I just went in to where Booker was sleeping and talked with him and petted him a little, and right on cue, loud purring! OTOH, when I have to remove one of them from some situation, I get the same result. Lots of purring.

            What does it mean? For one thing they purr much more than the other cats ever did. Hm.

            At the bottom of it, I wonder if it’s not just a bonding thing, like we’re all together in this, whatever it is. Solidarity!

            Maybe it means, for one thing, that these kittens have never had a bad experience in their lives. They’re just genuinely happy boys?

            I know cats purr if they feel sick sometimes.

            I’ve knew a cat who would purr against me if I cried.

            Some have been known to purr with an injured or ill person.

            It think it can have an element of petition, “Let me down, I’ll purr nicely.”

            Of course I think of it as love and happiness expressed in a cat way.

 

            It’s a strange thing to wake in the dark in the middle of the night and to hear loud purring somewhere nearby. Very soothing and peaceful. Maybe someone, some little soul, in the house at night is Purring™ for us all!

            I think that’s true.

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The Meditations of a 7th Toe

   

         

           So, anyhow, Ralph and Uncle Bob went fairly far afield rounding up some dry deadfall for the girls to cook with. Dry is best of course because it burns hotter, though green wood is far better than no wood. On the way back to the Meadow and the Home Clearing they encountered a flock of hen turkeys. Ralph kind of crooned at them, which made them easy to catch, and their numbers were decreased by four. A pretty good day of hunting, since they had not really been hunting at all.
            Ralph carried the firewood in his big leather backpack and his turkeys by hand. Uncle Bob had to make do with his hands. He had a tough time, but they finally got him home to Suzie.
            Ralph delivered the fuel and the turkeys to Ramona, kissed her and hugged Cherry.
            By now it was late afternoon, not that Forest Giants care about the time of day, so, he decided to go pick up where he left off that morning when Uncle Bob showed up.
            It was a nice mild, gray day without rain. It was quiet in the forest. Sound seemed hushed. He didn’t even hear the river talking to itself. Maeve was down chatting with Ramona and teaching Cherry Raven folklore. It was such a nice comfy day. His log beckoned.
            “Now,” thought Ralph. “I was just waiting to hear from my 7^th toe when I got interrupted.” Soon he was in sleep’s antechamber.
            “If you read from left to right, as most do in this fair country, I myself dwelt on your right foot, Sir. My position is subsidiary. I am next to your Most Auspicious Great Toe, on your right foot. A goodly position, Sir, as you commonly stride out first with your right foot!” said No. 7.
            Ralph’s eyes opened briefly, but then they drifted shut again.
            “I see life at a fundamental level, dear Sir. I am nearly the least of your servants, but not quite the least. We toes, in fact, read the earth you stride on. We send subtle messages up to you. ‘Lightly here!’ and ‘There are thorns here!’ and such. We toes are on your side, um, in a manner of speaking. We live to serve, and when you prosper, indeed we toes prosper in like manner.”
            By then, Ralph was well and truly in sleep’s throne room. And a vision came to him.
            He saw in his mind’s eye that he was in another great forest far away to the east. He gazed upon a clearing among a stand of mighty trees, foreign to the Douglas firs of his own home. Soon, three rough fellows came pacing in carrying shovels and strong flashlights, for it was nighttime there.
            They were looking all around for something. One said to the other two, “She said it was marked by a flat black rock, round from a river.”
            “By now, it will be buried,” said another one.
            “Keep stomping and kicking, it will be the only river rock out here,” said No. 1.
            They did this until at last No.2 ran his toe into something under a layer of forest duff.
            “That’s it!” said No. 3, the youngest of the crew, visibly excited.
            It seemed to Ralph that he was looking through another’s eyes. Human eyes. The man whose vision he saw had authority, but not enough power to enforce it. He was afraid of the odds against him. This young man represented law, but could not afford to challenge these diggers. He watched.
            No. 1 poked his fingers under the edge of the flat black river rock and rolled it aside. The flashlight beams danced all over the clearing. All three men set the lights around the area where the stone had been so that they could see to dig. And dig they did. Frantically, hungrily, quickly.
            Soon they had a pretty good sized hole. The watcher watched and stayed hidden. He wanted to know what was in the hole, if anything at all.
            About three feet down, a shovel hit something that made a dull thud, perhaps a wooden object. It seemed to Ralph that it must be a chest of some sort. Anyone would assume so.
            The three men dug all around it. But they were tiring. They rubbed their hands on their old pants, spat, cursed and dug again. They got their shovel blades under the bottom of the object, which did seem to be a wooden box, much deteriorated. It wasn’t very big, maybe two feet long and 18 inches high and a similar measurement deep.
            It was drawn up out of the hole. It was locked, but the wood was rotted around the lock, so they struck the box until the lid could be lifted.
            No. 1 lifted the lid and turned it back. The hinges broke and it fell away.
            “That bitch!” he screamed. He kicked the box over and over. Nothing fell out but bones.
            The watcher gasped. Then he ran. He had seen their faces well and he knew them. It seemed to Ralph that the young officer raced to save his own life, and in hopes to discover a mystery. He was in much better condition than his pursuers, and he ran well, leaving them far behind in the depths of the forest…
            Ralph woke suddenly. He shook his head in amazement. “Wow!” he said to the air around him where he lay. He sat up blinking for a few seconds.
            But, he could smell roasting turkey, and suddenly all was well again, and the dream drifted off to wherever dreams go and was forgotten.

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"Hey, Ralphie!"

 

            One fine morning Ralph was stretched out on his dear old cedar log. He was sensing each toe separately as a sort of meditation. He had gotten to the 7^th toe, and it was just about to spill some toe secrets about its life as a toe, when a familiar voice interrupted his pre-nap considerations.
            It was Uncle Bob.
            “Hey, Ralphie,” he said. “What’cha doin’?”  Bob’s friendly face looked down at Ralph’s startled one.
            “Um, thinking. What’s up, Bob,” said Ralph, rising to a sitting position, because he knew this wasn’t going to be a quickie. It never was. He mentally kissed his nap goodbye.
            “Have a seat, Bob, and let’s hear it, whatever it is,” said Ralph.
            Uncle Bob swarmed aboard Ralph’s log, but ended up facing the other way and had to turn around to talk. It took a minute.
            “I just remembered something! Usually I can’t remember anything that happened back after we grew up and I was still smoking so much. Did I ever tell you about the guy in the green truck I met one day?” said Bob. “He was a really nice guy!”
            “I don’t remember hearing about the guy in the green truck, Bob,” said Ralph. “What happened?”
            “All I remember is that I was lying on the ground by a road. My eyes were open and I was looking up at the sky wondering if it was gong to rain. I guess I was really close to the road because I heard a car or truck slow down like they were taking a look. And I was really worried that a human was looking at me laying in the grass by the road,” said Uncle Bob.
            “What happened then, did someone see you?” asked Ralph, to help the story along.
            “I guess he parked. The engine stopped running. I heard him get out of the truck. I peeked. It was an old green truck with a truck box thing on the back. Then I shut my eyes so maybe he would leave me alone!” said Bob, eyes wide.
            “Did it work?” said Ralph.
            “No, Ralphie! He came right up to me and said, ‘Are you alive?’ I sneezed. So, I guess he figured out I was alive. He said, ‘Why are you laying there by the ditch? You look dead. What’s the matter with you?’
            “It was freakier than heck, Ralphie. He wasn’t scared of me at all. He was just this dad looking guy in jeans and a white t-shirt. I wasn’t scared of him either I guess, so I got up.”
            “He said, ‘You look like hell. Are you hungry, or what?’ When he said that he smiled and I was really hungry. He guessed that right. I didn’t remember eating for a long time.”
            “He said he had a sack of groceries in the truck and why didn’t I come with him? I was so scared, Ralphie, but I was really hungry. So, I got into the truck. It was like a dream. There I was in a human’s truck!” whispered Uncle Bob.
            “Wow, Bob. You amaze me!” said Ralph. “Then what?”
            “He started up the engine and got back up on the road and drove down to a little dirt road. He turned in there, then turned the truck around so he was facing out. He parked again. He gave me some coffee out of a can thing with a lid. I didn’t know it was coffee back then, It was hot and brown and bitter, but I drank it anyhow. Then he gave me a banana. He had to show me how to peel it.
            “He laughed at me, but not mean. Then he gave me some kind of slices of meat put into bread. Then he opened up a paper bag of little things like sweet bread, I didn’t know about cookies back then. ‘Feel better, kid?’ he said, and I did. I ate all the cookies.”
            “You know, Bob. You were awful lucky he found you! You know that? It could have really gone wrong. Passed out on the road like that?” said Ralph. “Some fool might have freaked out and shot you!”
            “I know, Ralphie. I think he pretty much saved me,” said Uncle Bob.
            “How did you manage to understand each other?” said Ralph.
            “I don’t remember talking, but I understood what he said. Maybe it was that head thing? I don’t really know,” said Bob.
            “What’s the end of the story? I’m really curious,” said Ralph.
            “Not much. He gave me a bag of orange roots, or carrots. I didn’t know what they were. He told me to knock off whatever made me lay by the road looking dead. He showed me how the door handle worked and I got out. I said my thanks in our language, he nodded. I shut the truck door and watched him drive back out to the paved road. That’s all,” Bob said.
            “That was an unusual human,” mused Ralph.
            “It’s funny I forgot about him for so long,” said Uncle Bob.
            “He was right, wasn’t he?” said Ralph, giving Uncle Bob a sideways look.
            “Yeah. He was like somebody’s dad,” said Uncle Bob.
            “Funny it took you so long to get the message,” said Ralph.
            “But I did, Ralphie! I did! I really like having memories!”
            “Ah, Bob. Yes you did! Let’s go get some firewood for Ramona and Suzie. Make ourselves useful, eh?” said Ralph.
            “Good idea,” said Uncle Bob.

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A True Tale of Terror on The 405 Freeway!

 

            It would be very easy to blame my dear little commie sister for this, but in truth I am responsible for going along with the gag myself. I should have known it was too weird.
            It goes like this: One day, several years ago, my sister called me on the phone with a request. It seems that a woman had come to her door begging for help. The odd lady said that she was stuck here in Everett without funds and needed to get to Redmond, IIRC. She was at her wit’s end, she said. She begged Chris for a ride! She knocked on the right door.
            That’s a pretty good distance from Everett, through savage traffic. Apparently, sister didn’t have access to a vehicle that day. So, she called me and asked me to drive her and this dame, I shall call Sylvia, to Redmond. No specific location in Redmond was mentioned.
            Any sensible person would have said, "Nah, too flakey." Maybe I was curious. I don’t know why I did it, but I said OK and drove over to Chris’ house and picked her and Sylvia up. Sylvia was a small scrappy looking critter in her 50s maybe. She sat in the back seat looking oddly happy and not talking much. Pretty darn "Off!"
            I was beginning to get the idea that this project was real dumb.
            I asked Sylvia where she wanted to go, that she was in such a hurry to get to.
            We were on 405. There is a big hospital in Kirkland on 405 called Evergreen. Sylvia said she had an appointment in the hospital. OK. So we parked outside the hospital and went in. Sylvia went ahead of us way down the hall. So, I turned to Chris and said, “Let’s beat it. Leave her here!” Chris agreed and we turned around to leave. But the wily bag lady twigged and came running to go with us. I should have just told her “No” right then, but I failed.
            She wasn’t done yet. She wanted to go to a certain address on Mercer Island, a ritzy neighborhood, by the way. She gave me an address, and I tried to find it. We had cell phones back then, but it was like a Nokia brick. There was no way of locating obscure addresses.
            This went on for a while. Sylvia looked happy as heck. She was loving riding around in the back seat. It became late afternoon. I was getting pretty tired of this game and Chris looked pretty embarrassed.
            So, I parked. I called 911, I really did this. I told the nice girl on the line my problem. I had this woman in the car who was looking for this address and could they provide some direction. She said, “Stay right there! We’ll send an officer.” Lol!! And they did.
            When the guy got to us, he collected Sylvia, who looked like all her fun was done now. It turned out that they knew her! She had done this before!
            I have no idea what the Mercer Island police do with strange vagrant ladies. But, thank goodness it wasn’t my problem anymore!
            I think I have left out a few other stages of this game of Sylvia’s. It took all day.
            So, OK, it wasn’t really terrifying. It was just stupid. I went along with my gullible sister’s desire to help a female beggar at her door.
            What would you have done, if your sister called with a request like that?

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Let's Just Talk, And Maybe Share A Snack.

 

Sweetie and Suzy share a snack cup quite nicely!

The most open thread there ever was!
Good morning, everyone!

Happy Suzday!

 

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A Chance Meeting in An Unusual Place

 

            Once upon a time, before our time, when the world was much newer, there was a mighty Walker. We may call him Nimson. In the years of his strength he was said, by those who chatter, to be 12 cubits tall. This is a bit of a mystery, but mystery is good for the soul, is it not? It begets humility sometimes.
            This Nimson was an observant and reflective fellow. He spoke little. He watched carefully.
            He had observed several tribes of man, those who live no longer, and also those who have survived until the present day. He had judged them, from afar, to be difficult, restless, and quarrelsome, but also instructive to observe.
            Once this mighty Walker was out doing a bit of hunting, he used a spear by the way. He passed through the forest of his home, relishing the beauty of the tall trees, listening to the songs of the birds, gazing rapt at flowers, feeling the wind moving over the earth. He was so enchanted by it all that he walked on further than usual until the trees gave way to grasslands. He stood for a moment, judging whether to go further into unfamiliar territory, but finally told himself, “Yes, it is good.” So on he went. The grasslands spread out before him, mysterious, and open to the sky.
            There were no trails there, just the endless grass waving languidly in the wind. It was almost hypnotic. Nimson walked on wondering what sort of prey might live in this tall endless grass.
            At last he noticed that though the land appeared to be flat, it was not utterly flat. There were dips and hollows which appeared suddenly when he came upon them. Some had springs of water birthing small streams that wandered off to the next low spot. He was charmed. He stopped and lapped the water, then walked on.
            Night came, and with it a brilliant full moon. He was getting hungry.
            The wind brought Nimson the smell of some kind of smoke. It wasn’t just wood smoke. There was something else in the scent. Something about this scent interested him. It beckoned.
            Then he saw firelight. Realizing that it must be a campsite, he drew silently near.
            There, in the glow of the flames, he saw a woman of the tribe of modern man. She wore a straight garment of tanned leather and long dark hair hung about her shoulders. It was not apparent whether she be mother or maiden. She was alone except for a horse, tied to a bush nearby. This small horse happened to be covered in bundles and such.
            Over the fire, she had laid a large round thing like a shield, he thought. Upon its surface were laid pieces of meat, the source of the strangely scented smoke. Nimson had eaten boars, so he knew pork when he smelled it, but this was more than just pork, there was something different about it.
            He wasn’t afraid of her. He feared nothing. And he was curious.
            Nimson stepped out into the firelight. Before her eyes he stood there impossibly tall, clothed in his own covering of jet black hair, with a face like a man’s, but different somehow. He had amber colored eyes and an inquisitive expression.
            She took him in with a quick glance and then smiled up at him.
            “Are you hungry, Warrior?” she smiled her coyote smile.
            “Perhaps I am, Woman,” he answered, noting the smile.
            “I have meat here, Warrior. Honied, spiced, and smoked boar’s flesh. Will you eat?” said she.
            “I have never eaten meat touched by fire, Woman,” said Nimson. “It smells very good.”
            “Sit, and I will serve you,” she said, edging close and gazing boldly up into his face.
            Nimson sat on the trampled grass near the fire. The woman fished some pieces of meat off of the metal object, laid them on a flat wooden vessel of some sort and then she laid the plate, for of course it was a plate, near him where he sat cross-legged on the trampled grass.
            “Warrior, if you will come with me and be my love, and live among my people, you shall have meat such as this every day. Together with you, I will rule over the lives of men and women, for you are very powerful!” said the dark haired woman with intense, shining eyes of pale blue.
            Nimson laughed and rose to his feet once more, without touching the cooked meat waiting for him on the wooden plate on the grass.
            Fasting, he left her there, walking back into the moonlit tall grass, following his own trail toward his home in the forest. He stopped at the spring again and drank.
            He stood then, wiped the excess water off of his face, looked up at the moon, tucked his spear under his left arm and walked again.
            Once, as he walked, he snorted derisively.

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F'lineday Lazy Open Thread for April 10!

 

            Most of what goes on around here lately looks a lot like this. The little creatures are growing quickly. They are still the kindest, most affectionate kittens I have ever met. Still amazed.

            The one on top of Dad's old piano is Sweetie. He is well named. He is the most involved and the most playful. He gets into the most mischief too.

            The one in the window, stretching his long stripy legs, is Booker. He is more observant and less likely to be the first to start something. He sleeps more. He is the one who is often in my chair before I can get to it.

            Anyhow, I didn't get around to writing anything yesterday. 

            It's always a pleasure to read anything you care to write! As always, feel free to opine!

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