She's about to lose those soft tummy furs again.
Good thing they'll grow back!
She still knows how to be a kitten too.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
spay day
Every day Rose is becoming more cat like. Being nearly 6 months old, she goes in today to be spayed. Poor thing, this will be her second surgery in about a month.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
windoor update
Theo is still the only cat who is brave enough to go through the cat windoor. The other cats can't quite figure out the concept or they don't want to mash their faces into the plastic to get it to move, so they sit and wait for a human to come open the flap.
As you can see in the top of the picture, a magnet on a string has been used to assist in keeping the flap open for easy feline egress. The windoor remains in it's original prototype state, the final creation is awaiting the cat's to master the opening of the flap on their own.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
flirting?
Willow!
Monday, January 3, 2011
staying in the moment - mindfullness
As much as I hate it, loss is inevitable.
I am reminded of this now, even as I recline on the couch, with Theo sleeping peacefully against my chest and Willow curled up on my legs. This moment of serenity will end soon enough, an odd noise will rouse the cats or my full bladder will require me to extract myself from under the cats. This moment will not last.
My challenge in this very moment is to focus on the joy of this instant, to fully take it in. That is way easier said than done! My doom-and-gloom nature works to diminish the current moment with the knowledge that this moment will end. In an attempt to mitigate the impending loss of this delightful moment, I don't allow myself to fully live into the experience.
An example of this is Sundays. I usually enjoy my weekends, but Sundays are difficult, being the last day of the weekend. I can't help but think about how Monday follows Sunday which casts a cloud of dread over the day. Similarly, June 22nd is the most depressing day of the year, because from then out the daylight starts dwindling.
Meanwhile, back to the now. In this moment, I feel the warmth of Theo's body, the softness of his fur brushing against my arms, the weight of his body against my chest. I see his relaxed body and the slow, methodical rising and falling of his side as he breathes. His ears are relaxed but always alert.
His presence is a delight to my heart. I am affirmed and comforted by his desire to be close to me. His trust is evident in his relaxed and vulnerable position. This is all good.
Part of me wishes time would just stop in these moments, so I could soak it up forever but that is not the way of life. May 9, 2009, Max's last day; In the morning I knew his death would come before the sun would set. Knowing this was my last day with Max was agonizing. There was nothing more I wanted than to stop time and to spend forever snuggling with my beautiful Max. It always ends, there is always loss.
I refuse to end it with loss, there needs to be something more. In the cycle of life, so evident in nature, loss gives way to life. Old growth burns to yield new forest, grown in time. Maybe loss is not the end of the cycle but the beginning. Loss has the power to bring new life. Does that imply then that staying present in the moment, which includes the loss of the moment, can yield something even greater? It's nice to think of grief as a landmark along the journey to something greater rather than the final destination.
I am reminded of this now, even as I recline on the couch, with Theo sleeping peacefully against my chest and Willow curled up on my legs. This moment of serenity will end soon enough, an odd noise will rouse the cats or my full bladder will require me to extract myself from under the cats. This moment will not last.
My challenge in this very moment is to focus on the joy of this instant, to fully take it in. That is way easier said than done! My doom-and-gloom nature works to diminish the current moment with the knowledge that this moment will end. In an attempt to mitigate the impending loss of this delightful moment, I don't allow myself to fully live into the experience.
An example of this is Sundays. I usually enjoy my weekends, but Sundays are difficult, being the last day of the weekend. I can't help but think about how Monday follows Sunday which casts a cloud of dread over the day. Similarly, June 22nd is the most depressing day of the year, because from then out the daylight starts dwindling.
His presence is a delight to my heart. I am affirmed and comforted by his desire to be close to me. His trust is evident in his relaxed and vulnerable position. This is all good.
Part of me wishes time would just stop in these moments, so I could soak it up forever but that is not the way of life. May 9, 2009, Max's last day; In the morning I knew his death would come before the sun would set. Knowing this was my last day with Max was agonizing. There was nothing more I wanted than to stop time and to spend forever snuggling with my beautiful Max. It always ends, there is always loss.
I refuse to end it with loss, there needs to be something more. In the cycle of life, so evident in nature, loss gives way to life. Old growth burns to yield new forest, grown in time. Maybe loss is not the end of the cycle but the beginning. Loss has the power to bring new life. Does that imply then that staying present in the moment, which includes the loss of the moment, can yield something even greater? It's nice to think of grief as a landmark along the journey to something greater rather than the final destination.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
cat who never sleeps
I have nicknamed Nahum as the cat who never sleeps. The boy never seems to sleep! Whenever I am home during the day, he rarely naps. He's always ready and available for play or anything else that looks like fun!
Who needs sleep?!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
my war with time
Here it is New Year's day, the first day of 2011. Maybe it's a good day to ponder my relationship with time.
I often find myself at war with time. It seems a rare day when I feel like I am friends with time. Day-to-day this looks like many things. I never have enough time as I am scrambling to get out the door, vacations and weekends go to quickly. Then there are the days that drag on forever, they seem never ending.
Several intense moments of battling time are burned in my memory. When I was courting Laura in college, we endured a long distance relationship for three long years. During holidays and school breaks one of us would jump on the Greyhound Bus and travel to the other. I vividly remember the feelings of intense longing as the day slowly approached of Laura coming to visit - I just couldn't wait for that bus to arrive and for us to be reunited at last. With the longing came waiting, it would be like time slowed down to an agonizing pace and there was nothing I could do to speed it up. And then instantly the opposite would be true. The bus arrived in the middle of the night, we reunited and then even though the visit was three of four full days, it seemed only a few hours later that we were meeting the bus once more and having to say goodbye. It was as if the dam that slowed the flow of time had suddenly burst and now time was flowing uncontrollably fast.
Another major event where I battled with time was May 9, 2009, the day of Max's death. Having had around 8 months of emotionally difficult time caring for Max as his kidney's failed, the day had come to end his suffering. The call had been made and the 4pm appointment scheduled. My heart wrenched in pain as I had only a matter of hours more to be with Max and then never again. It was a mixed experience of time. Simultaneously, the day flew by way too fast and it felt like it was taking forever as each hour passed. I wanted nothing more than to stop time and run away with Max - to both cheat death and time.
I wonder what it is like to live at peace with time, to rest in knowing that I am powerless in controlling it. What does it even mean to rest in time? Is there such a thing? I suppose it means being present to the moment. That is something I imagine Buddhist monks experience in some far off place rather than someone caught up in the daily rat race of American life.
One of the things that I admire about cats is their ability to live in the moment. They seem to make the best of the moment and then move on. If they even have expectations they are able to quickly let them go and move on. They don't let the past affect their ability to enjoy the present. Willow will seek out a patch of sun to nap. When the sun is covered by a cloud she doesn't sulk she takes it in stride and moves on. I have much to learn.
Several intense moments of battling time are burned in my memory. When I was courting Laura in college, we endured a long distance relationship for three long years. During holidays and school breaks one of us would jump on the Greyhound Bus and travel to the other. I vividly remember the feelings of intense longing as the day slowly approached of Laura coming to visit - I just couldn't wait for that bus to arrive and for us to be reunited at last. With the longing came waiting, it would be like time slowed down to an agonizing pace and there was nothing I could do to speed it up. And then instantly the opposite would be true. The bus arrived in the middle of the night, we reunited and then even though the visit was three of four full days, it seemed only a few hours later that we were meeting the bus once more and having to say goodbye. It was as if the dam that slowed the flow of time had suddenly burst and now time was flowing uncontrollably fast.
Another major event where I battled with time was May 9, 2009, the day of Max's death. Having had around 8 months of emotionally difficult time caring for Max as his kidney's failed, the day had come to end his suffering. The call had been made and the 4pm appointment scheduled. My heart wrenched in pain as I had only a matter of hours more to be with Max and then never again. It was a mixed experience of time. Simultaneously, the day flew by way too fast and it felt like it was taking forever as each hour passed. I wanted nothing more than to stop time and run away with Max - to both cheat death and time.
Max, in his last hour of life.
I wonder what it is like to live at peace with time, to rest in knowing that I am powerless in controlling it. What does it even mean to rest in time? Is there such a thing? I suppose it means being present to the moment. That is something I imagine Buddhist monks experience in some far off place rather than someone caught up in the daily rat race of American life.
One of the things that I admire about cats is their ability to live in the moment. They seem to make the best of the moment and then move on. If they even have expectations they are able to quickly let them go and move on. They don't let the past affect their ability to enjoy the present. Willow will seek out a patch of sun to nap. When the sun is covered by a cloud she doesn't sulk she takes it in stride and moves on. I have much to learn.
the New Year!
A few pictures of the kitties celebrating new years.
Melted Willow showing off her whites in front of the fire.
Rose enjoying a snuggle with Nahum in front of the fire.
Willow and Nahum having a tussle.
Nahum looking beautiful.
Rose watching the festivities.
Rose giving in to the urge to nap.
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