How Raven Got His Name

In which a twin is well named, and other tributes are offered as well.

Feral Raven , refusing to look at the camera

"So," he asked me, eyes alight with a gentle twinkle. "How many black cats DO you have now?"

"I don't HAVE any black cats," I explained with patience. "No one HAS a cat." I gave a good natured smile. It was a matter of semantics.

"Well, how many live here?" he asked, grinning. I grinned back.

"Hmmm." I pondered for a minute, whether to continue the semantical debate or give in and answer his question. I opted for compromise.

"I feed four," I said at last. "They're all in the colony." This was in the days before Hades had become a house cat. 

"Hmmm," he responded in his turn. "Four black cats. Gotta wonder about that." We laughed together there in the yard, warm and happy in the summer sunlight, the spousal unit and our friend and I.

I shooed them inside, the two men, with the authority of a woman who needs to get dinner on the table before it burns. We retreated to the air conditioned interior of my cozy house in the City, and, as I remember, we had a wonderful dinner. Afterwards, I abandoned the two men to their conversation, retreating to my upstairs study to mull on the mystery of black cats.

I have never understood why black cats are such a tormented brood, perhaps because of my early infatuation with Bagheera in Disney's "The Jungle Book." He was an elegant, sophisticated, powerful being,

The Power of the Paw

  

A man was walking along the beach. He saw that it was covered with starfish that had been washed up in the tide. A little boy was walking along, picking them up one by one and throwing them back into the water. "What are you doing son?" the man asked. "You see how many starfish there are? You'll never make a difference." 

The boy paused thoughtfully and picked up another starfish and threw it into the ocean.  “It sure made a difference to that one,” he said. ~~source unknown

 
I am an American, and so it goes without saying that I like Happy Endings. They are among my Favorite Things. I demand them, even. It's not that I don't like tragedy, because I do. The difference is, Gentle Reader, that I like my tragedies epic and ancient. Think of Beowulf, The Illiad, King Lear, Oedipus. Tales from before the dawn of time that make me weep over the courage and tragedy of people who are long dead and crumbled to dust, if indeed they ever lived. For day to day stories, in my own life and in the lives of people I connect with, Happy Endings are de rigueur.

It was a quiet Sunday evening. The spousal unit was off to a potluck with friends, leaving the cats and I to a blissfully decadent evening of doing nothing. I was at the computer, playing a little solitaire, watching a little YouTube, cruising on Facebook and Twitter, when these three re-tweets came across my screen:

"Mum and Dad are heartbroken. They need to find someone good and kind to take me in, because they have to move somewhere they can't keep me."

Doing What We Can

In which we share another of our Favorite Things, a Thing which helps us do Good by doing what we already do.

So many people in these tight times struggle to make ends meet. Some more than others, it's true. But I haven't talked to anyone in a long time who says, "Hey! I'm rollin' in the dough these days. It's easy street for me and mine."

Don't get me wrong. The spousal unit and the ThirteenCats and I have all we need, thank God. We are warm and dry and have enough to eat. We are healthy and surrounded by people we care about and who care about us. Perhaps we don't have everything we want (a second e-reader, a netbook, a new fence). We are indeed well, but things are tight.

So I find myself annoyed at the continuing and often guilt inducing demands for money from organizations which are hurting as well. I understand times are tight for them also. Everyone is feeling the squeeze. Shelves in food banks become emptier and emptier. Schools struggle to collect lunch fees, in arrears to the tune of thousands of dollars, and face classroom budget cuts if they can't. Writers I respect opine on the terrible divide growing between the "haves" and the "have-nots." These same economic woes have sent a great people into the streets of Egypt to topple a government. Still I receive mail from my church demanding a tithe for their coffers. I toss the helpfully provided envelopes into the recycle bin in disgust.

Allies and Friends

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has." ~~attributed to Margaret Mead

 When I pause to think about products and people that make life better for the Thirteen Cats, the very first thought that pops up is "Alley Cat Allies." 

There was a time when municipalities across the country would indiscriminately issue what are called "catch and kill" orders. A city would declare war, in essence, on some of the most vulnerable members of society, its feral and stray cats. They would be trapped by whatever means were allowed. Terrified, the cats were removed from their neighborhoods and homes, and executed with no quarter and no mercy. The goal was to erradicate a population. It never works.

The Joys of Hot and Cold

In which we venture into obscure realms in search of water, and discover much more than what we sought.

The backyard in snow

It gets cold in the City. The winters, by my standards are bitter, though I understand folks from Chicago-land, or, from even further afield, Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, they mock my wimpishness. Well, let them mock, so long as they keep their winters to themselves. St. Louis is as far north as I go. I grew up in more temperate climes, and this is as much as I can take. One morning last week it was three degrees.

That's right, gentle readers. It was three degrees on the Fahrenheit scale. Not thirty degrees, which is two degrees below freezing and plenty cold enough. Three. Uno, dos, tres. Three. In whatever language, that is too damn cold.

Nevertheless, at six in the morning, I stuffed my feet into tennis shoes, wrapped a wool scarf around my head, put on a coat, and ventured outside. The handy desktop weather widget said it was three (three!) degrees. What, you may ask, was the inspiration for this madness? Why armor up and sally forth, when hot chocolate and warm blankets beckoned from a heated house? What madness indeed.

The Stories We Tell

In which we read of artists and Frenchwomen, cats who spin and speak, and somewhat of the values of things.

"I have often wondered how people decide if they are "dog people" or if they are "cat people." Even people who love both, who consider themselves "animal people", as I do, still, generally, will admit, if pushed, that they really actually prefer to live with this type of creature rather than that one. There are horse people and bird people, even fish and snake and turtle people.

I do confess I find myself most friendly disposed towards mammals, and stand in the least friendly relations towards reptiles.  My relationship with arachnids and most insects is one of open, armed, and mutual hostility. (I allow for some exceptions: lady bugs, praying mantis, butterflies I count among the friendly nations of bug-dom.) Perhaps, though, we don't choose whether to be cat people or dog people. Perhaps we just are, cat people or dog people or horse people. It's almost like a clan division, or a tribe.

I knew from before the time I could read I was a cat person.

Follow up to: Do All Cats Go to Heaven?

This is in the nature of a reply to comments on the previous post Do All Cats Go To Heaven