This morning I have laundry going, making all it’s clackety-clack sounds. Ivy is on the table staring at a bird that I can’t see, but know it’s in the trees in her sight line. And Charlie is on the left side of me, between the arm of the couch and mama, where the world is the most safe.
It’s cold and gray. I get to look out at the back of the strip mall from where I sit. The strip mall is sort of cream-colored with pipes going up and down the walls and the top. It is not at all a scenic view. I might as well be gazing at a sewage plant. But I’ve made peace with it.
That’s the way to get through life. When you don’t like everything in it, try to make peace with what you must. It’s far healthier and gives you that glass half full feeling that is so…zen.
Someone sent me a link to Susan Branch’s blog with a post about her Jack kitty. It’s so nice to know I’m not the only fool with a camera always within reach so I can catch cute things Ivy does. Or bad things Ivy does that is somehow cute anyway.
Her black and white Jack looks to me like he has a Christmas tree that sprouted atop his nose.
I agree with her that kittens need a playmate. Charlie is a typical old fuss budget. But of course he’s a senior now and has to save his strength for the next squirrel that happens to enter the picture. He just doesn’t have the patience to deal with Ivy’s antics.
I’ve stopped rubbing Ivy’s tummy when she flops over on her back next to me while I’m reading at night. And she has stopped grabbing my arm between her paws and gently biting me. I guess whoever mentioned that cats don’t like that was absolutely right.
Now I scratch or rub her head and she’s much happier with that.
I just heard something fall somewhere. Got up to find that Ivy found a pair of my reading glasses that were squirreled away somewhere and had taken them out of the fabric sleeve.
I hope she isn’t planning to read because she’s not anywhere near old enough for reading glasses. And I don’t appreciate her digging them out from wherever she found them and knocking them to the floor.
Don’t think I’m going out today. The whole drive-to-the-doctor’s-office-for-absolutely-nothing trip kind of wore me out. Not my body, but my mind. I can only take so much incompetence and the inability to get things front and center before I go into hibernation again.
Maybe I share a gene with the bears that head for hibernation each winter. We think it’s quite normal for them. So why not people?
I Googled it because what I know about bear’s hibernating you could fit into the end of a thimble.
Bears hibernate during winter, but aren’t sleeping the whole time. Hibernation for bears simply means they don’t need to eat or drink, and rarely urinate or defecate (or not at all). There is strong evolutionary pressure for bears to stay in their dens during winter, if there is little or no food available.
Well, so I eat and drink and have all those other bodily functions functioning. But staying in my den is how I like it no matter the season. Oh, and I have food available too.
I hear the sharp squawk of a black bird outside. Or maybe it’s another type of bird. I don’t see it on the fence that sits about halfway up the cream-colored wall full of pipes which is the back of the strip mall.
There have been times in my life when I’ve felt depressed no matter what I was looking at on a daily basis. I’m lucky I’ve got to the point where it really doesn’t matter what’s outside my window.
When I look out the front window, when I can see above the bushes that grow against the wall, I see the green maintenance shed and the parking lot. When I stand out on the patio I get yet another view of said strip mall. There’s no escaping it.
But beauty is truly in the eye of the beholder. And in this case that would be me.
Competence, like truth, beauty, and contact lenses, is in the eye of the beholder.– Laurence J. Peter