IN MEMORIAM: THOMASINA

Our sweet, beautiful calico died on January 4 after a brief illness at age 17+. She was born in the French countryside south of Paris and was C's first cat as an adult. Molls arrived a few months later and Tomi quickly established herself as the alpha making her point known by biting Molls in the tail as she used the litter box. Although they curled up together while kittens, as adults they sparred occasionally during their lives together. Usually, it was Molls, having reached her breaking point of annoyance, would simply walk up and unleash a single right hook to Tomi's grill: "Bitch, I've had enough of your bullshit." Tomi would run away outside or downstairs, later to return unrepentant and try to steal Moll's supper.

Last photo of Tomi with C just before Christmas

It struck C hard upon realizing that Tomi had been with her nearly a quarter of her life. Another's death tends to bring one's own mortality in focus.

My relationship with the Tomster had quite an arc. When C came over from Paris with Tomi, Molls and Moll's son Minn, we lived in a duplex off Hagadorn Rd in East Lansing. Tomi, for some reason was terrified of me and would stay in the basement if I were around. She was never abused by a man, C said, she's just a "skitty kitty" and that moniker stuck. It took some time for her to be comfortable with me and only in the final year of her life, (see 12/21/21 post) did she actively seek out physical attention and laptime. Her being a skitty kitty was helpful at times: if I was waiting for a contractor and was killing time with some chore in the kitchen, I always knew when they had arrived. I would see Tomi in the library sitting fully erect, eyes and ears forward, staring out the window. Then she would be dashing madly through the kitchen to the downstairs, claws clattering on the linoleum: "OMG!OMG! Someone here!!! Dad, Dad OMG!! Helpful when expecting a package from Amazon as well.

-Holiday card from 2016-

I gave her the name of Tomi as her skinny body, beautiful markings and sashaying hips reminded me of a spoiled girl from a rich family who worked as a Parisian model. You know, the kind that can eat anything they want and not gain an ounce (I gain weight looking at food!), possessing fierce claws (she never did learn to pull them in and forever was getting them caught in blankets, clothes, area rugs) and frankly, not one of the brightest crayons in the box. A bit of Tomi lore: 

One summer afternoon, a light rain had started. Tomi wanted out the Great Room slider so I complied. Within minutes, she was at the screen, hollering to come in and I complied again. She dashed to the cat portal located on the other side of the house and went out. Again, within minutes she was back. Seeing her, I said "Oh sweetie, the weather doesn't change from one side of the house to other. It's the same everywhere." "Mrowr" Tomi grumbled and went into the kitchen for a snack or if someone was around, to displace her annoyance and slug them.

Another moniker was "greedy gus" (a term my father used) as Tomi regularly tried to steal food from her roommates, usually Bin. We had to stand guard and shoo her away as she would lurk nearby or sniff tail in order to intimidate Bin away from his food. Alpha cat behavior. 

Like Bin and Molls, she enjoy "helping" make the beds and sort/fold laundry. She loved sitting on bags, magazines, boots, clothing making sure they stayed put in case gravity failed. She also liked to play "let's walk under Mom and Dad's feet and not get stepped on" which to us was "let's trip Mom and Dad". Again, not the brightest thing to do: if we trip and fall, who is gonna open your can of pate? 

Despite of her monumental battles with Bin in the early days of his tenure and the occasional left hook issued to both her roommates, Tomi was not a fighter of trespassing cats. That was Bin's forte. As a hunter, she was a hoot to watch: (Attenborough voiceover)Tomi, the great hunter of the Serengeti, creeping slowly, her gaze never shifting from her prey, who, in this case, is a common house sparrow Passer Domesticus. She is as low to the grass as she can while the seemingly oblivious sparrow, is hopping on the ground under the feeder. Ahh, her backside begins to wiggle back and forth, a sure sign an attack is imminent. She takes one step... Ooooh dear me-the sparrow has flown away.

Tomi was less successful than the other two but she would frequently be heard by us in our studys, coming down the hall with a stuffed toy in her mouth, crooning. If our door was open, she would come in, drop the proxy on the ground. The expected reaction by us was to say, "Oh mighty Hunter Tomi" and she would leave. It was not unusual to wake in the morning and find proxies by our bedroom doors. 

         One of my favorite photos: Tomi on the hunt with a fearless Chickadee having a safe drink at the fountain.

 

I hope Tomi considered that she had a good life with C and I and hope whatever becomes of her in the next cycle that life will be just as good. Thanks for being a good companion and roommate. So glad you took a chance late in life and took pleasure like the others with scritches and laptime. 

Miss you, love you.

 

EXTRAORDINARY COOKIES BY ELLA HAWKINS

William Morris designs

 

 

Ella Hawkins is an English design historian, author and artist. See more at her website:

 
 https://ellahawkins.com/biscuit-art/

ART NOUVEAU: HOTEL TASSEL BY VICTOR HORTA

 

DOG STOPS DUST DEVIL FROM FORMING: WHAT A GOOD BOY!!

FILM: UNDER THE SHADOW

2016 psychological horror film written and directed by Iranian born Babak Anvari. Set in Tehran 5 years after the revolution during the devastating Iran/Iraq conflict, a young family struggles with life in wartime and an oppressive religious regime. The war is in its fourth year and the husband, a doctor, is called away for his annual military service. Evidently, the attrition of regular military doctors has caused the government to tap into the civilian population. The notice comes during the early days of the War of the Cities where both sides launched air and missile attacks against each other's cities. In February 1984 alone, there was an estimated 4,700 dead with 22,000 wounded in Iranian cities. Bombers were sighted by radar so civilians received air raid warnings. Missiles, however, strike without warning. 

With all this going on, the mother is alarmed by the behavior of her young daughter which begins to spirals out of control. Something is amiss, there are signs and the more superstitious of her neighbors point to the cause: their home has been invaded by an evil spirit, a Djinn.

This film does not break any new ground in the genre and in fact, part of the pleasure of viewing is how the director integrated standard and well known tropes into a unique setting and circumstance. He also gives the viewer a good taste of how life was in Tehran in those days. He does not make bold statements concerning the oppression by the government, instead he cleverly slides them in leaving the viewer to acknowledge-yeah, that is messed up.

Another pleasure is the lack of gore and no monsters with lots of teeth and tentacles-a visual trope beaten to death by directors in the past 30 years. There are some stunning visuals and the acting is well done and believable. 

Available on Netflix.

MODERN FABLE: HOW ELKS MANAGE THEIR HUGE ANTLERS

 

                                                                                                                                                    Jared Lyoyd

You've seen these big boys with their big racks and you have to wonder how they can keep their heads up. Obviously, it's their huge weightlifter necks but just how do they get so big? Well, thanks to the miracle of inter-species communication (championed no small part by the late Bindiwankatterpi), the answer has been revealed by a young elk during an interview with ANN.

It seems all young males undergo a vigorous  weight training regime under the guidance of older males. "For the human audience, it is akin to military boot camp or football training" said the anonymous elk. "Every morning, once we reach a certain age, the old ones put us through a series of exercises. Repetitive lifts utilizing fallen logs, stones held in place around the top of the neck by a sling made of young vegetation by the girls, repetitive ramming against big trees and adult. It's grueling and we all hated it. I mean, what's the sense? Get a big rack and get shot by some effing human. I'd rather we just chew each other's rack off every year and I could care less about being attractive to some girl." 

One can see why he requested anonymity. His remarks are severely in opposition to the very conservative Elk culture. Ahh, the universal issue of rebellious youth.

ANTHROPOMORPHISING STYLISH PENQUINS

Top: Gentoo Penguins with their Major Domo good looks and natty attire. Highly organized, hard working and attentive in a subtle, behind the scenes manner. (as all good help should be)

Bottom: Southern Rockhopper Penguins. A late-70's human parent's nightmare-their daughter's new boyfriend with punk/new wave hair style and wearing red eye contacts. A bit reminiscent of A Flock of Seagulls. The parents used to be teetotalers.

WORLD'S OLDEST GIANT TORTOISE, JONATHAN, CELEBRATES HIS 190th BIRTHDAY THIS YEAR

                                                                                                                                                                                                            Mathias Falcone

        
https://www.cnn.com/travel/article/oldest-tortoise-jonathan-scli-intl-scn/index.html

"...his main interests remain sleeping, eating and mating." 

I'd say Jon has a pretty good plan, an exemplary employment of the KISS principle. We could all chill out a bit and take note. 

 

CRITTER SIGNS AND FAMILY LORE

This morning I went outside to snow blow the two inches of new snow that had fallen overnight. Across the street, my eye caught this unusual track in the snow that one often does not see. Some critter had traveled underneath the powdery snow, probably mouse or shrew. You can see in the odd, puffy interruptions of the burrow where it had popped it's head up to get bearings. Certainly a good strategy against predators although if Mr. Hawk had patience and watched the magical movement of snow, I don't think mouse or shrew would have survived. The term hawk eyed didn't come about out of nowhere.

 

I thought about a piece of family lore: the winter my family babysat my Slovak grandmother's beloved dog. After 

Grandpa died, Grandma would typically snowbird to Florida and spend the cold months with her sister. For whatever reason, doggie stayed in Michigan and was boarded in rotation year to year between the 7 siblings. He was a Pekingese and was named Tippy. In fact, all of Grandma's dogs bore the same name, an odd idiosyncrasy of hers, which was explained to me by my parents as something that made it easier for Grandma to remember. Still, at age 17, I thought it was weird.

 

This particular year, our turn in rotation had arrived. Now, we had not had a pet in the house for years due to my Mom's allergies so Tippy's arrival was borne with a bit of grumble. This feeling worsened as Tippy developed a bad habit of peeing on the kitchen linoleum nearly every night. Dad was not too happy to begin each day before work cleaning dog pee  that he euphemistically referred to as the "golden stream". "Rotten little beast" became the dog's moniker in these circumstances. One morning in late winter, Dad had taken Tippy out for walksies before he left for work. It was still dark out and we had shin deep snow that had an icy surface crust thanks to a recent ice storm. Tippy spotted a mouse running along the top of the snow and tore off after it. Dad, in unbuckled boots, hollered at Tippy to come back. "Goddamn it Tippy, leave that mouse alone and get back here" he yelled to no avail as he struggled in the deep snow to keep up. Mr. Mouse was long gone and so was Tippy. Mom and I were both up and witnessed most of the event. Dad came in to grab his lunch and leave for work. He expressed a few choice words about the pooch and asked Mom to keep an eye out and left. I left for school soon after having to walk a quarter mile to the corner where the bus picked me up.

 

When I got home in the afternoon, Tippy had not returned. Mom was grim. "Oh God, just our luck that we're the ones to lose Tippy. The family will have a field day with this" she moaned. She had called the neighbors and asked them to look out for the dog but no joy. Dad was just as grim and echoed the same sentiments at supper that evening. They moved away from where they grew up for a reason: to escape the suffocating, overly pious, small minded village/country environment. Dad had gotten quite an education out in the greater world serving with the Marines in the Pacific and Mom had traveled by train from Lansing to San Francisco in order to be with him. They had gotten out and just this experience alone had forever separated them from the folks back home. Relations with them could be difficult at times especially for my insecure and shy Mother. And now, they were dreading the shitstorm in store for them if the damn dog wasn't found. 

 

Happily, in the afternoon of the second day, Tippy returned. My Mom said she heard a number of dogs barking out front and there was Tippy with 3 newly found canine buddies. As she related, it was as if Tippy's buddies, after they all had slipped the leash and had a good ole time partying together, brought Tippy home. Tippy, other than being hungry, was no worse for wear appearing to have thoroughly enjoyed his canine pack experience. She immediately called Dad at work, something she rarely did but she wanted to put his mind at ease with the good news. Over supper, I was asked to stay mum about the incident. Of course I agreed being old enough to grasp the situation.

 

I believe this version of Tippy was the last. He died at some point and Grandma never got another dog. She passed within a decade. Funny, the things we remember. 

 

PS The critter mounds didn't last long, disappearing by the afternoon. My guess is the constant wind blew the puffy snow away.

THE LOVERS

 

FILM: THE EXTERMINATING ANGEL

1962 film by Spanish Surrealist Luis Bunuel. An typical upper class formal dinner party at a mansion takes an strange turn: the guests become sequestered in a couple of rooms and for some reason, cannot leave. The film documents the breakdown of the thin veneer of civility as they run out of food and water. 

This will seem familiar to many viewers who were brought up on the Twilight Zone, Edgar Allan Poe, Lord of the Rings and Steven King. In fact, this situation is a popular trope in a variety of situations: trapped in an invisible Dome, a castle during a plague, on a railway or subway car, jet, ship, spacecraft or marooned on an island or alien planet.

Bunuel includes his usual surrealistic bits in this mordant commentary on the bourgeoisie during the Fascist Franco regime in Spain. 

Somehow, neither C or I had seen this during our long film watching careers. 

TV SERIES: RIVER

 

I'm a fan of European police dramas, they have remarkably less emphasis on gun play and car chases than American offerings. Often, there is better writing and more imaginative, intricate plots. River is an exemplary case in point. Upon reading the brief description, one could easily jump to the conclusion of "oh, cop sees dead people" a la The Sixth Sense. River however, is much, much more.

DI John River (Stellan Skarsgard) witnesses his partner DS Jackie (Stevie) Stevenson (Nicola Walker) getting shot in the head crossing the street after a late night restaurant meal. We soon realize that River sees and communicates with his dead partner. To anyone around him, he is talking and gesticulating to blank air. Other dead people visit River, from crime victims whose cases he is investigating to an executed 19th Century serial killer. 

So, the story unfolds: trying to solve Stevie's murder and learning about River's affliction. It's a tangled, intricate tale with this curious tension about River's mental status: is he very crazy or indeed has access to a supernatural dimension or both? Is this strictly the result of childhood trauma (a very popular trope these days) or are the manifestations heightened because of Stevie's murder?

This is a well written piece, great character development, great acting by veteran actors Skarsgard, Walker and Lesley Manville who plays River's boss. There is quite a bit being explored beyond River's mental state and trauma: loss and grieving, familial dynamics and the hardships faced by immigrants.

Worth watching. Found on Britbox via Prime.

 

FILM: BIRDS OF PASSAGE

 

The exploits of a Frenchman who raises geese from eggs (they bond...Daddy!) and guides them on their autumn migration from eastern France to the Atlantic coast flying an ultralight aircraft. Visually stunning photography as he flies amongst the geese. On YouTube.

UNUSUAL CLOUD FORMATIONS

Lenticular Clouds

                                                                                                                                                                                                                 omnisource5

 

 

 

                                                                                                                      carina sofia baptista osario

Roll Clouds 

Undulatus Asperatus Clouds

Mammatus Clouds

 

 

 

 

THE GATES OF HELL

 

The Darvaza gas crater aka The Gates of Hell in Turkmenistan was formed either in the late 60's or early 70's. It is a natural gas field that collapsed into a crater 230 feet wide and 100 feet deep. At some point shortly after appearing, it was set alight apparently by Soviet officials. While the story differs between local and official entities, nevertheless, the crater has been on fire for 50 years. In January 2022, Turkmenistan President Berdymukhamedov publicly declared to extinguish the fire so that the effects on the environment and public health can be curbed.

 

Photographer and explorer George Kourounis with the Royal Canadian Geological Society was the first person to visit the floor of the crater. Wearing protective gear to survive the 700F heat, he took soil samples which yielded some interesting findings. There are several types of heretofore unknown extremophile bacteria living in the hot, methane rich environment and scientist believe that they consume the methane. 

In my mind, this certainly points to one of the ways life began on Earth as well as suggesting that such conditions and life could possibly exist elsewhere in the Universe.

MADAME CORRECTS DURING LIGUISTIC TIFF

 

                              "I told you that pronunciation was incorrect!"

IN REMEMBRANCE: MAGAWA

 

                           Magawa wearing a rat-sized People's Dispensary for Sick Animals gold medal.

Magawa, an African giant pouched rat, died January 8 at age 8. For five years, he worked with Tanzania-based international charity APOPO, sniffing out landmines in Cambodia. Magawa was responsible for finding over 100 landmines and had retired six months ago.

Magawa was one of hundreds of “hero rats” that have been trained since the 1990s by APOPO to detect landmines. In 30 minutes, these rats can scan swathes of land as big as tennis courts for any presence of explosive chemicals. A human being with a metal detector will take four days to do the same job. While other animals can be trained to detect mines, APOPO found rats best suited for the job due to their small size—weighing less than three pounds, they are too light to set off the landmines.

For his work, he was given a gold medal by the British veterinary charity People’s Dispensary for Sick Animals (PDSA) in 2020—the highest civilian award an animal can receive, and the first time a rat received such an honor. PDSA said that at the time, he was able to make 35 acres of land safe and livable for Cambodians.

In an interview with ANN (Animal News Network) shortly after receiving his medal, Magawa took the attention and tributes with typical rat modesty. "It's a pretty good gig" he declared. "I get a tasty bite of banana when I find a mine. I am not overworked, I have safe quarters free from predators and get to hang out with other pouchies (rat colloquialism for his species). My mum would be pretty proud." Magawa, when asked by the ANN reporter if he felt like he was a "Lassie" because he was helping out humans, rolled his eyes and became a bit agitated. "I'm not traitor to my kind and I'll bite the scrotum off any bastard who says that I am." The term "Lassie" refers to the ever faithful Collie dog on an American TV show who continuously saved it's human family from a variety of dangers. Recently, militant animal rights organizations such as The League, use the term as a pejorative labeling those viewed to be too servile in their relationships with humans. 

Inter-species politics aside, good on you, mate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

END OF A HOLIDAY

 

 

January Full Moon, New York  1941  George Ault

 

Well, we're in it now-the great Winter hunkering down we go through every year if you live in snow country. It was plus 6 degrees this morning with a stiff north wind. There's 3" of snow on the ground. The holidays are over, I took the ornaments off the tree and put away all the other decorations we set out each year. Now, it's grappling with the cold if you go out, grappling with extra pounds and wishful resolutions. Binge watching TV by the fire with my shrinking family. 

 

Soon, it will be time to plan this year's garden, starting tithonia seed under the grow lights to give them an early bloom time. How early will the crocus bloom? When will the red-winged blackbirds return? 

 

And of course living with the two huge sharks swimming just under the surface of our thoughts ready to maim us further and devour what resilience we have left: the pandemic and the mid-terms in November. Will another variant emerge and this one proves to be much more deadly than it's predecessors? Will the elections mark the slide of our country towards authoritarian rule?

 

I must be off. Set the bread dough for its final rise. Work on this endeavour and some images for future postings. The sun is out. Molls is curled up on Mom's robe on her bed, sleeping within her soothing scent. Outside, the squirrels are engaged in their energetic pursuits as are usual gang of feathered friends: juncos, cardinals, nuthatches, titmice, lil' woody. All are trying to find food. Mr Big Bun is seen at twilight, eating the tops of grass and going after the bark of the shrubs. A couple of evenings ago, several does were out in the field behind Benny's and moved in single file on top of the berm in our back 40. In another month, the hunger days will come especially if we get heavy snow. In the lands of my ancestors during these times, tree bark especially from Scots Pine, was dried, ground and added to augment the supply of grain flour. This bark bread not only filled the belly but had a bonus of adding vitamin C to the diet. 

 

Our planet still turns as the seasons follow one another. And for the time being, we're still here, feet hitting the floor each morning.

 

 

THE VOYNICH MANUSCRIPT

TWILIGHT (click to enlarge)

 

WYNKEN, BLYNKEN & NOD

Poster for the iconic smokestacks of the decommissioned Eckert Station in Reo Town, Lansing. They are affectionately known as "Wynken, Blynken & Nod" and have been a dominant feature of the Lansing's skyline for nearly 60 years.

 

BOXING DAY

 

CHRISTMAS FORSYTHIA

Our cold/warm weather cycles here in MI is messing folks up.  C and I spotted our newest forsythia trying to bloom during our walk yesterday. Earlier in the month, our 10 year old forsythia out front had a scattering of blooms. I also spotted one day, a flock of robins feeding in my neighbor's yard. Good grief, you guys are really running late this year!

ANIMAL PORTRAITS BY DUTCH ARTIST TEIN LUCASSON

 

THE NIGHT VISITOR

 

All the females, human and feline alike, had gone to sleep while I, as our tradition, sat for awhile on the couch in front of the fire. For nearly a decade, my friend Bin and I would stand watch on Christmas Eve, chatting, imbibing in food and drink. With Bin’s passing this past May, I observed our ritual alone. It was a blustery evening, mainly wind with a bit of rain rattling against the big picture window and the skylights. I had risen to get a refill and as I opened the frig, I heard the cat portal open. Odd, I thought as I closed the door. Everyone is in but sometimes a gust of wind will do that to the cat door. Taking a sip and walking back to the couch in the Great Room, I perceived that the wind had suddenly died down. Molls and Tomi were still curled up as when I had left the room. Another step and I stopped. There was a dark shape on the couch and I could make out a familiar profile in the fire light. It was Bin.

B-Put on another log, will ya lad?
He was sitting erect like an Egyptian statue. I glanced over as I put down my drink and placed a fresh log on the fire. He moved over to the coffee table and sniffed my drink.
B-Ah yes, mother’s milk.
J- Yep. I only drink Drambuie during the winter holidays.
I reached out and brushed his cheek. He was soft and warm. He rubbed me back. As if reading my mind:
B-Yeah, I can become corporeal for a short time. It feels gooood after going without senses these past months.
J-I’ve missed you.
B-I’ve missed you, too.
He must have heard the stifled catch in my voice.
B-Now let’s not start blubbering. None of that wailing and gnashing of teeth like you did sitting on the toilet. That was touching.
J-How do you know about that?
B-Tomi heard you.
J-You’ve communicated with her?
B-Oh yes, everyone but your species can interact with the spirit world.
B-I’m sorry to have mocked your grieving. (He was sitting close and reached out a paw.) It was a bit over the top but I realize that you needed the privacy that that room provides. You know we aren’t as sentimental as you apes.
J-I’m sorry for what we did. There was no choice. There was nothing we could do to make you better. I’m sorry buddy.
B-(he put out his paw again) You did the right thing and I am thankful for it. I was in a bad, bad way. You and Mom were with me, I remember your hands on me as I slipped into the brightness. Oh, I felt such relief and it wasn’t scary at all as I have transitioned many times. Not to worry, lad. It’s ok. Have a sip.
J-It was a hard day.
B-I know. But not your first and not your last. It’s life, man.
J-Where did you go? Why are you here?
B-Well, everyone rests. Transitioning is always a shock to begin with and if one has been ill, you need to rest up and recover from that.
J-Is it a place?
B-I think it is different for all. Certainly, with your species’ pre-conceived ideas among the religious, what one experiences is varied. For me, my spirit existed in a softly lit undefined area.
B-Now, to why I am here: I am readying to transition to a new cycle. It’s time. I’m looking forward to being in a body again. I miss Mom’s lap time for example and the great food treats. I miss killing things. I miss putting my nose to wind in the air with all the aromas. I miss tearing flat out across the ground. I hope I pull a good life again.
J-Can you choose what happens? Like, not ending up in Somalia. Or placed with Abandoners.
B-Well, it’s funny how things work out sometimes. Sure, the experience with the Abandoners was lousy but I ended up with a lifelong friendship with Benny (next door neighbor) and you and Mom. BTW, my 18 years in the last cycle was the longest I have had. No doubt thanks to you guys.
J-Is there karmic impacts from the previous life?
B-For the rest of us, not really although I have seen in my cycles that the lives do get better. For you guys, I don’t know. The impact you apes have on others and the planet, one would hope that good deeds are rewarded and bad ones punished. Kinda tough when you cycle and don’t remember anything. It’s a mystery to all of us why this is so. If anyone should remember and learn from past lives it is you guys.
J-So, when do you cycle?
B-Soon and that’s why I am here. I most likely won’t see you again once I’ve cycled. I would however, remember you.
J-But I won’t remember you after I have cycled?
B-I am afraid you won’t, buddy. It’s your species’ curse.
Bin snuggled up and rolled a bit on his side and I gave him a belly rub. I pulled from my drink and we stared silently at the fire.
J-I should get Mom up to see you.
B-Naw man, there’s not time. Tell her in the morning.
J-I appreciate you stopping by. A nice, final gift from a good friend.
He sat up, stepped over to the coffee table and turned towards me, sitting upright.
B-Thank you for everything as well, my good friend. There’s something for you and Mom on the table. I love you.
J-I love you, too.
The wind gusted and I turned my head to look outside. When I turned back, Bin was gone. I poured another dram and stared into the fire, thinking about what had just happened, reminiscing about past times. It was good to see Bin again, replacing the previous final memory of witnessing his death. I fell asleep.

C woke me. As is her habit, she often sleeps in 2-3 hour stretches, wakes, hits the john to pee, goes to the frig for a drink of water. She saw that my bedroom door was open and searching, found me on the couch. She guided me to my bed where I fell into another dreamless sleep.

The next morning, I was up before the others. Got the coffee going, restarted the fire and turned on the oven for the cinnamon rolls. C was up shortly as were Molls and Tomi. Soon, we were all gathered by the fire with C and I on the couch. Coffee and rolls were sampled. The wind had died down and a bit of snow had fallen. C picks up something off the table.
C-What’s this?
In her palm was a key.
J-I dunno.
I took the key. On one side was imprinted the number 6 and the word Minffordd on the flip side.
J-Hmm, I said, sounds Welch with the doubled consonants. Go fetch your laptop hon and let’s look it up.
C-(reading) Minffordd, Wales, railway station that is the main stop to visit Portmeirion
J- Portmeirion, that’s where the Village is-you know, the one from the 60’s show The Prisoner. And 6, that was the Prisoner’s number. I bet this is a key to a lockbox in the station! I exclaimed.
C- Well how on earth did it get here?
J-(still looking at the key) I guess we’re gonna have to go to Wales. C cocks her head quizzically. I take her hand.
J-Let me tell you about the visitor I had last night.

TOMI

It's been an groundbreaking year for our Cali who, after 17+ years, has finally decided getting laptime and scritches and longstrokes and chin rubs are all good things. Strangely, she chose me to be her human of choice for attention. She's been with C since a kitten and for the longest time, was leery of me. Now, I have a demanding (oh yeah, she is vocal about it) feline on my hands who still hasn't mastered pulling in her claws when stomping on human flesh. Mom finally got her breakthrough last weekend when Tomi curled up on her quilt covered lap and snuggled between her and the arm of the sofa. 

It's as if she was stubbornly holding firm to her wildness: oh, I don't need these creatures for attention. I'm a cat! And I walk alone! But after years of seeing the enjoyment and love exchanging between us and Bin and Molls, she finally gave in. Evidently, much to her pleasure. Good for you sweetie! (But please, remember your claws!)