Tag: Tortoiseshell Attitude

Consider that stardust is falling around us all the time. Perhaps it is the angels shedding divine light upon our path. If I am not mistaken, it is the dust from the cosmos that creates the dramatic colors at sunrise and sunset. All the minerals on our planet fall from the sky. So many things come to us from so far away. The flecks of gold in Myrrh’s coat could be from a star. The way they sprinkle and mix with the black in such a random way, it must be one of Nature’s acts of beauty in creation. Sometimes I wish I could have seen her as a kitten. She must have been a dear one. Myrrh was born in a barn on Halloween. I wonder if she stepped out from between the worlds. If we are merely energy transformed. If my spirit is already ancient and wise, how is it the knowing of another lifetime is not present? I have no conscience memory of my existence until about three years of age. And, so it goes I will have no memory when I cease to breathe. That’s not enough for me. I am unsatisfied that all this effort and energy evaporates. Why does it seem I have such a purpose to exist?

At moments, I am tempted to find the name Hill in the local directory searching for Wanda’s relations. She was Myrrh’s owner for ten years. What was her life was like before I adopted her? The shelter lady mentioned that Myrrh did not like to be in a cage at all. I did learn that the former owner was single and lived in a small apartment. Some days I wonder what Myrrh does all day during the week. Most likely just sleeps the day away. A routine of sorts has been established all these months with me gone for long hours. We both agree we tolerate the vacuum cleaner. The blasted thing is far too fat and noisy for decency. The escape zone is usually the outer hall, balcony or back of my closet. When thunder, noises or events are overwhelming, she knows it is time to move away until balance is restored.  When I hear and see things that are beyond me, do I recognize my limits and make tracks until the coast is clear? Do I have a safety zone I can move to? If I am physically feeling threatened, do I hide and give into my fears?

The answer is yes. I have a highly tuned sense of when to withdraw. I live a step or two away from the mainstream. My days are often in solitude with the hum and peep of Gaia. I am sheltered in the wind and rain. Spirit is at rest. People constantly want something from me. I notice most extraverts have a need to know the most mundane thing to feel connected. I don’t need to know the color of your socks. Somewhere I have learned to withdraw the gift of myself from others. I remember being open and reaching out to connect. The sensation would come out of the solar plexus and push. I did not want so much to know another as to merge with their presence. The rush of needing to be with another was overwhelming. This drive has not brought much comfort. Relationships with humans have been a struggle. I have rarely felt the joining. My karma is to want and endlessly wander. The complexity of another wrapped in with the complexity of me is a mire. I long to belong but often become lost.  Did I ever mention I was a romantic?

In my own daily life, I have a strong need to be outdoors every day. Even a ten-minute walk around the block can make all the difference.  My feet have carried me for hundreds of miles and only one summer did they complain. Perhaps the habit of walking did start early as I did walk to and from school as a child. However, on my own, I find that almost everywhere I live or work, I find a place to walk. I had an uncle who never stopped talking until he had a stroke. I wonder, will that be the thing that forces me to sit? Rare is the day I haven’t walked. From time to time, I get exasperated with the work world and have a fantasy of having some employment that involves walking in the forest every day. I once saw a film from China about a mail carrier who delivered to the far-flung villages. He did walk with his dog for days on end. Walking does bring me outdoors and that is the way of it. I have to have the ground under my feet or I become twitchy. The need for the outdoors is part of who I am.

My fondest recollections from childhood are vacation week in Vermont. My folks rented cabins or houses in what seemed remote areas of the state. Some of the roads were unpaved. The houses were always deep in the woods or surrounded by meadows, forest and streams. Perhaps, it was a treat to be away from the urban beat. Something inside me longs to be in Vermont again living in some back of beyond place with nothing but crickets for neighbors. Being in Vermont means being outdoors to me and is synonymous with homesteading. I may have a romantic notion that living in Vermont would convert me into a Taoist that lived and breathed with the land. In balance with the way things are, rolling into seasons and only aware of the movement of earth, air, fire and water. The Earth is not on a forward path of time, it merely rolls from one end to another.

The seasons do not actually come and go, they continue. I cannot explain it in words so well, enough to say it is an awareness in the primitive self that yin follows yang followed by yin, slumber follows awakening which rolls into activity, on a path for rest and slumber again.

When I was in my early teens, I fell in love with horses. I can remember drawing pictures, reading books and eventually, figuring out how to have riding lessons. This is no small achievement living in a good size city. When I started taking riding lessons, the suburbs were much less developed than today and it was not difficult to find stables within a half-hour drive. Somehow, I persuaded my folks to let me have lessons. They must have paid before I started working and earning a wage. And, my father must have driven me to the barn. My desire to be a part of a country life with horses was strong enough for me to have negotiated support from the family.

Most of the lessons were taken at a stable in Auburn. I worked there Saturday morning doing various barn chores for the love of it. My riding teacher, Bonnie or Bev, was a young woman who passed on the love of horses to more young women. Horses are a profession dominated by women in the Northeast. In all the barns, stables and horsy circles I traveled in, the men that were encountered tended to be the blacksmith. This interest went on for many years. So many years that I eventually figured out how to earn a living on a farm. The first year of service was rocky as I was a bit of a softie. I do recall going home very tired from the efforts. The daily schedule was early morning until sometime early afternoon. I had a cat in those days that I used to take with me to the barn. This may sound odd but I purposefully went to the local shelter to adopt an older black cat.  Instead of just enjoying his company at home, I decided to let him roam around the farm until it was time to go. In a way, I was treating the cat like a dog thinking it could just entertain itself and be free for a few hours each day. This worked! At first, there was some confusion and concern about being able to catch him at the end of the day, but eventually, he figured out what to do and would walk with me to the car. People saw this and thought it was most unusual. Some of my notions can be a bit unconventional.

This belief that a cat needs to be outdoors each day lingers on. I have no idea if Myrrh ever went outside before I took her home. The first excursion started with letting her explore the balcony. I live on the second floor and have a long verandah she can roam on. The railing is about waist high and sturdy enough to accommodate flower pots and bird feeders. The view is quite restful overlooking a small copse with flowing stream. The brush and trees are overgrown, wild with bittersweet every year. The closest tree gives life to nuthatch and woodpeckers. In the ice storms, the slender branches scrap up against the house. The limbs stretch underneath and above the balcony, becoming part of my small world.

Suddenly, I understand the mystery of elfin magic. We are connected by root and rock. My ancient friend, my shelter of many branches deep in memory.

Birds love it back here and enjoy full feeders in the cold months. One night I went out to replenish the seeds and found a flying squirrel attached to the hanging feeder. The little creature froze in his tracks as I put up a suet cake and filled the pan for ground feeders. He was small but had enormous large eyes. His coat was sleek and soft to look at. One year, I also had a chipmunk visit regularly just after sundown. I called him Zing Zing as he did dash about more than eat. He was a blur. I enjoyed having other creatures come. There are so few squirrels in my area that I didn’t mind putting up corn cobs and shell peanuts. Red squirrels sitting back on their hind legs chattering at each other but determined to fill the belly with much needed food. I don’t mind at all that they come. I enjoy having the critters so close for the selfish enjoyment I receive from having them near.

The most exciting moments at the feeder include the annual but brief sighting of an oriole just before the canopy completely leaf’s out. Junco’s, wrens, goldfinch, chickadee, cardinal, blue jay, sparrows and a large flock of morning doves pay daily visits. Once, a bird of prey swooped in for a closer look at the activity. Birds at a feeder are noisy as they dart back and forth for seeds. One Saturday afternoon, something large landed in the crabapple tree. Being the amateur bird watcher, I am not sure what I saw but never thought it was a hawk. The most abundant hawk in my area is red tail and this wasn’t of that kind. This bird was long, smaller and I thought had a robin’s coloration. Certainly, it was curious and scattered the little ones. The quick alarm calls sent everyone scurrying for cover. The bird of prey stayed awhile but eventually flew off.

The feeder stays up until late April. When Myrrh came home, the feeder was in use daily. The red squirrel was visiting at that time making his slow cautious advance on the pan feeder. At first, I let Myrrh watch all this through the screen door. She particularly loved the squirrel’s daily adventures. He had the most staggered way of advancing toward the pan moving in an indirect line. Red squirrels have bodies designed to run up and down tress. On a flat balcony, he is off balance and out of his range of motion. Myrrh sometimes did not appear to see the squirrel when she was out on the balcony. For some reason, her senses seem a bit slow at moments. I was always astonished that I could see him coming along and she just didn’t notice the movement. Or, think it worth making a fuss over.

I started letting her wander onto the balcony early on. Myrrh took to leaning way out through the railing at the chipmunk holes far below. Because I feed the birds, chipmunks built a burrow entrance where seeds fall regularly. All the activity intrigued her cat instincts. I think it was a wide new world because of her reaction to the hummingbird coming to the feeder. She got scared from the whirl of wings and after following the hovering marvel for a moment with wide fearful eyes, dashed away to a safe distance.

The first time she jumped up on the balcony railing, I had a doubt or two. The height from ground level to the balcony is probably closer to 20’. She enjoys leaping up onto the rail, strolling a bit and resting there watching the activity around us. This went on for probably a month before she fell. Yes, I happen to be looking out and observing when she leaped, missed, scrambled and kept going over the rail. Jeez! I leaned over and saw her below on her feet. I still recall I was cool under pressure. So many years of working with horses had prepared me for moments like this. Accidents or missteps are routine, just put your shoes on and get her. Some part of me was cool and the other concerned. Now what? Vet bill? Is she alright?

Yes, I walked right up to her and picked her up. She seemed quiet and perplexed as to what to do next. She started squirming as I got closer to the door. When I put her down, I watched carefully but saw nothing odd about her walk or body. In fact, she wandered over to her food bowl and took a bite or two. I watched her for a few days and saw nothing of concern in her movement. For Myrrh, this was life number two of nine. I consider adopting her one life and the fall the second. Did I close the door and forbid her to go out? No. I noticed we both grimaced a little whenever she jumped up but that faded away with time and no further falls.

I only let her on the balcony when I was home at first. Eventually, I gravitated to leaving the sliding door open in the warm months. Myrrh was experiencing a great deal of personal freedom. My thought is that it is too boring inside all day and outdoor time was necessary. Eventually, the thought occurred to me that perhaps we could try a down on the ground adventure. A tall staircase off a large courtyard accessed my apartment. The complex is shaped much like a fort with a treed, grassy interior. The layout of the place makes for unusually good acoustics at times. One of my neighbors walked around the courtyard with a hands free phone yapping with his partner. For some reason, she lived far away and to be close they wandered about doing daily chores describing in detail actions as they happened. We all got to hear this.

When I want to wash the hall floor, I block open my door to the short hall and block open the outer door leading out to the stairwell. The air current is superb and known to dry the wet surface in less than ½ hour. Of course, I decided one Sunday morning when it is normally very quiet, to wash the floor, leave the door open and see what happened. Myrrh was very cautious and at first went no farther than the landing at the top of the staircase. She kept looking back at me and would go a little bit further. Curiosity got her and she made it to the bottom of the staircase. Grass! Sniffy sniff! This was when I realized cats sniff as much as any dog. Sniffy, sniff, sniff everything. I believe I hovered around her and was anxious as she started exploring around and down the embankment. This area is quiet and leads to a small stream.

This letting her in and out continued until she figured out how to go out by herself for a while. She’s had a few brushes with a neighbor’s dog, a stray cat and young children. Most of the time, it’s uneventful. I watch her as she picks her way down around the house and to the stream. Sometimes, she likes to go up other staircases around the complex and explore other doorways. She did come running in once very excited when a cat appeared at the other end of the balcony. All ears and peering cautiously around the corner.

Myrrh never stays out more than a half hour and stays within the area so that if I do wonder, I can find her quickly. This seems a bit extraordinary if I think on it but I trust Myrrh has instincts enough to sort out how to be outside. I trust she can behave, enjoy and be safe as well. Yes, I do hear myself saying be safe dear when I open the door. The most fascinating encounter has been the great turkey invasion. A flock of twenty birds lives nearby and routinely visits the courtyard late afternoons. One day they were all present when I went to fetch the mail with Myrrh, I was the one intimidated to go among them. If she saw them she did not bat an eye. She went along walking constantly towards them managing to scatter the flock. I wonder if she thought they were chubby humans?

Yes, Myrrh has evolved. Sometime in September, she brought me her first “kill”. There I was in the living room enjoying a good read when she came in with something in her mouth. My gosh, the critter had such a look of contorted pain on its face. She put the chipmunk down in front of me and sat back. Yikes! I looked carefully and decided it best to get the critter out fast. I went to the hall closet to fetch a pair of tough leather gloves, as I felt squeamish about using my bare hands. By the time I had the gloves on and back to the task, the chipmunk had gotten up and started to move. I tried to catch it but the critter went here and there along with Myrrh. What a scene! Myrrh went into the bedroom with door closed. For a few minutes, I continued to chase and encourage the chipper to exit through the open doors of balcony and front door. Chipper made it out the balcony door. When Myrrh came out, she searched high and low for her prey.

I had not seen her at that level of animation before. I had not been so close to a cat on the hunt. She was alert and moving with unusual precision and grace. I hope the chipmunk survived the attack. He was not bleeding when he escaped capture. However, he had a tremendous shock. Myrrh managed to snag one other chipmunk a few weeks later and the same story repeats.  I am amazed. If she had not been outside until moving in with me, she made up time by turning on her cat instincts to high performance. As much as I am disturbed for the critters and their survival, I praised Myrrh for her cleverness. Bringing in prey is a sign of acceptance of me. Myrrh was trying to feed us. This is the highest compliment I could ever receive. The argument for not allowing cats outside is right here. Cats do kill birds and other creatures. Myrrh is well fed and does not need to hunt. Her instincts bring out this ability.

I have a strong belief that cats need to be cats. In fact, all creatures need to be free to be an animal. I firmly believe animals are highly intelligent and adapt to a domestic life because they choose to. If a cat cannot roam outdoors, scratch trees, eat grass, roll on the ground and hunt, it diminishes the psyche. How could I allow her not to feel sunlight and green grass under her feet? Creatures need to roam. Myrrh shows a lot of confidence and power in herself. I gave her the freedom to try things and in return, she is allowed to be free at last.