Rainy day pussycat

From “Meow’s Way Redux”:

A rainy day is always special for Pinky. I know, before I even see her, that she is sitting at the front door asking to go out to watch the rain. Once outside, she bundles herself up on the doormat and stares out at the wetness five feet away. Every hour or so I open the door to ask if she wants to come in. After about three hours she will finally, slowly, rise and stre-e-e-etch, give the mat a scratching workout then amble inside. All is peace.
Her other favorite place is a nest she has made of my shawl on the second shelf of the closet in my workroom. Sometimes I cross to her and lay my head against her warm body and moan about words or the story line that won’t come clear, and I may receive a sympathetic lick of her tongue on my face



I have finally met the owner of three of the big cats and learned that Tango and Au Au and Loaner are siblings. This neighbor had known for some time that Pinky, also a sibling, had defected to me. And Tango and Au Au are male.
I lost Pinky on February 23, 2011. She survived for a year after three surgeries for an aggressive sarcoma. There is nothing more I can bear to say.

Ducks in a row

I went with other residents of Lake Park to the Blackhawk Museum in Danville yesterday to see its automobile collection. Extraordinary. They had the model of car which my dad drove in 1939, with its rumble seat that they always stuck me in because I got carsick. But this topped all: the museum has waterfalls and pools and there was this mama duck followed by a parade of babies. They were so tiny! Made my day.

The fawn police

I called Animal Control. No one comes. The fawns are still out there, hiding in the tall grasses, but I can see their ears sticking up.At 3:15 a.m. my doorbell rings. A voice outside the door says, “Police!”

He says he has just received the dispatcher’s call and do I want him to go out back and look for the fawns. He and his partner have no noose, no tools of any kind with which to catch animals, especially in the dark, and I tell him it isn’t any use. He departs after advising me to call Animal Control in the daytime. I say I called at 2 p.m.

It is one of those things: Animal Control, firefighters, the police. All are overworked and understaffed.

Next morning the fawns are still there. Once again I call Animal Control, which
redirects me to the police dispatcher. This time I think carefully about calling that number. I do not call, and go outside to check on the fawns. I make hourly visits until they have disappeared and do not come back.

Last night I woke up and found Pinky holding my hand, one paw on each side, and purring mightily. I wonder what other surprises she will spring on me.
On the grass today she is sitting up on her legs and is stretched, peering for all the world like an African Meerkat, at something high up in a tree.