june, june where art thou?

Man. Yet another month that is slipping past with incredible speed. Ah, but soon it will be July 1 and the client project I'm working on will be live (it's alive!) and then I can go back to my slightly less than all consuming regular job.

The Max will be happy there is no more travel - I abandoned him to the care of my mother the past two weeks so I could gallivant off to the wilds of New Jersey and run client testing. He had much to tell me when I got home. Oh, and in recompense he would like me to spend the rest of my life pouring cups of water down the bathtub drain so he can play.

Is it wrong that this photo makes me think "Damn, it feels good to be a gangster"?

He is currently marauding around the dining room table trying to knock everything that isn't nailed down onto the floor.

Anyway. I am looking forward to things slowing down slightly. My apartment now has a deck, built while I was away this week, and I find I am suddenly in need of a chair to lounge on and limes for a gin and tonic. Priorities people.

snacky snack

Mmm. Mid-afternoon snack: Rivita Sesame Rye crackers with smoked trout. Cats, I was informed, do not eat smoked trout (contrary to public opinion) but they would like some cracker. Of course they would.

He is a discerning culinarian, my snacky cat.

the view from here

So. April pretty much kicked my ass. I'd managed to fill it with too many things - both work and personal - that were all important and tightly scheduled. At one point, like the 21st, I looked up and decided I should fill in my timecard for work - I mean, I knew I was behind but... - and when I pulled it up the entire month was empty. Which says much about the previous 20 days.

looking into the living room

And while it has been a long haul to get here, I am finally settling into May and the new house. For all that I hate moving, there is pleasure in setting up house. Last weekend, while awaiting the Bell guy, I dug out the living room. Boxes of books put on the bookshelves, furniture assembled, one room finally felt done. Up until then Max and I had made the bedroom into our little cave. Stumbling in from various obligations and falling into bed. The Max has been very cuddly through all this - in need of much affection and entertainment with all the home-change.

I missed Bird fiercely the first night we were here. Too many boxes, too unsettled and Max beside himself after The Worst Day Ever. And I know I'm supposed to be the grown up here, but Bird was the force of calm with the three of us. Once he'd figured out what this moving business was about and knew that I wasn't going anywhere he was fine. And Max trailed after him - because after all nothing bad could happen if Birdy was there. He was our centre. And that first night with just the two of us it was hard.

But, we have adjusted. And as there are less and less boxes around Max has figured out that this house is his. (Even with noises from the neighbours upstairs.)



Oh, and I have a bookshelf with three shelves dedicated to purses - one for the brown one, one for the red ones and one for the others. It is hilarious.

origin stories

I started this a while ago - but didn't get around to finishing it. I was reminded it existed when I came across the Bird's original collar, still with the message my mother had put inside it when we were trying to find his original people.

"Hi, your beautiful cat visits us and our cats a lot. We wonder where his real home is.
Could you please call us at ### ###-####. Thank you."

___________________________

To understand how the Bird came to live with me you first need to understand Rosemount. Rosemount is my parent's house - the ancestral homelands, if you will - and it attracts cats. There is something about the wide porch and riotous gardens that says that it is a good place to come visit and perhaps to stay awhile. My mom's cat Gumpy was such a stray - turned up sleeping on the couch and so clearly bedraggled that he needed a home. Another grey cat who stayed for just a while had feline leukemia and had his people come to get him before he needed his next set of meds.

The Bird turned up one morning on the porch. As he had a collar - with a bell - and was clearly well fed and taken care of there were the clear admonishments from my mother to not interact with him. "Don't pat that Jingley Cat! He has a home." At other houses you just didn't have to feed stray cats but my mother knew, from experience, that the first step was not the feeding; it is the conversing. Once you talked to the cat it was downhill from there.

But the Bird continued to come around for a couple of days - "that Jingley Cat" became somewhat of a fixture. We even tried to find his people - put up posters and an add in the classifieds. To no avail. His original people could not be found and Bird had decided that he had new people so what exactly was our problem?

Birdy was allow to stay, Cat #5 at the time, on the condition that he leave with me when I moved out in six months. Which was fine with the Bird - he had already decided that I was his person.

He knew that something was going on when the boxes started appearing. My mom said that he was being extra nice to her - but she knew he was a fraud and was just worried I was leaving. The final straw for him was finding his chair (!) on the porch. He sat in there as all the boxes and furniture went by being completely unimpressed.

He settled after the move, and even forgave bringing a dastardly orange cat into the house. Patience, they name was Bird.

busy busy

It's looking like April will be my month of too many things this year. There is travel for work, finishing packing for my move, the actual move itself and far too many rehearsals. I'm at the point now where the list of things is long and I just want to get started on doing it. Which is why, at not quite the end of March, I am about 70% packed. Yeah. It's a bit psycho. I have clothing and the kitchen left. Which is by no means a small task - the collection of kitchen related items I have accumulated it getting a little ridiculous. Fun... but ridiculous.

the max, taking advantage of an angry-cat-free moment

I am excited about moving though. It will be good to have my own kitchen again. And I'm looking forward to settling in and setting up a new house. I have not been so comfortable these last months - what with all the changes. I was told the other day that that was OK - it is not human nature to be comfortable in transitions and well, ain't that the truth. I mostly just want it done. Which will surprise no one who knows me.

traveling

Photos to make you want to come home after a trip.

cats that are mine, and not

At one point earlier this year I was asked by someone who didn't really know me how many cats I had. I said "Two. One gray and fluffy, one orange and crazy". When I related this to 'Col she said "Um. When are you going to mention the other two cats?" and you know, I was kind of surprised. Surprised that I'd really have to mention them.

gray cats, one and two, mine and not

Somewhere in my brain the cats remained divided into 'my cats' and 'the cats I just live with' even though we'd been living in this house for more than a year at that point. It is odd how that works because the example up above is not the first time that had happened - I might have live in a house with four cats but -I- only had two cats. Apparently I am not so good with the math.

And weirdly, this notion of two cats has remained stuck in my brain even though the Bird is gone. My language choices still speak of multiple cats - which makes sense if you think about the fact I live with three. But I've realized that while sometimes I speak of 'the cats' and I'm talking about Max & the Roo there is still quite a lot of times when I'm speaking with someone who doesn't really know me and when I say 'the cats' I mean Max and Bird.

Yeah. Like that's not slightly crazy.

And sometimes, just to make matters slightly more complicated, I am talking about Max and his hypothetical kitten who we will get when we move to keep Snacky company.

the snacky max, with chair

My life, apparently, is fill of cats that don't exist.