Tag: pets

Calico Capers #SOLC25 7/31

Despite the cold and snow, Tippy insisted that she was going out this morning. She waited in the front hall, yowling, and then, when I opened the door, she fearlessly pushed ahead of our black lab mix and went out into the world – or at least onto the porch. She is a tiny 12-year-old calico who has no business spending much time outdoors when it’s -5C (23F), but she didn’t care. She had plans.

I didn’t see her when I got back from walking the dog, but I was pretty sure I knew where she was, so I didn’t worry until it got close to time for our family to leave for work and school. Then, I texted the neighbours who live a few doors down.

Tippy loves this family. She hangs out with them and their two daughters quite a lot. When all our children were little, she used to follow first our boys and then their girls to the bus stop. Now she just seems to enjoy the extra love.

A few minutes after our first exchange, they texted again.

Which is how I found myself tromping through the snow to our neighbour’s house when I should have been on my way to work. Two workers were sitting in a pickup truck in the driveway. They glanced at me, but didn’t seem to think much of my early morning visit. When I got inside, Tippy was refusing to leave, so I had to take off my boots and head upstairs to help catch her.

Once we had her, I went back downstairs and tried to slip on my boots while holding a squirming calico- but there really is no way to slip on good winter boots and there’s certainly no way to do it while wrangling a cat – so my neighbour tried to help me out by crouching down to help me get my feet in. At this point, a few construction workers poked their heads out from the bathroom they were working on to see what all the screeching and laughing was about.

I imagine they saw something like this, except with more snow and a squirmier cat:

AI generated this for me – it’s not us, but whatever

Within seconds the workers were laughing, too. I handed Tippy to my neighbour, jammed my feet in my boots, and grabbed our now-irate cat by the scruff of her neck to head out the door. There, the two men were still sitting in the pickup. Now, however, they were decidedly staring – I was disheveled, my boots really only half on, carrying a twisting, yowling, tiny calico up the driveway, through the snow, back to our house at 8:30 in the morning. I could hear them laughing as I made it to the sidewalk.

Tippy was extremely unimpressed with my rescue mission and raced up the stairs as soon as I dropped her inside the door. Now running late, I grabbed my backpack and my lunch and scooted to the minivan. I made it to work on time, but only just. And Tippy? When I got home, the little rascal tried to go outside again!

Here she is in her normal cuddly glory:

Nearby #SOL24 3/31

Years ago, a photographer friend of mine, Maggie Knaus, had an exhibition that she entitled “Nearby.” In it, she featured pictures she had taken when her brother-in-law had been nearby. He had passed away, but the images remained, beautiful and poignant. 

I think about that exhibition a lot: the beauty; the sadness; the sense that noticing who is nearby, who is not quite in the picture, is powerful and important. Because of it, I find myself thinking about who is nearby as I go about my day.

Right now, for example, my spouse and his buddies are playing a board game in the next room. The game will last most of the afternoon, their laughter and chatter an accompaniment to my writing and planning. Dice rattle; pieces plunk onto the board. I love the easy camaraderie of these men, the way they gather often, using games to deepen their friendships. They laugh again, and here, mere metres away, I smile.

Mr. 15 is in his third-floor hideaway. The “chill room” was meant to be a shared space, but his bedroom is tiny, so he has spilled into this space, too: computer, books, beanbag – and all the detritus that trails behind teenage boys. When he is home, he is up there. Moments ago, we crossed paths in the kitchen as he cut two thick slabs of fresh bread, slathered them with butter and popped them into the toaster “to melt the butter just enough.” I silently marvelled at his tall and slender form, at his long torso stretching up from pajama bottoms knotted low around his hips. What a miracle, to watch my child become a man. I hug him when I can and keep my comments to a minimum. Now, he is hidden again: only his voice trails down the stairs, a murmured reminder that he is nearby.

Mr. 13 is in the room with me, but a bookcase and a bamboo screen separate us. He is nearly silent now. Only the click of the keyboard and the occasional slide of the chair across the floor let me know he is nearby. Soon enough, he will finish this task and join his friends online. At some point, his excited voice will rise up to fill this room, and I will say, “Seriously! Can you please tone it down?” and he will – for 30 seconds or a minute – until the game and the friends fill his brain again and his voice surges again.

In the kitchen, one cat sleeps in her perch near the sliding glass door. In the basement, the other cat sleeps in the box of giveaway coats that she has adopted as her own. And here on the couch, the dog has curled up next to me as I write. 

In this mundane moment, I pause to recognize just how much love is near me, just how lucky I am.