The snow (not the frost) is on the pumpkin!

I woke up this morning to a strange, ethereal light bathing the room. There is nothing quite like the light on a morning when it’s snowing. Looking out I saw fat, sticky, wet, flakes drifting ever so gently past the window. Ah ... SNOW ... and a couple of inches at that.

It stuck to everything.

Trees.

Railings and fence pickets.

The windchime.

Even the clothesline, which isn’t easy to do!

Dogs.

Cats. (I must have the only indoor cat that can’t wait to sneak outside when it snows. eBay is one silly cat!)

As I stood outside in my house slippers taking photos I couldn’t resist lifting my face to the sky, letting the cold, moist,  flakes settle on my cheeks like a healing balm. Of course I stuck out my tongue and caught some flakes—why do you even need to ask?!  This Jersey Girl is a snow lover!

Now here is some snow for you. At the end, be sure and lift your face into the flakes coming right at you! Can you feel their wetness?

Take:
1 cat (must be a cat that was raised in a one-cat-only-household by a woman that didn’t have many visitors; must be afraid of strange people, loud noises, rain, thunder, cars going by on the road and anything else you can think to be afraid of)

Add:
1 deceased Mother of the cat
2 people that the cat has seen before but doesn’t particularly like
3 large boisterous dogs that the cat has never seen before
3 cats that the cat has never seen before
1 strange house that is anything but quiet

Mix the first three ingredients together with the cat very carefully. Wait a few days before putting this mixture into a car and drive for approximately 3.5 hours. Add last two ingredients all at once. Wait to see what happens.

If you’ve followed the recipe carefully you should end up with one cat that lives under your bed. She should be eating, drinking, and using the litter box, and occasionally you might find her out, but don’t expect too much from the first week. What should happen next is unknown since every recipe is unique. A great deal of patience and understanding is required.

Thank you all for your heartfelt condolances. It means a lot to me.

We’re back now from settling my Mom’s affairs. It was an emotional week staying in her house without her there and making all the tearful phone calls to friends and family. With every call it brought all the grief to the surface again. We had to wonder what Mom would have thought seeing her house filled to the brim with Rick and me; my sister and her husband; our three large dogs and my sister’s bulldog. Oh yes, and my Mom’s cat: Pookie. The cat that doesn’t like anything or anybody but my Mom. The cat hates me. Always has.

Poor kitty, what was she thinking with Mom gone?

We found her under the bed in the guest room where Rick and I would be sleeping. She was hissing and growling at us per her normal behavior. I didn’t want to get too close as she has attacked me in the past with paws and nails flailing. What to do? My Mom had always said if anything happened to her that the cat would have to be euthanised because she didn’t think she could adapt to anyone else. Even the woman who looked after the cat when Mom made her trips down here to visit us calls Pookie “special” and gives her plenty of space and doesn’t try and pet her. Lord knows I have never been brave enough to try to pet that cat.

At first we thought we were going to try and catch her and just take her to the vet. The woman who usually watched her for Mom was out of town on vacation and due back the next day. So, Pookie got a reprieve while we waited to find out if the woman would want to take her in. In the meantime she was living in our room and getting used to us and the dogs. The woman returned from vacation and said she felt the cat would not fit into her household.

By the second day she started to come out and wander around the room when Rick was in there, and then when I was there. No hissing; no growling; no spitting. By the third night she was sleeping on my pillow. I was afraid to move or reach up anywhere near her, not knowing quite what she would do. At this point, her fate was sealed—she would be coming home with us to see if we could make it work.

When we got home we put Pookie in one of the wire dog crates so she could see us going about the kitchen doing our normal routines and meet the other cats pretty much face-to-face. Here is Sam making her feel at home.

We turned her loose in our bedroom and she’s been under our bed since Friday evening. She’s not eating at the moment, but she didn’t eat for a few days when we first got to Mom’s either. Last night I woke to find her on the pillow above my head. I think I was half asleep and reached up and stroked her head and back. I still have my hand. A little later she was clawing at my side of the bed and then I saw her slip out of the room and go downstairs. So, she is starting to adjust and explore. We’ll see where this leads. Maybe between the two of us we can work out our grief together.

I think Mom would approve.

SIGH. Sam, our Maine Coon cat, is always in trouble for something. He is into everything! He is the epitome of a problem child. He gets in these moods—and you can see it in his eyes—where he is just looking for trouble. And, he usually finds it. This time I didn’t see it coming. I had been knitting on my purple lace scarf and laid it down on top of my knitting basket while I went to chat on the computer to a friend about her brand-new litter of puppies.

After about 15 minutes or so, I sat back down to take up my knitting again. It was gone; nowhere in sight. Poof! Disappeared into thin air. It took me a minute to digest this dilemma, and then I took action. My first reaction was to blame the dogs who were all laying around looking innocent. They said they didn’t do it. Okay, maybe they didn’t carry it off, they certainly didn’t look guilty enough. I looked all around for it in the kitchen and sunroom, and finally my search led me into the dining room. Such a sight beheld my eyes! My lovely scarf was on the floor, and the ball of yarn was wrapped around the chair and table legs in a very neat web.

It was then that I knew who the guilty party was. Look closely in the photo below and tell me if you can spot him. Sam strikes again.

What to do? I just stood there for a minute, taking it all in. And then I started to laugh. I just couldn’t help myself. He had done such a good job. It was obvious he went around in the same pattern twice with the ball of yarn in his mouth. Just look at the precision in which this web was woven!

I just couldn’t be mad at him. There was no harm done—no dropped stitches, or rips or tears. I only wish I had seen him in action. I had been right in the next room but I didn’t hear a thing. Usually when he’s tearing around the house he makes his little chirpy-burry noises, but this time he was quiet as a mouse.

Now watch the video where I question the accused.
[Note: If you don’t want the QuickTime videos to play on opening my blog, go into your preference setting in QuickTime and under “movies” make sure you un-check the “play movies automatically” setting. I tried YouTube with this one, but it was taken in such bad light their version was too grainy.]

I hereby find the defendant, Sam, GUILTY as charged. Knitting rescued. Case closed.

Hey Mom, can you teach me to knit with my paws?
Sam, our Maine Coon helps me with knitting today.