If you’ve read my blog more than a couple of times, you will have noticed how often I stare at the sky and how I try to capture it’s every change.
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Until my parents took me to SE Asia in 1956, I was barely aware of the sky.
Clouds were just clouds. In England they often brought rain which made Dad even more grumpy than usual.
Although we lived in London, we sometimes went to visit Mum’s family in Wiltshire, but there I tended to be focused on ground level, fearful of cows and of stepping in their deposits.
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The first leg of our long journey to Cambodia was from London to Paris. I was focused solely on my ears which hurt abominably. In those days the hostess handed out hard candies before take-off and landing. Sucking them was supposed to help.
Mum showed me how to hold my nose and blow which worked subsequently, but that first flight was torture.
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Luckily, after the first flight I never had trouble with my ears again.
The journey to Cambodia was seemingly endless with lots of stops and no entertainment, so I spent many hours gazing out of the window.
My head has been in the clouds ever since.
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There was a special light in the clouds as they boiled up from behind the hill on Wednesday morning.
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Sun rays caught the tops of clouds creating a dazzling spectacle.
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It may have been the purest white I have ever seen.
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Perfect angle of the light, perfect density of the cloud, perfect timing by the viewer.
It is all mathematics, isn’t it?
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Mist shrouded the nearby hill.
Backdrop for a pair of Mourning doves.
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My gaze dropped just in time to see the juvenile Towhee which is just getting its adult colouring.
Strangely, we only ever seem to have been visited by a single Towhee.
Will this one stay through the winter as its predecessor did?
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It has been a busy week with too many appointments.
Muffin and Penny’s senior screenings were mostly satisfactory.
When you care for a group of animals you focus on the elderly and infirm.
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But I remind myself that it is not always those you expect to leave who go first.
This was Thimphu’s last day.
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When I moved to a new townhome, I took Timmy there before any of my belongings.
He came out of the carrier and those big eyes looked around:
“Where’s all our stuff?”
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It’s strange that I never thought about it before, but I don’t remember Lily ever spending time with Thimphu, except on that last night.
Lily befriended Sophia as if offering comfort to our traumatized girl.
She seems to gravitate to needy souls.
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So maybe she knew that Thimphu’s time had come? He had seemed fine that night.
In as much as a cat with such a flat face could be. He was 12 weeks old when he was given to me by kind friends who saw how deeply I grieved over Yeti.
Thimphu struggled to reach his first pound and the vet celebrated, admitting that she hadn’t been sure he would make it.
Sometimes reconstructive surgery can help these pets, deliberately bred to be “cute”, but Timmy didn’t have enough to work with, so he snuffled. His tongue protruded because he had a snaggle tooth.
What could I have done, if I had known that was his last night on earth?
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Panther had captured my heart. He had misshapen front legs and suffered from eosinophilic granuloma. Otherwise known as “rodent ulcer”, it affected his gums and had to be kept at bay with steroids.
Sometimes I gave Panther quality alone time with me because I was his person.
That last night of Thimphu’s life, I cuddled Panther.
So now I try not to focus on any one of the animals I care for.
You just never know.
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Today started off wrong.
Grant had to go out early and I don’t like the cats to go out unless he is around to supervise.
When I came in from the garden, Willow was waiting at the door so I did what I always do, lifting a restraining right foot as I eased the door open and then as the door swung out, I lifted the toe of my left boot.
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But Willow is like grease-lightning and as I lifted the boot she shot right into it, then turned and fled back into the house.
Dumping my boots, I went after her but she was spooked or offended.
Or, as I told myself:
Stunned that I would “kick” her!
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Emotional fool I may be, but I know enough to leave a cat to settle down when it’s been upset.
However I noticed that Grant had left his door ajar and oh dear, there went Willow. I pictured her spraying her displeasure all over his stuff.
So I went downstairs in search. Right at the very end of the “engine room”, I heard Willow’s plaintive cry.
Before I could turn the light on, she had shot past me and vanished.
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So now in addition to feeling dreadful about putting my boot in her face, I was worried about where she might pee because I didn’t know if she had hidden in the basement or gone back upstairs.
The more I looked, the more there was no Willow. Grey cats cannot be found.
It turned out she was hiding in Lucy’s now-abandoned safe place under a bench behind my desk.
When Grant got home, she trotted right out and got her belated walk.
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How often have I torn myself to bits over an animal, ascribing to them human emotions which I know they do not have?
Understanding why I do it has not so far enabled me to stop.
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It’s curious how, when you are feeling vulnerable, some small thing catches your attention like a slap in the face.
Today it was an article about Laika, the little dog that was launched into space by Russia in 1957. Somehow until today I had avoided reading about her.
Just knowing had bothered me enough.
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If I had a big stick I’d probably beat myself with it. Sigh.
But…where there is darkness, light.
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The contrast of this delicate flower against its background seemed similar to the contrast of those clouds against the deeply blue sky.
That, I think is what so appeals to me.
Thank you, Carolyn, for your thoughts! The photos are interesting, as always!
Joanna
I think that the way you care for your cats, ascribing human emotions to them and all (you never know anyway) is one powerful way of making up for the way some people are cruel to animals.
There seems to be no end to the suffering our species creates for almost all others. If I spend too much time thinking about it my heart begins to break. It’s why I had to stop reading stories about animals, and it’s also why I always wanted to spend retirement helping in whatever way I could. I was seriously considering moving to Kanab, Utah so I could help at Best Friends but it was not to be. They do really great work and they are in a place of such physical beauty. It is special. The sanctuary radiates love. The animals smile.
Maybe that’s another reason why Kanab didn’t work out – you were needed more elsewhere.
I loved reading how your love for clouds began. I remember how, as kids we lay on our backs and stared at the clouds while making “pictures” 😊. We can easily torture ourselves with how we treat our pets … but I always knew they felt safe in our home (or near us), no matter what WE thought they might feel.