Winds and wonders

The wind chimes have been playing a veritable symphony of late.

Some people find them irritating and if I had neighbours within earshot, I would reconsider hanging them, but Grant and I are the only two who hear them. They are memorial chimes, so when they ring it reminds us of departed friends,

To me, the tinkling of bells is pleasing and also the sound of wind in the trees. Even a howling gale is not unpleasant, but when a strong wind blows for an extended period, it can begin to get on your nerves.

Yesterday afternoon I was suddenly aware of a sensation I’ve not felt for quite some time, in fact not since I weaned myself off anti-anxiety medication.

Back then, I worried, that without the medication, I would have difficulty dealing with nerves, only to discover that it had been the medication that caused my anxiety all along.

(Anti-anxiety medication has its place and we are all different, so I hasten to add that I can only speak for my personal experience.)

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There is certainly plenty to be nervous about these days, but I have managed to persuade myself not to be affected by events that I have no control over. I do my best to stay informed, but I do not brood.

At least not yet.

So why was I feeling enervated?

The rafters suddenly rattled in a particularly strong gust and I realised: it’s the wind that has been howling through the trees behind the house for days now, like a freight train.

Once I acknowledged this, the anxiety passed.

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“Tell it to stop!” said Dee Dee crossly.

Actually, the cats don’t seem to notice wind, unless it blows furniture off the porch which fortunately is a rare event.

What disturbs some of the cats is visitors.

The plumber arrived just now to install a new drain in my shower. This sent Blackie fleeing downstairs, Willow under a sofa and Little Man beneath my bed cover.

Dee Dee marches up to an intruder to be introduced and demands to be included in whatever it is they have come to take care of. Or, if it’s a friend, to join the conversation.

“Treats? You got treats?”

Dee Dee is a mercenary creature.

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Lily has never been afraid of strangers.

When the plumber arrived, she offered an opinion:

(You may need to turn the volume up)

This is an old recording and nowadays, since our elderly pussycat went deaf, her voice is much louder. The above is what I am treated to at 4 am when Lily wishes me to turn a tap on for her to “drink-it”.

There are numerous water bowls about the house, so she would not parch if I was to refuse the wake-up call, but it is not the sort of sound you can easily ignore.

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Little Man sent me to bed last night with a bloodied knee. Not intentionally, of course. He just always wants to be on a shoulder. Sometimes he leaps from a counter top. Last night I was perched on the throne when he suddenly used my naked knee as a launch pad.

Grant’s broad shoulders offer the boy a comfortable saddle, but mine are rather bony, so he has to cling on and I have a network of tiny scratches all across my upper back.

Perhaps I should discourage the lad, but he so loves riding around and I do love obliging him. What are a few scratches, anyway?

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Willow is a fastidious creature. She doesn’t like to put her feet in kitty litter, so when she uses the box, she balances on the edge. For the sake of her dignity, she persuaded me not to post the photograph I took of her in the act.

Willow is the only cat I’ve known to do this, although someone I met once had cats that were trained to use a human toilet.

We should be so lucky!

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The shyest of our cats is Blackie. The sound of a vehicle turning onto the driveway is all it takes to send her off down to the basement where she will stay long after whoever it was has departed.

Blackie considers me her person and likes to cuddle up when I read in bed at night. It seems she cannot get close enough and her claws are a problem too, if I don’t trim them regularly, but as everyone knows, cats are averse to having their toes touched.

Attempting to be sneaky, I kept a nail-trimmer in the drawer beside the bed, thinking I could discreetly slip it out and snip when she wasn’t looking. But I don’t know of any animal that would fall for that, far less a cat.

Then recently, Blackie allowed me to cut her nails with no fuss at all. She seemed fine, but I thought she must be having an episode or something! However, when I cut her nails again the other night, she did not flinch.

So I have one cat that volunteers to take her medicine, – reminds me, if I forget (Willow) and one that offers her toes for manicure.

Wonders never cease.

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