Enjoying the paws in our working day

Every once in a while we get a visit from Tallulah. She is a bit of a socialite. Our graphic designer remembers her from her days at the local Girls' College, just a block up the street. Tallulah would enjoy dropping in during the science lessons. Because the "Gals" are still on holiday, she is hanging out with the "Not so young any more" Gals in our office.

It has been very hot and humid these last few days, so her favourite perch has been on the shredding bin. It is perfectly positioned below the fan. At the noon time hour, when temperatures soared, she lay in a heap under my desk, waiting for her ears to be scratched with my bare feet. Later she occupied a cardboard box in the direct line of two open windows with wafting curtains.

Here she is exiting by the sash window after she spotted some sparrows.

No doubt she will be waiting for me early tomorrow morning, purring under the window.



Post Script: not long after posting this blog, a friend from Maryland contacted me. It would appear that her cat is Tallulah's cousin! Any more black and white lookalikes out there?

© by Sparrowchatter 2011

From the Loire Valley to our valley

It was an expensive cup of coffee in Greytown (see previous post), but this is the new/old acquisition. I'm a very happy bunny because some of my grandma's glass is now finally on display.
© by Sparrowchatter 2011

Let's go window shopping

Important provisions for the cook to assemble


Pots to be polished for porridge in winter


Queen Anne lace, adorning your table


Feathers to tickle your fanciful felines


A chandelier to sparkle in your candle lit ballroom


An apartment for sparrows who are upwardly mobile



And it is said that no one leaves Greytown empty handed - from kittens to plots of land, to French dressers.....er the latter we purchased. And we only went out for a coffee!

Wishing you peace under trees

A bit early for Tu b'shevat!
Days Bay, New Zealand

A cheeky face to start the weekend

Introducing Ben, my friend's alpaca.

Resting in peace.

It was only a matter of time. Tonight there was a spirit of collaboration and collusion hovering over our home as we drove down the driveway, and a singular absence of the usual feline Welcome Committee.
Climbing the stairs from the garage to our home, I wasn’t expecting “the present” awaiting me. There on the mat was a beautiful mouse with two acolytes – a surprised kitten and a guilty looking old Tom cat. Neither really admitted the gift and they both scurried off, embarrassed.
I got a paper towel and picked the wee thing up; an adult. It was beautiful and totally unblemished. His little yellow teeth were gritted with determination, but it was his paws that made me cry. They were clenched. This little guy had gone down fighting, like a prize boxer. This was no “timorous beastie” of Robbie Burns.
I felt like I needed to find a kaddish for this little mouse, to show my respect, to say a prayer over the grey furry grammes in my hand.
So I wrapped him in the white towel shroud and took him to a burial place - the compost bin. I murmured prayers as I laid him to rest amongst leaf sweepings, green veggie leaves, tea leaves and potato skins. A meal fit for a mouse, buried in a black sarcophagus, with a banquet for the afterlife.

And as for my two confused hunters, tonight they are on short rations.

Pruning

This evening I braved the wilderness that is also known as our garden. Only having half an hours energy left at the stump end of the day, I knew I'd have to "pick my battle". The victims were an overgrown bush that looked like a hairy sputnik and a self planted tree/stump/pruned-to-within-an-inch-of-its-life something or other.

The bush is now sporting a topiary type shape, more due to my lopsided use of the shears than through design and the stubborn tree is gone. Seriously gone.

Having got rid of the rubbish, I noticed the terrifying rose which insists on growing every year. This year the stem was about 5 foot tall, with the most exquisite bud at the top. It had been leaning against the now Gone Tree. The briar had to go too. As I was cutting it down, I remembered that last year I'd done the the same thing, and was convinced I had killed it for good. No such luck.

But I have been transfixed by the bud. In spite of that drastic prune in 2010, the stump managed to grow something, and it was exquisite.

I may resist less in future when I sense my character is being pruned. The outcome may be a small and ravishing flower.