Marie's Musings

These pictures were taken in August and chronicle one of Haley's adventures.

That outside world looks so interesting, I wonder if there's a way to get there

Oh no, Nanny, I wasn't trying to get out

ohmagosh, am I stuck?

Busy cats work up a thirst. There's always a lineup at the water cooler.

We don't get a lot of hurricanes in Nova Scotia, usually just tail ends of them, and not usually this late. A couple of years back we got a dandy hurricane called Juan and then, the next winter one we called White Juan as in blizzard rather than tropical. But last night we got a big blow, almost hurricane force winds, and I hear there are quite a few power outages around. Luckily, this section of the city is okay so far but the winds are still gusting. I don't think all assessments are in yet. Cats get energized by wind and ours partied all night but I did manage to get some sleep through it all. I'm not one to be scared of storms and, since I'm no longer a home owner, I don't feel stress from worry. Stress from cats on the other hand ...

Since my muse seems to have departed for the great beyond I'm going to dig into my files and post some things I had written and liked in better days. In high school I enjoyed writing poetry (or what I thought was poetry) and especially odes as they had a given form of rhythm and rhyme making poetry easier for a person with little talent. In later years I wrote Pussy Paws knowing it is not acknowledged as poetry but the ramblings of a rhymster. However, I got a kick out of writing it and that's what counts.

Pussy paws make posies in fresh snow
And lightly pick the way that they would go,
Lifting, flicking at cold clinging flakes,
Trembling at the bite the cold wind makes.

Pussy paws turn quickly back to home,
Too cold today for birds and mice to roam.
Soft cushions, the warmth of blazing fire,
A home and love is all that they require.

Pussy paws, loosely hinged, small pink tongue
Clean all the face and ears before they’re done,
Then dry with powder puffs their washed faces
And smugly view all that their world embraces.

Pussy paws like playing hide and seek
Under sheets and quilts they love to tweak.
Pussy Paws are pounding down the hall
Sounding like horse’s hooves at battle call.

Many happy hours in my days fly
With thundering pussy paws and mats awry,
But bedtime brings nestling purrs and pats
Then pussy paws are folded under cats.

Pussy paws can softly seek my hand
And gently pat my nose at dawn’s demand,
But warning, get up or stay alert,
For pussy paws have eighteen claws that hurt.


and here are some shots of my inspiration for the foregoing



Here's Sylvester ready to go shopping with me














Lamb Chop is wondering if she can make it out that open window
















Pumpkin hates being hungry all the time but enjoys the ability to climb higher with a little less weight on him















and there's always a lineup at the cafeteria - unusual for Sylvester to be ahead of Lamb Chop, actually unusual for anyone to get ahead of her















little pussy paws finally got tired and Pumpkin and Sylvester enjoy resting together
















Lamb Chop has decided that open window is too much to resist, at least after dark















and now Sylvester doesn't have to share Jim's pepperoni with Pumpkin