The Best Flat Tire I Ever Had

Twenty degrees, hard winds, ice on the windshield, and a low front tire. That’s what greeted me last Wednesday morning. I shivered, scraped ice, and made a mental note to have the tire checked, then headed down the road to start my hour’s commute.

Well, you know what’s coming. But the universe was looking out for me that morning. Things could have been so much worse.

Instead of heading straight onto the highway, I had changed the start of my commute route that morning to stop at the drugstore for chapstick – which I sorely needed in all this sudden whipping cold air. I thought I might also stop at the gas station nearby to see about that low tire. Well, Billie (my blue Beetle’s name) decided I needed to make dang sure I checked that tire. It blew. Billie and I hobbled along on 3 tires and a rim the last two blocks to the station.

Sadly, the clerk had bad news: no mechanics until 8am; it was 7. As I stood there contemplating starting my day on Starbuck’s WiFi, in came the shop manager, who had spotted my three-legged car, and said, “I knew there was a reason I came in early today.”

Before he set to work on changing the tire, he cautioned me that spares generally weren’t full size and would certainly not tolerate my 30-mile commute into Maryland. And this station didn’t carry tires. But, Merchants Tire is just another block up and they open at 7.  As I stood there contemplating starting my day on Merchant’s WiFi and holding meetings on my cell phone, out came my angel mechanic, with good news: my spare was full size. I had his blessing to drive to work. And no charge.

I missed no meetings that morning, and the spare’s holding up fine.

So, I’ll get a new tire on Saturday and put my lucky spare back in the trunk for another semi-unfortunate day.

A flat tire is no day at the fair. But, things really could have been so much worse. I could have started out on the highway instead of the neighborhood shortcut and ended up shivering for an hour or more, traffic whooshing by, waiting for AAA. I could have been delayed another hour if that mechanic hadn’t come in early. I could have been delayed another hour or more if my spare wasn’t full size. As it happened, this inconvenience totaled only about 30 minutes.

Oh!…and did I mention?…that service station sold chapstick.

 

Blue Days Blue Nights

“Blue Days Blue Nights” is my latest artist book, which made its debut at the Del Ray Artisans exhibit “Blue: An Interpretation.”  For details and additional photos, please click here.

Thing One and Thing Two, continued

Part two…

Now, nearly a couple months in, I seem to be growing on my little feral “family.”  When the weather was warmer, I’d sit on a bench in the yard, or on the edge of the deck, and just talk quietly to them, and watch them… a real delight.  That kitten exuberance!  Even MamaCat – still young herself – displays a youthful energy and joins in the chase around the yard when I’m not out there with them.  They’re now used to my presence. The  babies come running up to my feet every time I open the back door. And, Mama tolerates my presence much more amicably, still reminding me who’s boss with an occasional hiss, while still allowing me to herd them all over toward the food dish.

A few weeks ago, when nighttime temperatures were threatening to drop to near freezing, I took them an old towel and, while they were busy out in the yard, settled it under the low plastic stand that had become their favored shelter. The next day, with rain in the forecast, I added a big plastic trash bag situated over the little tabletop and down a bit on all sides.  The rain still left their towel – and them too, I imagine, soaked.  So I brought them a fresh towel and hung the wet one up to dry in the breeze. The drying towels soon became a playground for the kittens – they climbed them, rolled in them, wrestled in them, until the towels the kittens all lay in a heap on the ground.

Thing One and Thing Two enjoy the cat playground that is my deck.

Watching them from inside has been a pure delight.  The little ones exploring the yard, tripping over planters, falling off the deck, chasing a confused squirrel, chasing each other then coming together in a roll and leap like a kitten explosion, climbing a shrubby tree then tumbling down head over feet through the branches… mama always nearby.  I’ve watched as they’ve used my little crape myrtle to practice their climbing skills, and observed a first fence-walk, balancing precariously behind Mama.

MamaCat occasionally comes up to within a foot of the glass doors when I’m standing there. I’ll kneel down and we stare at each other. She just sits there primly, calmly, staring, unblinking. Is she trying to understand human kindness? Wondering how much warmer it must be on the other side of the glass? Or, aghast at my keeping two cats like her locked inside this big cage called a house?  She has seen me pet and play with Anni and Chessie and I wonder how strange she must think that is, this direct and voluntary connection between cat and human.

In case you’re wondering: Yes, I am looking into having the cats trapped and neutered.  I called the county animal control office and they advised me that unless the cats are in some way a clear and dangerous threat to the well-being of people or their pets, they do not get involved.  Wandering cats are not illegal in our county, they tell me.  The animal shelters will accept strays, but they too do not go out capturing them. There are small volunteer groups here and there, that are kept quite busy with the growing feral cat population in the area, so I would likely be left to trap them myself.  I found a small volunteer organization that conducts classes on the “Citizen Humane Feral Cat Trapping and Neutering Program.” They even loan you the traps.  And then I injured my back and missed the class.  I’m waiting for their next class and have also contacted a neighborhood contact who started a group for us to help each other deal with the feral cat problem (it’s rampant).  It’s very sad, and animal lovers cannot bear to leave them to completely fend for themselves, starving or freezing to death.

Winter is approaching.  I bought them a dog house. And put in fresh towels.

I’m still pondering how to feed them in the snow.  Any suggestions?

Thing One and Thing Two (part 1)

One warm morning near the end of September, I spotted one of the neighborhood feral cats – a white cat with gray splotches and a gray tail with a distinctive white tip as if dipped in a can of white house paint – in my back yard again, stalking my birds, again.  So, I tried to perform my usual defensive maneuver – went out back, clapped once loudly while showing “go!” – and it didn’t work.  She leaped up the fence and stared me down… even when I tried hissing at her. Don’t judge: just trying to speak her language.   

As I made my way into the yard, instead of scampering off the fence and through the elsewheres of the neighborhood, she continued to stand her ground.  She kept looking from me to the corner of the deck and back again.  As I leaned forward (I didn’t dare actually step closer; she looked about ready to charge me), I saw four little kitten ears poking out from the under-edge of the wood planking.   Oh great, I thought, now I’ve got multiple cats hanging out at the bird diner!? 

I thought they might go away if I ignored them.

Not so.

So, I did the only other thing I felt I could: settled in to enjoy my new extended family.

MamaCat stares me down through the glass door.

MamaCat is at least 3^rd-generation feral (born from a litter in a neighbor’s back yard down the block) – completely unsocialized to humans.  Her two little ones (I call them Thing One & Thing Two because I have no clue whether male or female and also because I know I should not give them sweet names that might incline me to become too attached) are I think about 8 or 10 weeks old now.  It appears Mama gave birth under my deck and my back yard is now their home base… where they get food, water and fresh towels daily. Well, almost. 

Beginning to feed them was a logical move.  I reasoned that the more cat food they ate, the fewer birds they’d consume.   Though the kittens were still being weaned, they joined mama at the food dish (a bright yellow plastic plate) and enjoyed the crunchy treat as much as she did. Such was their appetites that I’m on my fourth bag of generic-brand cat food (they are not getting my cats’ prescription stuff) – they eat about a bag a week.  We quickly graduated to a huge discount bag of generic food, and I give them water too, in a plant saucer, both about halfway out into the yard, near the fence, and away from the house – both theirs and mine.

The first days of feeling were quite a challenge. Early on, my twice-daily walk out into MamaCat’s newly declared territory was met with hisses and swats and dirty looks, and even some aggressive body language that warmed me she wouldn’t hesitate to charge and attack if I got too close… especially to the babies.  She was most aggressive when they were nearby.  And, at times, I suppose from sheer hunger – or general impatience? – she’d creep close to the plate as I was about to pour and slap a front paw down on the edge of the plate… just as I was pouring… resulting in an fireworks show of flying cat kibbles. 

We began this little dance at mealtime. I keep my distance, she keeps an eye on me while skirting around to “her side” of the food dish, as I slowly approach the plate from “my side” across a small wooden bench. To feed them, I must lean forward to pour the food into the dish. Given her tendency to hiss and slap – not mention that pre-pounce look in her eyes – I tried to keep a clear distance between us. If she got too aggressive, I’d back up, hands (and food) back down by my side. She learned she needed to back up for me to come closer, but it took a awhile for this lesson to completely sink in – up and back, back and up, finally I’d have a comfortable clearance to pour the kibbles on the plate and come away with my hand intact.

The little ones were just as unfriendly. Imagine one of the tiniest creatures on the planet – a tiny soft kitten – opening its little mouth as wide as it can and letting out what it must think is some mighty ferocious hiss… that is barely audible.  Too cute, too funny, but too real.  The first time I encountered both little beasts bracing shoulder-to-shoulder and hissing in unison, I thought: Poor little babies! Mama’s teaching you to hate and at such a young age!?

To be continued….

new & improved website

A Whole New Look!  My website is finally evolving into a presence I’m eager to send people to visit. It is still (always?) a work in progress but now greatly “upcycled” from the old look.  So, in case your path here wasn’t already through the new site, you can take a peek here.

Bucket List one item short

During a recent wild vacation with my brother and his girlfriend, I was able to check an item off my “bucket list.”  While at the San Diego Safari Park, I took a ride in a hot air balloon!  We soared high enough to render the biggest elephant roaming far below to something I could hold in my hand.  More wild vacation notes to come….

I’m the one in the pink shirt

I’m the one in the pink shirt high on helium

Hello world!

This is my first WordPress.com post and I’m somewhat new to blogging, which may seem rather strange given I’m a writer and working in the communications field but, okay, better later than never. Please check back (patiently) for upcoming chats on art, poetry, head-crashing waterfalls, encounters with snakes and black horses, the fine art of pilling a cat, birds and birding, squirrels and chipmunks, Beara Peninsula dreams, office comedy, and I’m sure much more than I can anticipate at the moment.  Meanwhile, please feel free to stop by www.lionesspress.com.