My Kitten Muse

I am greatly entertained by my new little furbaby buddy, Sparky McGee. Big kitties like him and Puppy Cooper plays and plays with the baby. Our rescue dog, Jilly, is on board. When I sit on the couch with my laptop to write I often have a purring kitten curled beside me, a second cat humming in my ear, a third tucked in as closely as possible, and a fourth perched overhead. The dogs each have their spots. Oh how happy we all are cozied up together. The only challenge with writing is staying awake because these sleepy rumbling kitties make me drowsy. I often end up tucked beside them for a nap. 

(Sparky McGee surveying his kingdom from his perch)

You can keep a dog; but it is the cat who keeps people, because cats find humans useful domestic animals. ~George Mikes

A kitten is the most irresistible comedian in the world. Its wide-open eyes gleam with wonder and mirth. It darts madly at nothing at all, and then, as though suddenly checked in the pursuit, prances sideways on its hind legs with ridiculous agility and zeal. ~Agnes Repplier

(What I see when looking down beside me as I write)

A catless writer is almost inconceivable; even Ernest Hemingway, manly follower of the hunting trophy and the bullfight, lived waist-deep in cats. It's a perverse taste, really, since it would be easier to write with a herd of buffalo in the room than even one cat; they make nests in the notes and bite the end of the pen and walk on the typewriter keys. ~Barbara Holland, The Name of the Cat, 1988

If I called her she would pretend not to hear, but would come a few moments later when it could appear that she had thought of doing so first. ~Arthur Weigall

(Sparky McGee admiring my autumn arrangement)

For more on me visit my Amazon Author Page:

https://www.amazon.com/Beth-Trissel/e/B002BLLAJ6/

Kittens Happen

Last Friday, I was given a tiny kitten to care for--for the weekend--but his stay is now indefinite. Sometimes, you just need a kitten, and you didn't even know it. Hubby would appreciate my finding a home for the baby when he's older. Meanwhile...I'm getting attached, as are the grandkids and Puppy Cooper. Cooper loves this kitten and frequently checks on it. If the baby mews, he rushes to its box to see if it's OK, and when I let the tiny toddler explore, Cooper is on its tail. The grandkids are building the kitten a playhouse run out of Amazon boxes with connecting tunnels. Very creative and he has rewarded them by darting through their maze like a hamster. Just between us, I think hubby is destined to have another cat in his life.

When I first began Furbaby Friday, it was as a tribute to my dear little dog and best friend, Sadie. Her passing tore me up more than words can express. I still miss her terribly, and tear up thinking about her, but Cooper, Jilly, our farm dog, Luca, and my kitties are a big comfort. Peaches and Cream have been my babies since they were two week old kittens granddaughter Emma found abandoned. Cream was left in a mud puddle, so dirty we couldn't tell he was a white kitten. He and Peaches are buddy brothers. Funny bird Kitty Pavel is attached to me in his own way. All my furbabies are rescues, and give back so much to me and the family.

(Sadie and Percy)

About a week after Sadie crossed the rainbow bridge, Kitty Percy followed her. A very sad time for us all, especially me. This little kitten that has come into our lives looks a lot like Percy did. Percy and Sadie were pals and snoozed on the couch together. They kept me company through many a writing project and the ups and downs of life. I have missed Percy a lot too, and wonder if this new kitty might be like him. You can't replace a dearly loved furbaby, but newcomers have a way of finding a place in your heart you didn't even know you had. They create their own warm home in the deepest recesses of our sentiments, maybe even our soul. Those people who do not love furbabies will never understand. Those who do, need no explanation. We know what our furbabies mean to us. Yes, they are a handful to care for at times, but I cannot imagine my life without them. Nor do I wish to. They are my dear friends and an essential part of my life.

(Peaches and Cream)

(Cooper and Jilly)

As of yesterday, the kitten has been named Sparky McGee.

Kitten Rescue--Beth Trissel

Excerpt from Shenandoah Watercolors, my nonfiction book about gardening, country life and herbal lore.

~Years ago, my youngest daughter, Elise, and I found a bedraggled black kitten in a murky corner of the old red barn huddled beside an ancient water trough. Hay was stuck to its fur and its head slick in places from a calf’s sympathetic tongue. 

We carried the mewing puff ball down to the house and gave it a bath. Being mostly fur, it shrank considerably in the water and nearly disappeared.

After drying this soggy specimen of catdom, we bundled it up in an old towel and fed it the formula concocted by a local vet for orphan kittens: one cup whole milk, one teaspoon of vegetable oil, one egg yolk, whisk well and warm. Sometimes I use a tiny bottle, but this baby is old enough to lap and downed the lot I had poured into a shallow lid. We filled a canning jar with hot water, screwed the lid on tightly and tucked our swaddled charge beside the improvised water bottle back in the small closet in the laundry room.

Assorted farm coats, jeans and shirts hang on hooks up above and brush our heads as we kneel to peer into this den-like place. There’s nothing dogs like better for a bed than a worn coat with that barn smell still clinging to it, cozily tucked back into this closet. Cats prefer sunbeams but will make do. I’ve spent many hours on my knees helping to birth puppies, fuss over their care and tend kittens. Countless kittens and puppies, tiny terriers that could fit in a shoe box, medium size dogs and dogs that have grown too big but are still attached, have called this comforting space home. The narrow walls are gnawed and deeply grooved from the many inhabitants over the years. Every household should have such a place.

Fortunately our rescue dog, Mia, also likes her bed in the dining room because she cannot be trusted to kitten-sit. The formula rapidly dwindles. Not only that, she’s afraid of kittens. Silly, silly Mia. The kitten does not yet have a name because if you name a creature that implies that it’s staying, which this one very well may be. Sometimes you just need a kitten.

Oddly, it would seem that Mia always wanted a kitten of her own after all. She follows the minute puff ball around the kitchen and hovers over it with a worried look. Actually, Mia generally looks worried. I suppose from earlier traumas before we took her in. She has never had a small furry friend though and even tries to play with the kitten as it bounds around the kitchen in great excitement over everything and anything.

My mother made the observation that kittens and other babies can utterly give themselves to play in a way that the rest of us can’t because we’ve had the play smacked out of us by life. Now and then, I think we should all play as unreservedly as possible.

***Photograph of a rescue kitten and baby barnyard goose by my mother, Pat Churchman

***Mia and another rescue kitty, Percy (Both much bigger and older now)

About Shenandoah Watercolors: 

Author/farm wife Beth Trissel shares the joys and challenges of rural life on her family’s small farm located in the scenic Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. Journey with her through the seasons on the farm, owned by her family since the 1930's, and savor the richness of her cherished gardens and beloved valley. This journal is a poignant, often humorous, sometimes sad glimpse into a vanishing way of life for anyone who loves or yearns for the country and even those who don't.

At Amazon in kindle and print. The paperback has lovely images taken by my talented family.