Cats talk

Common wisdom tells us animals can't talk. Well, that's bunk! I'm here to tell you cats most certainly do talk. They just don't speak English. Why should they? After all, they are cats, the notoriously snobbish, aloof, "I'll come when I want to - or not at all" domesticated creatures with which many of us find ourselves in a love-hate relationship. I happen to love cats. I've almost always had one for a pet - or rather, one has had me, because one rarely "has" a cat. The cat chooses you - or not. You will often see a cat that is very affectionate with one or two family members while avoiding one family member - usually the one who really wants to pet or snuggle it - like the plague. The flip side of that equation is the cat who insists on cozying up to the one person in the family who really dislikes cats. At every possible turn, the cat is near that person - on his lap, in her chair, next to her in bed - to the chagrin of the cat-hater. Cats are something. But I digress.

Cats talk. Case in point. Last night, I went down the hall for some reason that I don't recall. My cat ran ahead of me, quite unusual for her, and stopped at the door to the laundry room where her dry food dish lives. She looked back at me expectantly. Now, my cat does not meow. She sort of murmurs on occasion, but pretty much never lets out a typical "meow". I looked at her and asked her what was up. She meowed. A real, honest-to-goodness cat meow. I knew something was wrong.

I went into the laundry room and she raced to her dish - her very empty, not-even-a-crumb-in-it dish - and meowed. Ahhhh, she's hungry. Usually this dish is kept full so she can pick at it as she pleases. Well, I had run out of dry food so it was empty. I told her I was sorry, that I had no dry food, but that I'd get her a can of tuna if she'd come with me. I turned and walked out of the laundry room. She ran to the door and just stopped. I swear she stomped her foot! I looked back at her and she was just staring - no, glaring - at me. I heard her thinking "WHAT! No food! What is WRONG with you?! I don't want tuna, I want kibble - NOW! How dare you leave this room without filling my dish!" I sheepishly shrugged my shoulders and replied "I'm sorry, Ali, I don't have any and I'm not going to the store until tomorrow." She was mad! I continued walking down the hall. She RAN after me and again stopped and stomped her paws, glaring at me. And she meowed again.

I got a can of tuna from the cupboard, opened it and put it in her wet food dish in the kitchen. Do you think she ran right over to it and started eating? Not on your life. She just stood and stared at me in utter disbelief. I turned off the light, slinked into the bedroom, and got into bed. That was not the end of it. She jumped onto the bed and started nudging me with her head. Bump. Bump. Bump. "Get up. Get me food. Now." Bump. I finally had to push her off the bed. She meowed. I drifted off to sleep, but not for long. A couple of hours later, "plop!" she jumped up onto me and plopped down on my back. It's amazing how heavy a 10 pound cat can make itself when it wants to wake you up. She succeeded. She started nudging me again - and then she licked my face! Not too many things have the startling affect that a cat's rough tongue on your face has in the middle of the night. I was just waiting for the nip to follow. I pushed her off of me, turned over and went back to sleep. She wasn't finished. She kept this up all night long. She'd jump onto the bed, walk onto my side or back, purr, nudge me, lick my face, and I'd push her away. She knew exactly what she was doing. And she succeeded. I barely got 4 hours of sleep last night, thanks to her.

Oh, and the scratching. When I'd push her off the bed, she'd sit next to it and scratch herself. Do you have any idea how loud a cat scratching itself seemingly non-stop is at 1:00 AM? Needless to say, when the alarm went off at 5:00 AM, not only was I nowhere near ready to get up, but you-know-who was sitting within inches of my face staring at me, a Cheshire cat smile on her lips. And she meowed.

This time she did eat the tuna since her routine is that she gets a can of canned food in the morning, but trust me, if I come home without dry food tonight, I'm a goner. I know there will be cat hell to pay. I'm stopping at the store on the way home for one thing and one thing only - cat food. I'm no fool. I don't want to get yelled at by my cat again.

And they say cats can't talk. Psh!

Winter is just around the corner :(

I decided it's time to post about something other than missing my son. I still do miss him, but it's getting easier to make it through a day without falling apart emotionally. We are beginning to settle into a routine - he and we - wherein he calls in the evening, usually every day. If he doesn't call, we don't freak out. We understand he's busy, hopefully studying, but more likely playing foosball at the girl's dorm (Ballard), or poker with the guys in McMillan (Mac), or playing video games with Nathan and others in the dorm. We've also been fortunate in that we went to Spokane Sunday and took him to lunch along with our daughter and her family. We needed a "Jonathan fix" and the two hours we spent with him will tide us over for a while. It's so great to see him so happy at college. It is truly everything high school never was. He is in his element there and we couldn't be happier for him.

Now, on to other things. It is raining so hard it's as if Hurricane Ivan is affecting even the Panhandle of Idaho. It has been pouring off and on all day. The leaves on the trees are already beginning to turn. It seems too early for that to be taking place. I've heard the Farmer's Almanac has predicted a brutal winter, but who believes in that stuff. Psh! Not I! I'm still holding out for a nice, long Indian Summer between now and the first snowfall.

I am not a fan of winter. Well, let me rephrase that. I am not a fan of long, gray, wet, cold winters. I usually don't mind November, December, and the first part of January, but that's about my limit for winter. Remember, I'm a California girl. I grew up where winter meant we wore jeans and a zip-front hooded sweatshirt instead of shorts and tank tops. I didn't even own a heavy coat until my first husband and I took a trip to the Sierras and I bought my very first down jacket. Despite the fact that I've lived here for 21 years, I have never grown fond of winter. About mid-January I find myself reminiscing about warm California winters, playing golf year-round, and going to the snow, not living in the snow. By the end of February, I'm a raving lunatic. Some winters the snow and gray skies linger until the end of April. Those are the winters I question my decision to live here - and my sanity. Fortunately, those winters are not the norm. Though we do get quite a bit of snow, and it stays on the ground from November through February, we usually have a number of sunny days with stunningly beautiful, crystal-clear, blue skies. Those are the days that make winter bearable. On days like that, as I drive eastward on my way home from work, I am blessed in that I am surrounded by the most amazing scenery.

Ahead of me are the rugged mountain ranges of eastern Idaho and western Montana, the deep blue sky setting off their snow-capped peaks perfectly. The roadside is heavily forested and lush, frosted with freshly fallen snow sparkling in the waning sunlight. If I drive just a little past my home, I will find myself traveling the shoreline of Lake Pend Oreille. I find it nearly impossible to describe this scene without using trite imagery like that found in cheesy novels. It is breathtaking. It is stunningly beautiful. It is beyond description. As I gaze upon the lake, the mountains in the background, and the bluest sky you've ever seen, I can't help but thank God for the opportunity to live here and to look upon this glorious sight daily. I keep these images stored away, and on those endless, awful, gray days I pull them out to help get me through until the next sunny day. This truly is a magnificent place in which to live. I just need to remind myself of that come February 15 in the middle of a blizzard.

And speaking of blizzards... yes, the signs are all here. Winter is just around the corner. It has rained now for 4 days straight - not just sprinkled, but rained - steadily, soggily, constantly. Enough is enough, already. It's mid-September. It's supposed to be warm - the calm before the storm, so to speak. We're supposed to have Indian summer, temps in the 80's, one last chance to get the boat out on the lake before storing it for winter, a chance to winterize the lawn, dig up the bulbs, plant new ones, get the yard ready for winter, not this incessant rain forcing us indoors to consider ark-building techniques. Stop the rain, please!

Fall is nice here, albeit brief. The trees do turn beautiful colors rivaling those of the eastern U.S. We have a lot of aspens here. They turn a magnificent golden color unlike almost any other tree. The forests are filled with tamarack, or western larch, a tree that looks like an evergreen in the summer but whose needles turn a pale gold in the late fall, and fall off in the winter. I remember when we first moved here, I had never heard of a tamarack. I saw all these trees in the winter I thought were dead - thousands of them. I wondered what blight had taken their lives. Imagine my surprise to see them sprouting bright green needles in the spring, as if magically reborn thanks to a transfusion of Miracle-Gro. It was then I learned about tamaracks. We also have our share of maples, birch, cottonwoods, alder, and other deciduous trees that add to the fall parade of color. The display is definitely jaw-dropping.

I like autumn. I become a photography maniac in the fall, attempting (usually quite unsuccessfully) to capture the drama of the color surrounding me. Why is it so difficult to get onto film (or in my case, smart media) what your eyes see all around you? Obviously, some photographers do that very well. Alas, I'm not one of them. I chalk it up to lack of proper equipment - like filters, lenses, tripods, etc. - certainly not lack of talent or ability. :) I keep trying, none the less. I love challenges.

Yep, winter is just around the corner. Here's to a long and glorious autumn before winter strikes. I'll keep you posted.

How do you let go?

For eighteen years we've had this amazing kid living in our house. He was an adorable, lovable, intelligent, happy little boy who grew into a bright, articulate, wonderful young man. We were privileged, honored, and blessed as we watched him grow, learn, explore, and develop into the fine young man he is today. For eighteen years we saw him nearly every day. He never spent more than a few days away from us in all those years. He became our friend as well as our son. We enjoyed his company - most of the time (he did have his surly teenage moments). We looked forward to hearing about his day as we sat in the living room each evening. As much as I grumbled, I enjoyed helping him with his homework when he asked me to do so (it would have been a lot more enjoyable had it not always been the night before it was due!) All in all, we enjoyed our son, took comfort in hearing the clackity-clack of the keyboard as he sat in front of his computer for hours playing online games, knowing he was safe and sound in his room. We were connected.

Overnight it all changed. He went off to college on Septembr 4th. In one day, our lives were completely different. We drove to Spokane with him in his car behind us. We drove home alone, tears falling freely. He doesn't live here anymore. He won't be coming in to tell me about what happened at school or work when I get home. He isn't in his room in front of the computer or TV. He is off doing what college kids do - starting his life as an adult, without Mom and Dad breathing down his neck. He's free. How does a parent cope with that? How do you let go?

It didn't happen gradually. We didn't get to wean ourselves off of Jonathan. We didn't have a chance to get used to only hearing from him once a day via phone, then graduate to every other day via phone with weekend visits, then every few days via phone with semi-monthly visits, and so on. No, this was an amputation. One day he's there. The next, he's gone. It's too quick, too brutal. We're not ready. We need to hear from him, hear how classes are going, hear how dorm life is going, hear about the friends he's making. We need to stay connected. How do you let go?

We have a family cell phone plan, which means we can all call each other as often as we like at no charge. So, we deal with the loss by calling him, trying to stay connected. We explain that this need is just temporary, we'll get over it, just bear with us. He balks. The first day I call him too often, message him too often. He's annoyed with us. He needs his freedom. His friends wonder what our problem is. We remind him it's just temporary. He tries to understand, but doesn't really. How can he? We need a compromise. We ask him to just call us each evening, just to touch base, like "the old days". He agrees, begrudgingly. He calls that night and tells us about the past couple of days and his first day of class. We go to bed happy. The next day, it's all I can do not to call him and see what he's up to. I finally succumb to my need and call him for a short conversation. He promises to call that night so we can talk longer. He doesn't call. His older sister tells us he is embarrassed by our calls. His friends are starting to make fun of him. That's the last thing we want. How do you let go?

Today I sent him an email telling him we won't call him anymore. We will wait for his call when it's convenient for him. It's funny how you can sometimes stand back and watch yourself and understand the motivation behind your actions. Part of me wanted to get angry, to say "fine, screw you, I don't need you either!" I realized that was a natural, defensive behavior, but not the appropriate response. Anger is just a coverup for sorrow and fear. Obviously, I fear becoming irrelevant to my son, especially when he is so important to me. No wonder it hurts to let him go. I don't want to become unimportant to him. And the reality is, I never will be, but that doesn't make it easier to believe - or less painful to let him go. How do you let go?

He will never understand the need to just hear his voice, the desire to share in the wonderful new experiences he's having by listening to him tell us about his day, the need to wean ourselves from him instead of being amputated from his life so brutally. He just wants his freedom. So, we will push ourselves to allow him that, push past the pain, give him his space, wait for his call and invitation to visit, as difficult as that is going to be. We will let go.... just please, someone, tell us how you do that.