Last Wednesday I took the Sophia-cat to the vet, to make sure she had her shots, was treated to prevent fleas, ticks, mites and assorted varieties of worms, and was generally a healthy pussycat. She is indeed. I’ve been referring to her as “6 pounds of cat” since she arrived, and turns out I was only off by a quarter of a pound. She’s not too skinny, either; she’s just a very little cat. (She is also with kitten, a thing which comes as no least surprise for a fully intact outdoor kitty. The vet tells me to expect 2 or 3 offspring, and much to my amusement they are already spoken for.)
Now, as Spring approaches there have been a great many hawks and falcons of assorted types showing up over these country forests and fields. So she was riding in her carrier in the passenger seat of my car, looking out the window, when one of the local red-tailed hawks, sitting beside the road, decided that my van was coming too close and took off, passing no more than 3 feet from her vantage point. I am here to tell you that it was a large bird, one of the biggest I’ve ever seen. A large red-tail can grow to four pounds, and my fur-brained feline is all of six. But there she was, yowling at the top of her lungs, clawing at the mesh of her carrier and generally doing her best to get at that bird. I may not speak fluent cat, but I didn’t need it to understand that message. “Lemme out of here, Mom. Lemme at it, c’mon, I can take it, it’s got feathers and a beak, right? I don’t care how big it is. It’s a bird and I’m a cat! That’s my natural prey out there, c’mon, Mom, this isn’t fair – let me out of here!” I, meanwhile, was looking at that thing’s wingspan, probably a good 4 feet across, and thanking my stars that she was safely inside a steel box. She’d have made an nice hors d’oeuvre for that flying appetite. I looked across at my six pounds of enthusiasm and told her that not all birdies were created equal, and that little felines should hide from the really big avians. I’m pretty sure she didn’t agree with me, though.
We are duly re-carred as well, which is a great relief. We picked the new creature up yesterday morning, and then in the afternoon an old and very dear friend of mine came in to visit. She wanted assistance in figuring out what she should wear for a wedding dress next June. So we went through a few things on line, and then I headed for the pattern company websites. She saw something she liked pretty promptly, started thinking through colors/ fabrics, and then I went and retrieved a piece of fabric I had gotten for my own ren faire garb for the coming summer, a heavy ivory ribbon-weave cotton, very thick and soft. The idea was to show her, rather than try to describe, the sort of thing that is in store this season that might make a nice underlayer. Her face lit up, she asked me how far away the fabric store was, and we were off, abandoning her 13 year old son and my husband to their books. It was a blast.
And last night, after much insistence that he would not go to the Purim carnival today (sort of a Jewish version of Mardi Gras, but both child-appropriate and child-focused) our son decided to not only go, but to wear a costume. So last night saw me sewing in haste, turning some glittery bright Indian fabric into a short wrap-coat sort of thing with a tie belt, that our boy could wear over his jeans and turtleneck. Our rabbi took one look at it and said “Joseph in his coat of many colors” – which of course fit admirably. I had not gone costumed, simply because that’s mostly for kids, but when he saw a few other adults in costume he informed me that I should do likewise. This was a conundrum, as home – and all my costumery – was a 45 minute drive away. But I am not always the best about unloading my car, so I went prowling. Sure enough, there were my knee-high mocassin boots and my cloak. Instant costume. I donned them there in the parking lot and went back in, to his expressed satisfaction. He bounced on the inflatable trampoline for a good half hour or more, played Bingo and won, and generally had a fabulous time. And so did I, watching him.