Gandalf the Brave

Gandalf was the bravest dog I knew.

Once in my old house I heard a noise outside, probably deer or foxes or some other animal, and I opened the front door to peek. Gandalf charged past me and leapt off the porch into the darkness. There was no hesitation on his part and I stood there, stunned. I have a forever picture in my mind of his furry back end in mid-air, launching into the night.

He disappeared into the darkness and didn’t return.

“Gandalf…..?” No answer.

I closed the door and went back inside.

Fifteen minutes later I heard him on the porch and opened the door. He bustled past me into the house, all business and quite proud of himself. Thinking of the grin on his face still makes me smile.

He. Was. Fearless.

Three months ago, the clicking of Gandalf’s toenails as he paced woke me up in the middle of the night. I let him out into the dark yard and he stared at the back fence where I could hear the neighbor’s broken sprinkler head hissing. He made a loop around the yard, came in and we went back to sleep.

The following day started off normally but by lunchtime his pacing had resumed. Pippin stuck close to home and we all raked leaves in the bright autumn sun. I noticed Gandalf looking at our yard like he was trying to understand where he was. The first niggles of worry sprouted as the day wound down.

Bedtime arrived and as was my habit, I was reading in bed before I dozed off. The mattress bounced and I put my book down to see this: Gandalf had joined Pippin and me. The last time he had slept on the bed was the night I moved into my own apartment. The worry niggles that had sprouted earlier burst into bloom.

Damn.

All of us on the bed

We dozed off and all night I could feel Gandalf restless in his sleep. Occasionally he woke and paced on the bed, stepping on Pippin and waking me up, too. Then he would jump down, only to jump back up several minutes later. Doze, pace, down, up, repeat.

At 4 am I abandoned trying to sleep, got up and made a pot of coffee.

We settled in the living room; me on the carpet in front of the couch and Pippin curled up on the cushion at my shoulder. Gandalf sat beside me and I scratched his ears (his favorite spot) in between his bouts of pacing.

The knowledge that today was the day I would do the last best thing for my friend seeped into my brain and heart and leaked back out in a flood of tears. I cried until dawn.

Our vet’s office opened and we got an appointment at 11. I called the kids to tell them what had happened and William sent good thoughts from the east coast. Sarah changed her plans for the day, saying “I’m not leaving you alone to put your dog down” and Rebecca hopped the bus to my house.

Gandalf and I went for our last walk alone as Pippin had retreated to his cat perch, for once declining to accompany us. Some illogical part of my brain (or maybe it was my hoping heart) thought that being outside in the sun might restore Gandalf to himself.

He went to the end of the flexi-leash and stayed there as we headed to the open space, and he paced and searched for something familiar in this place where he knew every tree, bush and blade of grass. I had been dreading the arrival of the 11 o’clock appointment but now it couldn’t come soon enough. He was so clearly uncomfortable; his body was no longer his friend.

The Universe heard my prayer and when we arrived home, the girls were there waiting for us. Amidst tears and goodbyes we helped Gandalf into the car for the longest-shortest trip ever.

I love our vet. The clinic was ready for us and a sedative allowed Gandalf to finally stop pacing. The girls and I cried our love and thankfulness for him being in our lives, and his great soul was set free.

Rebecca, Sarah and I returned to our homes. I am not quite sure what I did for the remainder of the day. Pippin’s solution was to sleep. He had known Gandalf his entire life and they were great buds.

Gandalf and Pippin napping together

My sleep was marginal at best the first night without my pup. Listless and sad and tired I got up the next morning and sat on the couch with my coffee. Pippin was still in a coma in his cat perch. The house was so quiet.

Without much enthusiasm I flipped open my iPad to look at Words With Friends and the board burbled to life.

I put my coffee cup down and stared, dumbfounded, at the word that had been played for me during the night:

Words with Friends play spelling out "Be Brave"

Tears streamed down my face, and I looked up from the iPad to Gandalf’s photo beaming down at me from the china closet.

Gandalf the Brave

 

Yes, Gandalf.

Until we meet again, I will be brave.

How could I be otherwise with your paw prints on my heart?

The Best Gift

Lately I seem to be surrounded by a fair number of people who have found happy romantic relationships the second, third, even fourth time around. Everywhere I look people are showing wedding photos, talking about just-the-two-of-us vacations and date nights, while I hang out with the two furry loves of my life, Gandalf and Pippin.

My phone is filled with photos of Pippin doing cat yoga and the three of us going for walks.

advanced cat yoga

 

Gandalf, Pippin and me on a walk

cat yoga

 

 

 

 

 

 

Not that I am bored or unhappy or want to start dating again, mind you. I didn’t like dating the first time around and am even less enthusiastic about it now. I have been almost asked out twice in the last couple of years and I basically hyperventilated and fled on each occasion.

Let’s just say I have trust issues.

So maybe it was also because Spring was in the air that I found myself in a Princess Bride state of mind, wondering: Is there really Twoo Wuv? Is there truly someone for everyone? And if so, how many frogs does one have to kiss, for Pete’s sake??

Whatever the reason, I was feeling a teensy bit sorry for myself and my moodiness increased as the day wore on. Night came and as nothing looks good when I’m tired we turned in: Pippin to his apartment on the patio, Gandalf to the cool tile floor and me to bed.

Ten hours later, it seems that all I needed was a good sleep. The cloud of pity from the day before had dissipated as I slept and I made plans for the day over coffee. Gandalf and I headed out for our morning walk and stepping through the front door I nearly threw a hip out attempting to avoid the tiny inert body on my door mat.

Dead mouse, courtesy of Pippin.

I stuck the landing (scored a 9.5), collected my chapstick and keys which had gone flying and stood there in the sun, overcome with wonder. Not at the mouse, but by what it represented.

Love.

Not just from Pippin, who was weaving around my legs and meowing with pride, or from Gandalf, waiting patiently.

But from...everywhere and everything.

I was not only loved, I was beloved, and I belonged in this house, this time, this life.

I was home, I was good, I was…keeping Gandalf and Pippin waiting.

Am I overly sentimental?

Possibly.

Am I one of the luckiest people in the world?

Absofreakinglutely.

 

Gandalf and Pippin snoozing together

A Closed Mouth Gathers No Foot

I have spent a pretty big chunk of my life perfecting the art of being hard on myself. I swear, if self-criticizing was an Olympic sport I would always be on the podium (and it better be the gold!). While being very understanding of others (and excusing inexcusable behavior in some) I have a history of lingering way too long in bashing me over my own shortcomings. The last few years have brought an astounding revelation: there are people who recognize that tendency in me and use it to my disadvantage. This is an odd thing to know but since it keeps coming back, it is something that is apparently essential for me to recognize, and I think I “got it” this time.

We all have deep dark secrets and here is mine……I say unkind things when I am pushed, (and then I get called on it by the people who pushed me). I do pretty good with “is it true? Is it necessary?” Yes and yes. But when stretched to breaking I flounder, sometimes fairly spectacularly, on “is it kind?”. I stay over-long in situations that are no longer tenable and this pushes my buttons.

So….what is the Universe offering me here?

1. Recognize the feeling that a situation is not healthy and get out, emotionally until I can get out physically. I have a huge sense of obligation to protect others and throw myself into the breach, which often results in nothing really changing and I flame out to boot. It’s OK to say “No, that doesn’t work for me” instead of being the team player and screwing myself over. It’s OK for me to be my first priority and I can’t help those who think otherwise.

2. Keep my mouth closed when I am beyond frustrated by the metaphorical “being put in a round room and told to spit in the corner”. Just walk away. Writing this now the feeling of being trapped comes back; walk away. Stay away. Breathe. Keep myself safe. This is not selfish, it is sane; the oxygen mask.

3. Work on delivery. Another of my favorite sayings (I collect sayings like a groupie collects rock bands) is this: “Diplomacy is the art of telling someone to go to hell in such a way that they look forward to the trip.” Word craft; a finely turned sentence puts me in mind of eating a perfectly ripe peach.

So I am walking away. I will make amends as appropriate (thank you, Al-Anon) and move on. I did my best and there’s always room for improvement and that’s the way it is. I am home with my “work family” now, in safe harbor and I am the luckiest person in the world.

loveoflifequotes.com

 

 

 

 

Mom-guilt happens

Someone once said “You do the best you can raising your kids but you never really know how they’re going to turn out until they’re about twenty-seven and by then it’s too late anyway”. I was a young woman when I heard this and thought it was funny; I tried to ignore the feeling lurking in the background that it was probably quite true, and sallied forth to create a family. Ah, youthful optimism…..

Thirty eight years later I could be the model for that saying. Three of my offspring are people I like to hang out with, and do whenever I can. The fourth is…….well……let’s just say she’s twenty-seven and let it go at that.

Any way, two furry kids now share my house and I have discovered the mom-guilt response is still very much intact. I fret over spending enough time with Gandalf and Pippin (indeed, I just am returning from a break to scratch both sets of ears), making sure they have walkers for days when I am at work and of course vet visits.

We were pretty much a once-a-year vet visit family; shots and a physical and we were back on the street. Neither Pippin or Gandalf were that excited about these yearly trips but they were only mildly stressful. Then Gandalf developed terrible breath (he could wake me up in the morning by standing by my bed and breathing on me) and I vacillated about taking him in for a teeth cleaning. He was eating, drinking, peeing, pooping, playing so maybe it was nothing? Did I want to make him anxious by leaving him at the vet? What about the anesthesia risk in an older dog? The voices in my head debated endlessly and I could not make a decision. When a friend of mine mentioned that her very spunky elder dog (a cute little bugger named Jack who has a fang) was going to have his teeth cleaned and she told me she had also wrestled with the decision to have it done; I realized that I, too, needed to just do it. Jack came through with flying colors, minus a few teeth (but still has his signature fang) and greatly improved breath. He even got a post on FaceBook out of the deal. OK. Must do this.

The appointed day arrived and we saddled up and went to the vet. I then went on a hike with Sarah, two of her friends and everyone’s dogs. You can see where the guilt is starting to set in, right? I tried not to think of Gandalf and the cornucopia of smells he was missing. The dogs wove back and forth braiding their leashes together and I felt fairly naked without one at the end of my arm; as there were more dogs than humans, I compensated by rotating being in charge of different dogs. Next time I will have to bring Gandalf. 

IMG_1420

I returned home to an empty house. Pippin was out mousing somewhere and there was no smiling Norwegian Elkhound face to greet me. Oh, Gandalf…..One of the greatest pleasures of my life is being welcomed home; this is how my house would be without a dog. I sucked it up and looked at my watch….the vet should be calling in another hour or so.

I kept busy and the enormity of my life as a dog-mom sank in again. Gandalf has been my constant companion for the last three years and I must confess, the fact that he loves me unconditionally is an experience for which I am eternally grateful. “Help me to be the person my dog thinks I am”. At long last the phone rang and I zipped off to bring him home.

He wandered around the house and yard the rest of the evening and only had one minor yakking episode. The vet report said he was an excellent patient (of course!) and had three severely infected teeth, which were removed. Oh, jeez, I should have done this sooner….not just infected….severely infected. Strong work, Claire.

post op

The next morning I heard panting next to my bed; Gandalf ready to go out….and…..no awful smell. My happiness at seeing him perky again was quickly followed by renewed angst about having been such a ninny and waiting as long as I did. Gawd, it must have been awful for him having those teeth in there….OK. Stop it. You are being a drama queen.

Twice-a-day antibiotics wrapped in peanut butter became a new treat and Gandalf still looked at me with adoring eyes, confident I would do the right thing for him. He had faith in me; time to put on my big girl panties and live up to it.

Fast-forward a couple of weeks.

It’s been bloody hot the last few days and I decided Gandalf would be more comfortable without as much fur. A trip to the self dog wash/blow dry emporium followed by clippering……

clippering

then furminating (Pippin supervised the procedure)

 

….and I have a happy dog!

Good dog-mom! Sit. Stay.

Gandalf the Great

Yes, Gandalf, I’ll stay right here.

 

Re-balancing

 

Have to be tough to live here

I started this post in our typical un-spring-like spring; an entire season ago. Too much time has gone by and so here it is, a little disjointed, but that is kind of the way things have been lately.

Walls of water snuggled the tomatoes and squash through the snow and cold of early summer. I have this great little banana belt micro-climate up against the house that keeps the veggies protected from the frosts that we have well into June. IMG_1376Rain chains now help rainwater to the ground and I am sure they will be equally beautiful with snow and ice this winter.

Easter found me in church and during prayers of the people I heard myself forgiving my former spouse. This was followed immediately by the thought “and stay the hell away” so maybe it doesn’t really count. Ah, well.

Work has invaded every aspect of my life. Being flexible, learning on the fly and thinking two steps ahead are my forte and I feel like I have been living at the bottom of a Niagara Falls-like deluge of new information for the last two months. As if this wasn’t enough, the long-promised new institution-wide computer program finally went live and I began to feel like resistance was futile. I know this for sure: I want to be retired before another electronic medical record change like this comes about.

Nothing says "spring" like new running shoesGandalf and I put some miles on my new running shoes to let the over-worked problem-solving part of my brain take time off. Running reels (reals) me back in….the focus is on the moment; breathing, feeling my muscles power me forward, finding the cadence and zoning out. There is only the dog and me. And the bugs; nothing like inhaling a small insect to break your stride.

The answer of how to restore equilibrium to my life came one morning upon awakening and when I got to the clinic I asked my former manager if I could work for her again. We chatted, struck a deal and I gave my notice (two month’s worth) as there was much training to be done before I left. Tomorrow is my last day and although I will miss the good people I came to know and have I learned more than I thought possible (molecular biology at my age!), I am relieved to be going. And I am only going down the hall, it’s not like I am moving to Canada, eh?

The last time I was in my old/new department I was married; so much water under that bridge I had to burn it down. Gandalf and Pippin are great house partners and I spend a fair amount of time supporting Rebecca. William, Sarah and their families make me realize what a lucky momcat I am and I like flying solo. My last date was in 1976 and I almost got asked out about a month ago but when I said I was busy and happy and had a restraining order and a Glock he moved on. Hmmm….apparently I’ve lost my touch. Bummer.

So here I am on the eve of change again; three years ago Independence Day was marked by the realization that if I was to stay alive I had to free myself from the way things were in my marriage. This year it is merely moving to a different job and gifting myself with a week off to get my sea legs back. I tend to stay too long in situations that are no longer working; maybe with practice I will get better at maintaining balance.

Growing isn’t just for gardens.

IMG_1457

 

 

Spry

Odd little word, “spry”, and I don’t care for it. I know it is supposed to be a good thing, but it sounds so…I don’t know….patronizing.

spry
adjective
1. (esp. of an old person) active; lively.

It was also the brand name of a Crisco-like product my Grandma used; would it make one’s baked goods remain spunky and delicious even when they got old? Makes you wonder about marketing think tanks, doesn’t it?

Snowdog!First night snuggles

I bring this up because Gandalf has just turned ten, which we all know is seventy in human years. He bounds through the snow and anticipates every outing with the same good nature and energy he had when he was much younger. In actuality, I think he is in better shape than he was a few years back; we don’t go for walks; we do dog-trots with pauses for him to sniff and investigate and do dog things….I know I am getting a work out.

 

When I first moved out and Gandalf was my only companion it dawned on me that I didn’t know how long Norwegian Elkhounds lived and I googled frantically; surely I couldn’t lose him now, too?!

 

Whew…..average lifespan ten to twelve years; we were golden.

 

Happy Birthday to the Best Dog Ever!

Time has flown and here we are; everything else is icing on the birthday cake……perhaps the main ingredient is spry.

Night Eyes….I don’t have them.

Autumn equinox has passed and the night lingers in my mornings. I am loath to disrupt the coziness of my little hobbit-house with bright electric lights; even PippinTook stays out of the  blinds as our day begins. Orion has returned to usher us on our morning walks and this week I can barely see Pippin so that would mean it is Very Dark.

Pippin used to be an intermittent walking companion but since Tigger Linus moved to the city he has been glued to Gandalf and me and we all trundle out into the inky dawn. Gandalf now wears a dangly collar light; I was going to get plain white but multi-colored was on sale so we went big; the result is a kind of breakdancing disco firefly at the end of the leash. I would love to get a light for Pippin, too, but I am pretty sure he would not appreciate the visual and there would be bloodshed trying to get it onto him so he gets to go commando.

One morning last week I reluctantly emerged from my softly lit lodging for the walk before work and by the time we returned I noticed my gait was off. Having lived for years in worst-case-scenario I was pretty sure I was having a stroke and would be found in the street when it finally became light enough to see….nah…..it was just that my shoes were wearing out weirdly. I got the boys settled for the day, jumped in the car and drove to work. It wasn’t until I noticed the same odd step on my way in from the parking lot that I looked down:

 

 

IMG_0187 *sigh*

Maybe I am the one who needs the dangly light!

 

Star Wars in my back yard

With a trill and a blur he was behind me before I could look up from my coffee. Gandalf, Pippin and I were basking in the morning sun on the patio; the boys were having their first nap of the day and didn’t even twitch a whisker as our visitor whipped by. I turned and there he was, a male Broad-tailed hummingbird having a heyday in the hollyhocks. He visited most of my flowers, flew up to sit on a tree branch and glared at me, deploring the lack of a feeder in my yard. He sat patiently (as much as that word can be applied when speaking of hummers) in the tree until I put down my coffee and went off to dig the feeder out of the garage, then he sped off with a satisfied whir.

Within minutes of hanging it he was back and a few hours later there were three hummers zipping around like little TIE fighters from Star Wars. I never get tired of watching them and since my yard is small, I have a front row seat at this air show. Warp speed is the rule of the day and the “hover” is often accompanied by an energetic chippy chatter.100_1150

 

 

 

 

100_1162

I used the zoom on my camera to get this shot (along with a bazillion others). Several years ago however, I had a few hours to spend and used that time to become part of a post next to a hummingbird feeder. Within thirty minutes of standing very still the hummers decided I was no threat and returned. The aerial acrobatics and dogfights resumed with vigor, making up for lost time. Holy cats, they were fast! They flew perilously close to my head; I thought I was going to lose an eye more than once and had to lean my head on the post to keep from reflexively dodging. I don’t know if they ever crash and burn but the next time I do this I might wear safety glasses. Really.

Hummer portrait from that day and yes, I was that close. Look at those tiny little toes!Hummers 007

Fast forward to this morning; it has been weeks since I started this post. The summer has been the best in years and I have spent every minute possible outside reveling in the peace and deliciousness of it all. We have now had our first frost, the days have gotten shorter and the TIE fighters have sped off to warmer galaxies.

Gandalf is waiting patiently for me to go outside; Pippin less so (he has been in the blinds once already). My boys remind me that remembering summer is nice but today is the only day we have so hit the *publish* button already and let’s go for a walk!

 

Little Cat Feet

Gandalf and I stepped out into the deep grey mist; he blended in beautifully and while the fog wasn’t so dense he disappeared at the end of his leash, his edges did blur a bit. This is the least-foggy place I have lived but my Pavlovian response to seeing it remains intact; without fail, the phrase “the fog comes on little cat feet” pops into my brain. And then I think of third grade and Mrs. Hembree and choral readings and how we presented that poem. She had us say “little cat feet” in high squeaky voices and when I am old and demented that is probably what I will mumble over and over, so kids, don’t be worried.

I was fortunate to attend elementary school in southern California when education was cutting edge and for almost three years Mrs. Harriette Hembree was chief goddess in my life. Lest you think I had to repeat a year twice, she moved up each grade with her students and third, fourth and fifth years (until we moved) were splendiferous. She woke up my brain and my mind and became the yardstick by which I measured other teachers, both my own and my kids‘.IMG_0323

When we moved far away (both geographically and through a time warp) the remainder of fifth grade was spent in a quonset hut where we shared our space with the sixth graders. The teaching was not memorable; punishment for dinking off in class was to be made to copy a page out of the dictionary (I think Russell D. had his own edition of Webster’s by the end of the year) but everything else was; we were loaded into the “cattle car” to be taken to the mess hall for lunch (while singing Love Potion Number 9 at the top of our lungs) and our playground was a field of boulders, some as big as VW bugs. We made forts and running paths through and over them and completed (most of the time) magnificent leaps from rock to rock. Later that year we moved to the new school with a cafeteria and conventional playground; I always missed the rocks.

But I digress.

By the time Gandalf and I circled back home the mountains were still socked in but if you look at the top of the photo below you can see just the barest hint of blue sky; the fog layer was moving on. Carl Sandberg pegged it.

IMG_0322_2

The fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on. 

 

 

Rescue Me!

He was found in a barn; no mom, no litter mates, just a persistently cheerful ball of fur. The people at the barn didn’t know where he came from, either, and when he was still there the third time she arrived to ride the deal was sealed; she was taking him home.

He was a pot-bellied, tabby-ish, white-socked little guy and the first stop was at the vet. Aside from probably having worms and surviving on a minimal diet, he was healthy. With the vet’s stamp of approval, he arrived at his new home, good-natured but a little shaken after shots, lab work and worming medicine. In spite of being raised in a barn he had impeccable litter box habits and was a smart, jolly little bugger. Kitten cuteness aside, he had an exceptional personality, a living lesson in resiliency and enjoying every moment. It was going swimmingly until he met Inside Cat.

Inside Cat was well-loved in spite of having such subtle personality traits it seemed he had none at all and the appearance of the kitten produced a reaction the depth of which had never before been witnessed by his humans. The kitten (now named Gobbi) was not going to be able to be an inside kitty at her house. OK….how about being a barn-only kitty? No, he had just been rescued from full-time barn living. Several days went by and Inside Cat did not return to his usual state of ennui; Gobbi must find another home.IMG_0309_2

He was on the verge of going to the no-kill shelter when I ran into one of his humans in the grocery store, heard the tale and saw the photos. I have thought for the last two years that Pippin (the sweetest, most social cat in the world) would require other animal companionship once Gandalf passed from this realm and when the time came I would get another cat. Gandalf was still hale and hearty and I only went to the store for eggs but it seemed I would come home with a kitten. Ummm…..well……OK. It felt right and I resolved to let it marinate for a day or two before making the final decision.

I awoke the next morning knowing that this kitten was too remarkable to be put into the New family photoadoption pool; he would come to my house. I wasn’t sure he was really meant to be mine but I hoped so; it had been a long time since kitten antics graced my home. Phone calls were placed and Gobbi (now named Merlin because he *magically* appeared) arrived. Rebecca was ecstatic and I was tickled. Gandalf The Ever Patient let Merlin bounce around him. Pippin was disinterested; this was getting off to a good start! It seemed that enlarging my family by one small life was in the cards.

We spent the next day enjoying the show; bounce, skitter, somersault, race across the floor and skid to a stop. Stalk and kill all the fluffy balls. Again. Careen around corners and slide into Gandalf, leap tall footstools in a single bound. Well, maybe two single bounds. Snack, drink, litter box, repeat. Catnap and sideways kitten hop; it was a day filled with laughter and not getting much of anything else done. That night he slept with Rebecca and she reported that he hunted bedmice in the wee hours. She changed his name to Tigger because he was so bouncy and he reminded me of Linus from “Peanuts” so at last he had a formal name: Tigger Linus Wholam, also known as ‘TL’.

With the bestowing of The Name came the ghost of a sensation I thought no longer existed. I have spent the last several years trying to put my life back together and welcoming Tigger Linus felt….new. Forward-looking, not just picking up debris. Participating in something starting from now. New legs. Air in my tires. Wind in my hair and bugs in my teeth. Hope. And I was able to feel it because I opened my life to a kitten.Wore himself right out!But I digress.

The next day began much as the previous day had ended; rowdy. Tigger Linus sidled over to the cardboard scratcher and went to town on it. Cardboard flakes flew and the noise woke Pippin from his first nap of the day. He instantly morphed from this:into this:

Lordamighty, Pippin! Did you not notice him until now?

I scooped TL up and Pippin stormed outside to sulk. This pattern would be repeated several times over the next few days and doubt about what I had thought was the right thing to do started seeping in around the edges.

A week elapsed and Pippin actually stepped up his anti-TL campaign. Gandalf stopped eating; he is a sensitive soul and whenever there was hissing and surliness he averted his eyes, pained at the display. TL made the best of the situation and remained good-humored and cuddly, counting on me for the right choice about his future. Since I had no clue as to what that was, I asked the Universe and a few days later it came to me.

I have a friend at work who, in the last couple of years has lost her old cat, her old dog and her not-so-old husband. Squince, her remaining dog (and one of the most extraordinary beings I have ever met) was now her only housemate. We had often talked about our animal families and life’s vagaries and there it was: TL belonged to her; he just had to come through me to get there. I sent texts and photos and by the end of the day it was arranged; Rebecca and I would deliver TL to his forever home.

New family portrait

Time flies when you’re having fun and here we are, two weeks later. Pippin is Gandalf’s and my best friend again. TL has yet another name….DoeDoe…..after his soft brown eyes. He and Squince play and nap together and one day his Momma tried to describe to me this unfamiliar sense of optimism that had come to her life along with the kitten. Yes, I understood this completely…..finally, after a long dry spell, some rain in the desert.

Who rescued whom?

Who rescued whom?