The Life of Lucy

How does a stray become a stray?
       Maybe it happens just this way,
starting three months ago, around the first of May...

The first time we saw Mama Cat, she was huge!  We knew she was pregnant, AND we knew she was hungry because she was eating a baby bird behind our shed on a Sunday morning.  My husband scatted her away from the nest of birds learning to fly, and I drove to the local dollar store to buy the semi-feral cat some Meow Mix! Thankfully, only one bird was digested during the process.  I placed a two-sided bowl on the patio and filled one side with cat food and the other side with a mixture of milk and water.  She licked both sides clean, and then she ran away.

Over the next few weeks, Mama Cat came and went.  Each time she returned, she would always jump on the outside ledge of our picture window ~ a signal to us that she needed sustenance.  She ate her food, drank her milk, and disappeared into the bushes.

Around the first of June, she delivered her kittens...somewhere.  We didn't see her for two or three days.  When she finally came back to her food bowl, she was emaciated.  I decided to buy some canned tuna and chicken to feed her while she nursed her kittens.  She never missed another meal ~ morning, noon, and night. She also began to interact with me, almost like a pet.  She let me pick her up, she sat in my lap, and she even tried to come inside on several occasions.  I almost felt as if this behavior was familiar to her.

So...I cleaned out the garden shed and set up living quarters for Mama Cat.  She had a permanent home, if she ever decided to bring her kittens.  Mama Cat quickly accepted the invitation.  She and her one baby kitten moved into their nice, dry, clean home during the week of the Fourth of July.

This past Friday night, the kids in the community were playing volleyball in our back yard when one of the girls saw Mama Cat.  "Lucy!" she shouted.  She ran towards the cat and grabbed her up in her arms.  I was shocked.  I had held Mama Cat, but I had never just embraced her without reservation. Then she went running to her mother with the cat dangling in her arms and exclaimed again, "Mom, look, it's Lucy!"

The little girl played with Lucy the rest of the evening and asked if she could visit Lucy again on Saturday.   The following morning, she told us that her dad had chased Lucy away because she was pregnant. Her mother explained that they couldn't afford to keep Lucy and that she was glad Lucy had found a good home. The little girl also informed us that Lucy gave birth to four kittens; however, we had only seen one. As they were leaving, I told the little girl that she was welcomed to visit Lucy anytime.

Lucy ~ Mama Cat had a proper name, so we named her one surviving kitten Linus...which brings me to today.  This morning, Lucy and Linus were playing on the carport.  I opened the storm door so that Riley could go tee-tee-in-the-yard, and somehow he startled Linus.  Lucy jumped on Riley with all fours!  I was screaming, Riley was yelping, and Lucy was scowling!   When I finally got Riley back into the house, he was covered in tiny claw marks.  Plus, he was totally freaked out! After I treated Riley's wounds, I chased Lucy and Linus back to the shed.

Later this evening, I saw Lucy back on the carport ~ lying underneath my car.  I was headed to a local restaurant to pick up a take-out order, so I made sure Lucy had moved before I backed out of the garage.  I assumed Linus was still in the shed.  I assumed wrong.  I drove about five miles to the restaurant and picked up my order.  About half-way home, I heard a thump.  I looked in my rear view mirror to see what I had run over, and there sat Linus in the middle of the road.  All of a sudden, he jumped up and ran into the tall grass on the side of the road!  That little kitten had lived through the entire ordeal!  I knew that Linus would never come to me if I called or even let me get close enough to catch him, so I had to go home and get Lucy.  Maybe she could call to him or he could call to her, and I could somehow get them both back home to the safety of their shed.

The car ride alarmed Lucy, but we quickly made it to the spot where the kitten had been flung from the car. As soon as I parked the car on the side of the busy state highway and opened the back door, Lucy bolted out of the car and and headed for the bushes. Now, both Lucy and Linus were hiding in the thicket. I called and called, but neither cat emerged from the brush.  So I got back into my car and drove home.

How would I ever be able to bring them back home?  How would they survive in the wild?  All I could hope is that maybe they could at least find each other during the night.

Once again, the life of Lucy had taken an unfortunate turn.  How does a stray become a stray...maybe it happens just this way.

Dianne

MOM'S 82

We all have possessions that we cherish more than our everyday objects…a special gift from a friend, an heirloom from an estate, a souvenir from a vacation.  I have collected so many of those beautiful belongings that you hold in your hands, given to me by the special people in my life.  However, over the years, I have also lost some of my most prized possessions, which happens when you move as much as we have.  You drop a box, you hear the shatter of breaking glass, and you dread the digging process to discover what you’ve lost.

Lately,  I have been so overwhelmed by the devastation that I have witnessed all over the country…forest fires, flooding, severe storms.  So much loss from coast to coast – even loss of life – and I feel like a helpless witness as I watch so many people begin that digging process to discover what they have lost.

On the Fourth of July, I watched the movie, Peace, Love and Misunderstanding, because any film that casts Jane Fonda and Jeffrey Dean Morgan as Woodstock residents has to be at the very least engaging.  While most of the movie served as holiday background noise, the final two-minute documentary film made by one of the movie’s teenage characters packed a punch that was unexpected. The message:   Loss is tough. Surviving loss is tougher. Rising above loss to see where it takes you is the toughest challenge of all.

Just like the music-loving hippies of the 60’s, I choose the mediums of storytelling, writing, and music to take me to unexpected places…which brings me to MOM’S 82 – the title of my post.  Every life deserves its own playlist – maybe every season of every decade of every life deserves a playlist.  MOM’S 82 is a playlist I created during one of the most difficult seasons of my life.  Each track has a story – a personal reason for being on the list.  Even now, the playlist transports me to an elevated place of retrospect and challenges me to create.  Each lyrical selection reminds me that when loss threatens to swallow up all my hopes and dreams, I still have eight-two songs of protest.

That’s what I love about great music and memorable stories – they can be moved from place to place, decade to decade without fear of loss.  You can’t lose your favorite song in a flood or watch your favorite story be burned up in a fire.  You can’t break a playlist like a precious vase; mildew can never ruin a memory.  A collection of fine china is worthless if a piece is broken or an edge is chipped or the porcelain is stained; however, that broken piece or rough edge or stained veneer is what makes MOM’S 82 a cherished collection.

Anyone who knows me understands that The Tomorrow Trunk is not just my blog; it is my life’s message – my mission.  Take the best of today, tuck it away, and keep it for tomorrow.  No matter what loss tomorrow may bring, your stories are always yours to keep.   Jim Harrison, the amazing author of Legends of the Fall, wrote this quote, and I wished I had penned it myself:  Death steals everything but your stories.

I think I would have to add…and your favorite songs.

Dianne ; )

 

The Same Rain

Four baby birds...

This past Sunday my husband noticed that one of my window boxes had toppled over and was laying on the ground.  I was surprised, because the box was filled with soil and caladiums; however, we experienced strong storms which I assumed blew it down.  I had also seen the mama cat trying to use it as a litter box, or so I thought. Maybe she knocked it to the ground.

Upon closer inspection I noticed what appeared to be a nest.  Then I saw three baby birds huddled together on the ground and one baby bird hidden in the soil.  The mama cat had not been looking for a litter box; she had been spying out a protein snack. She must have been startled when the box toppled over, and thankfully, the four little birds were still alive.  I called to David who helped me move the nest to one of the tall shrubs located closest to the window...out of Ms. Kitty's reach.  Then he took a serving spoon and carefully placed each little bird back into its nest. The mother bird watched all the activity from the limb of a mimosa tree.  After we were finished with the painstaking operation, she flew to the side of the house, then down to the ground, then into the shrub. Mother and babies were reunited and safe.

We returned to our lawn chairs and watched the mother bird repair the nest and feed her babies.  Each time she returned to the shrub, she looked at us and chirped deliberately as if to say, "Thank you for saving my four baby birds."

How Can We See That Far...One of my most favorite singer/songwriters is Amy Grant.  I grew up listening to her music and learning life lessons from her thoughtfully-penned lyrics. I especially appreciate a song that she co-wrote with Tom Hemby entitled How Can We See That Far.  The song tells the story of the high expectations of young love...holding hands, dressed in white, promises said by candlelight.

Then the words of the chorus bring advice from a wise father:  But like your daddy said, how can we see that far?  The same sun that melts the wax can harden clay, and the same rain the drowns the rat will grow the hay. And the mighty wind that knocks us down, if we lean into it, will drive our fears away.

The bridge of the song reinforces the message to the young lovers:  We might die, we might live, we could hurt each other badly, do things so hard to forgive.  And if time is not our friend, your mind might forget me before the end, and oh I cannot ~ I cannot look that far.  

On the following Monday, we once again encountered threatening thunderstorms during the middle of the night.  I awoke to loud claps of thunder and rain pouring off the tin roof of the house.  Then I thought about the four baby birds in the shrub next to the house.  I jumped out of bed, ran to the guest room window, and opened the blinds. My heart sank.  We had so carefully placed the nest right beneath the excess run-off from the roof.  The rain that was watering the earth was drowning the four baby birds.  How Can We See That Far?

I sat down on the edge of the bed and watched the pouring rain empty into the tiny nest like a faucet. As my husband had attempted to avoid the almost certain casualties of a hungry mama cat, he had not foreseen the unexpected calamity of a poorly-positioned nest combined with torrential rains.  And what I had witnessed as a new lease on life ~ a blessing, good fortune, favor, success, a miracle ~ had ended in deluge.

It's like the daddy said, how can we see that far?  It's the same sun and the same rain. The same wind that fuels the forest fire cools the brow of the farmer.  The same wind that creates the hurricane comforts the babies on the beach.

I continued to sit on the edge of the bed and watch the rain.  There was nothing I could do, and sometimes that just sucks.  However, as the sun began to rise, the rain stopped and a chorus of song ensued.  I listened as the birds welcomed the morning with harmonious acceptance. The storms of the night had not silenced their songs.  But what about the probability of hungry cats or torrential rains or devastating loss?  For the birds, each day dawns with a chirping symphony ~ no suspense, supposition, or suspect, just a simple song of salute.  Presumption, serendipity, circumstance, chance...how can we see that far?  Everyday, come what may...it's the same sun and the same rain.

Dianne ; )

Oh, by the way...the four baby birds ~ they survived to sing another day!