My cat Guy was sick on Friday morning. I’m going to be writing more about it later this week on my Kitchen Sink Wisdom blog, but for now I’ll just say that it was potentially life-threatening, in the end not as bad as I feared, and the bright side? An enforced vacation day spent watching over him, making sure he was responding well to the treatment, and out of danger.
I appreciate my beautiful companion animals, and skilled vets.
Below is Guy’s brother Tear, hanging out Friday afternoon with us on my bed.
The setup: I have two cats. We’re in the middle of a heatwave right now.
The status update from two days ago: Aaaand in the lightweight male neutered category is Guy Goodfellow with his first attempt at a hairball on upholstered furniture or bed. While his choice of white sheets will add to his score, I’m afraid that the poor hairball formation, combined with too much stomach fluid, may hurt Team Emelgy’s chances at a medal…
The result: Enforced laundry while suffering from a migraine.
Mother of G*d, but it’s hot in my apartment! I’m writing this on Thursday night (the night before this will be published), and it’s been hovering around 90 degrees (33 Celsius) or more for the last couple of days inside my unit. Above is a photo I took of one of my cats this morning. He was flaked out on the tile floor in the bathroom – apparently one of the cooler places to be. Literally.
I don’t usually mind the heat. I suffer from a circulation disorder called Raynaud’s Disease, and I’m typically so cold all winter that when summer comes, it’s like the ultimate freedom from discomfort. Except when it gets too hot to cool down. Like tonight.
When I got home from work (after being sequestered all day in an air conditioned office), I practically passed out from physical exhaustion. Thank heaven for cool baths…
I have a special fondness for crows. During my university years in London, Ontario, I enjoyed seeing a family of crows return every year to the same stretch of trees that lined the long driveway leading up to Brescia College. I would walk past them on my way to class every day, and their large, bold black figures fascinated me.
Years later I was walking through an older neighbourhood in London when I suddenly felt something land on my head. I immediately stopped in shock, and moments later the crow that had alighted on me hopped down onto the sidewalk in front of me, then turned and cast me a curious eye. We stood together for an endless moment, staring intently at each other, before the bird casually flew away and I was left to continue my walk, bemused.
Shortly after this I began taking singing lessons, and eventually came across a song that I loved to sing. It was a German Lied from Schubert’s song cycle Die Winterreise (Winter’s Journey), called Die Krahe (The Crow). Click here to listen to a recording (scroll down to track 15). The song tells the story of a man near his life’s end, followed ominously by a carrion crow as he walks out of town.
I was terribly upset when the crows began dying in southwestern Ontario, victims of the West Nile virus. For several summers the skies were empty of their raucous cawing and sweeping black forms. Sometimes I wondered if they’d ever return to visit me again. I’m happy to say that I often hear crows now, as I sit working at my desk near my open apartment window.
___ This post was originally published on my art blog, emelgy.com. Crayola washable marker on paper, 1998.