Month: November 2020

I admit it—I am a crazy cat person. Well, maybe not totally crazy as I don’t have a dozen cats. I just have two, but I am crazy about them—especially the two that own me now.

Some people are dog people, and some are horse people. I even know some rabbit (bunny) people and chicken people. Other people connect to various combinations.  However, cats seem to fit my life and personality better with their independence and general low-maintenance nature. Becoming crazy about (my) cats is a discovery of my adult life.

I grew up with barn cats. I did not know anyone who had a cat in the house, but we relied on our barn kitties to keep down the rodent population on the farm. These cats came and went. Taking any of them to the veterinarian for shots or spaying/neutering was not something any farmer did. There were always new cats coming in to replace the cats that met a fateful demise.

About 40 years ago, however, my whole attitude changed about cats when I came to know the house cats of some friends. One of the cats eventually came to live with me and I have not been without a cat ever since.

DJ, that first cat that lived with me was a gray tabby. She and I seemed to get along fine, although she really hated other people and other cats. I think she liked me at first because I was so indifferent to her. She and I came to a truce and pretty much agreed that we could live together as long as neither of us expected much from the other one. When she begrudgingly passed away at the old age of 18, I cried for days.

Shortly after DJ passed, I got a white kitten. Raising a kitten was so much fun and Dover and I bonded immediately. I called her my puppy kitty because she followed me around the house just like dogs tend to do. She lived a long life, too, but not nearly long enough as everyone knows who has ever loved a pet.

I now have 2 kitties. Mog is another gray/brown tabby with an attitude. She has international roots as I understand that in England and Australia, cats are sometimes called moggies. The M represents the ears, the O is the head, and the G is the body and tail. I call her MOG with a long O since Americans have such a harder language than does anyone with a slightly British accent.

M

O

g

Mog’s sibling brother is completely gray and not at all like his sister. I think he is partly wild cat but perhaps his name, Gitch, which has no particular meaning, describes his gitchy manor. Mog’s demure meow and Gitch’s relentless yowls highlight the difference between the two, and what makes me crazy about both of them.

The cats and I have rituals each day. In the morning Mog jumps on the bed first thing so I can give her pats and chat about our night’s sleep. Before I go to bed, she uses the litter box when I brush my teeth, and then crawls into my lap while I read. When I turn over to go to sleep, she finds her spot at the edge of the bed. Gitch usually sleeps elsewhere but wakes me up in the morning by sitting in the recycling box shredding paper until I yell at him to “STOP!”

I love my cats. I know they understand my moods and react to my feelings. I cannot deny, like most know who have ever loved a pet, they make me smile and feed my soul each day. I like being a CRAZY. CAT. PERSON.

I love coffee. I have been a coffee drinker for almost 60 years. Deep, dark chewy coffee with a little bit of half and half to make it light caramel looking.

These COVID -19 days I mostly drink my coffee alone, and I have come to really love my coffee mugs. Not only does the fresh brewed KIND (local Estes Park café and roastery) coffee smell and taste delightful, but each morning I choose a cup from my cupboard that brings back memories that make me smile for the second time each day. (My first smile is from my kitty who jumps on the bed as soon as she hears me stir in the morning and demands head pats, but that is a topic for another entry).

Almost all of my mugs and coffee cups were gifts from someone, so that makes them extra special. I choose the one that matches my mood for the day. Some of my favorites are:

              – My NC State PRTM 50^th anniversary cup reminds me of my colleagues at NC State who were my friends long before I worked there—the Department is now almost 75 years old.

              – “Always keep a little Wisconsin in your Heart,” a gift from my UW coworkers, is well worn but takes me back to my early career in Badger land.

              – My SWOOP (Strong Women Organizing Outrageous Projects) mug attests to what caring North Carolina women can do to help people in communities who are “elderly, disabled, or simply overwhelmed.”

              – A sheep mug prompts me to think of my farm roots and how much I loved raising sheep when I was a 4-H kid.

              – A Guggenheimesque looking mug that all attendees received at a World Leisure Conference in Bilbao, Spain over 20 years ago is reminiscent of special friends and colleagues all over the world.

              – A gift from my friend, Dan Dustin, of a rustic mug with Mt. Whitney written on it harkens me to the magnificent backpacking trip on a major portion of the John Muir Trail and our climb of Mt. Whitney.

              – Often I use a plain yellow ceramic mug with an inscription on the bottom about placing 2^nd in my age group on a 10-mile trail run in North Carolina. I love the sturdiness of the mug and it strikes a chord about how much I love movement, as well as that trail running is not something I want to do very often.

              – A Starbucks Cup from Lukla, Nepal that takes me back to the breathtaking and arduous trip to Everest Base Camp a few years ago.

              – My most recent mug from the Trailmasters (Park Volunteers at Bear Lake) retells the unforgettable summer of 2020—a bear with a mask on his/her face! I wonder how I will feel about that mug in the future.

I suspect everyone has special objects that bring a smile to their faces when they wear or use them (e.g., ball caps, beer glasses, dishes, teacups). At this time in my life, it is the little things, like coffee and coffee mugs, that bring me joy and remind me how grateful I am for special times in my life.

On October 22, I threw a bunch of stuff into my car along with my two kitties and evacuated my house because of “immediate and imminent danger” due to wildfires. Never had I expected that I would be leaving so abruptly.

I had watched wildfires at other places and knew that Colorado was vulnerable. Firefighters had been fighting a fire several miles from my house for several weeks, but we were assured that it was not likely to head our way. The fire we were now evacuating from was a different fire that had blown up, jumped the continental divide, was burning through Rocky Mountain National Park, and was headed for Estes Park.

The sky at the time I was corralling the kitties and jamming some clothes into a suitcase gave a whole new meaning to “burnt orange.” It was that color! I had to turn lights on to see into my dresser drawers to pull out underwear and socks. In retrospect, it was creepy and portentous. I never hope I again have to put my car lights on at 1:00 pm so I can drive.

My evacuation choices easily fit into my car. I paused for a moment to say good-bye to a house I didn’t know if I would ever see again. I joined the hundreds of people in the evacuation lines who were scared, wondering, and hopeful that they would be safe somewhere else with their most prized living and inanimate possessions.

With a couple of friends, we found a hotel about 40 miles away that accepted our animals. It was a tense couple of days as the fire continued to rage toward our little town. Thanks to the fire fighters and Higher Powers, a winter storm halted its spread, and my home was spared.  Others were not so lucky.

While I was an evacuee and since returning home, I have been thinking about “stuff.” If I had more than a half hour to leave my house, and a larger car to load, I don’t think I would have done anything differently.

I had thought about “what if a fire” in abstract terms and made a list of what I needed/wanted to take including my two cats, medications, and a few important documents. I wanted to take my computer because of the photos I had stored on it. Most of my possessions, however, are replaceable.

I did take some things that I felt were unique and irreplaceable including several quilts made by my mother and my sister. My sister could always make me a quilt again, but not the t-shirt quilt that had all my logos from the marathons and other important races I once ran. My deceased mother could not replace the quilts she made years ago. I also had the candles that were at my mom and dad’s memorial services and I didn’t want to lose them. I had a plaque given to my mom and dad as outstanding sheep producers in our county and that was special. I have dozens of my own plaques but none of those matter much to me. My car had plenty of room for other things–I couldn’t think of anything else that was essential.

Now that I am safely home, I continue to think about what is really important. If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t have taken anything else except maybe my trumpet, although aside from the sentimental value of all the performances I’ve done, it could be easily replaced. I forgot the litter scooper, toys, and dishes to feed my kitties, but a PetSmart near our hotel was a saving grace. I have stuff that I would miss if it was gone, but overall, now I realize how much I could live without.

I was privileged to safely evacuate and know that my insurance and savings could cover any physical losses. I don’t need much stuff in my life as long as I have family, friends, and animals. I also have been thinking about people who are refugees in this world due to the climate crisis and civil wars, or those leaving home to seek asylum. I cannot begin to imagine those types of threatening evacuation situations.

My experience with this fire was daunting, but I have recovered with heightened gratitude for what I have, and a much greater understanding of the anxiety of imagined and real loss.