"The Yarn Lady Called" and cat talk

One of the things I do at the library is unpack tubs that come bi-weekly from the inter-library loan system, check items in, then call the patrons who requested them. Yesterday morning I phoned one of the regulars, and her daughter answered. Since I could hear E (the patron) in the background, I just asked her to tell her mom that a book had come to the library for her. Now I assumed that I was talking to the older daughter. But a few minutes later, E called back, laughing, to ask if I had just tried to reach her. Turns out it was the younger one, the four year old who had taken the message. She had been a little unclear on the whole concept, but she did tell her mom that "The yarn lady called." I was tickled to death that E figured it out from there.

****************************

Baxter gets most of the press, mostly because he's so darned good looking. But our other, senior, cat is Gato. She's smaller and more angular, and she rarely ever seems to completely relax. Sometimes, having her on your lap feels like sitting next to someone whose elbow is poking into you. If you pet Baxter when he's asleep, he generally just slowly leans into it. If you pet Gato when she's asleep, she jumps and often as not moves away. But she's a valiant little thing.





She was born in an alley in the middle of winter, and rode home on my daughters lap in a paper lunch sack.

While she was still "too young" to be spayed, she escaped and had a wild night. So she was a mother once, and a very good one.

When she was a couple of years old, we were sitting at dinner and heard her crying outside. When we got there, her back legs were limp. She's been hit by a car and dragged herself from the street halfway around the house with a broken pelvis. I thought she might never walk again. Then I thought she would never be able to jump up on a chair again. Then I thought she would never be able to go up a tree again. But she proved me wrong.

At age thirteen she was able to fight off the vet and his assistant when they tried to get blood for her thyroid test. (Bless the good vet, he actually came to the house and gave her a sedative before the next, successful, attempt.)

She knocks things off bed stands at four in the morning, just to wake you up. Her nose runs (copiously) when she purrs. She's chewed through more phone cords than I can count, because she knows that's a sure way to get you to pay attention and feed her or let her out

But in the evenings, when she climbs up on Mr S's lap and finally relaxes and he pets her until her nose runs, she has such a look of bliss on her face that you feel it's a wonder and an honor to see so pure a moment of happiness in this broken down old world. She's a good cat.