So, my cats. As many of you know, I fostered a family of four kittens and their mom for a few months last fall. They lived at first in my separate studio while making sure they were not infected with ringworm( they weren’t) before moving into my home. And move in, they did. Scrambling onto the computer, checking out the windows, the sofas, claiming spots, developing personalities. One liked to sleep on the upside down lap desk propped against my table; another slept with her sister head to foot. One liked to hide in boxes, and their mom sought refuge in spaces near the ceiling, atop the kitchen cabinets, or the transom of the window. They wriggled, purred, fought and cuddled their way into my heart. As they were adopted, my heart would give out a little. My sweet allergic niece decided she liked Izzy’s photo the best, and so I kept Izzy, and her mom.
I am still not sure how I wound up with the mom, but her name is Ocean. From five felines to two, my days spin around them. I wake at four, battling with Izzy who is busy tearing up the lining of my box spring. It is a task she looks forward to. We go back and forth for an hour and get up at a more respectable hour.
They have grown this past year, Ocean filling out, and Izzy as well. Now Izzy will be a year old, and my teen-mom Ocean might turn two Sunday.
It’s mostly about food, and napping, and sleeping.
I am housing the Garment District Family: Mother Velvet and her kittens named Lace, Denim, Chenille, and Mink. Velvet was abandoned at a veterinarian’s office fully pregnant, and the animal shelter I volunteer at took the family in shortly after the births. I have been fostering them for a month, with another month to go before they can be adopted. Those are the facts, but my Garment District Family, like any family are full of much more substance. If their tragedy was unique, their happiness is the same as other kitten families, with lots of scampering, mock fighting, eating and sleeping. They are fully living their lives, each with personalities that differ sharply from one another, but personalities which might be shed as they grow into young adulthood.
Minke is the runt, and I add the “e” because I live in a town whose waters are visited by whales, and Lace is the eldest, the beauty. Chenille watches me type and tries out some keys, managing to find an umlat, and Denim of the silvery fur is bathing. Ma, as all mothers, is asleep, exhausted.
We are falling into a pattern. We are dreaming similar dreams. We are living together success-hey, no biting–fully.
This morning, I thought I’d add a teaspoon of turmeric to my coffee since I have a cough and cold. It was raining hard and I dashed outside to grab my newspaper which, despite being diligently tied and wrapped in plastic, was still sopping because a dog bit through the package.
I left the paper to dry on the stairs and, balancing an assortment of small bowls and my coffee mug in one hand, I unlocked the door to my studio where I’m fostering a family of kittens and their mom. Lately, they are interested in coming outside, so I did the keep-kitties-away-from-the-door-toe-step, but stumbled on one, and dropped the mug.Unlike my other travel mug, this mug has open vents.
Turmeric is vivid saffron marigold yellow, and so was my coffee.
And now the floor, the rug, the table.
There went my think -I’ll -go -spend -time -with -the -kittens -and -drink- coffee -and -read- the- paper Sunday morning dream.
I used the paper to clean up.
It looks like that other yellow associated with cats.
I am thinking I will call my studio “It’s Only Turmeric.”