Creature of the mist?

Walhydra is continuously amused by the phenomenon of cat names.

After decades of cat-personhood, she has come to suspect that one can no more speak the true name of any cat than one can say YHWH out loud. It just isn't done.

Walhydra generally thinks that Gary Larson had it right with his take on dogs versus cats:





















However, back in the early 1990s, a marvelous gray tabby adopted Walhydra and hubby Jim. Because he reminded them so much of a famous B. Kliban cartoon, they named him Meatloaf.

Meatloaf moved in with them (minus certain reproductive bits which wouldn't go well with being a second-storey apartment cat).
Soon afterwards, he said, "Hey! I can't be Meatloaf. You guys are vegetarians."

Hence, the Wise One became Miso the Cat.

Over the nearly seventeen years that they knew Miso, Walhydra found the name permutating as both she and Jim played teasingly with it: Meesy, Misopoulus, Mushroom, Mustafa, Catmobile, Little Guy, Skinny Butt, Hassenpfeffer....

It obviously didn't matter much to him. He was a beneficent sweety who forgave all and still came to their voice...or to the sound of the Tupperware cheddar cheese box from the refrigerator being opened.

But now it's a different family, with two gray brothers who will have their first birthday the day after Saint Padrick's Day.

The elder (and smaller) of the two is a comical shorthair who looks very much the Russian Blue. Sonic was the fastest kitten, and he continues to be the light-hearted, curious one, who likes racing and rough-housing... and whose favorite game seems to be hiding under anything at all.

















Toss your shirt on him, and he stays there. Give him a chance, and he crawls under the covers and burrows to the foot of the bed.














Shadow is a much larger, longhaired gray. He affects the reserved, sensitive stance of a mystic. He will play hard-to-get when Walhydra tries to pet him—and then suddenly plop onto his back for a belly rub.

Walhydra had heard from someone that there were longhaired Russian Blues, so she Googled it. She was intrigued to find sites about the Nebelung cat.

She showed Jim the picture and said, "Nebelung is German for 'Creature of the mist'."

"Yep," said Jim. "That's Shadow alright."

So...anyway....

To finish off this gallery entry, here are a few rounds of the Wide World of Cat Wrestling.














Blessèd Be.

Miso the Cat approves

Faithful readers will remember that the occasion for the first post on this blog was the death last September 14th of Walhydra and Hubby Jim's dear 17-year-old cat, Miso.

This sad event coincided with Walhydra's attending a "Social Software in Libraries" training, one which got her quickly past her stage fright and plunged her into the blogosphere. She sat in that class, distracted all day by her grief, and realized that she had the topic for a new blog's first entry.

Though they both wanted another cat eventually, it proved immensely difficult for Walhydra and Hubby to get past the loss. One doesn't just go out the next day and replace a person one has shared family and household with for 17 years.

Then, about four months ago, Jim started exhibiting the symptoms of "kitten madness."

When he and Walhydra made their weekly Friday night pilgrimages to the Buns and Noodles bookstore (pace Alison Bechdel), he would always gravitate to the cat books and kitten calendars and go, "Aaaaaaaaaaaawwww!"

Walhydra would shake her head knowingly...but didn't feel ready.

Vacation to Mohonk came and went. Jim's trip "behind enemy lines" to a statistician's conference in Salt Lake City came and went.

And finally, a week ago today, Walhydra found herself standing with Jim, staring at rescue kittens in cages in the local pet stuff warehouse store.

"I'm not ready for this. I didn't realize how not ready for this I was," Walhydra kept repeating as she led Jim away down other aisles.

It was no mystery, but it was indeed startling to discover how uncomfortable the prospect of meeting and befriending new cat persons suddenly seemed.

But then, there were these three brothers. Almost five months. Born to a rescued mama who was obviously part Russian Blue.

And they were the only cats making direct, calm, "you will take us home" eye contact.

Before she could get over her qualms, a straight couple adopted one—the middle one, oddly enough.

"Oh, no," Walhydra thought. "Now we have to take the others. Oh, their poor brother, all alone...." and so on.

Tonight as she types, Walhydra notes ruefully how quickly the little bugger... uh... fellows have graduated from "let's hide under the bed all day" to "let's see how high we can climb."

She keeps hearing new, alarming sounds of various sorts from other rooms. That and galloping feet.

The first night that the sweeties climbed up on the the bed to sleep with Walhydra and Jim, Walhydra was startled by tears.

She had reached down to scratch one of them under the chin—and realized, "It isn't Miso."

The memories of that wise old familiar, of all his deep, weighty Quaker manners, came back as they hadn't for almost a year.

But now, several nights later, Walhydra notices how the two little guys are picking up on Miso's habits.

They race the length of the house while Walhydra brushes her teeth. They climb up beside her for scratching while she reads in bed. They play bundling-board.

All you cat folks out there can fill in the rest of the story yourself.

These are delightful little fellows—who've managed to destroy only one potted plant so far. Grrr....

And here they are.



The foster family gave these two the names Sonic and Pudgesicle...

But, of course, cats announce their own names once they adopt the humans with whom they intend to stay.

So....

The sleek-haired gray with the stripe to his tail, eldest of the original three, will probably go by Flash.The longer-haired youngster, the shy, stealthy stalker, told Walhydra to call him Shadow.

Walhydra knows better than to argue.

And Miso the Cat approves.

Blessèd Be and
Blessèd Be.

Corollary 3

"Clean laundry must first be pressed by the cat to preserve its wrinkles."
—from The Feline Law of Surfaces

The Feline Law of Surfaces: Master Miso's Legacy

Walhydra and hubby Jim remember many things about the little guy who watched over them for so many years.

Among other things, Master Miso was a great teacher who sought to teach his humans enlightened behavior.

Master Miso studied human beings for many years. He determined that their limitations could best be dealt with through one law and seven corollaries.

The Feline Law of Surfaces

 Any surface not previously available to the cat must be sat upon.

This law is also sometimes referred to as “nesting behavior”....as, for example, when one sets aside the top of a corrugated box and promptly finds the cat lying in it.

Corollary 1: Any contained space not previously open must be climbed into.

No matter how small or...one would think... undignified.

Corollary 2: Whatever the human picks up to read must be climbed upon.

This corollary may derive from the cat’s clear remembrance of the Burning Times and his aim to protect the human from written lore that might attract new persecution.

Corollary 3: Clean laundry must first be pressed by the cat to preserve its wrinkles.

A variant on nesting behavior.

Corollary 4: All papers left on the floor are to be shredded.

Variant: No commercial cat toy is worthy of attention.

Corollary 5: All laps are to remain available at a moment’s notice, regardless of anything else the human is doing.

Conversely, no human is to place the cat on his lap. The cat may deign, if so moved, to accept a lap offered with due humility.

Corollary 6: All humans who remain in a room after the cat leaves are to come immediately once the cat calls from the next room.

Otherwise known as: "Really!...the HELP one gets these days...!”

Corollary 7: Feeding the cat on time is a sign of promptness and loyalty, regardless of whether or not he eats once fed.

When the cat is ready to eat, he is to be fed again, regardless of whether...etc.

Otherwise known as: “What ELSE do you have to do, anyway? It’s only two hours till your alarm rings.”

Sadly, Master Miso's humans are now left alone with each other, not certain how to proceed without a feline to attend to. Walhydra supposes that, when the time is right, another teacher will come along, just as Master Miso did.

Until then, she and Jim will fumble along, being nice to each other and their friends and laughing as much as they can.

In which Walhydra reluctantly joins the blogosphere: or, Telepathy is more genteel, but nobody listens anymore

Walhydra has resisted doing this.

Increasingly she finds herself complaining that reincarnation isn’t what it used to be. She recalls when one could ease into an incarnation and, once one had figured out the basic themes of the age, settle in for a lifetime. Barring war, plague, famine and what not, of course.

Now, it seems, each next middle school cohort is reinventing the human race—or at least the moguls of the marketplace want them to believe that.

And so…here was Walhydra on a Thursday morning, stuck in her current incarnation as a fifty-something, gay male would-be writer, sitting in a class on “Social Software in the Libraries” and typing awkwardly on a laptop at a table too high for her ulnar nerve-impaired wrist. *Sigh.*

Or, rather, *Sob.*

In another context, this might have been a safely interesting “professional development” exercise. However, scant hours earlier on the drive to class, the vet had confirmed by cell phone from the pet hospital Walhydra’s morning dream. Miso the Cat had died quietly during the night, after sixteen remarkably healthy years (80+ in cat years).

Knowing how this goes makes it no easier. Nor does knowing how quickly and gently he died.

Well-disciplined Virgo that she is, Walhydra had politely reassured and thanked the doctor, pulled safely off the highway—and bawled her eyes and lungs out for fifteen minutes.

(She learned years ago that letting every aching sob actually come out into the world is the best way to handle grief.)

Now she was sitting through a day of extremely well designed and presented “cutting edge tech stuff for you old fogies to stumble over” training. And not caring.

Or, rather, alternating between despair and terror as she watches what she thought would be a relaxing third career speed away from her.

Or, rather, feeling dull inside because her best friend—after hubby Jim and her Mom—has gone.

Or, rather….

Two nights later, Saturday predawn. Walhydra and her hubby cuddling silently. Without the constant presence of the little guy they had nicknamed "Bundling Board" last winter, they discover extra affection to share with each other.

They had buried his body in the tiny, leaf-covered backyard niche beneath the south window of their bedroom. Walhydra admits that she doesn’t really know if there is life after death—a paradoxical acknowledgement for a curmudgeonly old witch.

“Rationally,” she says, “I understand all about biological organisms and the neurological basis of consciousness. But the rest of me says, ‘This doesn’t make any sense. How can a person just stop being?’”

Usually, when you ask Jim if he believes in reincarnation, he deadpans: “Not in this lifetime.” This morning he just hugs Walhydra quietly.

Eventually—despite it’s being only 5 AM--Walhydra gives in to the now familiar message: “You’re awake. Go with it.”

She wanders to the living room for some skyclad tai chi, sits zazen to meditate…and can’t stop composing sentences for her new blog.

She washes and dresses. Turns on the brand-new PC—all those old files and emails recovered in a new body—and goes online.

Here’s an email about a new social justice organizing venture she needs to publicize to a thousand friends. Here’s a new email address for her blog. Some other neat stuff. The info she needs to add DSL and perhaps create a website for Miso.

Here’s the social bookmarking site she just learned to use. And here’s a venue for a library staff wiki.

A furry ghost slips through the half-opened study door and plops belly up on the red rug, coaxing.

Scary fun.