Music and Cats

When Sasha want petting, he often rubs up against something near me: the arm of the sofa, or the leg of the coffee table. As I stood outside with my camera, he rubbed against the window mullion. I was close enought to reach out and pet him, save for that pesky glass.

Shuffle off to the Friday Ark, Weekend Cat Blogging with Kiri and Clare at eatsuff, and Watermark, where Sharon hosts the Carnival of the Cats on Sunday.

In a comment on my previous post, former Seattle resident ‘mouse stated, “I knew I wasn’t cut out to live in Seattle when I found that I not only disliked the 9am-3:30pm winter light but actually disliked the 4:30am-10:15pm summer light.”

Unlike ‘mouse, I love Seattle’s long summer days. Never mind that they wreak havoc on my internal clock (and the cats’, too); I can live with that. I’ve shown you the view from our bathroom at 4:30 a.m. at this time of year, and thought I’d share an image from the other end of the day - and the other side of the house - as well. At 10:15 p.m., I sat on the sill of my office window, facing north-northwest. I could see lights coming on in Ballard, and in the house across the street. The treetops shimmered in the breeze. I steadied my arm against the window frame, and held my breath as I pressed the shutter. Still, the treetops shimmer in my photos, too.

This morning, I was awakened by one of the cats walking across my bladder. When I got out of bed to attend to the resultant urge, I noticed a warm glow through the translucent glass of our bathroom window. I opened the window to darkened tops of roof and tree silhouetted against pale, clear sky, a ribbon of peachy pink tying them together.

Yes, dear reader, I fetched my camera, and snapped several slow exposures, my elbows steadied on the windowsill. When Sasha asked for a look, in that tiny voice so out of proportion to his tall frame, I set down the camera, and gathered up his warm, soft body in my arms. Settling my elbows back onto the windowsill, I cradled Sasha against my chest. We sniffed the light morning breeze, and watched for the many birds that we could hear, but not see.

I don’t know how long Sasha would have lain draped across my arms, watching the world outside. I was still sleepy, and a little chilled, so after a few minutes I closed the window, and carried Sasha back to our bed. Just before I snuggled up against Paul’s back and dozed off again, I glanced over at his bedside table. The clock read 4:38.

While I was photographing the pretty little flowers on the invasive plant growing by our back door, Miss Lyra jumped up on the dining room windowsill to watch. She and the McKitten boys always seem surprised to see me on the other side of the windows. Whatever am I doing out there? And more importantly, why don’t I come back inside where I belong?

You’ll have a window on the animal world at the Friday Ark. Peer in on lots of cats this weekend at eatstuff and the Carnival of the Cats.

Had he been asked this question, Magritte might have responded,”Ceci n’est pas une mauvaise herbe.” Now, Rene would not have been suggesting, as several of you did, that it’s only a weed if you don’t want it, but rather that the photo is only a representation of the thing, and not the thing itself. Whatever.

Here’s a photographic representation of the leaves and hairy stems atop which those pretty little flowers grow. I don’t think that it’s either filaree, which has a different leaf shape, or blue-eyed grass, which looks like, well, a grass. Perhaps some sort of geranium?