Music and Cats

Earlier this week, my parents called to check up on us. They were concerned, they said, because there had been no cat photo posted here at Music and Cats last Friday, or even Saturday (aka Not-Quite-Friday). Were we OK? I reassured them that we were fine, that I just hadn’t felt like posting.

It’s a funny thing when one’s parents use one’s blog posts to verify that one is still alive and healthy. And it’s not only my parents; I’ve picked up the phone more than once to hear my father-in-law say, “Is Paul OK? He hasn’t written anything in a couple of days…”

So, I’m here to say: Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad! Everyone here is feeling fine. And here’s Miss Lyra, looking particularly lovely in a little patch of sunshine.

Check up on animals (and their people) aboard the Friday Ark, and on Weekend Cat Blogging at Mind of Mog.

The farmer’s market on Saturday seemed just more of the same — more roots, more greens, more, well, February. I’d seen it all before. Then I turned a corner, and discovered, glowing brightly in the sunshine, a jar filled with orbs of fresh mozzarella. At River Valley Ranch, mozzarella is made each day from the morning’s milking of their buffalo, cows and goats. The cow’s milk mozzarella on sale at the market was yesterday morning’s milk.

This cheese was so fresh that it squeaked under the knife, and between the teeth. It was so milky and sweet and tangy that I could have eaten the entire ball all on its own. I was tempted, but the cheese was asking for something more. As it’s February, there were no vine-ripened tomatoes, no fresh basil to be had. But there was good, crusty bread for toasting, and balsamic vinegar for drizzling, and those rounds of soft cheese… and one late February day that was not just more of the same.

Pale winter sunlight. Soft paisley flannel sheets. What’s a cat to do? Why, nap, of course. Add two more cats, and you get a little more action… (more…)

Shortly after noon today, Paul and I pulled on our coats and went out for a short walk. Although it wasn’t a particularly pretty day, several people were out on our street. As we turned a corner, I saw ahead of us more people — a couple holding hands, a woman walking with a child, several young men, another couple with two dogs. Everyone was walking in the same direction, their destination the elementary school a couple of blocks from our house. Walking along in that slow, steady stream of people, I teared up a little. I’m a softie for democracy in action, and today was caucus day in Washington.

The school gymnasium was packed. This was our third presidential caucus since moving to Seattle, and turnout for the precincts caucusing at the school was by far the largest we’ve seen… so large that several precincts were moved from the gym to other rooms in the school, so large that they ran out of sign-in sheets, and had to quickly make photocopies. It was impressive, and very exciting. (Reports are that the caucus turnout in Washington was twice that of four years ago.)

Washington is the only state in which I’ve lived that has a presidential caucus, and I like caucusing better than voting in a primary. Sure, caucusing is messy, and takes more time than simply voting, but there’s no other event that brings together so many people from the neighborhood, and gives them lots of time to stand around and talk with each other. (Actually, Washington has both a caucus and a primary, but we Democrats don’t use the primary for delegate selection.)

In Washington, the caucus process works like this: when you sign in with your precinct, you indicate your choice of candidate, or that you’re undecided. After the initial vote is counted, one person from each candidate’s camp has a minute to make a case for his/her candidate. After the speeches, anyone may change his/her vote. The votes are recounted, and a number of delegates is awarded to each candidate according to the percentage of votes received. Then the delegates are selected from among the precinct caucus attendees.

In our precinct, 110 people showed up! That’s about twice as many as four years ago. Initially, 66 people voted for Barack Obama, 28 voted for Hillary Clinton, and 6 were undecided. After the speeches, several people changed their votes; in the end, Obama had 68 votes, Clinton 31, and 1 person remained undecided. Our precinct will send 6 delegates to our district convention; 4 will be Obama delegates and 2 Clinton delegates.

By the time the recounting of votes was done, most people had left the caucus. About 20 Obama supporters remained to select 4 delegates and 4 alternates. As that group stood around looking at each other, my no-nonsense husband took charge. “Anyone who wants to be a delegate or alternate, raise your hand.” Five hands went up. “We need three more people,” Paul said. I put my hand up, as did four others. When we realized we had an extra, one fellow bowed out. Five people wanted to be delegates, but one quickly volunteered to be an alternate instead. As an alternate, I’ll attend the district caucus in April. By that time, it may be clear whether the Democratic nominee will be Barack Obama or Hillary Clinton, but I’m looking forward to taking part in the next step in the process. Truth be told, I’d happily vote for either Clinton or Obama.

In 2009, King County will join most other Washington counties in voting entirely by mail. I know that voting by mail has many fans, but I’ll miss the ritual of going to a shared polling place to cast my vote. I’m glad to know that, every four years, I’ll have the opportunity to spend a little quality time with my neighbors (and their children and dogs) to vote for and talk about who we want to be the next leader of our country.

When Paul and I travel, I miss the companionship of our sweet, funny McKittens. Sometimes, I admit, I resort to approaching strange cats on the street, hoping for just a touch of fur. If we happen to be visiting folks who share their home with cats, I can more easily indulge in some feline chin rubbing or back scratching. There’s no substitute for a snuggle with Lyra, Sasha or Sergei, but a bit of fur therapy when we’re away from home helps a little.

Last weekend, we were in southern Oregon visiting Paul’s father, who lives with this handsome golden-eyed fellow. This cat was born without a tail, which earned him an unlikely name: Bunnybutt. A human child might have been permanently scarred by such a moniker. Fortunately, cats seem not to care what names we humans give them.

He’s a very friendly cat, who is usually up for some rubbing. As he has been banished from the house on account of unacceptable peeing behavior, I went outside for my fur therapy. And, while I was photographing the beautiful view from my father-in-law’s deck, I snapped a few photos of Bunnybutt, too.

Do you need a little visual fur therapy? Visit the Friday Ark, and Weekend Cat Blogging at Paulchen’s Foodblog.