A friendly visitor to the garden

There are cats that roam the neighborhood near the allotment garden, and every now and then they make their way into the garden to wander around. Last summer my garden was graced by a visit from one such cat, a black and white cat that is very friendly and docile. He found a cozy place on the floor of my greenhouse and promptly went to sleep for half an hour or so. After his nap he stretched and then moseyed on his way to visit someone else's garden.

The other day the same cat returned to the garden and found his way into my greenhouse. At this time of year the greenhouse is quite a nice place to be, cozy and warm. He jumped up onto one of the metal benches, made himself comfortable, and went to sleep for a half hour. Like last summer, I was able to snap a few photos of him. He is an affectionate and nice cat; he lets himself be petted and does not go after the birds in the garden (he is well-fed at home). Quite the opposite; it is the birds, mostly magpies and crows, that have harassed him to the point where he is forced to leave the garden. I have seen it happen once. They grab at his tail; when they did this last summer he did not fight back, rather choosing to leave the premises. 

I look forward to his visits. I am a cat lover, having had several cats up through the years. Becoming friends with this cat has made me want another cat, so we'll see what time brings. In any case, I hope he'll be a frequent visitor during the summer months. 

Goodbye 2021

For all my readers who couldn't wait for 2021 to be over, here's a typical cat's point of view. Kind of in line with your views. I found the cartoon on the 11:11 Facebook site; the cartoon is drawn by Tiina Menzel. I love it.....

Remembering our cat Tiger

I was looking through old photos the other day, and came across these of our cat Tiger, who passed away in 2009 at the age of 15 after a long struggle with breast cancer. She was a very unusual cat, fairly asocial except when it came to me and my husband and a few other people. You had to get to know her on her terms, which meant learning to deal with her moods. Sometimes she would let you pet her; other times you just knew that you had to keep your distance. Figuring her out was part of her charm and I think she knew that. When she was affectionate, it made up for all the times she wasn't. She loved to play--ice hockey with her catnip drops or with paper balls--and to hunt. I've never seen a cat so good at catching (and eating) insects. She also liked to chase my husband around our apartment, and he would run after her as well--that was their game together. Her tail would get big and puffed-up whenever she wanted him to chase her, and it was usually her that instigated the play-hunt. During the winter, you could find her atop one of the several radiators in our apartment, sprawled across it, soaking up the heat. I have taken videos of her rolling around the kitchen floor with an olive--something she loved to do--we could never really understand why. Did she like the smell or texture of the olive? She would also watch the birds outside our window from her perch on the inner sill. These two photos were good shots of her sitting by the side of a portable radio, in one of her affectionate moods (meaning that she allowed me to take some photos of her). Looking at these photos makes me miss her.

Pangur Bán--an eighth century poem written by an Irish monk

I and Pangur Bán, my cat
'Tis a like task we are at;
Hunting mice is his delight
Hunting words I sit all night.

Better far than praise of men
'Tis to sit with book and pen;
Pangur bears me no ill will,
He too plies his simple skill.

'Tis a merry thing to see
At our tasks how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind.

Oftentimes a mouse will stray
In the hero Pangur's way:
Oftentimes my keen thought set
Takes a meaning in its net.

'Gainst the wall he sets his eye
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
'Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.

When a mouse darts from its den,
O how glad is Pangur then!
O what gladness do I prove
When I solve the doubts I love!

So in peace our tasks we ply,
Pangur Bán, my cat, and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine and he has his.

Practice every day has made
Pangur perfect in his trade;
I get wisdom day and night
Turning darkness into light.

(Written by an eighth-century Irish monk--name unknown. English translation by Robin Flower)

I read this poem for the first time when we visited The Book of Kells exhibition at the Trinity College library. It spoke to me as a lot of poetry does. I could just see in my mind's eye, the monk toiling away in the darkness while his cat hunted mice. The monk could have been working on one of the books of Kells, transcribing or illustrating them. And then the symbolic last sentence, 'Turning darkness into light'. There is so much that he says in this one little sentence--isn't this the whole basis of religion and our belief in a supreme being? That if we accept God into our lives, that this God turns our darkness into light? But I also think about this monk's place and time in history--the medieval times. Dark times. Perhaps he understood his role in turning the minds of his fellowmen toward the light; he perhaps understood his small and simple role in history. It must have been a profound moment for him when he wrote this--a kind of simple divine inspiration.