Not possible, you say. This late summer has been a revolving door of cats. Not that I wanted it to be. Meet Miss Katy and Miss Pastel, our two new four month old babies. We adopted them from a shelter this week, and they have never been outside. We have ten acres and three buildings and a pool, and wherever we are working, they kind of stay in that area. So much to learn about, so much to be spooked about.
Both girls are calico, Katy the traditional and Pastel a diluted one. Never had heard that term before. Pastel’s face looks like an owl. She has some interesting genetic thing going on too. There is a line going down the middle of her nose dividing the grey from the almost pink color she paints. Same thing below her mouth, on her neck. But opposite. And her eyes are different colors.
Pastel is uniquely beautiful, and Katy is the expected. Katy is the foot of the bed comfortable, and Pastel sleeps at our heads. And they both hold hands; that is important.
We arrived at these girls after my Mouse, my muse, walked into the woods to die after almost 17 years with me. She inspired my life and my art for a long time. She was stoic and wise.
She knew I could not bear to see her go, so she evaporated while we were doing other things, and left a great hole. Then there were Frida and Carlos.
They did not live so long with us. Carlos less than a week, and Frida less than two. There was a miscommunication between docs at our vet clinic, where we adopted them. We were not given the meds they needed, and they confirmed this mistake, even when challenged by me. They died.
Little Frida’s last picture.