Little m Long a

Some days are diamonds.  This is not.

I woke this morning with the image of Joe Cool dancing to a melody Schroeder was banging out on the piano.  I hit the snooze because it’s what I do.  Snoopy stopped dancing and I got ten more minutes.  Happy feet can’t be still, though and when he started again I got up.

The day ahead was full of promise.  Of hope.  Of field trips and new shoes.  Of sack lunches and smoothies.  Little things that mean worlds to little people who mean the world.

The world turns — quickly.

Why’s fall from trembling lips as tears fall from sad eyes.  How comes are without explanation.  There are no answers — none  suitable.

I’m sorry will have to do.

Today is Earth Day and I’m going to be digging a hole though I’m not planting a tree.   Rather I’ll be saying goodbye to a sweet friend, and the greatest attack cat ever.

Goodbye, Cinnamon

What a difference a year makes!

Not to worry.  This is not one of those sappy reflective posts where I recount the milestones of the year gone by and look longingly and hopeful to the year ahead.

Rather, I just happened to snap a photo of Abbey and Rusty surveying their kingdom as the kids were enjoying the snow earlier this week.

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There must be close to a hundred of them.  Big ones.  Small ones.  Furry ones.  Shaggy ones.  Smooth ones.  Hard ones.  Soft ones.  Some have missing arms, others legs.  Some are just a head.  Others are beyond all recognition.

There are girls, boys, bears, rabbits, cats, dogs, fish, dinosaurs, tigers, lions, pigs, penguins, and walruses.  We’ve got stuffed animals in just about every room of the house.  Pandemic proportions.  And with very few exceptions, every stuffed dog, cat, bear and whatnot has a name.  Mike, Ruby, Ariel, Emily, Cochon, Ella….  They all do.

My wife is perplexed as to how the kids can come up with so many creative, sometimes bizarre, names for these ridiculous stuffed toys and yet can not choose a better name for the cat.

Meet Little Gray Kitty.

And yes, that is how she is referred to every time they call her.

Also, for some strange reason they have started referring to Rusty, our dog, with the slightly more descriptive–Rusty Dog.

The feeders have been filled and the birds are happy.  My cats believe, however, that I was merely setting traps.

Let the games begin!