Chia recycles

A year ago, my daughter sent me a basket full of Christmas goodies. I'd barely taken the last item out when Chia the cat claimed the basket for a bed. A good idea; she'd been using the basket she used to fit in when she was a kitten, and she overhung the sides all around.

I fitted the basket out for her with the remains of a cushion my grandma (b. 1888) had made. It had been covered in burgundy velvet, which had by now disintegrated, but the inner portion was intact.

It was covered in the leftovers of an old grey wool Hudson's Bay blanket. I opened it up to wash it and found that the stuffing is made from the sweepings off her sewing room floor: shreds of fabric, bits of wool, and threads. Tiny ends of threads, the ones you cut off when you've finished sewing a seam, the last bit left in the eye of the needle. Altogether, it makes a soft, puffy filling. I closed up the cushion again and contented myself with vacuuming it thoroughly.

Chia loves it.

A perfect fit.

Half awake, because of the flash. Then turned herself around and went back to sleep.

I recycle everything carefully, separating and cleaning plastics, glass, cans, paper, dropping off styrofoam (mostly picked up on the beach) and batteries at the appropriate sites, sorting plastic bags, the ones that I can't substitute with my battered cloth shopping bags, or the ones that I find on the shore, into piles for the recyclers, piles to be donated to thrift shops, piles I can re-use.

But my grandmother, and the women of her generation, put me to shame. Nothing was wasted, nothing left to float off to sea or to clog up the wetlands. We should have kept it up. Life would be better, safer for all of us now, if we had.

(The blanket the basket rests on is a vintage Mexican men's wool serape, made in two sections on a waist loom.)

Better late than never

I was running late. I didn't get started out for my Sunday afternoon drive (in the rain) until shortly after four. And by then, it was so dark that the colours had leached out of the trees. I set out with the camera, anyhow. I could at least watch tree silhouettes. And maybe see some wildlife, a deer or two, maybe.

Alder against the sky. 4:41 PM The camera sees more light than I do.

Chutes and ladders. And a pair of trees. 4:45. Quinsam Coal Barge Terminal

Crooked tree. 4:46

Looking out over Menzies Bay. 4:52 The bit of colour in the foreground was from my headlights.

As for wildlife, I saw four eagles, and a pair of moths in my headlights. No deer.

But Chia was waiting for me at home, and she's sort of wild.

Chia and her shadows. 10:15.

They're promising us rain for the entire week. I need to get some rain gear.

A Skywatch post.

Sometimes I wonder

... what she's thinking.

Chia, watching me while I try to read of an evening.

Life is tough.

Chia, in a mournful mood.

"This bed is too small! Why don't you fix it?"

She has slept in this basket ever since she was a kitten. She has a new, larger basket, with a wool cushion and a catnip toy, and she does consent to curl up there at times. But this little one is her old favourite; wherever I move it, there she goes to sleep. Even if she hangs over the edges all around.

Maybe if I put the little basket inside the large one?

Arachtober 10: Today's entry is a spider meal, appropriate for the Canadian Thanksgiving season.

Ready to eat

#Arachtober

First dibs

Chia the cat was purring. And something was hissing*. I went to see what was going on, and found her rolling a ten-lined June beetle around the floor.

I grabbed the nearest glass (IKEA) and rescued the beetle. Upturned it on a sheet of paper on  my desk and got out the camera.

Chia did not approve.

"Mine! Mine! I saw it first!

I did get some photos, but it was a struggle.

*They can make a hissing sound when touched or otherwise disturbed, which can resemble the hissing of a bat. This sound is made by their wings pushing down, forcing the air out between their wings and back. (Wikipedia)

Protection

Chia, having subdued the vicious throw rug, remains alert. The twilight is fraught with dangers!

On guard, 24/7

Dedicated birders

Plain Jane and Chia, birdwatching on a foggy afternoon:

"Sparrows, juncos, chickadees, and ... is that an eagle?"

"She's getting too excited."

"Just remember: they're MY birds."

It was Jane's last afternoon; she's gone back to her usual home, to watch her own set of birds.

(Jane is an indoor cat; she wouldn't even go outside when she had access. And Chia won't visit the front yard where the bird feeders are in the daytime, because a big black Lab hangs out in the yard next door. So the birds feed safely.)

Why is it

... that cats love boxes?

Or anything box-like. This week, Chia has been found in a waste-basket, the grocery bag I just emptied, the basket I store books to donate in, my new boot basket, my spare bedding box, and the cupboard I'd just taken the flash attachment out of.

"You knocked?"

And underneath a kitchen cart, too.

Schrodinger picked the right animal to put in his quantum box. Except that the cat has nine lives, so she is always alive.

(The camera sees. I should have dusted the inside of the door frame. Dings and scratches are ok; this cupboard was my grandmother's in her honeymoon house; it's entitled. But the dust is my fault. It's gone now.)

Warm and bright.

It's pouring rain outside. The wind howls and whistles in the shrubbery and rolls garbage can lids down the street. Leaves fly, paste themselves to my window panes.

Chia, the cat, insists on going out to see if the storm has stopped, then runs in, dripping, to shake herself off on my keyboard and screen and look reproachfully at me. It's all my fault, of course.

I paused this afternoon, to deadhead my petunias. In the rain, but they looked so sad! Even the newest flowers were shredded and drooping. The fall crocuses have fallen over, the geraniums have lost most of their petals. The nasturtiums are trying hard, but they're all spattered with mud.

Now my jacket hangs, dripping, in the shower.

The perfect time to scan my hard drive for forgotten spring flowers!

Hawkweed. A horrible pest, but still beautiful when I stop to look at it.

Teeny-tiny lemon balm flowers. Also a bit of a nuisance; it tends to take over its surroundings. But it makes a good tea or flavoured ice water.

More lemon balm. There's always more lemon balm.

Salmonberry flower. One of the first we'll see next spring.

Small, pale lilac flowers in the Museum garden, with pollinator.

Wild chokecherries. Oyster Bay, a bit later in the year.

What was this doing in the flower file? Little brown mushroom on a log, Tyee Spit.

I feel warmer and dryer, just looking at these. Let it rain!

Sleeping quarters

A year ago, in mid-July, I posted a photo of Chia asleep in her favourite basket.

Chia, at 4 months old.

She slept in this basket for months. I moved it from the table to a chair, to a trunk, to the top of a cabinet; she followed it wherever it went. But, eventually, it needed to be washed, and while it dried, I put it away; it was too small for her by then, anyhow. She slept, instead, on a chair.

I cleaned and re-organized my cupboards last week, and the basket ended up for a while, back on the table. Chia claimed it immediately.

"Ahhhhh, now that's comfort!"

She can still fit inside, sort of, with only a bit of overhang at the back, if she scrunches herself up really tight.

Check out that raspy tongue!

So, for now, she has her basket back. She's purring!

Progress report; toes, ears, eyes.

Chia's kittens are discovering their world:

Pink toes!

Tig knows she's supposed to be a tiger.

They still have their baby blue eyes; the colour should start to change in two or three weeks.  Last week, their ears were still flat forward, but now they're up and listening for their mother's voice. They are walking about, but are very unsteady, and the least little push from a littermate will roll them over.

Tiger face

Chia had kittens last night. Four: grey, black, stripy, and the tiger.

"Tig". About 12 hours old.

Best seat in the house

Of course.

Hers by right of possession.

"And don't you forget it, slave!"

It's a wrap

I've been doing too much. Hurrying here and there, driving back and forth, to and fro; supper time caught up to me, and I stopped at MacDonald's for a wrap and a coffee to go.

The best part of the meal, Chia says, was the bag.

Lurking

A few more errands to run, a to-do list to check off, and I'm heading south again. I'll be away from the computer until the end of the week.

Normal life, and blogging, will resume on Saturday.

So tired!

Supervising is such hard work!

She tried to keep her eyes open, but they just kept closing on their own.

And I'm sleepy, too. I walked in the snow for 3 hours today. In and on it; by tonight, it has frozen hard enough to walk on the surface, barely leaving a mark. And now I'm going to bed.

Goodnight!

Snow day!

It started to snow in the middle of the night yesterday, and kept it up for almost 24 hours. I stayed home (my road was never plowed) and took photos at my kitchen window.

Forsythia, with ridiculous "bobbles" on the ends of some branches.

I love snow light; it's as if something had erased all the red from the sunlight, leaving only cool blues. Everything looks different, somehow.

Baby monkey tree, with snow-laden spider web.

Chia didn't appreciate the snow. She sat on the windowsill, staring out, thrashing her tail angrily.

"What have you done? Where's all my nice, green grass?"

I went out to the driveway to assess the driving conditions. Chia followed me, tiptoeing across the cement floor of the carport, lifting each foot quickly as if she'd been burned, then retreated to the welcome mat and sat staring sadly at the awful whiteness out there. I opened the door and she hurried in to the warmth.

But I love the snow. Even through a window. It softens and enhances everything, even everyday eyesores.

Power pole and wires.

Zooming in on the contraptions at the top.

Stair rail. With snow pom-poms all down the sides.

African violets on my windowsill, in snow light.

Trees across the street. Each tree has its own way of collecting snow. And those forsythia bobbles, again.

The snow has stopped. The temperature has gone above freezing. And the weather people are promising us rain in the morning, with more snow in the evening, but it will be too warm for it to stay put. BC weather; it's always going to rain again.

I wonder if it's edible

Or maybe I could play with it, roll it around a bit. It's wriggly!

And I think it's unkind of my human to keep it in the water like that, where I can't reach it.

... says Chia.

Her human here: I'm working on a crab video, and a hermit crab sequence, so posting may be light for a couple of days.

In a supervisory capacity

She takes her work extremely seriously.

Chia, keeping me on my toes.