Our life with Amidala

When our last cat, Marcello, disappeared in 2006 and we all were totally heartbroken, I said, "never again". I cannot bear more lost love now.

Four years later I said," if God wants us to have a cat, He'll have to send us one."
The next morning Amidala stood on our doorstep, hungry and with icicles hanging from her fur. She was so polite and thankful for some food and being let into the outer entrée. She kept purring and stroking up to us, and had us captured from that very first meeting. Gunnar opened the garage and found some rags she could hide under. The next day and the following day she'd wait outside our for food. We tried to find her previous owners through the local radio, paper and even hung posters of the cat on the local grocery stores.
Nobody wanted her. The cat stayed and we let her into our home and our hearts. Serina named her Amidala after the Queen from Star Wars.
She was fully house trained from the first day, and she adopted us as her chosen family moment.

I guess when God sends a cat, he does it properly.

Here's Amidala sitting on Serina's balcony. She keeps staring at us who are dining in the kitchen, no mewing, just this hypnotic look. "Let me in!"
After giving birth to five wonderful kittens in February and getting spaded in April, she has regained both weight and her thick fur.

If you wonder why my northern window is looking spotted, you now partly see the reason why. Our feline is using it as a ladder. The other reason being the salty rain pouring down horizontally at times.

The first time she did this trick my jaw fell down to my breast. This cannot be true. It was. The thickest queen in the neighbourhood is entering her home through a narrow window opening under the kitchen roof.

Will she manage to drag her fat behind with her? I'm using the camera as fast as I can, but Amidala is faster.

Finally inside with out touching one of the twenty boxes on the top of cupboards. "It's all mine", she thinks, from her majestic position.

Storming under the kitchen counter, for some comfort and praise for father Gunnar. It evidently was a greater challenge than we thought. "Home, free."

Triumphantly leaving her comfort cave heading versus me. She got some story to tell, and I'd better listen. "I want food and I want it now."
Amidala is neither a pet or a mean of escapism. She's a fully member of our family. Adding life to our lives.

THE SPRING BEGINS IN THE FALL

The fall came thrown upon us. Frost and full storm for a few days sure did alter the garden. I stood behind the living room window, watching helplessly green foliage turn into silver. The two red plastic chairs have survived 15 winters outdoors. I let them stay for one more. They're not exclusive or even good-looking, but they're there when Gunnar and I need a rest while gardening.
I've had acute wrist inflammation twice this fall. Still, or because I have planted three hydrangeas, 149 spring bulbs and spread 7 sacks of fertilized soil.

The spring begins in the fall.

Happy Ruby Tuesday to all of you.

Visit teach Mary for more Ruby Tuesdays here

HOPE OF FALL

Fall blues is creeping into dark corners of my heart. When the birches outside my eastern library window are naked and brown and yellow leaves are dancing slow fox all over the garden in the autumn winds, then I know it's time to search comfort among my books and in the music.
I start reading from "A year in my Garden" by Karel Capek, and let the Moody Blues fill my ears with The Dream.
I quote my mother, who keeps assuring me, "We will get by this time too,---I think."

The Dream ( Graeme Edge )

When the white eagle of the North is flying overhead
The browns, reds and golds of autumn lie in the gutter, dead.
Remember then, that summer birds with wings of fire flaying
Came to witness springs new hope, born of leaves decaying.
Just as new life will come from death, love will come at leisure.
Love of love, love of life and giving without measure
Gives in return a wondrous yearn of a promise almost seen.
Live hand-in-hand and
together we'll stand on the threshold of a dream.