Monday, January 29, 2007


With Dinky's departure, the dynamic has shifted in the House of Many Cats.

As we had long-promised Snickers, we have allowed her in from the shop. In the past she had seemed to want to come inside and have a closer relationship with us but her personality was so similar to Dinky's, I feared there would be conflicts. However, since she has been inside, she has been mindful of her status as one of the "other" cats in the minds of the housecats, and she has kept a low profile. She stays downstairs, usually on the couch or in the dining room windows, occasionally venturing into the spare room to go out on the cat porch. When she has ventured upstairs, she is greeted by the resident cats with a watchful wariness that suggests her kind isn't welcomed hereabouts.

Saturday, January 27, 2007


I have been thinking about my dream today, wondering where the words I spoke came from.

I mean--why would I ever tell Dinky--or even Dinky's spirit--to "go on now?"

There is a folk wisdom, a racial memory, that suggests that having the spirits of the dead hanging around is a bad thing. That spirits have to move on to be happy or at peace. That is the way of things.

But on the other hand, I have always fancied that the spirits of our dead cats hung around our home, acting as guardian spirits. And I know that Dinky would absolutely relish the role of guardian angel. She was such a little busybody that I can imagine how she would enjoy having license to be involved in everyone else's business. That's right up her alley.

So, Dink, if you are out there--I hope you are watching over us.

Friday, January 26, 2007

Haunted By Cats

Overcast, 27 degrees
Northeast winds gusting to thirty
Three to four feet of snow on the ground, ten to twelve inches new

The winds came up again overnight, and the temperatures haven't risen as I had thought they would. Although the skies are overcast, there isn't any more snow.

I saw Dinky in dreams this morning. I was in bed with the cats around me and she came into the room and stood beside the bed. Although I knew she was dead, I put my hand on her back, to feel her silky-soft fur, but it was heavy and greasy-feeling, as it never was in life. Her eyes were large, though I took her expression to be one of puzzlement more than fear.

"You have to go on now," I told her. "I'll be along in a while..."

I just now realized, in writing this, that it has been exactly one month since she died.

Last night, when I was coming in from work, I saw what could have been cat footprints in the wind-blown snow under the overhang. Only a series of depressions in the snow for a distance of four or five feet and no other sign of tracks any where. A ghost cat?

Or the elusive black-and-white cat? If I could get easily into the addition, I would put some dry food out, just in case he is holing up in there. There is no where else that I can imagine he could have access to right now, as deep as the snow is. I have been guilty of trying to ignore him but I really can't.

It has started to snow again.