Future(s)

It started with a photo of some display boxes that Christa was using to show her amazing scarves.
On one of them was printed
Fashion For Futures
and I queried her about the plural of "future", and thought about it and--
if the planet we live on has but one future
we who live here, the billions of humans each has a distinct and individual future, which would indeed make for "futures".
My head is spinning.

One more piece to polish.

I was rummaging in the garage looking for something that I don't remember now, because in a box that I obviously had not checked for many years, I found another brass candlestick.
AWWW, I said to myself, this was such a favorite of Chuck's, and here it is, dismantled and forgotten.
So I picked up the pieces, figured out what was wrong with it, and started to polish it,
one little part at a time, all the time wondering where I could find someone to fix what was ailing the piece.
So here I am again with polish under my nails and aching fingers from buffing.
Will I ever learn ?
Chuck would have been so pleased though, he really loved the piece.

There they came. First by tens, then by hundreds and finally by the thousands.
The ants were coming to clean house.
I have had them before and learned the hard way that all you can do is sit back, relax, and let them do whatever thousands of ants do inside houses.
These ants, however, were not as disciplined as the ones i had earlier who made lines, ten to twelve ants wide giving you ample space to walk around the house; no, these ants were disorderly, spreading all over the floors and up the walls.
When they invaded my couch I moved to my bedroom and sat on the bed, resting, till they entered that sanctum and forced me out. By then, fortunately, they were finished doing their stuff in the TV room, so I sat through some show, watching the slowly diminishing amount of ants finally forming lines and leaving the house.
Maybe these ants were more disorderly, but they did not leave as many dead comrades behind as did the more militaristic ones.
A lesson here ?

His name was Peter.
Peter was a finch,
a green, singing finch.
Chuck had bought him in Wenatchee, and he spent many years with us in our house in Seattle before Chuck decided to move to Mexico and I got custody of him, me being the stable one with a new house where he lived, happily, to the the day when the house was sold and we were packing the the rental truck with all my paraphernalia, waiting to the last minute to move Peter, still residing in his bamboo pagoda cage.
And when I moved the cage the bottom fell out and Peter, all flustered, escaped, and was chased by Arnold my Schnauzer who finally got a chance to get a hold of this fluttering bit of feathers and...since by then Peter was well beyond fifteen years, he had a heart attack and died right there.
We buried him in the garden of the house where he had been so very happy and took off to California, much like the family in The Grapes Of Wrath.
So often I wonder about this little bird who kept on singing for so many years and who never made it to California; was he happy, or was he lamenting his fate, stuck in a bamboo pagoda cage with no company except for humans and dogs.
And so he died, and I will never know.
R.I.P.

For no other reason than because I feel like it, I am posting another Cattery drawing.

Thank You

Standing in my kitchen, apropos absolutely nothing but being in my kitchen, I thought of a salad using grapefruit chunks that Chuck used to make.
And I thought: " Did I ever really thank him for all the great stuff he cooked ? "
Now it is too late, but I decided to make this my New Year's resolution; to say thank you and not just put it on the "to do" list of things.
So thank you to those brave and patient people who read this.
Thank you.

A fond farewell to The Catteries and to 2009. I can hardly believe that is has been such a long time since I drew those critters for what was to become the calendar of Ms. Clarice and Mr. Q's guide to the dance and other movements.