“Whiskers on kittens” really are some of my favorite things. And finally Ember’s and Coal’s whiskers are growing back after their over-zealous mama chewed them off. It wasn’t as noticeable on Ember, but coal-black Coal had beautiful, long, white whiskers and when they were gone, chewed down to stubs, it was quite noticeable.
Watching baby creatures grow up is no end to delightful. The clever little wretches have figured out how to manipulate certain people (Anna and myself) into giving them the attention they want when they want it, by climbing trees very capably, then meowing like there’s no tomorrow as soon as they “want down.” Give me a break.
Coal in particular has also learned the joys of baiting the dogs. The girls and I were singing on the Miner’s Cabin porch yesterday, and Kashka and Coal joined us. So did Jess’s dog, Baby. Coal came and sat on the wood box with me, but when Baby came up to say hello, he growled and puffed himself up and arched his back and gave an open-mouthed hiss. Quite the little tiger. No one needs to teach a cat how to (pretend to) hate dogs. They just do. And they know how to milk the drama for all its worth. If the dog isn’t close enough for them to reasonably react, they’ll get close enough to the dog to reasonably react, and then react for all they’re worth. No one teaches a cat to do that. They just know.
It makes me think of little human babies – Some people try to claim that all human beings are basically good. Anyone who says that must never have worked with children. I don’t know how anyone can look at a plump, rosy-cheeked, perfectly-taken-care-of baby screaming in outright anger and not be convinced that there’s a sinful little soul inside that innocent baby exterior! No one has to teach a baby to be a sinner. We just are.
Anyways, I’m glad Coal’s whiskers grew back. He looked pretty silly without them.
Autumn is a time of abundance. And what abundance! Not only the abundance of the harvest, and the abundance of garden produce and fresh preserves glimmering with color, but abundance of fragrances, sights, sounds, tastes, textures. The perfume of moss and brown leaves and damp, the burning reds and golds and saffrons of the trees and underbrush and prairie grasses, the sounds of crackling leaves underfoot and flocking birds and moaning autumn winds and rain and the muted whisper of the fog, the taste of the crisp almost-winter air, the tapestry of fallen leaves and bare trees and rattling grasses and pods of the long-gone summer flowers. The abundance is overwhelming.
Song Dog Journal 