Thoughts on Beauty, Pigeons, and Persian Cats

I was thinking about Beauty the other daythat’s Beauty with a capital Bwhen that Byron piece popped into my head:

She walks in beauty, like the night
               Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
    And all that’s best of dark and bright
        Meet in her aspect and her eyes

Actually, those exact words didn’t pop into my head. It was more like,

She walks in beauty like the… um… night
   Something, something… yada, yada…
How’s that go again?

So I Googled it and got the exact wording (see above, top).

Word on the street is that Lord Byron penned these words after seeing his cousin in her mourning dress. Even if black was her color, we can assume the dress wasn’t the reason for his rapture. (Though with Byron, anything goes.)

Third stanza:

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, 
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, 
The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 
But tell of days in goodness spent, 
A mind at peace with all below, 
A heart whose love is innocent!

There was a woman I knew from my younger days, way back when, who I think illustrates Byron’s point to some extent. She went to our church.

Usually children never take much notice of older people unless they impact our lives in some way. Such as a neighbor lady who bakes cookies, or a friend’s mother who will back the cost of the ice cream man.

Children are selfish beasts that way.

Be that as it may, this particular woman I noticed. My mother was talking to her and as I stood to the side waiting — I never participated in any conversation willingly — I was struck by her brightly colored dress. Church ladies in those days typically chose subdued prints, such as a demure pastel floral. But this woman was wearing magenta.

Magenta!

Secondly, and more importantly, I noticed how happy the woman appeared. Most of the women of my acquaintance, the best you could hope for was that they were mildly pleasant. More often they were… shall we say, a little on edge. So much so that an empty juice glass set next to the sink, rather than in the sink, could send them off the deep end.

Yet this woman was smiling and cheerful and looked for all the world as though life was a wondrous thing to be savored and enjoyed. She was positively radiant.

Later I asked my mother who she was and was shocked to learn she had attended our church for several years. This was news to me. How was it I never noticed her before? Or her radiance?

“Oh, she didn’t use to be this way,” my mother replied.

I asked her what changed.

“Her husband died.”

And so you see? Lord Byron was right. Grief is a beautiful thing.

Continuing on our theme of Beauty, I met a pair of pigeons the other day.

They were enjoying a quiet respite in the grocery store parking lot, where someone had very thoughtfully dropped a milkshake and half-eaten container of french fries. The couple was partaking of the bounty.

As I passed, the male regarded me in that peculiar pigeon way they have, where they study your face very carefully and store the knowledge, as it may come in handy later.

He was a pretty boy and so I told him. I said, “Aren’t you a pretty boy.” Not as a question, you see, but as a declaration. For indeed, he was pretty. The top of his head was a shimmery purple and his breast had specks of green and black, with just a dash of gray. Truly, he was a pigeon among pigeons.

He showed no sign of false modesty after hearing my compliment. Birds never do. They don’t look down at their feathers as though to say, “Oh, these old things?” They simply accept your words as a matter of course.

Then I noticed his companion and frankly, I was shocked. With her scruffy grayish-brown feathers and dull aspect, she looked the bird equivalent of a woman in an oversized t-shirt and sweatpants.

And not a flattering oversized t-shirt and sweatpants, neither.

You would think that such a noble bird as he was, she would make more of an effort, wouldn’t you? But no, not her. She squatted in the midst of milkshake froth, a limp french fry dangling from her mouth.

Pigeon

Honestly. I was embarrassed for her.

And yet — and yet, people — it did nothing to diminish his admiration of her in any way. And that is the main thing.

For Love is a Beautiful thing. And blind. Terribly blind.

So if you’ve been paying attention, Beauty is both Sad and Lovely.

Yet there is another aspect to Beauty I think we must discuss, for it is something I learned from a Persian cat. And anything you learn from a Persian cat is something worth discussing.

Missy, for that was her name, the name of the Persian cat, was a gloriously beautiful, white cat.

All cats know they are beautiful, especially Persians. Even when they are not beautiful, cats know they are beautiful. This is a scientific fact.

Missy shared her home with a Cockapoo named Bubbles.

Yes, you read that right: Bubbles.

Bubbles was an embarrassment to the entire canine community. I knew it, Missy knew it, Bubbles knew it.

Bubbles was afraid of everything. The sound of the furnace kicking on sent her cowering to the corner. A sheet of paper flying off a table made her jump. The dog was a walking bundle of nerves.

So it probably didn’t help matters that Missy’s favorite form of entertainment was to sit on one side of a doorway and wait patiently, oh-so-patiently, until Bubbles entered the room. And then, floomph! Missy sprang out and Bubbles yelped, taking off in three different directions all at once, usually urinating in the process.

Meanwhile, Missy ambled away as though nothing happened, returning to her cushioned throne, where she would groom herself.

Persian cat

For Beauty is Cruel.

Beauty is Sad and Lovely and Cruel.

And thus ends my treatise on Beauty for today.

Life Tips by Merricat

Those of you who have been following this blog for more than two days no doubt realize that Feeding on Folly is an animal-friendly community. Pets have been mentioned. Namely, Dog and Cat.

Sadly, Cat departed to that great Kitty Condo in the Sky last February. Since then, our home has been meow-less.

Recently, as in one week ago, we were joined by a new companion. Friends, allow me to introduce to you:

Merricat

Merricat

After living with Merricat for a week, I can tell she is a wise and gentle soul. I believe there is much she can teach us, and with that in mind, I made notes of some of her more helpful lessons.

Let us learn from her wise counsel, shall we?

  1. When entering a new domain, explore every area thoroughly. Every nook and cranny. Especially the crannies. Nooks are good, but crannies are better. After you’ve explored it a good three or four times, check it again. It may have changed in the two minutes you were gone.
  2. Ferns make great sleeping companions. Perfect for an afternoon nap. Or a mid-morning nap. Or early evening.
    Avoid misting time.

    By fern 2

  3. Helping with laundry is not only polite, it can be fun. Especially when the Female Human makes funny noises and plays tug of war with you. Also, warm towels straight from the dryer? Mmm.
  4. Grooming is essential. Never neglect it. Twenty baths a days is not overdoing it. Consider twenty-two.

    Grooming

  5. Kitty Weed, aka, Catnip, is marvelous. Daily use recommended.
  6. When encountering a large canine creature, play it cool. They will not resist your charms for long.

    With Freckles 2

  7. Small rubber items are not to be trusted. Whether they are pads from electronic devices, ear plugs, or caps you found that no one in the family has any idea where they came from, be watchful! Pounce on them, bat them around, attack from behind! Be wary… they’re sneaky devils.
  8. Fill your life with music. During the day is great, but nighttime is good too. Like, at 2:00 a.m. That’s a great time.
    All the great cat concertos were composed at 2:00 a.m.

    On Piano

  9. Never eat the first thing you’re offered. Stand your ground and see what else on the table. Better yet, just jump on the table and take what you want.
  10. In every home, there is a magical door of wonders. When you hear it open, come running and dive in. Or slip in when no one is watching. You won’t regret it.

    In Pantry
    Unless no one saw you go in and they shut the door and now you’re stuck. That’s the time to sing the song of your people. Loudly.
    Honestly. Humans. Am I right?

The Suicidal Mice of 40th Drive

One look at that little rodent corpse, the serene look on his face, and I knew. It was a clear case of mouse suicide.

My family lived in west Phoenix in a square cinderblock home, painted turquoise. And the thing to know about cinderblock homes, however unattractive they might appear, a splash of turquoise paint makes them nearly… less unattractive.

housemouseIn any case, cinderblock keeps out rodents and reptiles, and for desert living that’s darn smart.

Although about the time I was 12-years old, my dad built a garage in our backyard.

Actually, it wasn’t so much a garage as a giant workshop/sanctuary. It took up nearly half our backyard and was made primarily of wood.

That’s when the mice moved in.

The reason we knew we had mice is that every so often, about once a week or so, we’d find one floating in Pepper’s water dish.
Pepper being our family dog.

Continue reading “The Suicidal Mice of 40th Drive”

My Day Off, Waiting for the Dog to Pee

Yesterday was Dog’s annual Day of Terror at the Vet, and I’m pleased to report she did very well. She was poked, prodded and groped, and she suffered the indignity of a thermometer up her butt with noble grace.

WP_20140305_15_53_40_Pro[1] True, the lower half of my jeans were covered in white fur as she circled me nervously, but all in all she did a marvelous job.

Only she didn’t pee.

Since Dog is nearly 11-years old and takes arthritis meds, Vet recommends their Senior Screening: full blood work and urine analysis. Drawing the blood was a snap. The urine, not so much.

The technician came back to the room with Dog and the empty cup. “We’re hoping you’ll have better luck at home,” she told me.

“Huh?”

My mission – should I care to accept it – is to collect urine from Dog, put it in the little screw top jar, and drive it straight to the vet because, as the tech put it, “We prefer it fresh.” Continue reading “My Day Off, Waiting for the Dog to Pee”

Cleanliness is Next to Insanity. Also, a Review of Cat Litter.

This last week, I lost my sunglasses. To fully understand the tragedy of this event, you must know that this was my girlfavorite pair of sunglasses. They were stylish, lightweight, fit me perfectly, and were dark enough that if someone was talking to me, I could ignore them completely and they never knew. Oh, and they protected my eyes too.

Now they’re gone and I have to wear my back-up pair. Actually I have two back-up pairs. (I live in Phoenix, after all.) But neither pair is as nice as the pair I lost.

Well, maybe lost isn’t the correct word. I know exactly where they are.

They are wrapped in three plastic grocery bags, knotted twice, and sitting at the bottom of our garbage bin. Our outside garbage bin.

Here’s what happened …

Continue reading “Cleanliness is Next to Insanity. Also, a Review of Cat Litter.”