“‘Come out of your shell’ – that noxious expression which fails to appreciate that some animals naturally carry shelter everywhere they go and some humans are just the same.” – Susan Cain
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Tag: cat
Forces of Nature
Once again, iceberg season has arrived in Newfoundland.
Icebergs are beautiful to photograph and are a huge Force of Nature ( we only have to think of the Titanic disaster ) but the pack ice that often accompanies them can wreak their own special havoc. In our part of the world, these masses of moving ice interfere with fishing and sometimes even trap whales and dolphins.
In the area of Bonavista Bay North where I live, the water is too shallow to allow the big icebergs to get very close, but we do see plenty of pack ice and bergy bits.
Enter the seagulls. These hardy scavenger birds are so well-adapted to this rugged environment, I am in awe. Their ability to not only survive, but to thrive here, may well be called another force of nature.
Like all of our feathered friends in the northern hemisphere, seagulls mate in spring. This is the time of year in Newfoundland we see them answer to their instinct and pair off to procreate. They are monogamous, usually with one mate for life.
On the evening I took these photos, the setting sun cast interesting shadows and hues upon the ice and the water.
Of course, speaking of a force of nature, our Vivian needed to be a part of it all.
What Forces of Nature do you have in your backyard?
Endless Chill
The urge to go outside is intense.
Everything is aglitter, you say, but you see my nose press against the window and the fog of my breath on the cool glass.
You acquiesce. When I step into the wintry air, I wait for a whisper of a moment, then gingerly, silently, push on.
Since my last outdoor foray, our familiar garden by the sea has transformed into an alien, frozen world, gilded with ice. Each bramble and bush laminated in a thick, crystalline coat, every amber blade dressed in its stiff raiment of frost. With a watchful step, I venture out on the crust of snow.
Nothing wiggles in the undergrowth. That is the weird thing. No voles to hunt. No shrews to track. No grass birds to chase. Somewhere, they hide, somewhere, they abide, sequestered away. A vague memory surfaces of another time when the earth, with all its movement and life, lay frozen. Will they return as before?
The wind gusts, my whiskers twitch. You did warn I wouldn’t like it.
My home is filled with warm comforts, flush with love and water and treats and a full bowl of food.
I wonder why I am here in this bleak and boreal netherworld.
My paws, by this time, are numbed by the pitiless cold.
Each tender little pad glows bright pink, like frozen raspberries.
The bliss and warm embrace of my domestic nest beckons. Despite my feral, tigerish airs, I am not a wild beast.
I have no need to brave the savage bite of winter.
I have had my fill of this endless chill and plod home, eyes on your face, gaze questioning:
Is spring only a rosy dream?
Weekly Photo Challenge: The Rule of Thirds
Writing Form: Prose Poetry
It’s a Feline Thing
I am a cat.
I am quiet, domesticated
yet fiercely independent.
I pad silently about my domain
at an easy, unhurried pace.
I seem harmless, affectionate
even submissive as I bask
in a warm patch of sunlight.
When ego dictates
I mingle happily among people,
eager, impatient, hungry for attention.
Yet most of the time
I am too proud, too aloof to be touched.
I enjoy when they stroke my sleekness,
pamper me, spoil me as I purr
but my preference for solitude
always wins out.
I like to belong, feel secure in the love of others
and yet will be owned by no one.
And if anyone or anything threatens
my well-being?
A startling transformation will occur.
This quietly domestic, submissive little creature
will turn feral,
will arch, spit, scratch
to defend what she cares about,
with no thought of consequence.
The havoc I wreak
when talons are drawn and teeth are bared
you will not soon forget.
And somehow, no matter how hard the fight or
how far the fall, I land on my feet.
I am a survivor.
Maybe it’s true.
A cat really does have nine lives.
Do you think you have a cat personality?
Or is there another animal you identify with?
Related articles
- Cat Talk (erikhare.wordpress.com
- Cat people are more distinctive than dog people (psychologytoday.com)
- Cat Survives Being Buried Alive (fox8.com)
- Cat Stuck in Bumper Survives Car Wash and Drive (autoevolution.com)
Cat’s Eye
She is solitary,
silent as a spectre,
outside on another tentative
feline adventure.
On soft freckled pads, with
green eyes ever searching,
she sees, hears, smells the world
the way it is. Its cold reality.
Her white whiskered face
suddenly feral and hungry, she
runs, returns home to the warm lap
she has grown to trust.
No longer silent, but with rattling purrs,
she nuzzles and exchanges
a sandpaper kiss for the expected
morsel of love.
In that little Cat’s eye
that sees my soul and stares into
my heart
there is nowhere to hide.
I see my reflection.
Jennifer's Journal 