January 2011

I have a Picture Window in my den.

Mostly I use my Picture Window to look out of. But to the critters in the backyard, my Picture Window is their view in. That’s Taffy (above) checking out the view in. If you think it might be disconcerting to have a cat watching you from the other side of your Picture Window,

try getting the Hairy Eyeball from a Blue Jay.

Or the Frank Curiosity of a Cardinal:

 

You might have noticed that it was snowing when I took these pictures out of my Picture Window on Wednesday. Snowy days are surprisingly good days for bird watching,

just ask Lickety,

who got on the cardinal’s nerves,

so he took off and flew up into the tree

to hang out with his pals,

where there was a Blue Jay in a bad mood (what else is new?) who didn’t like sharing his tree with the Red Riding Hood Gang so he dive-bombed them

in a vain attempt to claim all the branches for himself.          What? You don’t see the Blue Jay here?  In flight?   In the lower left hand corner?

Here he is:

See that blur?

Taffy missed it too.

There’s nothing better than watching the world out of your Picture Window.

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It snowed during the night again. My Champagne-O-Meter had a new-fallen cap of powder on him.

The new snow made it hard for the cats to nip into the backyard shed. So Lickety decided to beat the path.

 

Little birdies can make quite a mess, too. Oh sure, they look sweet:

But they have terrible manners, spilling their bird seed all over the place:

So, with all this new snow and old habits on my mind, it was a good day to clean out the linen closet.

Imagine my surprise when I pulled out a small Saks Fifth Avenue shopping bag (Where did that come from? I never shop at Saks) and looked inside and found my long lost baby mitten collection!

Readers of When Wanderers Cease to Roam might know these mittens from page 11:

This is the picture I called Mindfulness and Mittens:

A Collecting mittens became my favorite Winter hobby, when I was living in that little village on the Long Island Sound during that decade that I write about in When Wanderers Cease to Roam. Keeping an eye out for lost mittens — only the smallest ones would do — like they were truffles; or strange, Winter-blooming roses: it kept me on the alert for possibilities, kept me in the game during these most sensory-deprived months of the year. It was part of what I call my Winter Mind.

When I got married and moved into Top Cat’s house, I lost track of those mittens. I’ve been wondering for years (all seven years that I’ve lived in his 100-year old house) what happened to them and today I found the collection, just waiting to re-enact page 11…

Tea bag for scale.

I still collect little lost mittens. The collection now totals 24.

Yes,  I am quite the connoisseur collector.

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This is what the Champagne-O-Meter looked like when I woke up this morning:

Good thing the dining room window has such a lovely view of the morning sun…

 

And lo, from out of the woods in the backyard…

…comes roaming a lone ranger…

…name of Lucky…

…looking to rustle up a little breakfast.

Bibs, of curse kept an  eye on him, in case Lucky started heading over to a breakfast bowl that was not his.

Bibs plowed his way to the patio himself, all the way from the hutch:

 

That’s all I wanted to show you today, some sweet kitties in the snow.

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