You Say Goodbye and I Say Hello

This post has been a while in the making.

I was afraid to write it....

My last rattie, Max, passed away from old age the summer of 2017. I held him gently under my hoodie, next to my heart, as he took his last breath. The hurt never scabbed over....

I'd planned to wait a bit before adopting another, and that wasn't hard to do since none of the area pet 'warehouses' seemed to carry them any longer.

But then I ran across a single 'blue' rat pup in a mall store crowded with kittens and puppies for the holidays and my heart stopped. James tried to talk me into him but I was just too afraid to give my heart away again. And by the time I thought I was ready, he was already gone....

I was crushed! And I've regretted not adopting him ever since....

So imagine my delight when I visited that same store this past winter just days before Christmas (and exactly one year later!) and discovered this sweet little one. Just 8 weeks old, silvery blue!, a carbon copy of the one I let get away. The salesgirl there opened the cage and put him on my palm and my heart broke wide open.

And thanks to my James, he went home with me for Christmas....

I'm not a noob. I've had ratties almost all my adult life. I made sure to continue with the food he'd started at the pet store. I made sure to use aspen bedding. I let the new baby settle in.

I wanted to give him an 'M' name, like all my other ratties. And I thought it should be Christmas-related. I began making a list:

• Marley
• Myrrh
• Menorah
• Merry
• Mistletoe....

But that night I dreamed that I walked up to his cage, expecting to find him but finding my old Max instead -- alive and well again! -- and I said, "Max, what are YOU doing here??" And Max said to me, "I'm not Max. I am so much more." So when I woke, I named this little one 'Much.'

The next day was Christmas proper. My local grandbugs visited and longed to hold the new baby, but I kept them apart just to give Much more time to acclimate.

By that weekend -- just a couple days later -- he began showing vague symptoms: repeatedly digging in his ear, tilting his head....

I've fostered a rat that had gone untreated for an inner ear infection and it wasn't pretty. I like to think that I made the remainder of his life a happy one. Seeing signs that Much could be in the early stages of something similar made me panic. He'd have to see someone immediately.

It was the holidays. What vet could possibly see him?? James phoned the pet store; it was no help. The person there had no suggestions nor any recommendations of a vet in the area that could see such a small animal. I called the Animal ER and was told we could bring him in, but when we got there I was turned away at the desk. Only cats and dogs, said the person there, and I assured her that whomever I spoke to on the phone said they'd see him. After some behind-the-scenes questioning of the staff, Much was taken backstage and given a once-over....

The doctor who examined him said she could find nothing wrong, but that didn't mean there wasn't an infection in the inner ear. So she started him on antibiotics and we brought him home again.

And he was fine.

He was fine.

Until he wasn't.

We watched television together, curled up warm on the couch, and Much was on my shoulder, tucked under my neck, cuddled in my hoodie. I loved on him a bit, then returned him to his terrarium. And when I checked on him that night before bed, he was gone.

It was the last straw for me.

The whole day had already been sad and tearful and full of big disappointments, and this just put me into a tailspin.... just as I was preparing to say goodbye to the old year and welcome the new.

I believed then that Much was already ill when I adopted him, and I still believe it. But that does nothing to assuage my grief and disappointment. The only thing that even makes me feel marginally better is knowing that for the short time that he was with me he was loved COMPLETELY and will be incredibly missed....

Not long after his death Much appeared to me in a dream. He looked just like his little self, only 'different,' and I used his appearance as the basis for a story. And here it is:

A STORY

As usual, the old key budged stubbornly in the lock, and it was all she could do to get it to turn. Forcing it gave her some quick and heated attitude.

“No, no no…. Don’t let my New Year start on a crabby note,” she grumbled to herself just as the mechanism succumbed and clunked, and the heavy glass door opened with a gentle swoosh. She swiped the light switch with a mittened hand, illuminating the darkened North Studio with its long empty tables and upturned chairs. Immediately a wave of comfort washed over her and she silently thanked the Universe that – at least for the moment – she had the place all to herself.

Her moist boots squeaked across the cement floor. One more key, one more turn, one more light switch and her own little studio brightened to life. She inhaled deeply the smell of dry paper and dried leaves, her eyes taking in the chaos of creativity, recalling happily the recent time she proudly shared the little studio with her dad. After what seemed like a stunned pause he’d said, “Well…. You sure have a lot of stuff,” and her heart swelled pleasantly now just thinking about it. She did have a lot of stuff! And reacquainting herself with it all again after the bustle of the Holidays made her socks go up and down.

Immediately: backpack on the chair, jacket on the display rack. A quick glance then into each of the empty cups on her drawing table told her which was for beverages and which was for ink water, and she dropped a tea bag into the proper one before walking back out into the North room, filling the cup at the water cooler, loading it into the old microwave, and then setting the carousel atwirl with the press of a button. As the timer counted down, she leisurely absorbed her surroundings: the color and chaos of the big room’s furnishings, the smell of paints and brush cleaner, the echoes of laughter and creativity. What a pleasure to be there again after all the stress of the Holidays!

The microwave pinged. She carefully removed the steaming cup and gave it a sip before returning to the little room again and closing the door. Instead of clearing off the drawing table she simply pushed everything forward to make space before adding a sheet of cardstock and grabbing a pencil. It was a pencil she’d found on her walk there that morning, stabbed point first in the snow on the ground near the School of the Arts. A yellow #2 Ticonderoga that had been nibbled to death in the middle. It made her smile to see this and recall her own elementary school days a million years ago spent nibbling her own yellow pencils….

“Alexa, play some ambient music.”

A pause. A little pirouette of light from a device on her windowsill.

“Playing ‘ambient music’ on Pandora,” came a disembodied female voice behind her, and a selection from a fantasy movie soundtrack began. She picked up the pencil and drew.

The music made her think of mountains. And snow…. Friends on a quest, meeting adventure head on….

By the end of the lengthy selection she was surprised to discover that her hand had drawn a tiny creature with perky ears, a long tail and long whiskers, black button eyes goggling with curiosity… and little feathered wings.

And over the figure was a word balloon.

And the word balloon said,

“I am so much more.”

The End

...

A Day in the Life....

I wake to the sounds of lovebird Thurston downstairs shrieking from his cage, and a frantic look around tells me that the cat's not in bed with me. I immediately wonder if I left someone's cage door open overnight and Boo has taken notice.

Still half asleep and disoriented, I stub my toe on the door frame as I run for the stairs. Tattletale Thurston is fine, but I discover Lily's cage is open. She's safe on her perch as usual, now looking at me in alarm.

What was the problem? Thurston thought it was high time he was fed....

He's not the only one. My whole house is hungry.

Before bothering to turn on the kettle, I begin feeding the 30+ monarch caterpillars that are enclosed in their little beer cups on my kitchen counter. One by one. Leaf by leaf. Each 'cat' is studied (is it eating?, thriving?, otherwise healthy?). Each cup is emptied of its poop. Each leaf remnant is replaced with fresh milkweed. Each 'cat' is transferred onto its fresh leaf with a paintbrush....

The task takes time but could be so much worse. I've fostered 100+ caterpillars at one time in the past; feeding that many is a full-time affair. And today I'm also collecting info, taking pics, measuring one caterpillar in each instar phase -- all to be used as props and documentation in any opportunities I may have at this season's Fest to teach others about the monarchs.

Knee-deep in my caterpillar routine there's a familiar 'thunk' at my back door. I know what it is. This happens every morning on the days that I feed Lily and Thurston but fail to bring their spent seed and leftovers outside to the feeder. Sure enough -- moments later there's a scrabbling outside my kitchen and soon a grey squirrel is peering in the window over my sink, giving me the stink-eye as I stand at my counter.

I pause in my routine to bring seed outside to the feeder and I see him hiding behind the trunk of the mulberry, watching me with one eye. I see the chipmunk, too, hiding in the hostas. And beyond is Bad Bunny in a patch of blooming clover. Wrens dart from birdhouse to birdhouse, chittering. A monarch flutters up from the back corner, reminding me that I must check that dwindling milkweed patch for eggs and caterpillars. My back garden is full of activity and I long to pull up a patio chair, enjoy a cup of coffee, and just watch it. But there's too much to do....

A quick walk through the dining room in search of my reading glasses reveals the turtles in their tank,  finished with their breakfast now and further worrying a strip of plastic caulk in the corner of the aquarium. I pause to remove it and to appreciate their wonderfulness. Tiny turtle hatchlings, so small and perfect, almost like jewelry. And with SO much personality!

I quickly check Nell in her terrarium below them and notice she looks 'different.' Long hairy tarantula legs poking at odd angles from the end of her hollow log. A quick blow into the screen top doesn't make them retract, but it does make an additional pair of legs appear at the other end! The effect is bizarre and makes me think of a slinkydog or a pushme-pullyu. But it's just that she's moulted. I must remember to look for a jar or a specimen box just in case the moult is all in one piece (because how cool would that be??).

About the time I've finished feeding and checking on the others -- James's beta fish, his snake Syntche, the little housemouse, rattie Max -- Boo appears. It's foodtime for her, too. I've wondered where she's been hiding since my frantic wake-up call revealed she wasn't in bed with me. Or in any of her other hide-outs. Or underfoot, as usually happens first thing in the morning. Who knows where she's been? But wherever it was, I'm sure it's cozy. Someplace I'd like to curl up in if I were a cat.

I feed her before putting on my shoes and grabbing my tool caddies -- two cardboard 6-pack Guinness carriers wrapped in duct tape and outfitted with a pair of scissors, a bottle of drinking water, two ziploc containers lined with moist paper towels, and a little bottle of WD-40 in the event my bike -- 'Gladys' -- is especially squeaky. I pack everything into her basket and we're off.

And then I remember: I fed everyone but myself! Good thing I brought an apple. :)

The day is glorious. A Calvin and Hobbes day. The sun is warm on my back. The clouds are billowy overhead. I reach Postage Stamp Pond and it's too pretty for words, but I'd best keep my eye on the bike path so I can be sure to dodge the occasional pile of dog poop and the dozen or so fly-covered toads, all squashed into the tar by bike tires. Some sad in the midst of my happy.... The poop disgusts me. The toad bodies just break my heart. I love toads. I used to see so many of them when I was a child, and now it seems there are so few. So when I suspect they're being targeted on the walking path, it pains me. Although, to be fair, when James and I walked it recently at the very end of the day, it alarmed us how the toads looked just like rocks in front of us as they lay basking in the heat of the day-warmed path. Had we not been vigilant we'd have squashed a dozen or so between us. They didn't move, even when we prodded them with a toe. Perfect targets....

I ride to where the path meets the busy road. And instead of crossing and continuing on, I turn around, leave Gladys to graze on the verge, and begin to collect milkweed. Dried white spatters tell me where I harvested leaves the day before; the milkweed juice is opaque as paint. There are bees everywhere, and electric blue 'darning needles.' A family of Canada geese eyes me warily as I inch along, but I ignore them. My hunting turns up nothing but a single monarch egg.... I fill a plastic container with enough leaves for my existing herd and return to where Gladys waits on the bike path.

Back again in my cluttery kitchen I put the leaf with its little monarch egg into a shotglass full of fresh water. The ziploc containers with their fresh milkweed leaves get placed in the fridge; their contents will come in handy tonight when I feed and check the late-stage caterpillars before bed. It's afternoon now and all the monarch work is over for a bit, I think. But then I remember the little patch of dwindling milkweed at the bottom of my garden and I go outside to check it.

Happy day! -- three more hatchlings.

Work's not over yet.
...

Celebrate Your Sweeties

Hug'm, feed'm, luv'm, need'm,

Look into their eyes and greet'm,

Walk'm, pet'm, play 'Go-Get-'Em,'

Never let yourself forget'm.

None to luv? Adopt a stray --

'Cause it's National Pet Day!

~delayne.

...

The folks who provide my blog widget (yay, Punchbowl!; check it out, over there in the right margin) tell us that today is National Pet Day.

Here at Tumbledown, this is a BIG AFFAIR. There are many little friends here to hug on!

Do you have a pet? Are you like me and surround yourself with critters? Want to talk about them here? :)
...
 

Meet the Newbies

Do not be fooled by their sweet faces....

In addition to these not-always-so-daily posts I also write a not-always-so-daily e-mail blast, and one of the things I like to include in each is the info provided by the fun folks at Punchbowl who provide my blog widget (scroll down at right and you'll see it).

Today when I clicked on the widget to get more info (it's National Hot Fudge Sundae Day, yay!), I also learned that this week is National Zookeeper's Week. Well, huh! With all the creatures I happily tend here at Tumbledown each day -- the monarch 'pillars; the grandbug's terrarium of pillbugs; the beta fish, cockatiel, housemouse, snakes, tarantula, blah, etc., fill-in-the-blank -- I feel like I should be taking the week off in celebration.

So in honor of my perceived 'zookeeperishness' I'll take this opportunity to share with you Tumbledown's most recent addition: meet 'Lovey' and 'Thurston,' a pair of rescued lovebirds (courtesy of my James, who isn't bothered by insane tropical bird noise, for which I'm totally grateful).

Lovey's on the left in the photo above. She looks all sweet and ladylike, doesn't she? Guess again! These were abandoned birds for a reason, and I have a hole in the thumb of my Menard's leather gardening gloves to prove it.

But I'm patient.
...

If the Sign Fits, Display It

A gift from the Faux-Mom-in-Law, who totally understands me....

A few weeks ago there was a mouse in the live trap I'd set, the one I'd baited with Skippy and put out just the night before.

When I checked it the next morning, I wasn't as surprised to find the Skippy gone as I was to discover my target inside it, nursing her newborn jellybeans.

And where another person might see a Free Snake Food Opportunity, I went in the opposite direction. I happily outfitted a maternity terrarium. For the creature I'd originally intended to trap and evict from my home. The one that had now multiplied itself. Greatly.

That should tell you a little something....

'Ferb', scowling at the camera

At any given moment there are creatures here. Some of them even intentional. Over the years I've housed, befriended, raised, and loved everything from the Normal to the Not So Much. There were the usual strays and adoptees, of course, combined with whatever the cats dragged home or my Girlz found under rocks. I nursed stuff back to health and fed motherless things without fur or feathers. I administered formula and cooked special diets and got up every two hours around the clock. I fed caterpillars, fledged butterflies, nurtured tadpoles, released froglings, and misted slugs and stickbugs and toads. I learned to like spiders.

Currently my 'zoo' isn't as densely populated as it has been in the past. It's down the mother housemouse and her brood that I mentioned earlier (thankfully). And 'Phineas' and 'Ferb,' the two tiny turtles my eldest Grandbug found and gave to me to raise over a year ago, have since matured and been returned to the pond from whence they came (sadly).

'Syntche', the stowaway corn snake

I mentioned snakes earlier. I've never thought of myself as a snake person, but I now have two and love them both (who knew they could be so interesting??). And there are stickbugs, as well, and a pair of Betafish, and James's tarantula, 'Nell.' And you already know about Boo, the rescue kitty.

And not so very long ago, it seems, there was a ferret and a cocker spaniel, and a whole herd of ratties, and a starling that whistled and talked. And soon there will be the enormous summertime job of raising milkweed caterpillars into Monarch butterflies.

*Contented sigh*....

As you may have guessed by now, I don't have Martha Stewart standards. Tumbledown's not for the faint of heart. It's a working house, plain and simple. One where a kid can feel comfortable running indoors with an earthworm in his hands and not feel as though he has to take his shoes off first. It's for people like me who aren't easily grossed-out, who aren't afraid of a little dirt (or alot), who anticipate the occasional cat hair in the Cheerios, who are more comfortable with creatures than they are with human company.

'Lily' of the molted feathers

But sometimes human company is important. I'm grateful for James, who shares my esthetics, but once in a while I entertain the notion of having you over for tea. But then I take a moment to REALLY look around me.

There's the furry chair cushion that Boo sleeps on. There's the Beta tank with its current algae bloom. And even though I swear I swept it all up yesterday, spent birdseed already crunches underfoot as I cross the hardwood floor.

There's my collection of Lily's molted feathers displayed in a vase (right next to the jar of cat whiskers and not overly far from the jar of shed snakeskin), too incredibly exotic to throw away....

Jingly cat toys share the dark recesses under my furniture with assorted hair ties, pipe cleaners, and dust bunnies so evolved they've created a union.

Art-related flotsam litters my dining room table and shares space with sciencey stuff. Books claim nearly all other horizontal surfaces. Shelves overflow.....

Passion Ivy runs amok

Surprises lurk in the unlikeliest of places: a cicada specimen, all eyes and veiny cellophane wings; a perfect snail shell, the souvenir of my visit to a nature center; a trio of tiny acorns that a grandbug gifted me; a thumb-sized moth cocoon looking for all the world like a fairy sarcophagus designed by H.R. Geiger.

Plants modeling various forms of the word 'thrive' crowd my front window like jungle cover, and on sunny days the assorted crystals that hang from them cast my living room in rainbows.

Tealight holder? Not anymore....

Things that aren't meant to be (but are now) fairyhouses are everywhere. Little letters to their occupants (written in a preschooler's hand) are tucked between chapter books and spill out alongside recipe cards and Notes to Self and articles I still mean to read and crosswords I still plan to solve. Toys fill in as paperweights, keeping the bills in check until they're paid or the toys are put back into play.

I have yet to sweep or dust or wash dishes or put away laundry. It's after noon already and I've yet to eat breakfast.... But the 'zoo' has been loved and fed, drawings created, pages studied and dog-eared, e-mails answered. I've explored ideas and revisited memories. I've made the coffee. I've cleaned terrariums.....

And you'll recall I'll have to move all those colored pencils, pads of paper, books full of ideas gleaned from magazines and mail order catalogs, all those fill-in-the-creative-blanks if I expect you to sit at my table for tea.

And I do want you to come for tea! I do....

But it occurs to me as I write this post (and agonize over it a little bit) that there's a reason why I discourage visitors. At least adult visitors (kid visitors understand, I think): Few but me could look upon this mess and see it for the heaven that it is.
...