It's almost 8 when Minor nudges me awake. The clear skies herald the sun just as it peeks over the southern hills. Quillow, who has continued to live up to his name of tranquility, gets excited seldom but then truly does jump up and down. His endeavor at welcoming the morning lifts my spirits even higher.
I step around the muddied carpet and hope a dedicated vacuuming will lift most of whatever it is.
Yesterday Minor (who will always be himself) took his new friend to a "swamp" of black ill-smelling muck. I might have marveled at his ability to find any open water since it has been weeks since the temperature has risen above freezing.
The smell alerted me to Quillow's "boots," terribly obvious once Minor, the Innocent (Ha!), is back in the house. Quillow gets my message but Minor returns not one but two times more before his day is over.
A quick out for the dogs and time for breakfast.
Quillow is fed first. This is not a race, guys. Besides, Minor needs his meds and the dollop of canned food I am told (by his dermatologist no less) must accompany to increase their effectiveness.
The cat Beauty follows me as I refill the dog food container. She climbs right into the bin and avidly scarfs down the three bites I give her. Her appetite for doggy things has obviously never diminished. Being the diminutive female in the house of huge hairy males, she continues her role of prime complainer. The red-head no longer threatens her (he never did) but ignores her now which she finds even more annoying.
I am glad I waited yesterday until mid-afternoon to feed the birds for the feeders remain filled and I can enjoy the steady parade as I sip a second cup of coffee. It still amazes me how quickly the little creatures can empty containers vastly larger than they.
Yesterday promised sunshine but no sooner did I mark it than the clouds returned - and stayed. The radio promises a good day - again. Shall I believe them this time?
I marveled at the stars during the night and had to return for my glasses to confirm that that huge flickering spotlight was indeed the moon, just rising over the hill and hiding between the bare branches of the cherries.
A medley from "The Mikado" comes on. In my high school days I was actually a soprano (not my present bass) and, when alone, loved to sing "The Moon and I." Much too turned inward back then, I could only marvel at anyone who could repeat - and believe - those magical words at the end of the first verse. "I mean to rule the earth as he the sky." Today I do. I will.
Quillow sleeps now at my feet. In spite of all the changes his life has recently seen, he seems to have fully accepted his life here with me. I doubt if either of us could be happier and I make a silent promise to do all within my power to keep it that way.
Minor lies not far away. He has one eye on the birds strolling beneath the feeder. For the moment he allows even the mourning doves, for some reason his most recent nemesis, to do their thing in peace.
I remember the soiled carpet and know this moment will not last. For now, however, I marvel at the beauty ... and the stillness.
"We really know our worth, the sun and I."
For today, I believe.
Susan Crossett is a Cassadaga resident. Send comments to firstname.lastname@example.org