Spring Doings

Yesterday came the first spider, renewing the yearly battle between Homo sapiensis Susan versus the Leggedy Spiders of the Lake.  These people are huge, prickly, bitey-looking things so busy making webs inside the bathroom where it is not likely they will catch much more than cat hair.   I will fix the screen, which is the reason the hapless find their way in.

A reason it has not been fixed is that I live on the ninth floor, and popping out a screen means a tightrope act of not dropping it onto someone's head.  The screens are jumpy, snappy, and slippery and god knows that a cat could somehow maneuver it's way into the equation makes it equally inspiring to take up something safe, like knitting.  The cats love when I knit, but then, they like catching spiders and delivering them to me on my pillow at night which has happened.  Live from Buffalo. 

I have vowed to equip the apartment with a bug catch and release, helped by Lulu, who has uncanny sensibilities when it comes to insects.  She is sad when I take over the operation, for I feel the way to end in this world is not as a source of protein that will be yacked up an hour later, and thus will take them down in the elevator to be freed.   She is praised for diligence and given a cat treat that isn't trying to wiggle away.

The spider method of retrieval is to threaten the animal with a shower brush so that it drops for escape, while holding a large butcher's tray underneath for catching.  The confused immigrant is then slid into a container with a lid, and saved till morning for scooting into a nearby bush.  The same with house centipedes, which eat young cockroaches; stink bugs, June bugs, and ants.  Out, all of youse. 

But that is only a part of the warmer weather; the area has been through snowdrops and squill, crocuses and daffodils, and is now mid-tulip.  Lilac buds are swelling, flowering trees are yelling their heads off, and the grass is that first, rare green of return.  Here in Buffalo, the denizens wear shorts and tank tops when it's in the low fifties, we are that tough.  The final pile of dirty snow-ice has been melted, what a world, what a world, and snow shovels are gladly exchanged for brooms to sweep clear sidewalks and streets.

The thrushes and finches have returned, a phoebe sings in the mornings, the robins chirrup way past dark and lay blue eggs.  A friend recounted an incident where her husband dismantled a nest on his outside speakers, but the mama bird insisted and rebuilt, giving the man a direct look that would shame a barrister.  The second nest is staying, so I have heard. 

Dandelions are exploding through scrap lots and yards, giving the bumble and other bees sweet yellow pollen to gather.  The hemisphere has awakened, humming along as it has done so for centuries; one wonders if millions.  When did the seasons develop?  Was there a dinosaur spring after a cooler period of months?  There certainly wasn't snow in the lower elevations; oxygen levels were higher, plants and animals grew to riotous proportion.  Did they have to migrate, as do our birds?  That's another speculative story on my part.

I lost cat Rodger back in mid-April; what was supposed to be stuffed up plumbing from spring shed turned out to be a grapefruit-sized tumor about half his body weight.  He wasn't a big fella, but certainly had the personality of a judicious samurai.  Gosh, I miss him; putting him down was unexpected and wrenching, but he had stopped eating, drinking, everything but washing my hand.  At the same time, an unknown had left a box of newborn kittens at the vet's doorstep, in the snow at Easter.

One of the vet techs had come in to care for the animals over the weekend, left, then returned when he wondered if he had latched a door securely.  There was a box at the door, filled with five black little bits; one wonders what circumstances led someone to abandon them on a freezing day when the veterinary was not open.  Nonetheless, a shelter may not have been equipped to provide the care which newborns require; kittens that young are usually put down, yet the guardian angel of Central Park Animal was certainly with them that day.  Dr. Persico, no doubt.

Turn the page a few weeks, and the last of the kittens needed a home, a boy who had an infection that prevented him from urinating comfortably.   Apparently, motherless kittens are designed to nurse, and will latch onto anything resembling a nipple, including boy bits.   They were all separated and the one given antibiotics, but when I saw him, there was pus and raw tissue; he's still swollen a little, but healing.  Everything works once again, and he came to his new home yesterday.

In fact, he went from a reticent, timid being to Godzilla-mode within the hour in spite of being told off by two of the others, Kai and Snowbelle.  The kitten pen is a blessing, as I can zip him in for overnight with plenty of room for food, litter pan, and IKEA sheepskin.  You do want to be reincarnated as a Coburn cat, lemme tell you. 

Roscoe has eaten like a champ, worried me some when no bathroom emissions emitted, smartly has made up for it today with both in plenty, and happy days for baby wipes.  He prowls around the living area, chased Snowbelle with pride for she ran from him (Roger would be thrilled to learn), and has hit the litter box target more often than not; he has skills in spite of being the tiniest cat I have ever acquired.  At six weeks old, his plumbing is growing into adjustment as well as his muscles, vision, hearing, and all the things which babies do.   He may outlive my lifespan, but already my son has been given notice. 

Have I mentioned a human grandbaby is on the way and will arrive this summer?   Today I am baking cookies for the shower at the shul with Dorian, Dana's mother; they will be transported to D.C. this Friday as we fly over the Southern Tier, Pennsylvania, and Maryland into Washington.  Watching the fields change seasons while above in the clouds is fascinating, and seeing the soil in farmlands blend from dark brown into an iron red gives you an idea how varied the planet is. 

Tonight is to be spring chilly, the momma birds will huddle closer over  fledglings, leaves will fold, blankets will cover little and big.  In the heavens, Jupiter and Saturn will be visible for most of the night, with Venus rising after sunset, Mars appearing in the early morning just past midnight.  Sleep while the planets wheel through the dark sky, charming our lives with the measure of time.  Perhaps I do understand.  Good night, dear hearts.