Sunday, May 10, 2015

So long Oz

Ozzie May 24, 1998 - May 8, 2015
Ozzie's gone - the spirit was very willing but that tough little fluffy noisy bod had just had enough. We sure miss him tons already.

Cat of many names: Oz, Ozzifer, Ozzychuck (when we lived in Winnipeg), Ozmatoz, Tiger, Pumpkin, and unabashedly determined Bottomless-Love-Bucket.
May 2011.
Just last fall, when the geek hosted a party of about forty other geeks in town for a conference, Harriet was AWOL upstairs, but Oz was working the room, extracting pats with motor on full volume. Nothing aloof about my Pumpkin.

He was challenging to photograph, because he was usually moving. Usually moving toward you if you crouched down with a camera pointed at him.
July 2000. Classic: Oz eyes me while H eyes his chow dish. "You done with that?"
September 2008.
May 2011
February 2009
Oz was an amazing athlete. When I went to pick them both up from the pet food store where the Humane Society put cats for adoption, he bolted as soon as they opened the cage. The store clerk and I spent about 20 minutes chasing him around amongst the shelves of big chow bags. No one could jump higher or twist more elegantly mid-air when chasing the bungee-bird. And he became a ratter extraordinaire, sometimes depositing corpses longer than he was from whiskers to tail...right where someone (most memorably Mum, during a visit a couple of years ago) was going to step on them unawares in the middle of the night.
June 2003. Love to eat them ratties...
September 2013. Sorry, but you gotta admire the skill and style.
Cleansing action shots:
February 2009
June 2012
November 2008
Oz liked to explore and find hidey holes. When we moved house in December 2002, he went missing for a few days. I put posters everywhere, met all the neighbours ("have you seen a fluffy tuxedo in your yard?"), and spent hours and hours wandering around calling. Tragic. At 2am Christmas morning, I was woken by a signature yowl on the front step - there was Oz, wet and tired and very hungry. I feel certain he had gotten trapped in someone's garage while he was checking out his new turf. That did seem to rein him in a little. Nevertheless, a few years later, here at the Chateau, he did not show up for dinner one night. I went out looking, and just by fluke heard another signature yell (vide infra) coming from inside the basement door of the hospital next door. I guess some workmen had left the door open that afternoon for a while, and himself had gone in to check it out. It took a long time to find the night supervisor with a key.
May 2013
The boy had a set of pipes, and a vocabulary that was operatic in range, a true coloratura.
I used to imagine Ozzie's brain as a sparkly jumble of shiny wires, that were occasionally touching each other and shorting out with a little "zzt - zzt" (imagine John Lithgow in Buckaroo Bonzai, touching his tongue to the live electrode). And this was long before the vet surmised that he probably had some little neural tumours that started to affect his motor control, giving him a charming twitch.
March 2003
He was very handsome pretty. People had trouble believing he was a boy. And with all that fur, who could tell?  We just had the vet's word to go on. Except for the way he strutted after chasing off feline intruders or the occasional unfortunate dog who invaded his space.
July 2000.
July 2000.
June 2009.
July 2008.


May 2013.
Oz liked to help in the garden, especially when he felt the gardener needed to be reminded that it was supper time. While he was definitely the beta cat in the family, Harriet relied on him to the very end to get this message across.
June 2012.
February 2009.
August 2013.
April 2011.
August 2012.
 Ah, we're all going to miss hanging out with Oz.
January 2013.
January 2010.
February 2010.
 What a lovely boy.
March 2004
If anyone has any other Oz stories or reminiscences, please hit me in the Comments!

Sunday, September 14, 2014

Fall flowers, cats, and toes

ixia
toes
"seriously?"
indifference
rudbeckia

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Cats and planters

I took my mum on a Sunday drive to one of my favourite nurseries, just to have a poke around, of course, and ended up with a whole lot of nice little things that needed planting. Of course. A major portion of the little goodies ended up as the bones of a Project, which was to fill up the concrete planters at the head of the driveway (see above) with some colour and texture. (The snapdragon was looking lonely.)
But there were others, too, so it's a good thing that I have/had a lot of empty pots sitting on the deck.
Oh, yes, bag of potting soil, you can relax for now...while I just arrange the iceplants and edelweiss, and consult the locals on the plan.
"Yes, the box definitely looks better without all that stuff in it."
Tough to get constructive criticism from the locals.  It's like herding cats.
"Where are you going?"
Well, at least Oz took some interest.
"I approve."
For a while.
"Sleepy now."
Getting there.  Looks nice!
"Yeah whatever."
All done!
"Yup."

Sunday, May 25, 2014

L'après-midi d'un fawn

Look what mama deer produced in our back yard on a gorgeous, warm Victoria Day holiday Monday! The geek took this shot an hour or so after baby arrived - you can see s/he's still wet and a bit wobbly. It is really fun to watch those back legs learning how to work for, instead of against, baby's wishes!

They stayed until the next morning.  I saw baby taking another, now less-wobbly practice trip around the yard as I left for my run. When I got back, mama decided she'd had enough of my oggling, and they slowly made their way out through the cedar hedge.

Sunday, February 23, 2014

Cat wants out?

Well, she thinks she does. I'm out there, aren't I?

Not much of a day for it, though, Harriet - honest. It is wet and drippy and it is trying to snow. Here is one of our epic garden puddles.
And here are some brave croci, each dealing with their own puddles.

Elsewhere, the croci have less water but more mud to deal with. Actually, it is kind of amazing the deer haven't eaten these...yet.

The Christmas rose is a couple of months late, but doing OK. Deer don't like hellebores. Pricklies.
Deer don't like shastas either, which gives these croci some protection. Shastas really are amazing thugs - look at the winter foliage!

What a brave kitty! Admirable!
"What the...?! Did you know it was snowing out here?"