Winter stubbornly refuses to loosen its icy grip on Wisconsin to surrender to spring.
Downy Woodpecker Picoides pubescens (top) and Hairy Woodpecker Picoides villosus
It's snowing again. I retreat to my armchair with another cup of coffee, two chocolate-chip cookies and a soft blanket for warmth over my knees. I'm adding a dash of real Irish Cream to my coffee today, just because.
Both dogs are sleeping curled in furry cuddles around my ankles. There's no patrolling for squirrels today, as it's too cold and windy for them to venture out and about to cause chaos.
I shared this diary earlier about shooting birds through the window from my armchair.
The cat straddles my lap, hogging the blanket as he stretches. He's 20-years young and old-age deaf, but still vibrates with a loud purr when stroked. In the silence of his world, the vacuum cleaner is no longer terrifying.
He's never been outside to walk or stalk the untamed wilds. He thrives indoors, living in this enclosed artificial earthship called our house. Watching birds still makes his tail twitch and excites a short chatter of squeaky chirps.
Domestic cat Felis catus
This is Useless aka Mr. Underfoot, doing his thing in the bookcase, checking out the field guides, writing reviews and doing other cool stuff that cats do when they've got twenty years to do it. Well, maybe I'm flourishing his accomplishments a bit, but he's great at watching birds.
Mr. Underfoot passed away quietly in his sleep a few weeks ago. He didn't let me know he was leaving. He just left. His dying seemed so easy for him, but so hard for me.
Incoming! Now... that's a real tail-twitcher!
We live in an isolated rural area where people tend to throw unwanted things away along side the road. Twenty years ago, my 12-year old son heard a tiny kitten crying in the yard by the flower garden near the fish pond and brought him home, for forever. Rescued!
The bond between boy and cat was strong even after the boy grew up and left home for college and beyond. Mr. Underfoot stayed behind comfortable and content to wait for the many joyous visits from his boy.
Oh, goodness, that little boy is now a man of thirty-three years. Where did the time go?
I swear, Mr. Underfoot never had a sick day in all his life. Well, maybe he barfed a hairball or two on the carpet or in my shoe just to prove me wrong.
I could go on about his highlights and his shortfalls all day. Right now it just hit me, this is the first time I'm sitting in my armchair shooting birds through the window without a cat on my lap.
Cheers to
Mr. Underfoot for a long lived life filled with love! These birds are for you.
Godspeed Mr. Underfoot. Rest in peace old birdwatching buddy.
I'll carry you in my heart and on my lap forever.
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