The Diplocat

So, our cat... Yeah, the one I mentioned in this post. She's become quite naughty of late. Little "surprises" have been left for us. She's done it before, but never with regularity until recently. (Let me say here that none of my past cats have ever partaken in such rudeness. Sigh.) Anyway, at first we thought it was a health issue, so we had various tests run; all was well. She's been put on various expensive cat foods, is now gluten-free for crying out loud, but to no avail. She is, quite simply, a very nervous and temperamental beast, but she's perfectly healthy.

Yes, she has an extra litter box. And yes, I clean it at least once daily. Sometimes the prizes she leaves are in very deliberate places, such as in front of her favorite person's workbench... or in my son's Croc sandal. Niiiiice. That makes me think she's letting us know when she's angry or hurt. Not that it makes her actions acceptable, mind you. Not at all.

I've thought many times of re-homing her. Of hurting her, even. In rage, as I spray yet more Resolve and pet scent remover (she never defecates in the same place twice), I've had fantasies of releasing her into the wild... And then, just as I ponder her unfortunate fate, she behaves herself again; she's incredibly cute and sweet, she rubs her scent on us, she shares a rare purr. I never forget how bad she is, but I do let it go and try to hope she'll stop her obnoxiousness. Until inevitably, she is obnoxious again.

I have declared, vociferously and repeatedly, that she is the last cat for me.

Except I keep meeting other cats that do not disappoint. Take my parents' awesome cat, for example: a delightful female who found them by appearing under an outbuilding one morning as a tiny kitten. That incredible cat hunts, stays outdoors, and never leaves inappropriate piles in places where someone is sure to step (unless you consider dead rodents to be inappropriate...) She's a great cat.

The most recent wonderful cat showed up at my son's piano lesson. As I sat on the "waiting couch" to read while my dude played for his teacher, here came a huge, solid-looking orange tabby with light green eyes. He jumped immediately onto the couch with me, proceeded to climb onto my lap, and then, oddly, he sat up and placed his two front paws over my left shoulder. Then he looked at me, imploring me to give the feline species another chance. I asked his name (Mozart—he does belong to a music teacher, after all), and we all chuckled at his very forward behavior. Mozie stayed with me for about 5 minutes, hugging my shoulder, gazing at me meaningfully while I rubbed the top of his head and neck. After a bit, he settled his heavy self next to me on the couch cushion, and napped while I read and the music played. I remembered that not every cat is as ungrateful and ill-mannered as mine. I felt a bit of the bitterness toward our own awful pet leave me, as the weight of that diplomatic orange fellow lifted from my shoulder.

She's still the last cat, though.

Happy, non-controversial distraction

I share my latest painting with you—to prove that I do, indeed, spend time in pursuits other than profiling my fellow grocery shoppers. (If you're confused, then you might want to refer to my previous post.)

Stay warm. Unless you're reading this from a balmy, sunny place. If that's the case, then please send my plane ticket—pronto.

Signs of spring

Here's the latest painting: a hoppity little fellow. Easter's approach always connotes the images of bunnies for me, probably for most of us. After wondering about the origins of the tradition, I read somewhere that Easter's pagan beginnings had a sharp focus on fertility. Heck, what's a better example of that than rabbits? Hence the "Easter Bunny." Weird. The savior of the world was raised from the dead, and we hide eggs (more fertility symbols) and give credit to a long-eared, madly breeding furball.

I have seen a few bunnies scrambling frantically in my evening headlights of late. Guess they're starting to get bored in those burrows, too.

Anyway. The painting is for sale in my Etsy shop.

I'll resume muttering at the stubborn snow now.

More fur

Here's the most recent commission: a lovely dog that went to its rightful owner yesterday. Now I am free to share her with you. Isn't she sweet?

What is it about animal eyes? I don't believe that animals have a soul that can be saved... and yet, their eyes are definitely soulful. Can something be "full of soul" but still lack one? The smartest animals I've known definitely have feelings, simple emotions, sensitive instincts that go well beyond their innate animal drives. We've all seen how they have loyalty to protect those who care for them. Are they capable of love? It would seem so, if you've ever come home to an animal that missed your presence and was happy to see you.

I suppose the jury is still out for me on this topic.

I did laugh out loud recently, though, when I witnessed our cat's latest trick. She has decided that she prefers the freshest water to drink, so she leaps lightly into the bath tub to steal any lingering drips from the faucet. That's not the trick, because a lot of cats do that; our last cat did the same thing. This kitty's trick is waiting for her turn in the bathroom.

We have only one bathroom, you see. (Yes, we dwell in the stone age.) Twice now, I've come out from having showered, and have found the cat sitting tidily, patiently on her gray haunches, a few inches from the doorway. The minute I open the door and emerge, the cat heads into the steamy room with much purpose and jumps into the tub. She doesn't scold me for lingering too long—at least, she hasn't done that yet. She can be rather smug and entitled, though; such an attitude from her wouldn't surprise me in the least.

At last, creative outlet

Our busy summer-of-many-changes is winding down.

I'm happy to say that I finally found a free evening to paint. The boyz were canoeing with friends, and I located my easel in the basement (it was glaring at me accusingly from a dim corner) and hauled it up to the back yard.

One fresh, white canvas + a glass of wine + some paints and brushes = a nearly finished painting and a more relaxed Mel.

I completed it in a couple of quick follow-up sittings, and then—I walked away. (It's very important to know when to walk away. I may have mentioned that already in several previous posts.)

It's good to be back in the saddle again.

(This dog belongs to a family friend who has helped us out with some arduous tasks. His name is Sam. Isn't he sweet?)

Feel-good stuff

We've been doing plenty of reading here at our home. Summer is great for that, you know. Not to mention, since a lengthy to-do list for our newly purchased house cannot peaceably coexist with a cushy vacation budget, reading allows us little escapes via the back yard and our imagination...

So my son and I were reading together (taking turns, but mostly me) and one of the mystery stories we read featured a slightly silly story about a scientist mom and her inquisitive daughter, studying penguins during an oil spill. In the story, the daughter explained to a friend that the oil-soaked penguins try to preen their feathers, and even if they've been bathed, they still find and ingest enough oil to sicken and often kill them. In addition, the spilled oil, the baths and the extra preening strip away the necessary, binding oils on their skin and feathers—the very stuff that seals their coats and keeps the penguins warm in freezing water.

Oil-soaked, oil-poisoned, too-cold penguins. That's bad. And the solution? The scientist mom designed a pattern for penguin sweaters. The kids publicized the situation and the pattern. Knitters all over the world responded, and sent the tiny sweaters... and it worked! Penguins were saved!

Nice story, I thought. Whatever. Couldn't happen.

But it could! It did. My son kept reading and found sections in the back detailing true stories that inspired the fictionalized ones we'd read. You can see for yourself! penguins

And then, our searching on YouTube (which was carefully filtered by me, of course) brought forth another gem: swimming

You have to watch almost all the way through, to see the little creature be lifted out. Make certain you have your sound turned up, because its utterance is the best part.

Watch them both, and I dare you to not say "Awwwwwww" at least once while viewing.

From rats to bats

You may recall our unhappy little run-in with rats at the last house (note to self: do not feed the birds black oil sunflower ever again!) and how difficult it was for us to shake those critters.

Well, a couple of weeks ago, the kid and I were shocked to find a bat hanging on the living room curtain one morning. Yes, inside the living room. In our new home. I went to open the curtains, looked up to the top of them, and proceeded to shriek like a banshee. There, gazing back at me, was what appeared to be a bat. My son noticed I was behaving oddly and I asked him to confirm that, indeed, there was a bat atop the curtain... and yes, he agreed shakily, that was a bat.

We ducked lower than normal and ran to get out of PJs and into real clothing—because we wanted to be properly dressed when we hurriedly met some new neighbors (preferably someone with testosterone, thus all the better to assist us in removing said bats). After a couple of strikeouts (no one home), we lucked out three doors down the street with a poor fellow who was just preparing to enjoy his day off. He was less than enthusiastic about helping us evict the visitors, but tried to put on a brave face and marched back to our house with us.

To make a long story short, one bat had become two bats by the time we came back into the house, and in the process of trapping those bats behind a large fishing net against the curtain and carrying them outside, they morphed yet again into three bats... one of which appeared to be smaller. I'm not sure the small one could fly yet; apparently, it had been clinging to one of the other, larger bats.

We prodded the bats with broomsticks (as gently as possible, to get them off the curtain) and then watched them crawl across the grass and climb up the side of our house to a shady spot behind the gas meter. They can't walk, you see; they move by this strange, awkward but oddly quick gate on the "fingers" of their wings. It's both repulsive and fascinating. Then we began trying to discern the point of entry. (We think they sneaked in around a huge gap in our side storm door. That'll need replacing. Even if that isn't where they entered, it still needs some serious work.)

(And oh, by the way, my husband watched 12 of them exit the unprotected, unscreened attic vent the other night on their way out to feast on bugs. Which, granted, is a good thing. I know they do good work. I know. Still... not sharing the house permanently with them. Sorry.)

We've been doing a lot of research since then. Did you know that bats are protected here in western PA? That you can't hire anyone to eradicate them? That while you are encouraged to not let them live in your attic, since their guano is toxic, technically you're breaking the law if you kill them? And also, that since June and July are typically when the moms are nursing their "pups" (no kidding, that's what they're called) that you're not advised to kick them out because the babies can't fly yet and will be trapped inside your home to die... all while the frantic mommy bat flies crazily around, seeking any entry into your home to save her baby? (Did I mention that they can squeeze through holes about as big as a dime?)

So, yes, we have some house guests for a few more days... just to ensure that the babies are flying and we won't wreck any families. And then, somehow, when those babes are definitely airborne, we'll get them out. There are humane ways (one-way exits shaped like giant net stockings, basically) and we'll try that, I suppose. The clean-up? We might have to call a professional. All the scary discussions online about the poison poo, the respiratory infections it causes, and the inevitable bat mites that linger after the eviction have frankly got me rather spooked.

I never thought that I'd have to permit and share space with these squatters who lived in our home before we did. Nor did I ever expect that my rights would fall secondarily to theirs... or at least it feels that way.

Posing porcine...and a public service announcement of sorts

Here's my latest painting, created from a photograph taken on a most awesome farm north of Pittsburgh.

Isn't this inquisitive piggy adorable?

The farm was still making final decisions about its name, last I heard, but I've already named this cutie: Berkshire Beauty. You can read more about the pigs, piglets, and other animals on the farm if you click on the Paleo Habitat link over there on the left. (I'll put Berkshire in my Etsy shop tomorrow, if not sooner.)

The people who run the farm are awesome; it's so neat, and inspiring, when you hear stories of and from people who are taking big steps, and some risks, just because they believe in a cause. That's what these folks are doing. In addition to running a household, taking kids to activities, working, juggling all the same things that most of us try to manage daily...they're also taking care of a couple of small herds of livestock. If I understood them well, then the biggest reward is just seeing these lovely creatures doing exactly what they're supposed to do. The family behind Paleo Habitat takes pleasure in the farm experience itself, the contented animals in their natural settings, even the struggles and hard work that must be endured to care for their charges and keep them well.

The result of all the effort is happy creatures being themselves. Will the animals still come to the end of their lives on a dinner table? Yes, some of them will. This farm isn't a retirement home for the animals. But until that day comes, these beasts will relish carefree days in relative comfort, some of them mowing the grass, others rooting for nuts and pieces of apple with their grain. At least, I think it was grain... And when one of these animals arrives at that final day, I'm convinced from the dedication and commitment I've seen that these animal owners will ensure a quick and humane end.

My point is this: These pigs and cows (and whatever else comes to that farm) will live in fields of grass, not small squares of mud and filth and fecal matter. These creatures will not be forced to subsist on a diet of corn and corn derivatives until their stomachs ulcerate simply because corn is cheap and plentiful. These folks have read the same books I have and more, they've studied the big, awful meat producing operations in this country, and they've decided they're not having any part of it anymore. They believe in what they're doing and they want to do it well, for themselves and for the animals in their care.

And I respect that. Very much.

If you haven't read it yet? The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan. If you haven't seen it yet? Food Inc.

Inform yourself. Farmer's markets and small farms are growing quickly in this country because people are finally getting a whiff of the crap that our meat supply has eaten, stood in, and been forced to survive until it's killed in an often horrible, painful fashion. It doesn't have to be that way.

P.S. Stay tuned: more information about the meat supply here at our house to come in my next post!

Finally, a new painting

I actually wrapped this up last week, in a rare half hour of painting with my son in the same vicinity. The sweet boy patiently created bug potions in his outside "laboratory" while I finished this lazy lion.

Now the kiddo is back in school and I'm going through that strange adjustment period of sudden silence. I'll figure out what to do with myself in a few days, but for now I'll just wander around in a bit of a haze... and figure out what to paint next.

The lion in my Etsy shop; I'll be turning the image into cards and/or prints when I can pin down the husband to help me with technical specifics.

Seize these last couple of weeks of summer! Consider lying in some tall grass amid dappled sunshine, like this big-maned fellow!

The bold and the hideous

Ah, the sights and sounds and smells of summer. Sunshine warming your shoulders, bright blooms in every direction, colors that only God could dream of... that is July here in lovely western Pennsylvania. Except you might get a few very unwelcome visitors in your happy little utopia...

See the pretty flowers? (Note the great color combination of the first; remember my favorite shades of dandelion yellow and wine red? These beauties are perfection, no?)

See the last picture? That sneaky, pink-nosed beast stealing the birds' discarded sunflower seeds? I got a good look—the brown/gray fur, the long skinny tail...

Definitely not a chippy.

Last night, the hus and I worked on a shared mission. He took his trusty machete and obliterated the full, lush hostas (a.k.a. rodent hideout), while I drove with purpose
to the nearest Home Depot. Guess what I purchased?

I hope I don't poison the wrong critter by accident, but I simply cannot and will not tolerate dirty rats. Yeeeech.

Duck, duck... and that's all

You won't find a goose here. I figure they've pretty much taken over every small lake or pond within 50 miles, so if I choose to exclude them from my painting, the population will not be adversely affected whatsoever.

We saw these little ducks at my sister's a few weeks ago. Her family has chickens, ponies, cats, a dog, and the space to accommodate them. The ducklings were adorable, if loose-boweled (I know, I know, too much information) and the chicks had just progressed beyond that ball o' fluff stage, or so I was told. The down-covered darlings were all milling on the kitchen floor, and then in a giant plastic tote that was tall enough to contain them. I took photos like crazy, but those little birds just would not be still. Additionally, the big tote was bright blue and made a terrible background. So, after the fact, I pulled out my artist's license and proceeded to place the ducklings in a more appropriate setting.

If only real life were as easy to alter as art and digital images are. I suppose our memories can do that for us... and often do.

Anyway, the painting will be available in my Etsy shop later today.

Climbing out of a funk

The best ways I've found to escape a bleak funk? Painting and singing, without a doubt. Cleaning and organization are also effective methods of escape, but they require infinitely more effort, energy, and motivation to begin. So I've chosen the more artistic outlets of late, and I think I'm finished with the funk now.

This little sheep makes me want to own sheep. Don't worry, that's not an easy impulse purchase to make, so I don't think I'll be picking one up anytime soon. I'll enjoy the pictures of Granny Miller's sheep* (that's who this little lovely belongs to) and I'll find some good music to keep me moving.

I think we're finished with snow... so I am planning to attempt an outdoor cushion retrieval from the attic. Wish me luck, and if I disappear for a few weeks, you'll know I stepped through the floor and into the living room below—thus resulting in traction. I'll be careful.

I hope, at some point, to make the sheep image into some cute items on Zazzle, a reportedly awesome site that lets you place your own images on products like shirts, bags, etc. So far, I'm having no luck getting my items onto the products... but I'll keep trying. Stay tuned.

* I did ask Granny for permission to paint her sheep, which she granted; otherwise, I would not have done so. Thank you, Granny!

The bestial truth

I used to be an animal lover. I suppose I still am, to a degree. But that degree is shrinking.

I’ve already written about the cat here and here. You know he’s old, cantankerous, demanding, and high-maintenance. I’ve expressed my fears to many that instead of aging further, the cat appears to have reached a plateau of sorts and is now maintaining and/or perhaps even growing younger—thus ensuring his [annoying] presence with us for years to come.

Yeah, that sounds mean. But listen. He’s awful. Last night, I wasn’t feeling well and I went to bed at a reasonable time, falling into bed with relief, anticipating the hours of much-needed healing rest that awaited me. Do you know how many times that *!#? cat woke me? Three. That’s right, three. First because I heard the telltale double thumps, separated by a sliding sound. (Said combination of noises indicates that the horrid beast has attempted to jump on the dining room table, and careened off the edge.) And then, the second and third wakeful occasions? I woke with a start to the critch, crunch sound of the fool beast chomping on polyester sheer curtains. Two separate sets of ‘em. Isn’t that ridiculous? This is the same cat who chews on dryer sheets, then throws up. He likes to chew the ribbons on a pair of my shoes, too. It’s quite a trip, except it really peeves me beyond belief. At this point in our relationship, that pesky feline has used up all my tolerance to his idiosyncrasies (there’s a reason that word begins with the same letters as the word “idiot”).

I’m running out of patience, I’m telling you.

And the neighborhood dogs. I thought I loved dogs, I really did. I was wrong. I only love some dogs. There is a growing number of them that I abhor. The neighbor’s dog, for instance, who announces each street activity with sharp, throaty-then-shrill barks. It doesn’t matter what the activity, that stupid dog punctuates every single one of them with his repeated vocal disturbances. He can see us when we’re in our back yard, and guess what? We’re terribly exciting. Bark, bark. Bark. And he must come out pretty early each morning, like most dogs do, because that’s the sound that awakens us on many occasions.

His early-morning concerts encourage all the other neighborhood dogs to join the chorus: Oh, hey, Yippy’s over there barking! There must be something happening! What, a car drove by? Oh, by all means bark! Bark more! We’ve never seen a car go by! And now, someone else is coming out his door to get the paper? Bark, bark bark! This is unbelievable! Wake the village!!! It’s our duty!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In defense of dogs, I know they are only doing what dogs do. I realize that many dogs are sweet and lovable. I’m certain, too, even the dogs that torment me are sweet and lovable sometimes. I just don’t get to enjoy that part of them. I am only exposed to the canine discordance of suburbia. And it’s getting old.

I keep reminding myself of the dogs I’ve known and adored, of the cool dogs across the street from us who have very little to say and who look mildly perplexed when their counterparts lose control over and over again. And I’ve seen and read amazing stories of dogs that saved their owners, or other dogs, or performed incredible feats that made the people around them gasp. I’ve seen brave dogs that walk on only two back feet, or two feet on the same side. There are some really great dogs out there, dogs that help blind and handicapped people, that really care—dogs that are, in short, actually better at being human than some humans. That helps me get past the barking.

And why is my cat so obnoxious? Probably because he doesn’t get enough attention. Would he have so much ornery energy at 4am if I played with him daily? Unlikely. Has he brought me much joy in his [ridiculously long] life? Yes.

So where is this going? I guess I love the idea of pets. And I love some pets. I must love my own, since I haven’t left him anywhere yet. Still, when the cat goes where all cats go in the end, there’s gonna be a serious animal hiatus at this house. The chipmunks and the birds will have to fill the bill for a while.

Wild kingdom

We live only 10 minutes from downtown Pittsburgh. But you’d never know it from the varieties and numbers of fauna that co-exist with us.

It’s increasingly obvious this year—perhaps I’ve been outside more than last?—but I noticed a few weeks ago that in addition to the adorable chipmunks and pesky squirrels that frequent our yard, there was also an unbelievably cute young rabbit frolicking around the back and side yard. I lucked into the pic you see here, along with many others that were taken while the bunny decided in which moment to scamper away. We still see him almost daily, and it’s always a treat. Until he begins to eat the lettuces.

Now, soft bunnies are one thing. The deer are quite another; they stopped being sweet-faced and picturesque some time ago, when we began to refer to them as our pet deer. I opened the door after dark one recent evening, distinctly heard the sound of chewing, and turned on the light to catch one of the big does munching down every available leaf on our hosta plants, the poor marred things. All that grass, and what does she eat? Our plants. She stood her ground, too, staring dumbly at me in mid-chomp even when I challenged her, the incriminating evidence hanging from her half-closed jaw. I had to descend the steps before she scampered away, and even then she didn’t leave the area, just stayed out of the light’s reach and continued chewing boldly. The scamp.

Then we took it up a notch. The kid was helping me scout the bunny on our hill of river rock out back, and suddenly he was pointing and hollering, “Snake! Snake! Mama, snake there!” I doubted him, scoffed at his claim, and then—lo and behold—I saw the slinky creature. A smallish black snake, no more than a foot long, creeping across the rocks to hide in some undergrowth. We took a timid step closer, peering into the plant where he’d hidden, and the nervy little reptile stuck his head out to peer right back at us. He was completely unfazed, stared us down, and then sneaked back into the bush without another glance. I keep looking for him a bit nervously, but he has yet to reappear; he’s waiting for me to go traipsing down that hill shoeless, no doubt, so as to maneuver his way under my foot and frighten me into breaking bones on those rocks.

The crowning glory of my animal events came the other night, as I sat on the patio, talking to my father via telephone. We were chatting, and I had no lights on, just a candle lit, and I was telling him something that I can’t recall now when I heard a dog a few doors away barking madly. Not a big deal, that—I hear it often. But within just a few seconds, I heard another sound: the skittering of clawed feet on concrete. And then, a dark form scurried right in front of the glider on which I relaxed, vulnerable to attack. A dark form that hurried low to the ground, head bent, masked eyes darting ahead to quickly map the rest of his retreat. His ringed tail followed him, barely dragging the pavement. In a flash he was gone, the big thief, probably startled away from someone’s garbage where he’d been trying to filch a late-night snack.

That one threw me for a loop. I’ve never been so close to a raccoon before, and this one was a biggie. I don’t think he ever knew I was there.

They're encroaching, the critters. Better keep the screens in tiptop shape. Cute as they can be, I don’t think I want these wild beasts any closer than they already are.

The Lion in Winter (and the giraffe and the bear)

Some exotic backsides especially for you! Which leads me to my post...

Watching the weather this past weekend, I could see that Monday was shaping up to be a potential winter zoo visitation day. Come Monday morning, the predictions were oddly still correct, and the day dawned rather gray but dry, and somewhat cool but unseasonably warm for February. I made one last scan of radar on the Weather Channel, packed the kid’s bag with unmessy edibles, and off we went to the Pittsburgh Zoo and Aquarium.

It wasn’t our first visit, but it was our first winter visit. We missed a few of the warm-weather animals that were either hidden or on hiatus ‘til spring. The huge, disgusting Komodo Dragon was absent, as were those cute, tiny crocs (or are they alligators?), and Kids Kingdom was roped off—so no petting tame deer or crossing bridges over the otters and their buddies. But most of the other animals were happy to see us, or so it seemed. The tigers were up and about, and as one of them eyed me hungrily from across a steep crevasse, I recalled with a shudder the recent escape of and attack by one of these fierce beasts in another zoo. Alas, this one stayed in his designated area, and we exchanged looks before walking on to see the lions (both lounging on their big lookout rock), giraffes, zebras, elephants, and ostrich. No gazelles, though—perhaps it was too cold for them?

The rainforest (monkey house) was not quite as horrifically pungent as it is in warmer months. We witnessed lots of varieties lounging and nit-picking, and were lucky enough to get a great, swinging view of a baby orangutan. I couldn’t linger by the gorilla’s area, though—three big adults were sitting quite near to the glass, and although their sheer size is rather frightening, the worst part of all is the absolutely human expressions on their faces. I can’t help thinking that they understand their situation completely and would never choose such a fate. I actually felt guilty taking a couple of pictures, even though the opportunity was golden, because it honestly was like looking in the window of someone’s home and photographing him as he sat listlessly on his couch, utterly resigned to his doom.

On a happier note, the wild dogs were scampering about. And the bears were out, mostly sleeping, but one (whom I respectfully did not photograph) was completely absorbed with a certain part of his body. I’ll leave the details up to you, but suffice it to say I don’t think he even noticed us. Thankfully, Marcus didn’t put the pieces together so I didn’t have to explain that one. Then came the aquarium; we made our way around it more quickly than I’d like (Marcus gets a little freaky in all the dark areas, even back by the penguins, where I could spend many minutes); then we parked our gear and ourselves in front of the giant two-story tank, munched our lunch, and watched the fish dancing to new age music. (I’m not a huge fan, but for this purpose, the synth-heavy sounds were perfect.)

Then the polar bears, which were delightful, plus a flirtatious peacock and his unimpressed amour, and the ever-playful sea lions, and the domesticated animals (llama, camel, reindeer, sheep, goats), and that was about it. The best part of all was that there were no crowds, no huge lines of classrooms taking up the viewing area, no sweat dripping from our brow, and no over-heated animals hiding in the bushes. Plus, the price is a smidge lower in winter months—and lower prices are always a good thing!

What I’m trying to say is that it was a really enjoyable few hours, and the shame of it was that we practically had the place to ourselves. If the temperature’s going to top 50, think about a little trip to the zoo. It really is a great asset to our city, and although limited in size, it keeps getting better and better. Spending a good part of the day outdoors is also soul-lifting, as is watching God’s beautiful living creations pacing, prancing, and napping right before your eyes. Until I can afford safari or rainforest exploration, this is as close as I’ll get to most of these critters—and I’m surely thankful to have had the opportunity to see them, even in captivity. The fish alone could make you cry; so amazing, all so unique, moving with such fluid grace… I could get positively weepy sitting in front of that big tank of miracles.

Next time we experience an unseasonable warming trend, take a hooky day if you can, slow down, and gaze with appreciation at some awesome creatures. I counted only 24 cars in the lot when we were leaving; I hope that next time we visit, that number is much higher—and that your car is among them.