Author Archives: Autumn

Farewell, Birdie

Birdie gone home. The bird staff at Nature checked their files for the leg band number, found who had bought it, and called him; he called us around seven-forty-five, desperately glad someone had found her. She had flown out the door on Sunday, and had caught him by surprise since her wings had been clipped not long ago. When we dropped her off tonight, he couldn’t stop thanking us. I’m a little puzzled; if someone had found one of my lost pets, I’d want her back as soon as possible. We were just doing what we hope someone else would do for us.

Anyway, happy ending to an adventure. Man and little girl thrilled their bird came home; husband feeling tired and good about himself, but a little disappointed too, methinks. He was growing rather attached to the creature.

Feathered Friend

Yep. We are currently in possession of a Sun Conure , a tropical bird about three times the size of a budgie and multi-coloured in the yellow/red/orange/green spectrum. She’s just over a year old, not full-grown, and had a terrible fright – she’s evidently escaped from someone’s home and was all muddy and shaking when she burst out of a hedge my husband was trimming in the West Island. He took her to a clinic or two, who all said they couldn’t help him either by taking the bird or by locating an owner, since they don’t treat birds, then to the Nature pet store up by Fairview to ask for what kind of food to give her. They identified the breed for him, noted that it had a breeder’s band, and he brought her home with a phone number or two of bird shelters to report her. He drove home with her on his shoulder; she’s evidently a shoulder bird, and cuddles close to the neck, talking to herself. She’s a bit afraid of hands at the moment, and who can blame her – something that’s lived inside all its life, lost in the big wide world for who knows how long? I’m surpised she’s not more freaked out. My husband says she’s a lot calmer than she was this afternoon, though.

Now, the craziest thing is, when we go to pet stores and look at the birds, this is the bird that we call “the Buchanan bird” because it is, I kid thee not, the exact same colours as those in my husband’s kilt. For him to find one of these things loose and scared, and to have it cling to him so completely, is just, well, odd – out of all the tropical birds he could have run into outside, it was this one. She tried to fly after him when he went downstairs to get the birdcage. While she sat on my shoulder, waiting for him to come back, she was nodding off; she could barely keep her eyes open. We fed her and gave her water, and I think she’s asleep now.

Turns out my husband broke Cardinal Rule #1 today as well. He calls her Cail. (Or Kael, for those who know the RSW spelling.)

Kitten Nurse, Day One

Why is it that disk defragmentation always freezes up the computer?

My first day as a kitten nurse, and I am proud of my little furry charges, particularly the tiny black one that had us worried. She’s been scheduled an extra feeding, around dinner-time, and I am pleased to report that she’s getting this lapping thing down quite well, and polished off just as much formula as she did at lunch-time. At the moment I’m calling her Nix, as in ‘nix on any more cats’, because it’s just too hard to nurse something and only call it ‘kitten’. (I know, I’ve broken Cardinal Rule #1: never name an animal.) Despite her size, she’s the first to wiggle out of the cage when I sit down with the bowl of formula, and the also one who has the best control of her back legs at the moment — I’d forgotten how floppy three-week old fuzzy things are. My mother used to breed Cairn Terriers, and I remember when she used to let me help feed them in the transitional period between milk and puppy-chow. She’d soak a bit of kibble in the milk formula, put it in an old pie tin, and cover your lap with an old towel. Then you’d grab a puppy and introduce its nose to the mess by gently bouncing its head into it. Sneeze, sputter, and so forth; it took some of them a surprisingly long time to get it. When you’re ten years old, it’s great fun.

It’s still fun. Feeding the kittens is very like that, only different somehow. I think it has to do with how the kittens are even more delicate than the puppies were, and also with the Fall baby-cravings my husband and I get annually. If a baby is an impossibility right now, then caring for kittens will do just fine. So if I end up with another cat, I consider it partially the fault of Fiona, Debra, Paze and Val (along with their equally guilty significant others), who have all had babies within the past nine months.

When I’d walked home from the second round of kitten-feeding, there was a message on the machine from my husband about what an odd afternoon he’d had, and that he’d be coming home with a colourful friend who seems to have gone astray. I have an odd feeling we’ve acquired another bird, however temporary….

Kitten Nurse

Well, drat.

I was all psyched for this literacy tutor thing, and I couldn’t go to the info session with Ceri because I was unable to be out of bed for more than half an hour at a time. She thoughtfully brought back the information package for me. However, it turns out the training sessions are on the two nights per week when I’m teaching and when I’m at orchestra.

Double drat.

They repeat the training sessions in later months, but again, they’re on nights when I’m teaching. It seems that I am not meant to be a tutor at this time.

I am, however, to serve as a feline Florence Nightingale. A Florence Nightingale to felines, I mean. Now that the feral cat’s kittens that Scarlet discovered when we came home from Pennsylvania are starting to be weaned, someone needs to feed them three or four times a day, and Scarlet’s back at school full-time and working part-time. So to me will fall the early afternoon feedings, and an extra dinner-time feeding for the tiny black female who’s skin and bones. I’m rather partial to that one, so I’ll do my best to make sure she gets that extra meal and grows nice and plump with a shiny coat.

Still popping vitamin C, and drinking lots. I’ve given up on herbal teas; just can’t take them anymore. I’m on water today. And I’m craving chocolate sooo badly…

Amused

Found more old e-mail as I was cleaning up my hard drive. For a while about two or three years ago, I signed off with “The Jovial Warrior Sorceress”, and my sig was “Leather will do just fine”. It’s a bit out of character, yes, but that was half the fun. It came from the wonderful, time-wasting Lee’s (Useless) Superhero Generator, which served as a source of amusement for my circle of friends for a week or two.

The next time I have to create a D&D character, none of this patiently developing a character and a background for me. Nope, it’s going to be The Jovial Warrior Sorceress, levelling enemies with a quip, a rapier, a fireball and a heroic laugh. “Hold, miscreant! Have at thee! What, my hearty allies? Wearied already? A round of song, then! Ninety-nine dumb orcs charging the Wall, ninety-nine orcs at the Wall; strike one down, spread him around, ninety-eight dumb orcs charging the Wall!”

I really think I should go back to bed.

Taking Form

It’s official! The cold has developed a fever, making this the Cold Package with Extra Bonus Material.

When I have a cold, I know what makes me worse: soda, dairy, and so forth. Sugar and milk just feed my sore throat with bad stuff and it gets worse. So of course I’m craving cola and such. Instead, I’m drinking herbal tea and bouillon. It’s odd how you can fall into a routine without realising it; when I open my laptop to write, I gather my loose change and I walk to the depanneur to pick up a can of Vanilla Coke, then come back and sit down and whip off however many pages my mind decides to create and/or my fingers can keep up with (whichever comes first). I want to write today, but Vanilla Coke is right out. I suppose I could buy a ginseng drink or something, but it’s just not the same.

On the much more exciting news front, my husband came home from working on someone’s balcony yesterday, and after chatting with his a-bit-out-of-it wife, he wandered into the office and didn’t come out. Now, he’s been discovering the Internet (has his own e-mail address and everything! Well, it’s big news in our world, anyway), so I figured he was on-line. When I emerged from under the afghan and left my nest in the living room to refill my teacup, I stopped in the office doorway, amazed. He wasn’t at my desk, where the computer is; he was at his own desk, where the new oil paints I bought for him on Saturday were. In fact, he had a palette out, and two brushes going, and a landscape taking form rather rapidly.

Oil paint fascinates me. I’m a watercolour person myself, so to see how oil blends so well is truly astounding. Even more astounding, however, was watching him blend two or three different paints on the palette, take the new colour, and blend it into a tree trunk, for example, on the painting. He doesn’t seem to use long strokes very often; he dabs a lot. His foliage in particular uses this technique, and catches my attention.

The whole apartment smells different too, and it took me a while to get a fix on where I recognised it from. I shared an apartment with Annika while she was doing her BFA; her room and the bedroom hallway always smelled like this. It’s the smell of creativity, and of colour, and of boldness and a moment in time.

The only problem with this fever is I’m at one remove; I feel as if I’m working under a pane of glass that separates me from the rest of the world, or a puddle that slightly distorts the sensory info that reaches me. No doubt when I re-read all this in a couple of days I’ll wonder how anyone made any sense out of it.