The College Dean

I had to pick my oldest cat Jim as the college dean. He's been through generations of youngsters. But now Dean Jim is in the twilight of his life. He's not as tolerant of the youthful exuberance of the new students. He's achy, tired and impatient. He prefers to spend his days sitting at a sunny window, delicately plucking good memories and using them to snooze. Dean Jim hates being involved now in the conflicts of the younger cats. The fussing and gamesmanship seems so pointless to a man of his age.  "Why can't they just leave each other alone", he grumbles. He sometimes misses Mary the Elder who was his mentor in this thankless job.

Dean Jim used to be young and full of himself. When confronted with conflict - his first instinct was to jump into the fray and bat some heads around.

Lately, his indifference is causing concern and speculation. As he retreats more into his memories and warm spots others are jockeying for position.

But, his saving grace, for now, is CC. More about her next.  

Giving this another shot

Is there much worse than an on again, off again blog? Happily this one has a total readership of 1 so it doesn't matter much. The professional advice givers always say to write what you know about so I've been thinking about what I know the most about. Deep sigh. Cats. Yessiree. My Dad was right. I've always been a cat lady at heart. Note that I left out crazy. That's a whole nother topic.

So I've been thinking of my happy herd and gradually a vision formed in my head. (It really has been a long winter here) They all fit stereotypes similar to those that could be found at a small, Midwest college. Fictional of course. Not not like any one I may have attended. So I'm going to use this as a bit of a writing exercise to see if there are any shreds of wit still left in me. I'll also be trying to take more pictures to distract from the shoddy writing. We'll see. It could last as long as next Thursday.

Finding my blog purpose

Random blogs are not interesting. This one isn't even interesting to me. Ideally a blog should be a unique perspective on something, or about something. It should reflect the interests and passions of the blogger. The predecessor of this one - Shelter Stories - had that. This one hasn't so I need to find my voice.

It's pretty easy to see that animals are still my passion so maybe that's where I will be going. Cats are my expertise so I may try to develop that. But having opinions on almost everything and loving quirky stuff is still me so I don't think I will abandon that.

Be patient, this blog will get more interesting in the next month or so - I'm just not sure how.

Magpies

Today I was home with my bad knee and working in my bedroom. Outside were my many resident magpies. I have about 15 now since this spring's hatching. They have nests in the big pine tree in the middle of my backyard and in the trees around the outskirts of the yard. Right now its easy to get annoyed with them as their fledglings sream "FEED ME!, FEED ME!". But I watched them for a while and saw how complicated their communicating really is. I watched one sitting on the fence seeming to talk to itself. It was a fascinating mix of croaking, clicks, soft sqawks, chattering and squeaking. I wish I knew what it was saying. I did some googling and was surprised to see how so many people consider then pests to get rid of.

I miss my blue jays of Minnesota - they are gorgeous birds and fairly easy to tame. Not the maggies. Very wary but also beautiful in a more formal, tuxedo way. No one can deny that when the light hits those blue, iradescent wings feathers. Here's what another web site says about magpies:

"The magpie's speech is symbolic of communication and creative expression. When we hear the magpie speak it is a message to us that we might need to listen to what is being spoken to us - listen with more attention. The chatter of the magpie is also a symbolic message that we may need to speak our minds more clearly....speak up, express our opinions, be creative with our spoken words. The magpie's obsession with shiny things is symbolic of our tendency to chase after false ideas or perceptions. When the magpie comes into our lives it is often a reminder that we may have to re-evaluate our priorities. Are we chasing after unsuitable desires? Are we serving a false ideal? Are we putting materialism ahead of matters of the soul?"

A Drink for Stupid People

I'll start calling this category Ad Watch. One of the things I have the most adamant opinions on is marketing and advertising, probably because I love it when its good and loathe it when its bad.

Tonight - cocktail making for stupid people

I watch television late at night and about every hour or so the folks at Disaronno try to sell their flavored liquor by teaching us a new cocktail. The problem is that they must be marketing to an audience of either 3rd graders or idiots. "Tonight, Disaronno on the Rocks" their spokesperson announces. Then with a flourish he tell us to put ice in a glass, and pour an ounce or so of Disaronno over it. And then, as if we couldn't get it the magic of it the first time, he says again, "Disaronno - on the Rocks!" with emphasis.

There are variations of mind boggling complexity such as "Disaronno on the Rocks - with Lemon!" and "Disaronno with Cranberry!" I honestly waste time thinking who is their target market? What is the message? Can this stupid ad really make a person pick up a bottle of almond flavor liquor and take it home? It doesn't make it look tasty enough to order at a bar.

I think they were better off with the oddly 80's woman sucking her ice cubes.

Talking to Yourself

I guess that's what most blogs are. By just putting it out there you exist. There will be a record that you were there and you did think and type. Stored for eternity on some server somewhere - just 1111000 and 0010010010010's and more. Forever or until the power goes off.

More crow and other stuff

Tonight a co -worker came to me to ask me about a "raven" in the parking lot with a broken wing. I suspected it was a crow and probably my crow from this weekend. (Although any one who can tell one crow from another is a crow) It seemed likely. It was a crow with injured wing feathers hopping about under a stand of pine trees. Another crow from the likely family was above. I had a cardboard box and piece of fabric in case I needed to catch her, plus the plastic bag I put in my car on the weekend in the case I needed to euthanize her with carbon monoxide from my car's exhaust.

Turns out that she could get up into the tree, broken feathers and all. I went back about an hour later and she was gone. So she is mobile. I left some dog chow for her. Darn crows.

Crow Update

I got up much earlier for me than usual on Saturday to go check on the crow. She wasn't in the tree and she wasn't on the ground so I am going to tell myself that she is fine. I also went back at about 7, my usual feeding time during the week, and the crows spotted my car and showed up for chow. I'm telling myself that the one with the missing wing feathers is my girl. I could be all wrong but it makes me feel better.

So why did I call it a she? Unless you are another crow or an up close and personal vet you can't tell the he crows from the she crows. I just got the feeling it was a she. After looking at this crow close up I did notice that they do have very sharp beaks, very sharp claws on their feet, and strange dark grey eyes. Her eyes were very different from my cockatiel's. More about what I have observed about crows another day.