Last night ....

.... on arriving home I went to check on Esmeralda, as I do every night, just to make sure she's still around. I couldn't find her.
This morning, as we left for work, we had a look in the cold clear morning light.
We found her poor little husk of a corpse on the porch, under the bench. Long, yellow knobbled legs curled up.
Mr Brown picked her up and we placed her under the Pomegranate tree, tucked up in leaf litter, under her spun gold nest.
Perhaps, in the Spring, one of those eggs will bring us Esmeralda II.
Vale Esmeralda.

She's abandoned her nest ...

... or she's finished it and her work is done.We found her, quite far down the pomegranate tree, on a stingy little web, no good for catching anything. I think this one is just for sitting in.She's thinner, emaciated, wasting away. Her abdomen is reminiscent of one of those super skinny models they keep sending down the catwalk, with their swimsuits hanging off them. Esmerelda is on the way out, she's dying.I think I can see eggs in the nest.
And, snapping these last pictures, I discovered her silvery-grey body (scroll down, she's beautiful) is actually covered with the finest grey fur, it's a pussy willow bud.I have to stop now, my eyes are leaking.

I'm hoping this does not end like Charlotte's Web ...

... but Mrs Golden Orb, Esmeralda to her nearest and dearest, has made herself the most beautiful golden cloud of a nest.She crouches over it protectively, not moving for rain or wind (and it's been raining and howling for days, as is traditional for my birthday long weekend).She's looking very thin, deflated, wrung out.A twitterer said yesterday, "any spider that avoids being eaten, gets to adulthood and has babies is a winner, and there ain't many winners".
She's right, Esmerelda has won so far as nature is concerned, but nature is a cruel, heartless bitch sometimes.

Are the Brown-Mouse House cats normal?

... well, according to this, probably.
Actually, our girls don't drink out of the toilet. They do, however, lap up the water that's left on the shower floor, once we step out.
Small did it, Ping does it and now, Tigger does it too. She shoulders her way into the bathroom, says hello and into the shower she goes, lappity lap. Then, a quick run round the legs and she leaves, slightly damp.
I don't know if she watched Ping and decided to give it a go and liked it or it's just something cats do.
Mr Brown thinks it's because they like a little human flavouring in their water and we should stop letting them sleep with us.

Forgotten floors...

... when we first moved into the Brown Mouse House I was most enamoured with the wooden floors. Our last house was built on a nasty concrete slab, so the look, the sound and the feel of wooden floorboards was a lovely surprise. For years we used to roll up the carpets for summer, it seemed cooler even if it really wasn't, and we'd roll them out again when it chilled up a bit.Small's last week or so was a bit messy. She hated it and we hated it, although the cleaning up has convinced me (almost) that I just may be able to change a nappy. It would be noisy and horrifying, but I wouldn't actually die from it.Part of our managing Small's little problem was to roll up the carpets. Wooden boards are much, much easier to clean. I'd forgotten the floorboards, their modest gleam, their quirky markings (several of the larger ones mistaken for little accidents), the glow that shone off them in the afternoon.These photos don't show the colour or glow at it's best, but believe me, it's quite lovely.
I think we'll leave the carpets rolled for a bit.

Why the Brown Mouse House smells so nice ...

... because my little sister, S, organised flowers from the family. Flowers with "an oriental feel" were called for, as the venerable Siamese, Small, had died.
She was worried about them being delivered to the empty house but nixed our mum's suggestion to have them delivered to work.Good thinking, I'm not sure how messy that would have been, but it would have been messy.The most divine tuberoses, with a hint of pink about them in a certain light.

And, of course, gorgeous white oriental lilys. The pollen not only dusts the petals, but if you get it on your clothes, makes for a most-excellent saffron substitute.
Small's grave, dug in the pouring rain, was lined with lavender and pretty purple/blue daisies. We also sprinkled her with the last of the gardenias.

I thought it may have been the big winds ...

... but "severe fruit drop during the plant's juvenile period (3-5 years) is not uncommon" apparently.

Small suns herself outside ...

... warming her porcelain bones. I'm sure they are porcelain, she's so light now. Weightless almost, like thistledown.
I worry she can't keep herself warm anymore. So even with summer on it's way, I'm considering getting her one of those heat pad dohickies.
For now though, she's happy lying on hot cement paving.While Small is outside, I wander in and out, keeping an ear out for her "I want to come in" call at the back door. I keep passing this.I ordered it a while ago, at a time I was convinced Small was about to die. She's doing well now, pottering about, eating with enthusiasm, cuddling, cuddling, cuddling. She can still jump up to our bed and hers. I don't think we'll need it for a bit. But it's still there, looking at me.
We have another one by the same artist, Peter Close, on Toogie's grave. It's wee.I thought this one would be about the same size. It is now apparent I was not completely lucid when I ordered it, "Life Size" is the description, clear and plain. It cost quite a bit more than Toogie's too, that should have been a warning signal, but I was in a bit of a state, when ordering, as I've said.
My thinking went, I believe, "well, it's been a few years, the price is bound to have gone up".
As for the postage, well, it's always crippling from the UK. Clearly, not thinking clearly.
When it arrived the box was huge and I couldn't lift it out.
The bloody thing is bigger than Small.
It's going to be quite some memorial, one day.

Small ...

... my Small, has failing kidneys.
Bloody kidneys, the Achilles Heel of cats.
She's still with us, snoozing on the footstool, leaning on Mr Brown's feet.
She will be taking some blood pressure pills (which she will hate), she will go on yet another special diet (which she will hate), she will be given special "supplements" (which she will, no doubt, spit out) and will continue to pootle around the house until, well until she can't anymore. None of this will fix anything, but will keep her around, comfortable, for a little while longer anyway.
She's nearly 17, I know she's old and doddery, I know what's inevitable.
But I don't want to think about it anymore, it makes my eyes hurt, and leak.
Fuck it.

This will break your hearts ...

... I found this link somewhere, it's bushfire kitties, pusscats separated from their owners by the recent fires in Victoria.
So few reunited with their owners, so many burned paws, it made me weep in the work environment. I hate weeping at work.

It's Anzac Day ...

... Google always does a nice Anzac-y Google, so here it is. Anzac Day is not just for remembering the fallen servicemen of Australia and New Zealand, it's also the calendar mark for when all good little Australians can turn their heaters on.
Thing of it is, it's just not cold enough yet. Still, winter can't be long now, it's definitely in the air. I wore tights 4 times this week and long-sleeved shirts as well. No coat yet, or gloves, or scarves, but I'm full of hope.

Saturday morning weeping ...

... "Eltham: The town is 30 minutes from the fire front but has not been touched by flames. It's 9pm and a small crowd has gathered across the road from a large maple tree.
A father tells his son: "You'll never see a sight like that again." The tree is heavy with parrots, 20 or 30 birds to a branch, maybe 600 birds all up. More fly in - 10, 20 at a time. Driven south by fire, they've finally found refuge. The noise is startling, like a jet fighter screaming overhead. "
Go read the rest here.

Poor sore bear ...

# 2, the same bear the CFA chap helped. The video is here. It made me weep a little, but in a good way. I think.
A happy ending of sorts.

Poor sore bear ...

This is why half my 2009 bushfire dontation goes to the Red Cross and the other half to the Victorian Wildlife folk.And this one reminds me I need to ping some $$ to the CFA.

Sad ...

... The Urban Woo is one of those blogs I read but never comment on. (I'm far too intimidated by the young, trendy, single and hip, & learned my lesson one of the few times I did chime in, on another hip n young type blog.) But I do love to lurk & learn about what might have been, had I run away to Londan as planned, rather than being swept away from the single life at the age of 22.
Anyway, today she posted this, which is so terribly sad. Sad that someone feels that way, but even sadder when you, sort of, feel like you know them, a bit. Of course you don't know these people, only what they chose to say about themselves, but still, I wish she didn't feel that way.

Do you fancy a good old fashioned …

… cathartic, self-indulgent weep? Well, go read this.
But if you'd rather laugh until tears of mirth run down you cheeks, laugh until you are in fear of falling from your chair, watch this.

This will make you sick ...

... and if it doesn't, then I don't think we'd get on in real life.
This is NOT art, this is lack of empathy for a fellow being - I've signed the petition and I'd like to think anyone who reads this would too.
That someone didn't walk up, untie the dog and take it away is a sad comment on humanity. Even if the dog was going to die anyway, once the suffering has been brought to your attention, shoved in your face, how could you not do something? Even if that something was taking the animal and having it humanely put down.

Tight-arse Tuesday ...

... labeled such because it's cheap night at the cinema.
So, we finally caught the I am Legend movie tonight - probably not the best choice given my emotional state at the moment.
I was terrified twice, 1 - when the dog went into the dark & he had to go in after her, 2 - when she got bitten by the nasty mutant dogs. I wept copiously at that second bit too.
Emotionally wrung out by that stage I pretty much just sat through the last bit, wondering where all the puss cats were & who was looking after them. I mean lions survived so why not elegant tabby orientals?
Like I said, probably not the best choice in entertaining viewing.
Oh, and some insane parent brought her 3 kids in, a babe in arms, one about 6-7 and the other 4, possibly 5. It's an M movie, for 15 or up, what the fuck was she thinking??? A movie like that would have scarred me for life at that age. Bambi had me howling and messed up for weeks and The Wizard of Oz, well, let's just say I wouldn't walk up the hall to bed at night without a very large glass of water for ages, just in case. Hell, my parents wouldn't even let me watch the second half of the Sound of Music until I was over 15 (only I did, sneakily without them knowing, and of course, nightmareorama. And I I couldn't say anything because then they'd find out).

I read a lot of horrid news in the paper today ...

... but this is the story that made me cry.
Callous, indifferent, casual cruelty is the type that affects me most.

This made me cry ...

... The Mower - Philip Larkin
The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I found
A hedgehog jammed up against the blades,
Killed. It had been in the long grass.
I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.
Now I had mauled its unobtrusive world
Unmendably. Burial was no help:
Next morning I got up and it did not.
The first day after a death, the new absence
Is always the same; we should be careful
Of each other, we should be kind
While there is still time.
Thanks to ... & Mr Larkin too, obviously.
The very thought of running over a wee hedgehog got the old water works going - which is a good thing,
I thought I had
A blocked tear-duct.
Turns out not.
Just a sore eye.