The White Windflowers are in bloom again ...

... I miss my Small.

I noticed while I was outside this weekend ...

... That the white windflowers are blooming again. I miss my Small.

A post or 2 or 3 ago ...

... Zoomie asked for a bit of an update on various odds & bobs.
The furry girls are just fine and dandy. Full of beans and growing their winter coats, so, plush and lovely. The taddies, there's not as many as we started with. I hope they aren't eating their siblings. No sign of any legs yet and still with tails attached. And, even if it wasn't requested, some Autumn in the Garden news.
The Camellias are coming out. As always the Fried Egg Camellia is blooming nicely. And the Hot Pink one is just about to explode into a riot of gaudy colour. And, it looks like a bumper crop for passion fruit is on its way. It was a pretty crap one last year, since we'd had to put in new vines. This season there's dozens of big pendulous green fruit, just sitting there, making sugar inside.Perhaps our Small is helping things along this time.

It would appear we have brought home ...

... a proper, show quality, pedigree cat.
Small was sold to us as pet quality, she had striping in her tail and white flashes between her back toes.
Pingu was sold to us as pet quality, she's got an almost indiscernible kink at the end of her tail.
When we bought Tigger there was no mention of pet or show quality, we just assumed she was pet! That's what she's always going to be anyway.
But, no flashes between the toes, her markings are perfect, no stripes. And I recall the breeder thinking she may hold on to the kittens for a while longer, to display then at the Easter Show. She didn't in the end, thank goodness.
Still, we are well on the way to spoiling the show quality-ness. We've already created the most delightful little pot belly that becomes a teeny wee spare bit just before meal times. O go on. I challenge YOU to take a better kitten tummy photo of Tigger!

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.

Pingu visited Small this morning ...

... while I did a little light garden work.
I left a lovely mess of prunings for Mr Brown to tidy away. He loves when I do that! No, really, he does, it gives him something to grumble about. Something to humanise our otherwise perfect marriage.Tigger, meanwhile, still too wee to wear the kitten harness, howled and wailed at the door. She so wants to come out but if she disappeared over the fence I'd just die.
She did have a tiny someone to keep her company though, look. A bebe St Andrew's Cross Spider I believe.

Ready to return to work ...

... I really did take the last two weeks off to supervise Tigger's entering the Brown Mouse House. Small was so horribly vile when we brought Ping home we thought supervision was best. We needn't have worried. There were a few spats and spits but all in all they were a pair by day five.
And so I return to work on Monday with my only worry being, will Ping lick Tigger bald while we are out?

Salt ...

... lovely stuff. It brings out the flavour in your foods. You mustn't use too much for various reasons. You CANNOT eat hot chips without it, simply cannot, no matter what Mr Brown says.
Cats, lovely things. Warm and furry, cuddly things. They are great company, not too clingy or slavish and entertaining in so many ways. They can be terribly, terribly expensive with their health problems but you took them on, you are responsible. When they die your heart will break.
Humidity, sapping, debilitating, mood dampening, summer-ruining stuff. On the other hand, it is also magically hay-fever reducing and creates the most amazing head of jaunty curls.
Salt and cats and humidity??? What's the connection?
The Venerable Small, recently departed, had asthma. Small required Ventolin when she had a bad attack. Don't laugh, it's easy with one of those mask things you use for asthmatic babies, no biggy.
But still, I worried for her dodgy lungs. I consulted the interwebs and I found some stuff about salt lamps being good for folks with asthma. Loads of stuff actually. And then I found pink salt lamps. My natural acquisitiveness, love of beautiful things and desire to be "doing something good for Smally" all combined into one, rather expensive purchase.Sydney, for those who don't know, is fucking humid. NO, it's not as humid as Brisbane or Singapore, but it's humid.
Salt extracts moisture from air. This is why you should keep your salt in sealed containers, else it becomes a damp mess.
Large blocks of solid pink salt draw quite a bit of moisture from the air. Pools of it. Water that runs over tabletops and down the side of cabinets onto the floor. Pools of water that end up on the floor, near the hall doorway, perfectly placed to be stepped in first thing in the morning, when you least expect it.
So, you put a plate under the salt lamp and the water pools and evaporates (and yes, you add a second, bigger plate because you are a slovenly housewife who does not empty the collected water often enough). It creates wonderful crystals blooms, like those salt pans at the back of beyond. More blooms form on the side of the salt block, rough and crumbly.It's a thing of beauty, so we keep it. We never turn it on for fear of electrocution. Also because salt is highly corrosive and has eaten away the doohickey bits in the middle that made the light work.Still, it's fun when little kids come to visit and you tell them they can lick the lamp if they want. They always do. Some adults do too.

Small's spot ...

... Small loved being outside in a warm, sunny spot.
One of her favourite spots was along the side fence, under the passion fruit vines.So, that's where we buried her, between the vines, deep down, but not so deep that the sun won't reach through the earth and warm her old bones.

Raw Food Diet ...

... No, no, not me & Mr Brown, Pingu.
We are slowly "transitioning" little Ms Pingu to a raw food diet. We've always included raw meat as part of our cats' diets but we've also always fed kibble, (called crunchies at the Brown-Mouse House) and I've, possibly unreasonably, come to blame kibble for Small's demise.
Small's kidneys got her in the end, and although kidneys are the feline races's Achilles heel, I'm coming around to thinking her kidneys may have been healthier if they'd been kibble free. I'm damn sure she'd have died with a mouth full of teeth if she'd been fed bloody chunks of raw beast and chicken wings, bones in.
Miss Ping still has all her teeth and so far her gums look great. I'm going to make sure they stay that way.
So, slowly, slowly the kibble is drying up, high quality tinned stuff for breakfast and chunks of various meats, including some "organ meat" is being placed in her bowl for dinner.
The chunks are getting bigger and Mr Brown has agreed to take the meat cleaver to some lovely free-range chicken wings I bought this very afternoon.
Ping's not entirely sure about this. She inhaled the sirloin trimmings from our steak (pre-bbq) last night, and her shopping day treat of a bit of minced (ground) lamb went down almost before it hit the ground. But minced meat is a no no, not good for the toothypegs, and she's getting all snooty about the gravy beef I chunked up for her today.
Still, I'm pretty sure it will be all gone later tonight, because I'm not caving in, and she does love a full tummy.

Forgotten photographs ...

... I'd bought Pingu a new bed, Snuggle Pod, as it happens (hey, it matches the couch). It was delivered to Mr Brown's office this very day.
Ping took to it right away, snuggling down like it'd been there all the while.
So, of course I whipped out the happy snappy for a pic or two.Then I downloaded them.Then the tears started.I'd forgotten I'd taken some shots of Small on her last days.The last day we initially expected (and then the vet fucked things up but let's not dwell on that shall we).And the actual last day (which the vet initially totally fucked up, leading to my having to be bossy while weeping on the phone, but we won't hold that against them will we? I'm not bitter).Anyway, I think, I like to think Small's last days,Were spent doing what she loved, snoozing, drinking wild water and being in the garden.Now excuse me, I'm getting the laptop wet again.

Last night ...

... Ms Pingu met Mrs Possum. Accidentally, of course.
I was hanging out some washing in the wild hope it wouldn't rain today (so far so good), I mustn't have snibbed the back door shut properly.
It was still light, and Mrs Poss hasn't been coming down for dinner until quite late recently, so I wasn't expecting her.
I heard a snick, snick, turned around and there she was, climbing down the pergola post to the seat where her (empty) little dish sat.
I heard the tinkle of Ping's bell and whoosh, there she was on the pergola seat, on her back feet, sniffing noses with Mrs Poss.
Neither of them growled, hissed or scratched.
Ms Pingu was whisked away pronto, before the shock of the new wore off.
She's lonely, is my poor Ping.

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.

Sidonie, Small, Bear Bear, Smally Ball, The Venerable Small, Rabi Schmally, Pudding, Small Small Ting and The Ratbag.
22 September 1992 - 28 January 2010

Small, she's naught but a handful of silky fluff and some porcelain bones now. We have to lift her up to bed, she can't make the jump anymore.

But her fierce, determined little heart, still beats its untamed tempo.
Soon she will walk by herself.

Small ...

... continues to fade, slowly. She's dandelion clock weight now and I know more about the feline skeletal framwork than I thought you could learn from a live beastie.
Her purr is sparodic, rare, but still rumbles to life from time to time.
She still asks for food, but eats very little. Raw lamb mince gets her excited, she'll eat about a thumb (mine) worth, eeked out in tiny morsles. We stock up.
She's not much chop at the whole grooming thing anymore, but is loving the daily brushing thing we have going now.
She still demands pats, laps and cuddles and still jumps up for them. Early mornings are spent by the ear of one, or other of us, atop the pillow. The rest of the day, snoozing on a green-silk, duck-down cushion. Weekends? She likes to come out and help me hang out the washing, and soaks up a little sun.

Small has developed a couple of interesting little ...

... idiosyncrasies in her dotage.
She can't cope if her water bowls aren't full to the brim, she can't seem to find the water if the level is the least bit down. So, of course, we fill it.
She's stopped asking to be let in. So we've got to keep an eye on the door, to see if she's waiting to be let in.
Sometimes she just gets lost, in the house, so will just stop and shout until someone comes to find her. I don't know what happens when we aren't home.
And, she has selected a new sleeping spot. It's the same couch she generally sleeps on, in the summer, but along the back, rather than the seat. Looks comfortable though, doesn't it.

Iron paw of oppression ...

... Ms Small shows Mr Brown who's in charge.

Be still human. Be still.

While I may be day-star phobic ...

... our furry girls aren't. They just love to sit, lie, roll and play in it's deadly rays.
I watch, and comment, from the shady spots.
Ping, being "good" on the step (good meaning she's not stalking or killing anything or pestering poor Small). I have no idea why Small chose this particular spot to rest her weary bones. It can't have been particularly comfortable and it's not as if she's got any padding anymore. She moved, quite some time later, to the garden bed, which is softer.