We Interrupt these Posts

... to provide a pointless interlude ...  (I liked something from an email to X.)


It’s that kind of August, now, which actually feels like late summer when I was a kid, the way it is supposed to feel.  The nights are just a little bit cooler; we’ve had a day or two down to the eighties, and humidity is high but less punishing.  It feels like Richmond summer ... just hinting, just whispering, that some day soon it will give way to autumn again.  In places near water, or in shade that stays still, the humidity almost promises cool; a scent, a subliminal shift.

This time of year, my dad must have loved, because it led the way to his favorite time - the beginning of a year with new students, the cooling breeze, the fall-wet wind, the acrid scent of fallen oak leaves, and the dream of drives in the country, the mountains with us, with mom, a tang of cider, the scratch of wool and excitement of new class.  He'd spend August with his family - a dip at the pool after supper - a surprise trip to the amusement park - a spontaneous drive - a day with him at the quiet campus - a night with a sitter, while he took mom out somewhere ...  And then when the year began, he was so energized in his work ...


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This interlude comes at a time I have been under a bit of stress.  Losing Sid was so hard, and I still miss my girl so much.  Dreamed of her this week, it was so bittersweet.  I can *hear* her voice - feel her chin plopping on the bed to get me up.  The sound of her soft snore - or her "underwater" barking, in her sleep - is still so vivid, so beautifully with me.

Spending this August with me is the tiny, sweet, soft ball we know now as Gossamer.  I was unutterably lucky in this little guy.  He is such a *nice* kit, such a sweet, temperate beastie.  So easygoing you can handle him any way you like and he is relaxed and trusting and accepting.  But also he's playful, he's hilariously funny.  And so cute.  His coloring is as soft as his fur, his temperament, his little gaze.

He's not a furniture scratcher, but he is turning out a bit of a jumper.  Three times yesterday, I found him on top of the fridge.  Whether he can get down on his own is unknown to me, but he sure can get up.  Little baby scamp.

He's such a little BOY.  Like a cartoon, he runs ahead and peeks back at me 'are ya comin' ma? are ya comin'?' - and his little white sneakers bonk around the house, velvet when they touch you, and thumpy when he's being rambunctious.

He's fairly quick to warm up to people; needs a minute or five on his own terms to nuzzle your ankles, but once you've let him have that freedom anybody can scoop him up, and the purr box will go, the perfect compliment.

He has snot-green eyes, but they really are adorable.  He's learned The Meaning of that Blue Bottle of Water in the living room (the one I squirt him with if he happens to come too close during dinner), and is learning the rules of behavior very obediently.  He has a sweet scent about him; I love nuzzling his unbelievably soft coat.  He has a teeny meow, he doesn't use very much.  He's a snuggly napper and a cuddly kneader, good with his nails when he is close up on you.  He drools.  It's to-die-for adorable, that, and probably only something I will ever get from him.  He's a little buddy.  I'm grateful, and aware how fortunate I am.

He had an astounding growth spurt the second and third week I had him, but he's still a little guy.  My little baby boy.  Watching him learn, grow, and move is so much fun.

Having him nap up against my hip is just peace in a pair of little white velvet paws.