Echoes in a Hollow Space

The big topic this morning was wind: lots of it last night, some of it vicious, and cold, like straight from the North Pole cold. It blew the light scattering of rain we had last night clean out of the area, but it wreaked havoc, as they say. Power outages were scattered throughout the Westside, Westchester included, but fortunately my part of Westchester was spared. The drive to work was interesting, what with signals out and tree limbs, palm fronds, small trees, and fences down all along the route, especially in the Marina and Venice.

I couldn't help but worry about the old stray we feed (the one we think is a genuine stray, not just some cat who likes dining at our house better than at home). We can't save them all, and I know that, but I don't have to be happy about the situation. I'm just glad Min lives in the house now instead of the garage. I told her she should be happy about that, too, but she said, "What are you talking about? I've always lived in the castle."

Whatever gets you through the night, Min.


Random quote of the day:

"Take the universe and grind it down to the finest powder and sieve it through the finest sieve and then show me one atom of justice, one molecule of mercy."

—Terry Pratchett, Hogfather


Of interest?

The spell check on my ancient graphic software, designed originally for architects and interior decorators, suggested "Prosciutto" for Pratchett. That amused me a great deal, especially in conjunction with Hogfather. My Word spellcheck, I note, did not even register prosciutto as a word. Which goes to show, I guess, that architects and designers are hipper than report writers? Or maybe just more culinary?

Minet--that's the name I've given Little Black Cat--has decided she belongs to us. We sort of suspect the other strays--White Cat and Russian Blue--have homes, they just prefer the line of chow we're doling out. But Minet never leaves. She's given up wild for full-on luvvy duvvy, is now sleeping on the porch, and never leaves the front yard further than the side of the house, and since I've crossed into the dangerous territory of actually giving her a name, I think she's right. Because of the bird, she can't come in or she'd be a fully adopted, totally indoor cat. As is, we'll do the best we can for her. Which means one of these days real soon we're going to take her to the vet and get her fixed. Even if she never forgives us and runs away again, she'll be better off than she would be having litter after litter of kittens.

She's such a sweet little thing. Once she got friendly, we discovered that the little white patch on her chest is matched by a couple of white spots on the belly, and she's got the sweetest little face. And she really loves her scritchies, even to the extent of allowing me to scratch her belly searching in vain hope for an incision scar. Winnie came to me already fixed, but I don't suppose one can hope for two such miracles in one lifetime.

When winter comes we'll have to make a bed for her in the garage. Here on the coast it can get chilly, but not freezing like inland. Maybe as cold as the 40s some nights. I wish to hell we could bring her in, but Bird was here first and has to get first preference. Also, this isn't my house. So we do the best we can.

Quote of the day:

"In the court of birds, the bug never wins his case."

—African proverb


And speaking of social injustice of the day: I spent the weekend getting deeply acquainted with Pink's song, "Dear Mr. President." God, I love that song. She lays it all bare with quiet passion.

ETA: Thanks to kmkibble75 for the Pink video.

In other news:

While I was over at iTunes, I also downloaded a few tunes from Sergio Mendes's new album, Timeless, in which he collaborates with Will.i.am of the Black Eyed Peas (and others). Who knew hip hop and bosanova could sound so good together? Check out "Mas Que Nada."

Other than that, I did a little cooking and some research reading this weekend. I made a marinated London broil with olive oil and soy sauce n' stuff, and my pasta vinaigrette and dang that was good, if I do say so.

And we discovered about a week ago that an adolescent possum (quite a bit smaller than the full grown variety) had taken up residence in the rafters of the garage. (Yeah, I know it's opossum, but for generations my peeps have been saying possum and I'd feel strange calling it otherwise.) (And I ain't going to use no hyphen in front, neither.)

Anyway, this little girl comes out at night and eats the Princess Underfoot rejected cat food we leave out for strays and slips into the garage early in the morning to sleep the day away. She gets in through a smallish hole. We decided we're okay with her sleeping in the rafters, especially since we discovered this weekend that she's got babies. Since we discovered that, we've been leaving fruit near her escape hole to supplement the cat food.

How do we know she's got babies? Possum babies, once they come out of the pouch, ride around on their mother's back until they can fend for themselves. They're so little and cute! The babies peak down from the rafters and their little heads are no bigger than a large walnut shell--and those big, dark eyes. Adorable.

Yeah, adorable. People get freaky about possums, but they're really shy and retiring creatures. They'd rather run away than fight. "But they're so ugly!" people say when we tell them we like possums. Right, so only pretty critters are allowed to live unmolested, I guess. Our vet likes possums, too. In fact, several years ago when a mother possum got killed in the neighborhood, the roommate and I gathered the babies up and took them to the vet. She hand-raised them until they were old enough to go to a nature center.

Adorableness:

http://community.webshots.com/photo/42346258/1528865956025665264YjhDcN

http://www.uky.edu/Ag/Forestry/TBarnes/Web%20pages/MAMMALS/pages/baby%20possum.htm

http://www.kanachart.com/images/eatstuff/animals/babypossum.jpg