Ben & Jen Shepard

I have been meaning to write this series for a very long time.  Because Ben and I are currently at a crossroads in our lives, the time seems right to finally finish it.  Crossroads tend to make you take stock of things, analyze your life and put things in a different order than they were in when circumstances were mundane.  Crossroads are also a place where you have to make a choice.  I am hoping that by looking back, remembering what it is I love most, I will find strength to make the right choices for our future.

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Well, it’s October.  That means it’s time to winterize stuff.  The motorcycle, the lawn mower, my parents.  Mom and Dad will be heading to Florida for the impending doom…I mean winter.  Sadly, that means that they will have to find another home for one of their cats, Dandelion.  Don’t be fooled by the name.  He’s no flower.  If you’re a sissy then he’s not the cat for you.  However, if you can bench more than 70 pounds and wear a lot of leather, then you’ve met your match.  Dandelion, albeit a tad rough around the edges, is friendly and enjoys the company of humans.  He loves to be pet and will always greet you at the door with a hello and a hefty shove to the knee area which is his version of a welcome home rub.

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A few nights ago Ben and I were outside enjoying a beautiful summer evening.  He was mowing the lawn while I was tending some of my vegetables.  It was just about the time of evening when the rabbits come out, and we have them aplenty in our neighborhood.  They’re not shy either.  On several occasions we’ve spotted a couple of them boldly chasing each other around someone’s front yard.  Sometimes we’ll see one sitting stone still in the middle of the grass like it thinks it’s invisible.  They don’t even really run away when we walk or drive by.  I think they are so cavalier because the houses in our neighborhood are so close together and there are so many dogs and cats that they are just used to all the company.  So, on this particularly warm evening, it didn’t really surprise me when we saw a rabbit hopping around the neighbor’s bushes despite the humming lawn mower.  It did surprise me though when Ben pointed out that it was actually a tiny little baby bunny, a rare sight even in spring where we live.  It was so cute!  But in a flash, it had disappeared into the greenery.  I smiled, and went back to the vegetables.

Only a few seconds later, I heard Ben hollering over the mower and then he was abandoning it and running toward the neighbor’s yard.  Suddenly, I saw something small and dark streak across the neighbor’s grass with Romeo in hot pursuit.  It was almost too late when we lept upon the scene, yelling and flailing, doing all we could to shoo the cat away.  Romeo startled and looked up at me with wide eyes, so incredibly confused by our bizarre behavior!  Clearly this was dinner!  Poor cat.  I did manage to get him into the house, bewildered and disappointed as he was.  Ben carefully scooped up the baby bunny and looked him over for injuries.  No serious ones, thank goodness.  Ben’s rescue was just in time.  The little one was only inches from a Discovery-Channel-worthy death.  After a few minutes (and some excitedly taken photographs on my part) we let him go into the bushes.  A good ending for bunny.

For the next several hours, the cats sat in the windowsill, gazing out into the empty yard, willing bunnies to appear.

So you might be thinking that due to the lack of cat-related posts, all has been quiet on the feline front.

…Oh contraire.

Let’s start with Romeo’s latest attention-seeking tactic, which he has been employing daily around 3:30am.  It begins with a few crazed laps around the house, sometimes smacking his toy mouse noisily around on the hardwood floors.  Next he feigns interest in something outside as an excuse to use my pillow as a launchpad to the windowsill above our heads.  Seconds later, he’s body slamming us on his way back down to the floor.  No matter that my head is in his path, he’ll just bulldoze right on over.  Next comes the worst part.  The wall and door scratching.  We used to keep the door closed so that he would leave us alone at night, but instead he would scratch on the door incessantly to get in.  Now that we keep the door open, he turns around and slams it shut and then scratches to get out!  If it’s not the door he’s scratching, then it’s the walls.  And if it’s not the walls, then it’s the cardboard box in the corner, shredded to pieces all over the floor. Sometimes, when he’s feeling a little more patient, he will sit on my nightstand and slowly knock things off, one at a time.  First my phone.  I don’t move.  Then my book.  Now I’m awake and a little agitated.  Then my alarm clock.  Well, I need that!  But he sees me moving and is gone before my arm comes fully around to land on his behind.  Swing and a miss!  <Insert frustrated sigh here>

I do have to give this cat credit in one capacity, however.  A while ago we found mice poo under the cupboard and we left the doors open for the cats to patrol.  The mice have not returned, which is good.  We also found no evidence that they had caught any, so we figured the mice got smart and looked for food in non-cat-partolled areas.  That is, until this weekend.  “Honey, can you come lift this chair up so I can vacuum under it, please?”  Along with copious amounts of cat hair I suck up something else.  I pull it toward me thinking it’s one of Romeo’s toy mice that he likes to bat around.  Well, it was a mouse alright….and I guess you could say they used it as a toy.  I don’t consider myself as squeemish as some women when it comes to dead things and bugs and stuff.  But I admit, this time I freaked out completely.  Shivers up my spine and goosebumps and all!  We threw the carcas out, but I’m mortified to have found that under my living room chair and God only knows how long it was there!  So much for cats who bring you their kill as a “present.”  My cat hides it like a stinky time bomb under my furniture and then waits!  Great job, kitty, but for heaven’s sake, TELL ME next time you get one!

It’s an addictive sound.  That satisfyingly indubitable click of the shutter capturing forever what your eye can catch for barely a moment.  Suddenly you start to see everything as an image worth freezing, an opportunity, a possibility for great beauty or irony or laughter.  You start to actually see the world in its detail, and to imagine what you can make of it.  All this starts with a click.

We bought our Nikon D40 Digital SLR camera back in August.  Ben, having taken college courses in photography and worked at a portrait studio, has wanted a DSLR for a long time.  I liked the idea of getting into photography too.  I just didn’t realize at the time the wide worlds of creativity to which it could connect me.

Before we made this substantial purchase, I researched cameras for weeks.  In addition to figuring out which camera was best for us, I learned about aperture, shutter speed, ISO, white balance, metering and a host of other technical things that you never have to worry about with a point-and-shoot digital camera.  Once you have control over these aspects of the camera, though, almost anything is possible!

I love taking pictures of animals.  If you saw how many pictures of the cats we have you might wonder if they weren’t subbing in as children.  I swear they are not, it’s just that they provide me with such good practice subjects.  Get them outside and they are so expressive, everything from the dramatic to the hilarious.  When we go to Ben’s parent’s house I have tremendous amounts of fun photographing, Snicker, his mom’s Golden Doodle.  The dog is such a rag doll, it’s wonderful!  He has so much personality to try to fit into that lens.

One day, when we have horses, I will photograph them all the time too.  I will have pictures of them all over my house, in large frames, galloping across my walls.  I can see it if I close my eyes.  Black and whites of stoic close-ups, green pastures vivifying black and brown and gray manes and tales, a big nose reaching down to sniff the camera as I capture a different perspective.  It thrills my deepest heart.

Well, it’s not really fair of me to talk all about photographs without posting a few.  So here’s a smattering….

By now you should know that our cats are a little crazy.  They do weird things that we have mostly come to accept as part of the adventures of living with them.  Most antics don’t phase us anymore.  Recently, though, when Romeo began obsessing over the bottom cupboard beneath the sink, we took notice.  It wasn’t that he was obnoxiously flamboyant about it.  In fact, it was because he was so quietly dedicated to this new pastime that we noticed.  He’d just sit there staring at the closed door, occasionally pawing it open and cautiously sticking his head in.  If we were washing dishes or trying to prepare a meal it was supremely inconvenient.  We’d slide him out of the way and go about our business and he’d stealthily slide right back when we weren’t paying attention, slipping between our feet to stare at the door again.  Sometimes he’d actually climb all the way inside and the door would swing shut behind him.  He’d stay in there for long stretches and the house would get eerily un-rambunctious.  We’re just not used to that sort of calm.

As it turns out, my cat is no dummy.  He wasn’t trying to raid the trash (which he has been known to do) or sniff too much Windex.  No, my cat smelled a rat.  Actually, it was a mouse.  Well….mice.

When he wouldn’t desist with the cupboard obsession, we finally investigated and to our severe dismay found copious amounts of  mouse turds littering the floor.  We gawked.  Romeo just stared at us disaffectingly.  I could almost hear him, “Finally get there, Sherlock?”

Not wanting to be inhumane and get the nasty mouse traps that do some serious disfigurement in the process of “discouraging” the rodents to return, we decided leave the cupboard doors wide open and let the cats police the area.  (If the mice have to be savagely killed, I’d rather nature do it and not bear the responsibility – at least this is what I tell myself.)  So Romeo stood sentry, hunched over the hole in the back of the cupboard and Orange waited just outside the door as backup.  We’re not sure they saw any action overnight, since there was no evidence of a battle.  However, Romeo did attempt to climb the shower curtain rather violently in the early a.m. hours.  So either he was chasing a mouse (oh, I hope not around my house!) or….that crafty beast saw this as the perfect opportunity to do some damage and have a good alabai.  Wouldn’t put it past him.

One a lighter note, this is for those of you who, like me, get a tremendous amount of amusement from the more comical side of cats.  THIS website is a good laugh…

And here are some of my favorites.  These had me rolling.

There is a thing I want more than anything in the world, that makes my heart literally feel as if it is melting inside me.  My ideal life is full of them, running, grazing, lying under a warm summer sun.  My heart feels full when I am close to horses.

Helen Thompson said that “In riding a horse we borrow freedom.”  I have found this to be profoundly true.  Horses are not what most people think.  Even most “equestrian” people usually don’t fully understand what their horse truly is.  My experience with horses and people who thought they understood them started when I was four.  Over twelve years of practically living at the barn I saw and learned a lot about how to ride, how to groom, how to look good in a show ring.  Years later, I have come to understand that success in competition is not an indication of good horseman (or -woman) -ship.  But more on that in another post.  I think that the most essential part of it I learned from the horse himself.

Somehow horses are uniquely suited to be excellent teachers to us humans about the most important parts of our humanity.  You cannot fool a horse with the facades that succeed in convincing other people that you are something you’re actually not.  Horses are far too honest to let you lie to yourself about such things, let alone lie to them.  If you are not up front with a horse, and therefore with yourself, about who you are he will most likely do you the favor of showing you.

There was one horse in particular who taught me more than I could ever repay him for.  His name was Harmony and we were inseparable.  I can remember during one riding lesson, the instructor asked us to jump a fence that to me looked impossible.  I had never jumped that high and I was so terrified that I pulled up in the middle of the course, shaking and on the verge of tears.  Harmony felt it, I’m sure.  He knew I was petrified.  But I think he also knew that I needed to overcome this obstacle, and that deep down, I really wanted to.  The instructor pushed me to keep going.  With all the other kids watching, the battle between my fear and surrounding pressure to perform up to par felt like it could swallow me and my pony whole.  But in that moment I had forgotten about the courage of my friend.  When he sensed I was ready, Harmony cantered steadily toward the fence, gathered himself, and carried me soaring over the jump.  He made sure he was balanced directly underneath me so I knew we were doing this together, meeting the challenge, defeating the fear monster.  Somewhere over the space of that fence all my fear evaporated.  His courage became mine.  All I felt was freedom.

I never owned Harmony in the sense that we paid money for him and had a piece of paper to say he was mine.  But it was obvious to everyone that we belonged.  Ultimately, money was the obstical that took him away from me when the owner of the barn sold him to another stable.  The day we pulled up and I saw the trailer parked near the barn, I could not even bring myself to get out of the car.  “Do you just want to go?” my mom asked quietly.  I nodded, tears already streaming.  Although I rode several more years at that barn, for me there was never another horse to equal him.

When I was young and asked what I wanted for Christmas, I really did say “a pony.”  (Usually I still do).  One day soon I will have horses of my own.  My greatest desire is to rescue as many as I can from abuse, neglect and worse.  They have given so much to humans, especially this one.  I have indeed borrowed freedom from them.  In my heart I am compelled to return it a hundredfold.

“There are unknown worlds of knowledge in brutes; and whenever you mark a horse, or a dog, with a peculiarly mild, calm, deep-seated eye, be sure he is an Aristotle or a Kant, tranquilly speculating upon the mysteries in man. No philosophers so thoroughly comprehend us as dogs and horses. They see through us at a glance…But there is a touch of divinity even in brutes, and a special halo about a horse, that should forever exempt him from indignities.”

~ Herman Melville

Nothing too exciting has happened these last few days since we’ve been snowed in.  So I figured it’s a good time to introduce our other kitty, Orange.  There’s so much to tell about Orange, but I’ll try to filter it down.  First, his name.  Orange used to belong to my roommate.  She tried out many different names on him but none of them seemed to fit.  She finally gave up and started calling him “the orange one”. For better or worse, it stuck even after I adopted him.  The up side of such an unassuming name is that it leaves room for numerous nick names.  He’s had about a dozen so far, including the most frequently used “Juicer”.  It sounds nonsensical, but is fun to say in that tone some people take when talking to young children.  It went like this:  Orange -> Orange Juice -> Juice -> Juicer.  Most pet owners will understand perfectly.

Ok, moving on. Orange holds entire conversations with me while I get ready for work, he always sleeps next to me at night, he comes when I call him, won’t leave my side when I am home sick, and sometimes I turn around and he’s watching me with a soft contented look in his eyes.  No, I am not mistaking him for Ben.  (Ben doesn’t always come when I call him.)  Put Orange outside and he’s a total boyscout, interested in everything and not usually afraid unfavorable weather.  As for his vices, Orange has only a few.  Getting into the garbage and instigating fights with Romeo, then acting like it was all Romeo’s fault (but what younger sibling doesn’t do that?).  I think Orange is in many ways the quintessential kitty.  Oh, and he has his own theme song.

Orange has actually taught me a lot about human-animal relationships.  Through a series of turbulent moves and difficult months, Orange and I learned that we needed each other.  I was the only constant thing in his life when we moved from house to house.  He was sometimes my only comfort in a lonely moment, and he even helped calm my nervous jitters on my wedding day.  He’s truly my kitty.  And I know I’m his human.

One of the best sources of entertainment and funny stories in our lives is our cats, Romeo and Orange.  To give you an illustration of what it’s like to live with cats, check out this link.

Persistent and inventive until they get what they want.

So this is Romeo.  Oh, I know he looks all cute and furry.  But don’t let that fool you.  All that fluff is merely a disguise for just about every feline disaster you could think possible, all in one monochromatic little package.  Or rather, not so little.  Romeo’s favorite thing to do is eat.  Most people with cats leave a bowl of food around for the cat to munch on throughout the day at various times.  We, however, are on a strict regiment of 1/4 cup cat food in the morning and 1/4 cup in the evening and not one nugget more in between.  Given the chance, Romeo will eat every possible scrap of food in sight and when he can’t eat anymore…well…let’s just say that what goes down must come up.  Not exactly a specimen of feline intelligence.

That’s not to say he isn’t clever.  I remember the time I came home from work to find the refrigerator door wide open and the remains of my freshly purchased chicken breast (that night’s dinner) shredded into pieces across the floor.  Obviously, I had not made it clear it was to be my dinner.  The next day, the refrigerator door was open again.  And the next day.  Drastic measures had to be taken, so I purchased a toddler-proof refrigerator door lock, thinking that thanks to man’s capacity for innovation and the invention of plastic, I, Human, had once and for all triumphed over Cat. The next day I walked confidently into the house only to find the freezer door flung wide open and all my frozen chicken thawing on the kitchen floor.  Cat: 1, Human: 0.