Tuesday, January 31, 2006

Gary Unger.  Posted by Picasa

Bernie Federko who is now a Blues commentator. Posted by Picasa

Jacques Plante Posted by Picasa

sad sack blues

Did I mention that I'm a St. Louis Blues fan? It's true. I married into it. "If you can't beat them, join them." D. has been a St. Louis fan since forever (although I'm not sure how a boy growing up outside of Montreal managed to support any other team -- but then that's just the kind of guy he is).
When D. and I first got together the Blues were in the play offs (the Blues have always been in the play offs for the last 25 years thus, setting a record), and even though we were apart geographically whenever the Blues played I would secretly cheer them on for him, doing things like wearing blue and yellow or some such gesture. When we moved in together, my support continued at this level and I thought it was a little obsessive for him to be listening to St. Louis games on the internet. Now we can see every game thanks (I think it's a thanks) to satellite and although I moaned over hockey potentially being on our t.v. every night of the week, I now sit down to every Blues game if I'm home for it. (D. is always home for their games. If he can't be for some freak reason, then he tapes the games.
Anyway, it's been a long season. Not a great year for the Blues, not even really a good year. They are in last place in the central division of the Western conference with, as of this date, 12 wins and 30 losses. They have an injury list that seems to grow. Did I mention the team is up for sale? So it's shaky times. (BTW D. can correct any of my stats). My brother (Chicago fan thus, rivalry) mailed a sympathy card to D. poking fun at the sad sack blues.
So i'm posting these pictures just for D. so he can remember better days of the past and look forward to the better days to come.

I love the picture of Gary Unger. It's hilarious! I know they aren't "action" shots, but I thought it was so funny that the Blues website should have these pictures of Unger and Jacques Plante instead of the more traditional "action" shot or hockey card shot. I'm not sure what it says about the legacy of these two characters. Who knows?

Monday, January 30, 2006

It's back to cat sitting until the 11th of Feb. Chengo's random acts of cruelty towards Ruggles needs to be monitored in the morning. Chengo's mood swings are quite unpredictable so I feed them and sit and write and wait until the commotion settles down a little. Ruggles is flaked out on the carpet right now and the only one really alert is Penny who is looking out the window and down the alley. Rupert is trying to stay alert so that he can watch Ruggles, but it's so hard for him because he seems so sleepy and his eyes keep drooping. Fortunately, for sis and the cats, I have time to sit with them for now.


We've had a lot of rain and it's raining still. Whoville has had the strangest winter so far because it hasn't been winter at all. The last time I recall any amount of snow that stayed was well before Christmas on a catering night when we had to walk from the house to the subway and four of us trudged down the middle of the side roads in the waning blizzard. Since then it's been rain, a few snowflakes and mild weather. It's been very Victoria, B.C.-like here in whoville. Of course it's much grayer here because we don't have the year round greenery that Victoria has; everything is concrete gray and muddy browns. It is this reason that I wanted to plant as much evergreens in the garden. Not only are the evergreens looking radiant, but we have tulips sprouting in the backyard! I haven't worn my winter coat in days. I don't know if I should be happy for the mild temperatures or deeply concerned because it's just another sign of our self-induced warming climate.

The sun is coming out and the clouds are starting to break. Looks like a good opportunity to run outside today. My first outdoor run for 2006! No treadmill to spin me along.



I forced myself to get up at seven in the morning to make it to a free meditation session in my favorite yoga studio. The session lasts about a half hour and it is followed by the regular Level 1 ashtanga class. When I arrived around 8, the studio was dark and sleepy. People spoke in whispers to each other and a few candles were lit around the room. About ten of us spread ourselves out through the room and got comfy on our mats, some with blankets. I got very cozy and we stayed silent, calm, in our own spaces until the instructor, Diane, chimed a bell to gently rouse us. Everyone moved in their own time, adjusting and packing up slowly and quietly. Then the door was opened and the regular ashtanga students bustled into the room, filling the room with lululemon and chatty noise. It seemed abrupt, but now we have our yoga flow so we need to get on with it. The class was a true flow class. By the time we neared savasana (relaxation at the end) I was quite exhausted and a bit light headed from the deep breathing. At least now I know what I'm in for when I return next week.

The running and yoga do seem to be at odds sometimes. Yes, the stretching, strengthening, and breathing achieved in yoga has benefited my running by keeping me physically healed and mentally focused, but the intentions of each seem at odds. Running is competitive for me. Training at the gym is all about physicality. There are no quiet areas to really cool down because the radio is incessant. When I run outside it's better, but my competitiveness is at the forefront of my thoughts most of the time. In order to run that extra kilometer I motivate myself by thinking of the next race and that I need to run that extra km because at some point in the race I'll feel too tired to go on. I like racing. I like the race atmosphere and being part of all that has to offer. I'm realistic as well. I know that I'm not racing against anyone else but myself in those runs. I've got my last time run and that's all I want to beat, I'm not racing against other people. It's true I do use people in the runs as markers to where I should be or to maintain a pace, but I'm not racing them. Okay, there is some competition there. It does feel good to pass people, especially those that look more experienced than I do. Guilty.
Yoga is not competitive for me. If I become focused on what others are doing in the class then I lose my sense of where I am in a pose or I lose my form or my breath. This is not good and the times I have been competitive in yoga (trying to stretch as far as the person next to me), I've had a bad class. Lesson learned. The great classes are the ones where I can go inside myself and find my own potential and find where I need to do the work. Perhaps I can apply this when I run my training sessions? If I put aside some of the competitiveness in my training then hopefully I can really tune into how I perform as a runner? That's what I'll do use the mindfulness of yoga and apply it to my running.
Time to lace up the shoes.

Sunday, January 29, 2006

Rivers and Tides

Another artist I've discovered a few years back is Andy Goldsworthy. The documentary Rivers and Tides I happened to catch on the documentary channel in whoville and was completely taken with the film, the artist and the artist's work. At the time I was also nearing the end of my thesis screenplay and had quite by accident created and written a character that constructed art much in the same manner as Goldsworthy. In my screenplay, the character was present because his artwork existed in a space even if he himself wasn't present in the scene. Obviously I was meant to see "Rivers and Tides."

Simpson stuff.

I couldn't help myself. I was actually looking for the character maker which is here, but of course that crazy quizilla site came up again and I got sucked in.

You're very smart, loyal, independant and

hard-working. You're a very good and loving

person. Other characters from Tge Simpsons

who are like you : Principal Skinner,

Proffesor Frink, Ned Flanders.

Which Simpson character are you like?
brought to you by Quizilla

My results clearly reveal my nerd side, or nerdish leanings or maybe I'm just a nerd in general. Maybe not or else I would have come up as Martin, I suppose. How about "Geek"?

Friday, January 27, 2006

"When you are dealing with language, there is no edge that the picture drops over or drops off. You are dealing with something completely infinite. Language, because it is the most non-objective thing we have ever developed in this world, never stops."

- Lawrence Weiner in Art Without Space, broadcast symposium, 1969

I may have mentioned Lawrence Weiner in an earlier post, but I can't remember. I've recently discovered his work and am completely taken with it for reasons I may get into later.

I came across this following piece in the AGO collection.

Many Things Brought from One Climate to
Another to make a Grouping of Things not
Related to the Climate at Hand

-Weiner 1981

Saturday, January 21, 2006

a brief quiet moment Posted by Picasa

Chengo at his finest Posted by Picasa

more of the characters Posted by Picasa

Friday, January 20, 2006


Relax! After taking a moment to look at what the universe is trying to tell me, I can see that it is saying, "calm down." For someone who tries not to make too much out of a New Year I sure know how to spin something into a bigger deal than it actually is.


In one of the many (over)developing areas of whoville is a tiny solitude in a warehouse style building. Past the mailboxes and offices is a space transformed. Once you walk through the door you enter her world and reap the benefits of her expertise. She is that space. No one else works there and if I'm kept waiting I don't mind since it's a great place to relax on the couch or in the big easy chair and flip through gardening and renovation magazines.
While the space might be small it feels much larger and is divided up nicely, maintaining that openess. The height of the ceilings help give the room it's illusion of something larger and the windows that are almost as high as the ceiling are draped in an off white canvas that opens from both the top and the bottom like a Roman blind. The windows allow enough light into the room so there's very little need for artificial lighting most of the day. There's a staggered forest of bamboo poles coming out of curved cement forms that act as dividers in the room. A fish tank circulates the sound of water. Tea service from the tray next to the tank begins every visit. Green tea is the typical brew, but sometimes it's infused with other aromas. She's usually seated behind her half-moon shaped desk, a remnant from a factory that looks like a wooden cog and now it's been turned into something new. She ushers you to the central chair and swivels you around to look in the full length mirror while she stands behind you and starts to work. I know it's only a haircut, but it feels like so much more.
The woman who opened this salon use to work in a much more traditional style space with the noise, pace and smells of what we all recognize as a hair salon. Eventually she became unhappy there. Once she decided to go out on her own, she went for her dream, which is this place I described above. Sure there are days when it feels like business as usual and I'm just getting my haircut, but sometimes the energy is just right, the room invites you in and our conversation flows easily. Yesterday was one of those days and boy was it just what I needed.
A haircut and so much more. She also is inspiration, a reminder to go after your dream(s) and how you envision your life as you want it to be so that it has a positive effect for yourself and others.

Wednesday, January 18, 2006

"These pretzels are making me thirsty!"

Let's recap...
In comes the New Year!
As I begin to do my 10% mileage increase in running, I notice my achilles hurts when I reach about the 4 km mark. So, I rest it and then start back by doing some strength training and minimal cross-training.
Then...I go to fluville.
My planned marathon training schedule gets thrown off. So, I need to come up with a new plan for my running/training for 2006, which means changing my goals.

Then...Rupert goes missing and I can't believe he's out in whoville somewhere! Okay, I do find him, but not before he's gone for at least 16 hours and his mum is away and it does seem like the nightmare will not end. When I do find him he's a wild cat who doesn't recognize me. The only thing I have to reason with him is a tin of wet food. He's reluctant to go for my trap, but it works and I grab him. He flips out in my arms and I just get him inside the door before losing hold of him. He'd been hiding under the garage all night. The skunks or raccoons have dug out a place to crawl under the garage for safety. I'm so relieved that space was there for Rupert to hide in. Poor Rupert. Fortunately, in an attempt to distract myself while I took a break from looking for him, I researched escaping cats on the internet and discovered that indoor cats rarely stray more than a house away from home because they're so freaked out. One site says to be aggressive in my search because the cat probably isn't far and to remember to take moments to listen for any quiet meows. This is the only reassurance I have. In the end, it is probably how I find Rupert. I discovered the spot near the garage, put food out, called and then listened. I heard a faint meow and then Rupert appeared shortly after, wild eyed and bushy tailed.

yesterday I'm putting out the garbage and with no great effort, I manage to strain my back. Suddenly, I can't straighten up. I can't do much of anything in fact except try and find ways to be comfortable. Today, I'm stuck inside with ice packs and a heating pad to try and draw the pain out. End of training, period.

I'll reassess tomorrow and determine if I need to go see my local whoville healer.

The bright side?
I have another shot at bringing in the New Year in a more positive way since the Chinese new year is about to change and I'm hoping that once the year of the dog starts, my luck will change. I get to re-examine the feng shui of my abode and start anew.

Changing my running goals has given me more time to research training schedules and more time to actually train (once I get there).

Rupert is safe at home!

D. has been a huge support and he keeps my spirits up and keeps me laughing.

A friend chose to give up meat and become vegetarian! Hurray!

Being trapped at home gave me time to finish Grace (see side panel). I've blocked the pieces and am just waiting for the cotton to dry before sewing it up.

Maybe I'm complaining too much, but the start to the new year has been challenging me every step of the way, throwing up new obstacles every day. What have I learned? Should I have learned something? Perhaps there's nothing to be learned and stuff just happens or maybe I need to follow Jasper Friendly Bear's advice when he says: "Stay calm, be brave, wait for the signs."

Saturday, January 14, 2006

Vegan Knitting

I'm an addict. I am now adknitting, I mean...admitting, to the world that I'm an knitting addict. My heartrate increases when I step into Romni wools. I've been lost in the web of internet pattens and stockists, searching for that perfect hat or scarf pattern, or the best deal on my favorite skein of the week. I find it necessary to dare myself with new challenges, "ric-rac hat? Can I do that? Circular needles? Am I ready for that?" Of course I am because when my needles touch and the cast-on begins I become still, my mind clear and calm, at one with the needles and wool. I visualize the pattern through to the end. Of course I may slip the stitches off the needle and unravel my work again and again just to reach a satisfactory outcome or because I may realize half way through a pattern that this is the wrong garment for this wool. I ask myself: what does this wool want to be?

Okay enough. I am an addict and I became vegan, I've given up wool. Leather went a long, long time ago, but I was in denial about wool. I admit it. Now for those that don't know the ugly side of the wool industry, a few little excerpts about the cruelty (not for the faint-hearted):

"Within weeks fo their birht, lambs' ears are hole punched, their tails are chopped off, and the males are castrated without anesthetic."

"shearers are usually paid by volume, not by hour, which encouragges working quickly and carelessly."

The disgusting practice of "mulesing" with Merino sheep you can read for yourself here .

Anyhoo...I've become a vegan knitter and in my research to find like minded (com)passionate knitters I came across this knitting blog . Not only is every non animal fibre mentioned here, but there is a great in depth breakdown of how each fibre is made. What an inspiring si(gh)te! I followed her links and also found pineapple fibre wool and then did some more surfing around. The next thing I knew I was tearing apart my latest project to start anew and try something more challenging with my Manos del Uruguay kettle dyed cotton.

I also noticed that Amy Singer from knitty is planning a new book that uses no animal fibres (except for silk) so I want to keep an eye out for that.

If anyone knows of any other sites or goodies I should look into let me know.

Now, back to my needles. Is it rude to take your knitting to a dinner party?

Wednesday, January 11, 2006

Drives with my mother

We’re on the side road, the other route to the city and the road winds and dips, a single faded orange line down the middle appears sporadically, but mostly the narrow road is unmarked. I follow the line when I can or when I’m bored, but mostly I watch for the familiar landmarks, the baseball field, Anna’s house, the general store with the Canada Dry sign, my piano teacher’s house in that unusual bleak blue, the place I went to kindergarten, then the long stretch where it’s unfamiliar just before we reach the city. At the four way juncture I recognize we’re near the garage where my father works. At the flashing light we always turn left and I always wonder what’s down the road if we went right. I look as far as I can, but we’re already moving too quickly away from that unknown to the familiar, the hockey rink where my brother waits, stick in hand, bag on the concrete steps.

My sister is in the back seat, her piano book on her lap. She and my mother talk about things I can’t remember. I’m in the front seat even though I’m smaller than my sister and I hold my piano book to my chest, the same book my sister already used last year with notes penciled in for her. The front page corner is wrinkled where I erased her name and wrote mine in. The sky is all cloud except for one pocket of blue just past the tree line. I press my nose against the glass, trying to see the pebbled shoulder. Everything is blurry and the longer I look the dizzier I get. When I look up I take a moment to feel like myself again. The car stops. Between the open drapes, the piano teacher’s doughy form rocks in her chair. Her house looks dark inside. It always does on the cloudy days. The lawn slopes down and away from the road. My sister waits on the walkway for me while I say good-bye to my mother.

Driving away from the city along Manawaganish road, my mother and I play a game. It’s just the two of us in the car. We always have the most fun when it’s just the two of us. Maybe we’re coming from grocery shopping, or a dentist appointment or maybe it’s something else. A memory game, “I packed my trunk for Boston, and in it I put…” and so we go, starting with the letter A. I resort to the same familiar words of my world while my mother introduces new and unusual things to put in a trunk, things to make me laugh, a buffalo, some luggage, an octopus, Thomasina (our cat). This game can only be interrupted by our long running joke as we drive by the west side cemetery one of us asks: “how many people are dead in there?” and the other replies “all of them.” Each time it’s retold there is the humor not only from the joke, but from the first time she asked me and I was stumped, guessing a random number. Then we have to recall where we were in the alphabet in our original game and now we must also recall the objects in the trunk that were jostled for a moment from the joke.

It’s nighttime and I don’t know why my mother is upset. My sister, brother and I are all in the car. It’s late and I don’t know where we’re going or why. She just keeps driving and talking, but she’s not really talking to us or else I’d know where we’re going. At night the road is all darkness with hardly any light coming from anywhere but the headlights, so I can only see the chip-sealed road and the orange line that disappears ahead in the blackness of night. It seems to pull the car along like the cable for a ferryboat. This must be where I find my comfort because what pulls the ferry away from shore always brings it back safely.

The trans Canada highway divides our village into two halves. We use to live below the highway, near the river in a house with my father. Now we live on the other side of the highway so close that I can see it from our living room apartment window. We’re closer to my grandmother’s house now even if it’s only by a few miles. I feel closer to her. When we turn onto the highway I watch the apartment window until we turn the corner and it’s gone and so are we.
It’s an hour and a half drive, but the time seems to fly. We’ve driven this route so many times I know each curve and hill like I had created them myself. When I close my eyes I can guess where we are on the route and when I open them again I am almost always right. I keep my special powers to myself; it’s for my entertainment only. On the long straight stretches, which are few and far between, sometimes mom takes her hands off the wheel and with a big smile says, “look girls, no hands!” We screech at her to put them back on the steering wheel, but it’s like magic to me and I find it thrilling to see how far she can go.

Sunday and CBC radio is on in the car as usual. It plays opera. I can barely stand it. Mom sings along, doing her impression of a soprano as best she can and then does her opera laugh for us. Another joke where the humor can be found in it’s dramatic flare. One day she will sing and be a soprano in her choir. I will travel to Montreal to see her sing in the park with my sister and her boyfriend on a beautiful summer day. The music she sings is not like the music we listened to in the car and I find it far more lovely, especially in the open air.

She’s not the one who teaches me to drive. My stepfather is the one to teach me and I find it exhilarating to be in first gear all the way down the dirt road behind our house. That’s all I can manage. I have trouble turning around at the end of the road because I can’t find reverse. He has the patience to wait and he does while I turn the car around and then struggle to find first gear again. There’s much stalling, but eventually I creep along the dirt road back to our driveway. Mom comes out of the house to greet us. We’re all happy because of my success, and eventually I pass my road test, but I miss the drives with my mother.
Occasionally mom and I do take the ferry away from the peninsula to go grocery shopping just like when I was little. We have a new kind of fun now. She buys us treats with change she has rolled, ice cream cones from a roadside store and yogurt covered raisins from the natural food shop that is newly opened. Whatever change is left, she gives to me and I spend it uselessly on bad cafeteria food at school and later single cigarettes from the corner store in the city where they sell two for twenty-five cents.

My mother and I drive in my rental car down the west coast of the United States. I wish we had more time, but I have to get back already to make another journey for a friend. We take the scenic route along the coast and we agree that Oregon has some of the most beautiful shorelines we’ve ever seen. I feel as distant from her sometimes as the 4,000 miles of geography that now exists between us, but I had to go west. I needed to breathe on my own. She offers to drive and even though I’m tired I say it’s okay because she’s still recovering from her accident and I’m afraid it might be too taxing for her to drive with that brace on her leg.

Tuesday, January 10, 2006


Went to fluville for a couple of days. It wasn't so great. I'd recommend that you try and avoid it if you can.

New year and a new start is the plan is it not? My tradition in the past has been to use my birthday as the time of year to assess where I've gone and where I plan to go, but somehow the changeover of a new year seems suitable. There's also the Chinese new year around the corner when we go from the year of the Rooster to the year of the Dog. There is still time to take stock and make decisions for 2006, no hasty resolutions for me. I've never found resolutions to be of much use, especially with their failure rate. I heard a stat that 1 out of every 5 people stick to her/his resolution (we all know how reliable stats are, ha! Don't worry sis I know you are that 1 out of the 5 people who will keep her resolution so keep going!).

2005 was particularly busy for me. I finished some old business (thesis) and took up some new hobbies (running). So what will 2006 bring? I guess you'll find out as much as I will.


Saturday. A gathering of friends brought together by one who now lives overseas was on the agenda. She had wonderful news that she is pregnant. She and her husband are elated of course and I couldn't be more happy for them. I only wish they were closer.

Sunday. Finally we made the time to take down the Christmas decorations. The only thing harder than decorating a pine tree is undecorating a pine tree because now the needles are a little dryer and therefore sharper. Ouch! On that same note, it will also be the last time I decorate with real holly. Of course I'll forget by the time we reach the next Christmas and fall for the "cute little pine" and "oh holly is so lovely and it's my favorite symbol of the holidays." Actually, I'm waiting for the organic tree trend to begin. Where is it please? If you know, let me know. The amount of chemical crap that probably comes into the house on that poor tree is something I'm not sure I can participate in again. I know, I know it's only once a year and I did weaken this year by decorating my tree shaped (vegan of course) sugar cookies with green food coloured icing because I said "why not, it's only once a year." I must be getting soft as I age.

Monday. I started to pack my bags to leave fluville. I don't think the leaders debate helped my recovery. I have to say I'm a bit of Duceppe fan. No, I'm not supporting the Bloc and not just because there is no member in my riding. Duceppe seemed to act more as a moderator and recounter of events in the House of Commons. He was appropriately positioned between Harper and Martin. As for Harper, he made me giggle. At one point I turned to signif. other and said, "Is he drunk?" because of that silly grin on his face. I couldn't understand what he was smiling at, looking like a mischevious little boy. I know it's not nice to get personal, but boy has he ever gotten fat since he became leader! Him evading the raising taxes on low income families did it for me. Martin, well...how can you look yourself in the mirror in the morning? I know he needs to check his dentured smile, but really after all that has gone down and you're still making a stab at running the country? He was very defensive at the beginning, but seemed to settle down. The camera definitely zoomed on him more than the other candidates. Should we be suspicious? Okay, a quick note for Jack Layton, if you say "working families" one more time...! I get it already. Anyone of you leaders want my vote? Thanks for trying, but sorry I've got other plans.

Saturday, January 07, 2006

The Blog that Never Was

Well, here is my second attempt...

I spent much time earlier today on the blog and nothing. My browser froze when I was on another page and poof it all disappeared. I'll sum up...

    I questioned my conflicted feelings about blogging and journalling.
    There was a dialogue between Rupet and Chengo with background actions from Ruggles and Penny
    a brief review of Rent, which I saw the other day, that examined how it worked musically, but ultimately came apart as a film (even though I have not seen the stage production).
    a mention of the Buffy musical episode -- my geek moment -- and an insert of the "which song are you" quiz

I may as well include the "which song are you" quiz for those Buffy fans out there. Where are you? I know you're there.

I'll Never Tell....

Which Buffy Musical Song Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

I should mention that it was my attempt to enter the New York times website that caused the freeze. This is perhaps a sign that I should not read the times, not that I do usually but I like to scan different papers and see their slants on events in the world.

Btw, if you take the quiz let me know which song you are. Above is the Buffy song that I am most like (today).

As my high school chum and I use to write to one another...

ciao for now

Wednesday, January 04, 2006

more of the cast

Name: Rupert
Age: 3 years
Favorite Food: anyone else's
Favorite Toy: Paper balls on the kitchen tile
Favorite place to sleep: hallway on the dog pillow

Rupert arrived in 2003. L. started feeding him on her deck and he never left again. We saw him the previous winter, recognizing him as the very shy grey tabby who would run at the sight of a human. He's still very shy with new people and sometimes even with us here at home. He's having BIG issues with the new kitty Ruggles. When will he get use to the new cat? When will Rupert be his old self again? That's yet to be determined.

Name: Chengo/Limoncello
Age: 5
Favorite Food: T.D.
Favorite Toy: Rupert (and his tall post that D. built)
Favorite place to sleep: blue fleece cat bed

Chengo was a scrawny mess when he showed up on L's deck. (Yes, as you've figured out, many cats start looking for food on L's deck. I think word got out in the cat community that she's just that kind). He was quite filthy and not quite full grown. We tried to take him to the Whoville humane society, but they refused to take a stray cat (at the time they were having some financial and other troubles -- they're much better now). We had to bring him home and L. hoped that she could find him a home on her own. Well...do I need to say more? Look at that face. It didn't take long before he won her heart completely. He might be a bit spoiled, but what cat shouldn't be spoiled? Chengo loves Rupert. He was so happy when Rupert moved in. He swats at Rupert and then lies on his back, waiting for Rupert to attack. We think it's love. Chengo also dislikes Ruggles, but his moods swing and sometimes he doesn't even acknowledge Ruggles existence. Chengo and Rupert have been known recently to corner Ruggles so that Ruggles can't move around the house and find important spots like the cat box! More on that story later.

Name: Penelope/Penny
Age: ? 9 we think?
Favorite Food: Wellness Chicken
Favorite Toy: Blue ball
Favorite place to sleep: on the floor vent in the living room or on Rupert

Penny lived most of her life in the alleys of Montreal. Fortunately, that street has a cat woman who cares for all of the street cats. She recognized that Penny was very sick one winter and managed to catch her. Penny had pneumonia and spent a lot of time at the vet. Penny was diagnosed with FIV. L. heard of her story and resolved to move Penny in as soon as she could, knowing that Penny would be difficult to adopt out. Penny is a survivor. She's lost most of her teeth now (Gummilope), but her health is pretty good overall. She really rules the roost with a monarch's heir about her. She keeps Rupert in his place (licking his fur the wrong way and the occasional swat to the head, and she lets the others know who is boss. She just sits back and watches the boys and their circus activities as they try to sort out who is top cat amongst them (it's really just Rupert trying to sort this out -- even as I write this he is being scolded in the background for having attacked Ruggles yet again).

Name: Ruggles
Age: ? 4
Favorite Food: Any food. He's just happy to eat.
Favorite Toy: catnip mouse
Favorite place to sleep: on the bed against the pillow next to L. (sorry Rob)

Ruggles is the newbie. He's the disruptor, but is the most passive cat I've ever met. He just likes to follow L around the house and is happy to do nothing but lie back and relax. He too is a stray. He was hiding under our front porch quite terrified of anything that came within two feet of him. Odd for a Persian to be a stray, but...we fed him and one day L. just picked him up and carried him into the house. Once again, she was certain she'd find a home for him, and we took photos to post etc etc, but her concern for Ruggles well-being grew and her love for him grew even more until...here he is. Ruggles really wants to be left alone to enjoy his life eating, cleaning and being around L. Rupert is really making it difficult though.

So, L. is off to Montreal to do a play. She has a friend staying who loves cats and will be looking after them for just over two weeks. After that I take over looking after the brood and will update at that time how it's all going. Will Rupert and Chengo declare their love for one another? Will Penny get to run around on the deck and maybe even up on the railing? Will Ruggles get to eat in peace? Will Rupert...will Rupert ever adjust? Poor Rupie.