The dog alarm

Hello! I was going to write you a post all about 2013, and what was good and what was bad and what I could do better, and then I thought... Who wants to hear all that crap? Rumination is for cows.

So instead, I made you this story. I hope you like it.

This is my mom's cat, Charley.

This is my dad's dog, Leo.

These are Leo's paws.

They are tender and sensitive.

They are Leo's Only Possessions.

And they are Private.

When everyone else is just going to bed,
Charley is just beginning his day.

He runs. He jumps. He slides.

 He does so many things,
and he gets very, very hungry.
He barrels down the basement steps,
and checks his bowl.

No Crunchies.

Charley meows. His meow is a small sound, which surprises him, because he is a big cat. He tries again. But his meow is just a speck, a nothing... a tiny complaint in the great, vast night. Charley knows what to do. He charges up the steps. He zooms along the runner rug into the living room. At the end of the rug is...

Leo. His snores go in and out, and his paws quiver.

Charley taps Leo's paw, but Leo is sleeping so soundly, his paw does not notice. Charley tries again, with extra umph.

Leo's head flies up, his ears flap airborne, and a Great Big Bark escapes his jowls. His bark is loud and round and resonant. Charley presses Leo's paw like a button, and each tap is followed by a large, echoing bark.

Between barks, Charley hears something else, through the ceiling above him. It is two bare feet hitting the floor, then the soft scrape of slippers on wood. This is the happy sound of success: someone is coming to top off the crunchies!

  While Charley races back to his empty bowl to wait, Leo heaves the sigh of a still-very-sleepy Labrador. His head hits the rug with a weighty flop.

 All's well that ends well! (The end.)

The enormous tiny cat returns

Demise of the Tenmoku Vase

Thinking on the Tree Cathedral

I am cat obsessed, and I can't help it. There is a foul, scrappy little cat named Malcolm who sometimes sleeps on the glider on our back porch. He likes to pick at the armrest cushion and watch the green poofs of stuffing come out the hole he's made, and float away on the breeze. He is stinky and he pees on everything, and try as I might, I simply can not convince him to come inside and live with me. He only wants to be feral and free, not to have baths and overflowing bowls of crunchies.

And so. I have only this made up cat, Otto. I've drawn six of him and sent them off to be part of the upcoming Enormous Tiny Art Show at Nahcotta Gallery in Portsmouth, NH. This show happens twice a year, and I am honored to be participating in it for a second time. Thanks, Nahcotta!

In other news... Is there any other news? Matt and I have been tearing our house apart, sorting through Things, some of which we will take with us to Vermont and some of which we will unload before we leave Scranton. None of which we will drag out into the woods, douse with lighter fluid, set aflame, and tip down a mine shaft, which is sort of the ordinary (and super fun!) method of disposal 'round these parts. It's always your scruples that prevent you from having fun, people - remember that.

Our estimated date of departure falls sometime in the month of April. Til then, we'll be firming up house plans (can't wait to share them here!), and trying to sort our thises from our thats. I hope you're all well!