Dolly (1988 - 2008)

Yesterday, a tiny but wonderfully spunky spirit passed from our lives. Dolly, our dear little spitfire of a cat, has died despite our thinking she’d be with us forever. Dolly suffered from renal failure; a common ailment of elderly cats according to the vet. Also, given her age - 20 human years - she was, plain and simply, old. Old and worn out.

She signaled her resignation from life by refusing food and water. Even cheese, her favourite. We knew it was bad when she passed on the cheese, although trooper that she is, she did make a valiant effort to taste the itsiest bitsiest piece. In retrospect, it wasn’t so much refusal as simply her not being able.

We knew it was bad when she stopped talking to us for she was a very verbose cat. Her conversation usually took the form of orders. As in “Get out of my shower!” She believed she owned the shower and my husband’s or my presence there was barely tolerated. You had to be careful stepping out for the Shower Nazi would be sitting directly at the door giving you her sternest glare. Or “Get to bed!” when I stayed up too late, the vocalization undeniably an order while she’d sit in the hallway glaring at me like an irritable old grandmother. Honestly - it was unnerving. Or her relentless “Get out of bed” at 5:29 am every morning. 5:30 am is hubby’s usual wake-up time but she’d always manage to beat the alarm by a minute which, during the week, was OK but not very welcome on weekends. Ignoring her meant a parade of paws up and down your body on the most vulnerable spots (still a welcome change from pushing things off the dresser or side tables).

We knew it was bad as she got thinner and thinner over the past year despite our best efforts to engage her appetite: freshly cooked chicken, various types of fish, special cat food. All to little avail. Her digestive system was failing and the gurgles embarrassingly loud – she’d simply ignore them. At her last vet visit, she weighed only 5 pounds and I hesitate to estimate what that delicate little skeleton enrobed in silky-soft fur weighed.

We knew it was bad when she stopped grooming herself. No doubt she knew her coat was in disarray; still, she showed her appreciation and love of being groomed and stroked with her favourite brush every day by constant circling back to ensure a good chin rub and then follow through from head to tail-tip. Until her legs could no longer hold her steady.

She stopped playing around. In July, we played our last game of Catch My Tail where she’d sit still with her back to you and allow you to pet her tail before whipping it away only to waft it gently over your hand again and again, temptingly. She had incredible control of that tail. Nor had we played Who’s Under the Door in quite a while…she loved to chase your hand or whatever was at hand from the opposite side of a shut door. Suffice to say, there was just enough leeway for her polydactyled paw to tap blindly at whatever caught her imagination, and she was faster than lightening! Thursday, in her guise as "littlest pony," I saw her take one last mad dash up and down the hallway. Maybe trying to outrun how she was feeling.

On Friday, her decline was bad, Saturday was worse and Sunday was unbearable.

I had a bad moment at 2:30 am one night when I saw a green light emanating from the bathroom. Half asleep I wondered when spirits move on, could they generate light? Had Dolly just died? I must have dreamed it. But no, there it was again, a very faint green glow. Knowing we have no night-lights in that room, I nudge hubby. “My shaver’s recharging,” the sleepy reply. Ahhhh.

We debated our responsibility. Was it better to allow her to pass away on her own or God’s timetable or to euthanize her? Neither felt right.

We knew it was bad when we didn’t recognize her voice, a few weak croaks of dissent as I picked her up, then acquiescence and total silence as we drove down the road to the vet’s. As there’d been a last minute emergency, we had privacy and extra time to say our goodbyes, to touch and love Dolly a little longer, and to thank her for being such a joy in our lives.

The vet and her assistant were wonderfully supportive, explaining what would happen, what to expect. A general anesthetic “to take the edge off,” a quick but gentle shaving of her forearm, then the vet expertly finding a vein, despite Dolly’s dehydration, to administer the heart-stopper. It was over. Her spirit and life gone in an instant.

We grieve her passing. We’re grateful for this last summer and the pleasure it brought her. We’ll miss her beauty, her other-worldly emerald eyes, her attitude and her presence, and the loss of her cheerful chirrups welcoming us home. We'll miss her touch, that gentle tap-tap on face, hand or knee to signal her need of attention, and her barely discernible purr. We feel her lack in all rooms of our house. Memories are strong and tears assail us when we least expect it. Dolly was very special, being intelligent and loaded with personality and chutzpa. She didn’t seem to know she was just a little cat. Feisty as hell, she took on those bigger and better, be it cats, dogs or people and she usually won. Just being herself, she touched our lives and those of our relatives and friends.

We pray she’s frolicking and enjoying all the mint in the Big Catnip Patch in the Great Beyond. Goodbye, sweet Smidge.

Our Rustic Arbour

I love rustic things, furniture, birdhouses, plant holders – you name it. My dream of building my own rustic arbour began while kayaking on Lake Mindemoya on Manitoulin Island. I’d spotted a vine or tree of some sort which had twisted upon itself in climbing another stronger tree onshore. And so the seed of a design began for my arbour. But step one was convincing my husband and brother to retrace my kayak path but in the boat with a saw to retrieve it. That obstacle was more easily overcome (with much explanation, of course) than expected. My brother thinks twisty wood is really tag alder…anyone know for sure?

But once you spot twisty wood once, you see it everywhere! Hubby spotted some on our cottage landlord’s land; it was even more incredible than the wood we already harvested. With the landlord’s blessing, we harvested that too with a little more difficulty. It required climbing on the roof of the car, my hubby hanging like a gorilla for the thing was hard to take down.

These several large pieces of twisty wood accompanied us home and lived in the garage over the fall, winter and spring (my deadline for creating the harbour was this summer). As luck would have it, I also found some old cedar fencing long abandoned in a swampy area. Again, poor hubby was recruited to help me load up the station wagon. And the twisty wood had the cedar pieces for company over the long cold winter.

Walking Spencer one day, I spot more “twisty wood” down by the Fire Hall. My reluctant recruit, poor old hubby, once again came to the rescue, sawing and hacking off a few more pieces to better enhance the arbour.

People were beginning to doubt my dream. “Are you really gonna build something with that stuff?” I’d be asked. Sometimes I wondered myself. In a moment of doubt, I asked a renown wood man up the road if he'd like to have it, and while he was tempted, he encouraged me. Just listen to the wood, he said, it'll tell you what to do. So I drew up a vague plan, once again recruited Old Faithful (hubby) - we listened to the wood and just did it!

It’s a pretty basic structure: four pieces of cedar standing upright, connected top and bottom by other cedar cross pieces. And the twisty wood? Well, it’s the décor down the front, down each side and across the top. I’ve added to rustic birdhouses, a couple of tin birds and a humming bird feeder. Ants are drawn to it and so, of course the birds love it: chickadees, woodpeckers, wrens, and finches. It frames my neighbour’s garden of summer flowers beautifully. There are some twisty pieces reaching up into the sky which I wanted to cut off, but hubby like them and so we compromised - now the birds have a nice tall perch with which to serenade the world.

It isn’t the steadiest structure in the world but we’ve done our best to reinforce its stance with pieces of rebar pounded into the earth and securely attached.

Maybe next summer I’ll add a creeper of morning glory or a phalanx of holly hock but for now it stands in its own plain glory, drawing the attention of birds and neighbours, and pleasing the eye of those who bathe in our hot tub.

Framing neighbour's garden



More detail (other side)