Jimmy helps me edit pictures

I hate to remove the picture of Wry pointing to the clouds as he rests his head upon Royce from the big picture spot, but this blog needs to move on.

As usual, I spent most of today sitting right here in front of my computer, editing the the pictures that I took on my recent Arctic Slope trip for the special issue of Uiñiq Magazine that I am putting together. I am way behind, due to Margie's injury, but I will get it done.

Jimmy spent the day with me, helping out, offering pointers. Here, he looks right into my eye, because the picture that you see on the screen, of Iñupiat Eskimo caribou hunters swarmed by mosquitoes, is reflected there. Using this method, Jimmy studies the picture so that he can tell me how it should be cropped.

This is how Jimmy thinks that I should crop the picture. I disagree. Jimmy is a lousy picture editor.

The love story between toddler Wry and Old Man Orange Cat Royce reaches the clouds

Tryskuit and Charlie came to visit Sunday. Late in the evening, they went out to pick blueberries. A bit later, I went looking for them. This is how I found them.

Tryskuit got bit by a mosquito.

There really weren't that many berries. This is because little Wry and Toast Ed had already made a few trips through here, picking and eating all the berries they could.

Speaking of Toast Ed and Wry - here they come, with that giant, strange looking cat, Muzzy!

Now it's Wry, Royce and Muzzy! I wonder if they will find more berries?

No, but Wry finds grass, going to seed.

Royce gets up and heads to a spot where he thinks the grass will be taller.

Wry follows, then sits down beside him.

Sure enough, the grass is taller.

Wry reaches for the grass.

Wry studies the grass.

Wry uses Royce for a pillow.

Wry suddenly notices a beautiful cloud, passing overhead in the deep, blue, sky. He points it out to Royce, who does not care. But Royce does care about the boy. Royce loves the boy.

Ah, yes. A magic moment, one that will last forever.

A time of high ambition and roaring energy in the Kracker house

As you can see, Pistol is full of energy, vigor, and vim.

So is Jim.

And Martigny, too.

Chicago can hardly be constrained. This is how we all are around here, right now. Give us some time. Rest will come, energy will be restored, Sunflower will heak and we will all be back as we were.

I just need about a 20 year nap, that's all.

So it shouldn't be too long.

Do not expect any good photography or clever stories from me tonight, folks. I am drained and exhausted and it is all I can do to make a post at all - but I feel I must post just so you will know that Grahamn Kracker is keeping this blog alive. Those of you who visit the blog in the parallel universe already know what we have been through here since Sunflower fell and hurt herself.

Those of you who don't can find out right here: Sunflower's ordeal.

You  can see how drained Toast Ed and Prickly Pear Blossom are. Thank goodness, Chicago is there to help get them through it.

And here is Royce, getting a drink. I know some of you will be greatly concerned to see such a picture and will want to admonish me to keep him indoors and serve him only the cleanest of water, but Royce is at least 15 years old now, maybe sixteen and he has lived this way all of his life.

We cannot change him now.

Royce walks away from his reflection.

Oh, my! The accident had not yet happened when I took this picture. We had just gotten up and the day was pleasant and we thought that it would remain so. It did not.

Pistol-Yero at 1:07 in the afternoon.

Little Wry Kracker and Muzzy, the strangest looking of all the Kracker cats.

Oh no! This picture got in here twice! Well, I am too lazy to go to html and take it out. That's how exhausted.
Oh, my! They really are exhausted.

And so am I. What would I do, without Jim to help get me through such moments?

Cleo finds a new home in Alaska

Readers probably think that I have abandoned this blog; given up on it altogether. This is not correct. What is a hard fact, however, is that I just spent five weeks traveling on the Arctic Slope, where I visited five communities, and in that time I saw and met a total of but one cat, Sigñiq, who I photographed and introduced to you.

I am back home, now, exhausted, and with a new crisis to face as my lovely Sunflower has once again gone down with an excruciatingly painful knee injury, but at least I among my own cat buddies, who will soon begin to pop up in this blog again.

In the meantime, I did meet this character, Cleo, at the Anchorage airport shortly after my flight from Barrow landed and deboarded.

Cleo had just moved to Anchorage from Colorado.

I did a short interview with him:

Me: "Cleo, why did you choose to leave your home in Colorado to move to Alaska?"

Cleo: "Meow."

Me: "I see. I agree completely. Alaska is God's favorite place. And how was your flight?"

Cleo: "Meow."

Me: "That bad, huh?"

Cleo: "Meow! Meow! Meow!"

Me: "Well! Certainly I would agree that she should be reprimanded, but don't you think it would have been a little extreme to have opened the door and thrown the Stewardess out?"

Cleo: "Meow."

Me: "Actually, it's cats that always land on their feet, so she wouldn't have been okay. Besides, even if she did land on her feet, it was sixty below up there, so she would have been a popsicle and would have shattered when she hit the ground."

Cleo: "Meow."

Me: "Yes, I can accept that as punishment instead. It would be a real eye and nose-opener for her to have to fly from Denver to Anchorage in a little cage with a little tiny litter box that was always shifting around. But how do you feel about spending the rest of your life in Alaska?"

Cleo: "Purrrrrrrr...."

Siqñiq - with her around, the Arctic is always a sunny, warm, place

Look! Sun shines out through the window! From the inside to the outside. The cat that you see is Siqñiq, and Siqñiq is the Iñupiaq Eskimo word for sun.

The month of April is typically very cold in the Arctic coast village of Wainwright, Alaska. Two years ago in April, Cora Akpik made a visit to the nearest city, Barrow, 97 miles away. She learned that her grown daughter had a cat that she had been unable to care for, so she had taken it to the vet for safe keeping until it could find a new home.

Cora had never had a cat before, but she decided to make her home the cat's home.

As is the case in most of Alaska, no roads link the Arctic communities to each other and so Cora had to fly home, along with her grandchildren, Nellie and Clyde, who you see here.

The cat, who did not yet have a name, flew along in a cat carrier.

Somehow, the cat escaped from the carrier and jumped onto the back of a woman who sat in front of her. The woman did not know what kind of animal had landed on her back. All she knew is that it had fur and claws.

Cats are not common animals on the Arctic Slope. Wolverines are. For all she knew, a wolverine had just jumped on her. Polar bears are also common in the Arctic. Maybe it was a polar bear. A real tiny one - tiny, but mean. The woman screamed and screamed.

Then she discovered that it was a cat. Everything was alright after that.

After they arrived home, where Cora lives with her husband, Max, Nellie and Clyde and other children and grandchildren, she did not know what to name the gray cat.

She looked out the window. The sky was blue, cold and clear above the snow-blown tundra and the ice-covered ocean. The sun shone brightly.

"Siqñiq!" she said in Iñupiaq.

Thus, Siqñiq was named.

Everybody in the house loves Siqñiq. "She likes to play hide and seek," Nellie says. The baby, by the way, is Cara Ann. Siqñiq is also a guard cat. She sits in the window sill and studies everyone who approaches the house. When they enter the door, she scrutinizes them closely. If she detects that any of them pose a threat to Cara Ann, she attacks, leaps and rips them to shreds.

Fortunately, no one who has ever entered the house has posed any threat at all to Cara Ann. Everybody who enters loves Cara Ann. 

Siqñiq has never actually had to attack anyone.

But she scrutinizes everybody - including me.

Glad I passed!

It is expensive to feed Siqñiq. To save money over Barrow prices, the family buys her food and litter at Wal-Mart in Anchorage. From there, they fly it by jet 850 miles to Barrow and then by commuter airline to Wainwright.

Lemmings like to run around the Arctic Slope and all about the village of Wainwright. Siqñiq keeps them out of the house.

Siqñiq.

Nobody who I talked to could think of a single other cat living in Wainwright today. Siqniq may be the only one.

I did not meet any cat in Point Lay, the village that I visited just before Wainwright.

I expect to be back in the Arctic for most all of July. Anyone who wishes to follow my travels can click right here:

http://wasillaalaskaby300.squarespace.com/

We find the final cat that we would meet in India in a rather fruity situation

There is a certain fruit shop near Soundarya's home in Bangalore where she likes to buy and she had recently discovered that a kitten had moved in. So she took us there.

Have you noticed how many orange and white cats there are in India? They seem to be a majority.

Tryskuit snuggles the kitten.

The shop owner said that the kitten had moved in about two weeks before and that he liked him. He wanted him to stay, and grow up as a store kitten.

"What is his name?" I asked.

"Cat," he answered.

Cat takes a great leap.

If he were a vegetarian, Cat would be Fat Cat. 

Soundarya snuggles little Cat. As you can imagine, she had been feeling quite down about the calico. Yet, as hard as life is, live moves on and so she smiles again.

And she hugs her little friend. The next day, we, the humans, would all say goodbye at the Bangalore airport. There would be many hugs and tears, too. Tryskuit and I would fly home.

So that is it. For now.

Tomorrow, I head back to Alaska's Arctic Slope.

The world is forever changing before me. And always, I look to meet new cats.

We stop by to see a talking parrot and find Persians for sale

In the evening of the day that we learned the horrible news about the little calico, Sandy took Tryskuit and I into downtown Bangalore to buy some gifts before we left for home. This would be our last night in India this trip.

She knew of a pet supply store where there was a talking parrot and she wanted to go see that parrot. "Are there any cats there?" I asked.

She did not think that there were, but, when we walked through the door, we saw a cage full of Persians. Their price - about $350 US each. That's a huge sum for the average person in Bangalore, although as the high-tech capital of India, the place has boomed and many people have become prosperous and a substantial number downright rich.

It is my hope that these cats soon find humans who will open not only their pocket books to them, but their hearts.

Tryskuit opened her heart and made a connection.

More Persians waiting for prosperous people to adopt them.

This orange boy is not for sale. His people have gone on vacation and the pet store is providing hotel services until they get back. He is not happy with the accommodations.

Sandy reaches through and gives him a pet.

Very shortly, we would go into another store and meet yet one more cat. I will introduce him in my next post, and then that will be all for this trip to India.

The Momma Cat is left to cry for her calico baby

We arose before the sun the morning after the reunion and took off on a three day drive. It was marvelous trip, during which we experienced a small but significant part of the wonder that is India. 

On the second night, after we checked into a little hotel in the village of Badami, which sits in the midst of a region of ancient Hindu ruins, many of which are not ruined at all, I heard the cry of a kitten.

I stepped into a nicely kept lawn surrounded by the "u" shaped hotel on three sides and a swimming pool on the fourth. A man sat, eating, at a table.

"Did you hear a kitten?" I asked him.

"Oh yes," he said. "It will show up soon." And it did. But it was wild and frightened, and neither Tryskuit or I could draw near to it. I failed to get a picture.

At the end of the third day, we turned back toward Bangalore on a drive that would last all through the night.

As we rolled down the busy Indian Highway, lightning blasting around us, my mind frequently turned to the Momma and her babies. I wondered how they were doing. I worried, but then I worry about many things. I consoled myself that they would be fine.

When we arrived back at the house at about 5:00 AM, I listened, but could hear no cats. Trusting that this meant that they were asleep, I went to sleep myself for a few hours - as did everybody else.

About 9:00 AM, I was woken by the forlorn and lonely "meow" of Momma cat. I listened, but did not hear the answer of a kitten in return. 

Tryskuit and I then searched and searched, but we could find no sign of the kittens. We asked those who had stayed behind, and they said they had seen both kittens the day before, but not today.

Then, as I downloaded the trip pictures from my camera into the laptop, the woman next door, the one who had been feeding Momma cat, opened her door. There, standing beside her, next to her very own bowl of milk, was the orange kitten.

The woman had not seen the calico, but had heard a bit of commotion, found the orange kitten on the ground and had brought it into her house for its safety. I understood that she would now adopt it, even as she continued to feed the mother.

We continued to search. We put out our inquiry as to the whereabouts of the calico as far as we could - then we learned the horrid news. It had been eaten by a street dog.

Look at the Momma! How she did cry. No tears - but she cried. Her pain was bitter. I petted her and petted her, as did Tryskuit in turn. She seemed to take some solace in those pets, but they did not wipe away her pain.

I felt as though I had been kicked in the chest. Tears came to my own eyes. I did not let them linger, for to do so would do no one any good.

And as she cried, a male black came wandering by, a tom, then quickly disappeared.

Little One: I saw your great desire to live - I saw it in your eager posture, the glow in your eye, the plea in your meow. I saw you frightened, and alone, when your mother and your orange sibling got stuck in the little building and, with Tryskuit at my side and Buddy amused but eager to help, we did not stop our efforts for you until you were reunited with your family.

Then I saw your relief, your joy, and how quickly you put the fright behind you as you romped with your sibling, and suckled your mother.

I did all that I could for you, Little Kitten, but it was not enough.

How I wanted to pull you in and give you shelter of the safest kind, but I was not in a position to do so. How I wanted to pick you up, hold you, stroke you, comfort you, but I did not want to frighten you so I never did.

Some who will visit this page will say that you are at the Rainbow Bridge. For those who find comfort in the thought of such a bridge, where the spirits of deceased pets play and romp until that day when they can be reunited with their humans, fine, that is all very good and I encourage you to take your comfort there, for comfort should be taken where it can be found.

Thoughts of such a bridge do not comfort me, for those thoughts slam into hard reality.

Those who I was with at the time of your death believe that you will come back again, in another body, another form, perhaps human, again and again until at last you are perfected into ultimate happiness and glory.

To me, you were perfect already.

As stated in my previous post, I have but one source of solace. That is the happiness that I saw when you and your family were all reunited, when you suckled at your mother's teat. For that moment, which I helped to create for you, as did Tryskuit and Buddy, all was well. For that moment, the world was a warm and beautiful place.

In this matter, that knowledge is my sole solace.