Lions and Tigers and Other Cats

There once was a girl who had a big orange cat. The girl loved her cat and treated it like a baby human. In the small umbrella stroller outgrown by her little sister, you wouldn't find a doll. You would find a cat wearing clothes, sitting up, buckled in. The cat had more life (and patience) than any dull doll, and even purred on occasion...when it wasn't being affectionately squished by a most devoted owner.
Well, the cat died, the little girl grew up, and life was feline free.
Until one day, when the girl needed some mousers at her new farm. Her father informed her, "You need two, so no one's lonely." The perfect two were found. But a third cat was soon acquired.
The poor girl, now having memories stirred by all the meowing and purring, couldn't get her mind off that faithful childhood friend - the orange, amiable old soul. So what would she do? Find an orange cat, of course.
She made a visit to her aunt's farm where there was always a cat to be spared. You must know the danger of saying "Here, kitty," in a calf shed filled with cats. The girl was not as brilliant as I'd like to report, and made the mistake of saying those very words in that very place. Cats came from everywhere. To the girl's delight, two of them were orange! Here's where things get tricky - along with the oranges, came a tabby, a grey, and a black kitten. They looked up at the girl with those pleading blue kitty eyes, and what could she do? In a box no bigger than size 10 shoes, this girl stuffed all five cats.
On the way back to her own farm, the girl had to stop twice to round up little escapees that had clawed their way out of the 'sardine can.' She began to think, "What have I done?"
The five new cats joined the veterans - Meow Meow, Amelia, and Moxie.
Yes, I am that girl. And the owner of eight cats. We just finished naming them all:
Wilberforce - the pig
Whiskers - who was singed while sitting too close to the fire
Shmeckles - named after my dad's childhood cat
Jess, Jr. (a.k.a. J. R.) - the little black one we're caring for until my brother's ready for him
Old Grey Mare - cranky little thing
I'm embarrassed, but also quite fond of our kitties. Please don't call me the 'cat lady.'

"You have got a lot of moxie."

I heard this phrase on a movie recently and, being intrigued, decided to consult my good friend, Webster. Thumbing through the pages I found:
Moxie 1. slang energy; 2. slang courage
This is my new favorite expression.
It's also the name of my new kitten.
Yes, we got another cat. Moxie, a boy, was to replace Amelia, who has a suspicious case of dysentery. But do you think I could part with her? Absolutely not. Where there were none, now there are three. What's wrong with me?
The new kitty, black and white, was named for his energy. While Meow Meow or Amelia could lay contentedly in my lap forever, this one climbs and jumps and rolls until you're ready to fling him on the floor.
--Oh don't worry, I'm sure he'd land on his feet.

Caprice

Poor, unfortunate Oliver was subjected to girls day out, but my new shoes renewed his joy...mine, too. Fancy that.

Autumn in the City

We spent some time in Maple Grove yesterday with Grandma and Auntie Sal (stimulating the economy). Oliver was worn from a day slouched in a stroller observing crazed shoppers. After meeting our friend, Beth, in Minneapolis, she and Oli had a little leaf fight on Summit Avenue...our boy's exhaustion was flung aside for the more appealing past time of running and throwing leaves. Oh, Beth. We had such fun with you!
Speaking of worn -- Oliver's small quilted vest was a hand-me-down from his uncle, Isaac, handmade by Mom. It adds to the whimsy, don't you think?

crazy little Olives

auntie sally's flip flops...mostly flopslooking surprised with daddy

attempting to join cousin wes in the exersaucer

being a messy boy

Animal Farm

Meet the cats: Amelia Earhart and Meow Meow Bye-bye, pictured respectively.
The first was named for her sense of fearless adventure.
The second was predestined by Oliver to be named something so complicated. I'll explain. We were at a friend's house where there was a cat. Oliver practically devoured the poor tabby - out of love and one year old energy. When we got home Andrew asked Oliver if he wanted a cat. How interesting is the dialogue between a daddy and his boy...
Oliver: Yeah. (Which is his response to nearly everything.)
Andrew: What are you going to name the kitty?
Oliver, obviously confused by the question: Meow meow bye-bye.
Who lets toddlers name pets anyway? Judging from the noise he makes for pigs, I don't think we'll be getting piglets anytime soon. We'd go hoarse trying to grunt out their names.
By the way, our little farm is starting to feel like George Orwell's fictitious world of 'Animal Farm' already, even without pigs. The story, dripping with satire, tells of a barnyard animal uprising. It's actually an allegory about totalitarianism, but at our house, I fear it's coming true. In my nightmare the cute little kittens pull Hector into this revolution. I didn't think we were lunatic pet owners who succumb to the droopy, pleading eyes of furry creatures. After all --
So God created people in his own image...and told them,"Be masters over the fish and birds and all the animals." Genesis 1:27, 28
Lord help us.