Renewables & Nora

Birth, then death, then rebirth. Is that how it goes? I find the dying process is a step-by-step spiral. We, sometimes, don’t take note of it until in retrospect and then Eureka! Badabing! Oh, shit! We see the process clearly. 

Our sweet, fluffy-tailed marmalade buddha cat died yesterday. Nora. For months, in retrospect, she has been dying. Months ago, she started yowling at night. Blood curdling sounds at midnight, two, three and four. Her calls would send me scurrying to her and there she would be, bright-eyed and ready for a round of pats and pettings, purring and huggable. Nothing wrong. She was just an elderly, deaf cat wondering where is everyone?

A couple of weeks ago, I got up at my usual, early hour to find what looked like a murder scene. Drops of blood throughout the house. And Nora asleep, as usual, in her favorite nap nest. 

The vet gave her painkillers and anti-infammatory medications. Directly after that, she was geriatric, hardly able to walk on her arthritic, hind legs. 

I won’t revisit the process.  Suffice it to say, she had an uncomfortable final week. I told the vet I didn’t want her to suffer but hope, dammit, springs eternal. Just one more little try. Maybe she’ll pop back, be herself again.

My first worry yesterday, after having held her while those final, it’s-time-to-sleep-forever drugs took effect, was Nick. What would he do without her? Would he be lonely and depressed? Should I show him the body so he would know not to look for her? Would he stop eating, die, too?

I showed him the body. My vet suggested it would be a good idea as, otherwise, Nick would wonder where she’d gone to. In fact, he hardly looked. He sniffed. He hissed. He stalked off.

All this time, as you may remember from previous posts, Splotches has been hard at work. The result? Schtude is guilty as charged and must add to his list of daily chores fatherhood. Four blonde chicks peep from beneath Splotches’ downy feathers.

Carl has fixed up the old Providence coop because Toey has yet to fully introduce her crew of rebellious adolescents to the big coop.

Does this sound familiar? We are repeating history here. In 2013, we had this same situation. Three flocks and winter on the way. I can only hope we don’t repeat the three cockerel to one pullet ration in the mutt chicks.

Believe it or not, this has to do with renewables. That’s what I’m supposed to be writing about today. It says so in my blog post outline. Granted, as I look at that outline, I see I’m rather off the path and life is funny that way. We make a plan and time passes and that plan doesn’t fit anymore. So much change on a personal, national and global level. As with 9/11, an event and nothing is, nor ever can be, the same. A recalibration must take place. Renewal. Letting go and acceptance.

Renewable energy is natural. The transition to them, like life and death, is a process. And an inevitability, if we would only stop clinging to the past, desperate to go back, have back what was and now? Change. Must it happen? It will. And so acceptance. And life is just like that and death opens up energy for new life and experience. My heart might ache but Nick is beside himself with the joy of all our focussed attention. He seems to be reveling. Nora was so much better than he at all things cat, I can hear him thinking of his sibling rival. She was better at power napping. Catching moths and mice. Staring dreamily into space while in the best sun spot ever. Finding stellar nap nooks and getting—every, single time!—the best food. Apparently, he has endured sixteen years of the bane of his existence, Nora, who was adopted by Nick’s mother when they were both age one week, an orange specter ever since. 

Fall is here and death as a part of life. This is my favorite season. Cool. The smell of leaves. Shorter days. Warming fires in the wood stove. We buried Nora in the front garden and sprinkled the ashes of Agora on her. We’ve carried those ashes with us from Angell street, to Beachmont and now here. Here they will join the earth, release, and allow for new life. It’s all so bracing and beautiful.