Fur In The Paint

Okay, so they don’t look it. But trust me they are. I took this photo the day Oliver died. (That is of course before I knew) I had planned to blog about them that day but lost all heart for anything once I found Ollie.

So here they are today (3 of 4 in the photo). They are looking up at me because no way, no how was I getting down to eye level to photograph them. These are the late (born in November late) litter of barn cats that we moved into the porch because they never would have made it outside.

Now don’t let the big eyes and sweet expressions fool you. Thats how they lure you in, yes siree. That and the fact they make these adorable little cooing noises every time they see someone. They are held in half of the porch by a 4 foot piece of tin. So they sit there and coo and look at me with slow blinking eyes. And I think okay just for a little while. I ease myself into the enclosure and sit down on the bench. They tumble around me like little drunks and almost immediately one climbs up into my lap and commences purring loudly. So I know what you’re thinking right now, Umm Mona…what is all this about hellcats? Well let me tell ya.

After approximately 43.6 seconds they transform. One will be chewing on my shoe and one will be dangling from my sweater. Yet another is on top of my head trying to pull out my hair while simultaneously giving me a deep acupuncture treatment. Now the one on my lap at this point usually begins to do one of two things. Either it will be chewing on my hand while I flail feverishly about with my other, trying to nab the one off my head. Or it may have just decided to sharpen it’s claws on my knee. As quickly as I remove one kitten from my tender flesh another is digging in and biting my butt. Seriously. I can only handle them long enough to clean their litter and feed them. Their mother Little Grey has the freedom to come and go from the enclosure as she chooses. (And, she chooses to do so often)

So after all my sad talk of losing Oliver I thought I’d show you some new and bright little spirits in the world. I seriously thought of adopting one in as the new gallery cat but none are really the right personality for me. Besides, it’s not like they could replace Oliver. If you lose a friend, running out and finding another doesn’t stop the pain of the loss. Still . . . a pair (or is it 2 pair) of tiny kitten feet is awfully tempting. Tomorrow I will be at the gallery for at least 6 hours. A long time to go it alone.

So today I went in to the gallery for a total of 3 hours. Cried only twice. Came close more times than I could count. The rooms are full of him. I move something to find a toy. I roll up some thing and think of how he would have grabbed it. I sat at the computer and thought I heard him meow in the other room a couple of times. Occasionally I thought I saw him out of the corner of my eye.

He had this thing where he would walk up to me while I was on the computer. Stand up and ever so gently put his paw on my arm, then push lightly. Of course I would look at him and then he would meow in a drawn out sort of way, wanting me to push back some from the keyboard so he could climb up on my lap. I thought this happened once today (the gentle push thing) and it actually startled me.

The thing is, he was always with me. When on the computer he sat on the back of the chair and rested against me purring. When working on a painting he would sit on my lap. When doing picture framing he was either under the table or sitting on a chair watching me or napping. He was very vocal and I would talk to him as I would a person and he would meow back and give me kitty winks. (For those who don’t know it is an expression of love. He makes eye contact, then slowly closes his eyes and opens them again. A very (very) slow blink.)

The place is just so empty and hollow without him.

I woke up this morning and my first sensation was the emptiness and the realization that my Oliver was gone. I have spent the day trying to cope as best I can. Distraction is the key. I spend my time vacillating between Deprivation and Gluttony. Deprivation because if I feel something uncomfortable it takes my mind off the pain of loss. And Gluttony because it is a distraction and the moment I stop, I remember why I really feel so miserable.

Deprivation includes:

• Not eating anything regardless of hunger.
• Feel cold and doing nothing to alter the state of it.
• Feel tired but ignore the urge to sleep. (as I am doing now)
• Avoiding the gallery. I have gone in every day (when not at an artshow) for over 4 years. Today is the first day in all those many years that I have not. And tomorrow will be the second.

Gluttony includes:

• Eating food to fill the void. Mostly this has to be something really desirable or I will prefer to starve.
• Cyber entertainment. PS2 and web surfing (again as I am doing now)
• Watching hour upon hour of vapid and shallow tv programming that has no redeaming value. (TV currently providing background noise. Shallow show on is Janice somebody’s modeling agency.) This worked really well all day until that commercial for the aspca came on with the big eyed puppies and kittens. You know the one with that In the Arms of the Angels song playing in the background. Complete emotional breakdown.

I went into the gallery today and called out to my cat Oliver as I have done for the past 4 years. Today I was greeted with silence. This bothered me because usually he would meow as soon as he hears me jingling the keys.

Oliver passed away sometime last night. I am at a total loss. I held him and cried for hours. I railed against the Powers That Be for the senseless cruelty of it all. Somewhere deep inside I hoped he would come back to life. I have never had an animal just die on me. All of my animals have lived very long, very healthy healthy lives. And then at the end, I would struggle with when I should finally end their suffering by taking them to the vet. All of this ritual gave me a chance to say good-bye. A chance to adjust to the loss before it even happens. A chance for closure. Not this time.

Yesterday he was healthy and playful and every bit himself. He antagonized Mike and cuddled with me for over an hour before I left for the night. He then ate his supper and used his box and then died. We had 4 years together and I had expected to have 10 more. I have a gaping hole in my life and I can barely tolerate the thought of going into the empty gallery where his ghost will be around every corner. He was my constant companion, always with me in every room. He was a joy and made me laugh every single day. A gift like that will be so very much missed.

So it’s official. I have decided to call my blog, Fur in the Paint. Blog Me! was just sort of a filler title. I kinda hung on to it because Blog Me! Reminded me so much of F@&k Me! Which is actually my favorite curse. (This may come as a surprise to even those who know me quite well.) Usually stated in a bit of a whine, such as “Oh, f@&k me!” (Hey, what can you expect from someone who was raised by parents whose colorful references would have made a drunken sailor blush.)

But I decided that this was not really the energy I wanted as the masthead of my blog. So I went with the far more cuddly version of Fur in the Paint. Which is a reference to me constantly picking Oliver’s hairs out of the oil pastel. As previously stated, oil pastel never completely dries so it binds in the cat hair quite nicely. Mike likes to say that’s how you really know you have a Mona original, by the cat hair.

So … umm… it is Sunday. And today, no matter what, My 2007 Christmas card design will be called complete. At least as far as using it for a card. I settled the red thing by adding purple and removing both the pink and the orange. I fell back to using my old mantra which is, when in doubt…add purple. And it worked. Well it worked sufficiently. I will post a picture as soon as I scan it for the cards.

I am sitting here, occasionally blowing on my fingers. I just came into the gallery and the place is still quite chilly. I’ve got Oliver the gallery cat draped over my left shoulder for moral support and proof reading. My warm and purring fur muff.

Speaking of frostbite in the gallery. Yesterday I had my art group over for our get together. I had the heat cranked way up and yet everyone had their hands clasped tightly in their armpits as they hunched over in the fetal position, swearing repeatedly that the room temperature was just fine. (Sigh) The problem with a big brick building plopped on a large cement slab in the middle of winter, is that it just doesn’t warm up. I can have the thermostat at 80 and the room temp in the front room will be 65. Now, I have been in this building for almost 8 years, so I just take it in stride. Sorry girls. I should have provided thermal undies or something.

Anywho, back to group. It is officially called 20/21 which has to do with women artists creating in both the 20 and 21st century. We are around 10 artists (some come and go) of all very diverse backgrounds and artistic styles. I am the only self taught amongst them. This can occasionally become uncomfortable for me. But that is only because of my issues, not anything anyone else does. We try to get together every month but lately it is closer to every 2-3 months. Most of the time it is a real joy. We bounce ideas off each other, show our latest work and talk art in general. It not only gets me in the mood to create, but to create better art.

So the big day is over and yes I probably gained a pound or two. The pies are all gone (thankfully) as is most everything, but the turkey. The barn cats weren’t nearly as traumatic an experience as they could have been. But then I just fed them outside the house instead of walking all the way to the barn with it. They bounced around like a bunch of circus poodles, squabbled heatedly when I first put down the pot. Then they snatched up a mouthful of that turkey goodness and all settled down peaceably.

The gallery is beginning to get busier. Usually at this stage I am at a fervor. This year has been slow to take off.

I will also be preparing for a holiday art fair for this coming weekend. It is the last art fair of the season for us. It is a relief to be done with them and yet I miss it when its over. The older I get the less I like all that hauling and toting. Art fairs kinda make me feel like a glorified carny. We all move in for a weekend and set up our little stores. Because we are in it together, come what may, wind, rain or lousy sales, we can become like a family. A strangely dysfunctional but creative family. Not so different from my own, really.

Tomorrow is the big day. It is our first turkey of the season. And as such all 18lbs will be consumed at an alarming rate. The Christmas bird lasts much longer and occasionally some of it even gets frozen. But the first bird always gets devoured. On the farm, Thanksgiving (and Christmas for that matter) are days of celebration for everyone. The horse gets extra apples. The goose will get some celery (which he likes almost as much as watermelon) and our dog Cisco and Ollie the gallery cat will get some turkey. By the time it is all over, everyone will be laying around belching with their tummies pointed skyward. Ahhh, so much to be thankful for.

The barn cats get the large pot of fat drippings and skins and such. They smell it cooking and will all be lined up in the windows watching and waiting. The are so ramped up by the time I bring it out that they are a snarling pack of wild beasties. As I trip my way through the dozen or so rabid looking felines. I speak softly to myself, “Yeah, though I walk through the valley of death shadow … No that’s not it, through the shadow of death valley… Ummm, …damn, I used to know it! ”Occasionally I wonder if at some point they aren’t just going to climb me like a tree and take me down.

It is a cold and drizzly day today. It is Sunday, but I came into the gallery to get some painting done. I love Sundays. I get to keep my doors locked and work in undisturbed tranquility. Well, except for the cat.

The lighting sucks, but I am still determined to get some actual work done on my latest painting. Taking a break here to plug in a few words for todays entry. My cat Oliver, has obligingly followed me from my drafting table to the computer. And is hunched over my shoulder purring loudly. His little eyes are closed and he looks completely adorable. Every few minutes he gives me a gentle head butt and increases the volume of his purring. This is his way of reminding me that he is there and that he has nothing but good intentions.

Oliver has a Jekyll and Hyde personality, so it is important for him to be as sweet as possible when he wants something. The Evil Ollie is someone to keep your eye on. If he is in a mood or if you have offended him in some way. He will wait up to half a day for you to be unaware, so he can dish out his punishment. Punishment usually comes in the form of a slap and fake bite to the leg accompanied by a stern Meow! But so far today he is all cuddles and sunshine. Trying to sit on my lap while painting, to sit on my lap while reading and currently stealthily trying to get to my lap while on the computer.

A while ago, I was sitting on the couch in the front room with someone talking. Oliver jumped up on the couch and placed his front feet on her chest and examined her closely. Then for absolutely no reason, he slapped her! You could actually hear the tiny pads smack as they connected with her cheek. I nearly fell off the couch in laughter but then quickly scolded him for it. He always meows as if to say sorry, so sorry. But then he sits down smugly, looking quite proud of himself. Oddly enough, the Evil Ollie behavior seems to be quite attractive to actual cat people. A type of person that I don’t consider myself to be. He has his own admirers who come to visit him regularly at the gallery. They seem to find the snubbing and the biting and the slapping quite charming. They try to garner his favor with toys, treats and compliments. He, like any good ruler of the universe, looks them over, blinks, then slowly turns his head away as if to say, “I’m bored, you aren’t even worth the effort it takes to look at you.” and promptly ignores them.

It is November in Iowa and so the weather has turned decidedly chilly. Our main barn cat, whom we call Little Gray has had a second batch of kittens this year. This late in the year, they don’t stand a chance of surviving outside. So, we moved the whole family into our west porch (which by the way is soon to be ripped off and replaced.)There are four kittens in all. Three tabby grays and one black. Currently they are tennis ball shaped and staggering around like little drunks. Sooo cute.

Little Gray has single handedly (pawdedly?) doubled our barn cat population this year. Her first batch was seven in number. When one of our other females was accidentally killed we took her kitten (one mind you, only one) and put it in with LG. She took it in as one of her own and her whole brood has thrived. So now we have 4 more, which brings her total up to 11(or 12 depending on how technical you want to get.) Shesh!

LG is queen of the farm. Being one of her kittens means living a privileged life. Well… that is until she pops out another batch. Then they are smacked down like all the rest of the riff raff. She owns the yard. Cats don’t even dare step into it or she freezes them with an icy stare. Thats all it takes. One cold look from her emerald eyes and they hiss at her and run off like they’ve caught fire. Or when two other cats are squabbling in her space, she promptly runs over and kicks the tar out of both of them, and tah-dah! peace is restored.