Six years ago this week, a one pound sensation came into my life

Six years ago this week, this coming Saturday to be exact, a one pound cat came into my life, out of the blue, on a rainy rural highway. She leapt out of the bramble as log trucks were coming from both directions. My heart almost stopped. She somehow managed to avoid death, and as I pulled off the road, she sat waiting for me, in the middle of the highway, as if the yellow divider line was made especially for her as a guide.

I was on my way to an appointment and had Huck in the car. I remember thinking,

I do NOT need another cat. I can not bring this cat home.

At that point of Apifera, we had 25 cats. We had arrived in 2004 to the farm, and were immediately greeted by a little orange tabby tumbling out of the hay bales. That was Gus. He was one of five, and Mama Kitty was busy getting pregnant, by none other than Big Tony. By the time I could trap/spay/neuter the kittens, Mama had another litter who I also trapped/spayed/neutered. It took me two years to trap Mama, and she had a third litter but moved them to a neighbor's barn. In between, other cats just seemed to arrive, hearing perhaps that the accommodations were good. And they were. Samuel Noel, Mr. Bradshaw, One Eye, BW, Tomentosa, Miss Prairie Pussytoes and of course, Phinias T. Barnum. Oh, and Miss Peach.

I turned the truck around with this kitten on my lap. I was sure she was going to freak out, and driving with an unknown cat, uncaged, was dangerous. I had had trips to the ER because of working with feel kittens. But she sat on my lap, calmly, occasionally uttering her infamous,

Meh.

I took her to my vet to see if they could take her but they were full up. She was only 1#, skinny, bad eyes and we weren't sure if she would make it. When Martyn came home that night, I greeted him at the door.

"I was minding my business. But I had to bring her in," I said.

He later told me he assumed I'd brought a raccoon in the studio or baby skunk. But when he saw her that day, he said, like he was looking at a newborn baby,

"Of course you had to bring her home."

This the man that courteously told me-many eons ago-he could not tolerate cats. He and Itty were bonded from day one. She immediately favored Martyn and we used to joke that I saved her, but she would choose him if forced to pick. He loved that cat. I'd catch him cooing to her, or talking to her like an old school chum. Itty was very independent but each night, when she chose to come in from her Big Etta world, she would venture to Martyn's side of the bed.

Meh, I'd hear, in her faintest form of "meh". And he'd put her under his covers.

So the sign you see here had a real meaning when I made it way back when. No other sign at the old Apifera brought more delight to visitors. To me, it has no meaning in the present day at the old farm, it's a novelty item now and I should have taken it down in honor of the beautiful story of 25 cats that all lived there once. I wish I had. It had a function then, to warn the delivery people and other trucks coming up the road, that, yes, there were indeed cats falling from trees.

So, here I am asking you to once again partake in Itty. That darn little cat. I am making one final push, in her honor, to get funding for this book. We have 10 days left.

If you can honor her, and me, with a pledge, I thank you. And I am grateful for the 90 current pledges, and tot he people who have upped their pledge, and shared the story with others.

Vintage video of itty

Some vintage video of Itty when she first came to Apifera. Warms my broken heart of this memory. We are at 23% funded for the new book.

The new book! Watch the teaser video!

ANNOUNCING! Here is a 'teaser' video for my new book launch. On October 4, you can see the extended video, and the Kickstarter will launch that day. I am so excited about this little story, and the animated video [thanks to Angella Kussabe]. This book is about love, acceptance, and letting each creature be true to itself. It is for all ages. We have money to raise before it go to the world. All that begins Oct. 4. Stay tuned!

[That's me playing my uke!]

My itty love story

I have one more spread to complete for my itty love story. I am really liking the looks of it and the feel of it-reminding me of the books I gravitated to as a child. I guess I might be outdated that way but this is a book I would buy, if I may say so myself.

It is a book of loss, and love, and...acceptance of self.

At first I was thinking maybe this book is just therapy for me, that is its purpose. But I am finding people are resonating with it-after all who hasn't lost something, suddenly, that they loved? So we shall see, I am not sure of the book's fate yet.

Itty bitty love story

I have been feverishly working on a little love story, an itty bitty love story of huge proportions in my heart. I hope to have it complete this coming month ad we shall see where it goes after that. For those of you that follow along, you will recognize the lead character, and you will understand why it is a love story, and perhaps you will even understand the mission I am on to complete it. Stay tuned

The day a cat spoke like a lion

It is hard to even write this post, but since this blog was always first and foremost a reflection of day in and day outs of my life, I must. And in time, it won't hurt so much. If you followed our journey on Instagram, you will have heard this by now. But one Apiferian that was left behind, suddenly, was Itty Bitty Etta.

We had all the Misfits in the trailer that morning, ready to travel East. It had all gone remarkably well-even getting The World's Grumpiest But I Am Fine The Way I Am Pig into her travelling suite went much smoother than I thought it would. We were clipping along and ready to depart as planned around 8 am. I just needed to get Big Tony and Itty into their travel area in the trailer-a nifty bird like cage Martyn had built just for them, so they could sleep and have a litter box, and sit on perches and not be in crates the entire time. And I thought, safe.

I had lectured Martyn the night before-be sure you don't let Itty out in the morning-which is her routine. And be sure when we take her out we put her in a crate first to avoid trouble.

I went into the house and there was Itty, perched on the chair, calm, and I picked her up. She was so clam that I made a big mistake-for me anyway-perhaps not for her. I didn't put her in a crate. We got to the trailer, I got inside the tack room where the cats would travel, and she was fine, until I started putting her in the travel suite, which hung securely on the wall. Below me were Eleanor, Cornelia and the four piglets. I felt Itty squirming, yelled to Martyn to shut the door and as he began to shut it, Itty clawed and clawed and I had no choice but to let go, and she was gone, leaving me cut up and angst.

I pretty much broke down. Perhaps it was a necessary thing. I had not really broken down about leaving and maybe that was a final gift she gave me. I blamed and shamed myself the entire next 30 minutes as we gathered the final things to put in the car. I tried some desperate pleas to God to bring Itty back. but I knew she was gone, at least, gone for hours. She would not just show up in a few minutes or head to the house. And she didn't.

As we were leaving, the new owners showed up, which was a blessing as I could tell them what happened. They are already taking in Peaches, the sheep and Doris and June, and the chickens, and they were happy to care for Itty.

It was sudden, and tragic for us. There were no goodbyes with the five pound cat who was found on a rural highway, wet and cold and stick thin at a about 5 weeks old. Martyn adored her, and she him. If I had just let him carry her, I thought. More shaming.

The entire morning drive was marked by the event. We discussed all the possibilities of why and how, and in the end, we knew that the only thing to hang on to was that Itty liked it there, it was her land-she was more attached to the land and sense of place than to us. I truly believe this. But the human and caretaker in me kept seeing her face, hearing her "Meh" and wondering if she felt abandonned by us, the very people that saved her from a rural highway. The ongoing joke all these years was that I rescued her from a highway, but she liked Martyn.

Many have said that Itty spoke loudly and clearly that day-she did not want to go to Maine. But what if? What if I had put her in a crate and she was here? What if it was a stupid mistake on my part and she would have been here if I hadn't made it. Would we all be saying, "Oh look at Itty in her window, she is so content"?  More shame.

I had always had the fear that Itty would be impossible to contain here, and she would wander off and never be seen again. The house also is not as remote and there is a busy road. I had a plan to contain her in a room for a couple months just so she bonded with the house. But I always had a feeling deep inside that we would lose her in Maine. Perhaps, I decided over time, those internal fears were really Itty speaking directly to me.

Another friend told me the story that mimicked my fear-she had moved her cats from one farm to another home some 20 miles away. One of the cats was content, the other eventually bolted out of a screen and she never saw her again. She lived with that fact for a long time. I knew that could have been Itty. I also knew that every time I opened that cage in the travel suite she could have escaped. at any one of the layovers. She was wild that way- you know, Itty was Itty inside, but outdoors she became Big Etta.

So it is sad. Even though we feel like distant family to the new owners, and we know she is safe and warm and fed, it is sad for us. This will be the last time I write about her.

It's coming

The season has changed. One word was heard as a muffled voice flew over the farm,

Finally.

A teacher nearing retirement in my grade school, as she listened to me in spring anticipate summer break, admonished me-

"Don't rush the season"

She was right. And of course, as my age advances, the metaphors of passing seasons does not go unnoticed. However...I'm glad to see this summer end. The heat, the dryness, the flies, fleas, lice, everything associated with heat-I'm ready to move on.

Last night it was chilly and as I did barn chores I suddenly began thinking of soup, and planned the cauliflower and pepper one I would make. We finished putting eight tons of hay in the barns–nothing feels better to me than getting the hay put up for the winter. I suppose it is like a mother knowing she has canned enough to feed her family through the winter. On the days we haul in hay, it is like Christmas in the barn-Boone is the most ecstatic. I give everyone extra hay that day-I mean it would be like someone bringing loads of cookies into my house and not sharing one or two.

Last night I sat on the deck, in a sweater with the pug buried under the blanket we shared. The light is shifting, the sky has become crisper, the leaves can be heard more clearly now as they get crisper hanging on to life for their final month. Birds were pecking the walnuts in the tree outside the garden. I love this time of year. I think most people do. I was thinking how it must go back to our primordial days and instincts. Autumn brings with it the innate desire to nest again–nesting brings with it survival and comfort.

We had many losses this year, as you know. As certain creatures leave, it gives me moments of repose on the deck at night to think of them, but also to think about how many new creatures will arrive, new adventures come with them and life goes on, even after the chill of autumn brings winter. Huck has taken to wanting to be inside instead of on the blanket on the deck when we do our evening sit down. This saddens me, but it part of the life with an aging friend. He is not sad, he just has shifted his comfort levels. I suppose in time, I will need a certain chair to be comfortable. Still, it leaves my relationship with Muddy an open window, and a new kind of bonding begins with him and me.

Itty stood on the railing last night-but she was not Itty Bitty. She was Big Etta, her outdoor name. The five pounder grows into a mountain lion when she is outdoors. I truly understand that when she looks at me from a high perch she is saying,loudly,

I am Big Etta and I am as huge as a house and strong as a lion.

Snap shot moments

The great and powerful Itty Bitty Etta-what is she thinking, you wonder.

How did I become Queen so young?

And if you look carefully in the bottom photo, you will see one the recent arrivals.

Gift ideas of meaning Apifera style

Don't stress! I can share some simple gifts with meaning for your holiday gift giving. Of course, each thing you buy on this list does help me keep writing, helping animals, sharing story and art–so it is a gift to me too.

Buy a Misfit! For the person on your list that loves art and animal, or that has gone through the loss of a parent or loved one, "Misfits of Love" Healing Conversations in the Barnyard is a gentle choice. You can read reviews and see spreads at the Misfit site. And there is a Two Book special [buy more than two if needed] right now. I hand wrap each book in true Apifera style and sign the inside.

Original Canvases can be purchased in several places: through Sundance, through Adamson Gallery [view a PDF of the pieces that might still be available at Adamson] and through me. Right now, most of my pieces are with Sundance and the gallery. You can always look at my site and email me if there is a piece you like and I can direct you.

Art cards and smaller prints at Etsy.

You can help support The Misfits in the barnyard-old donkeys, elderly goats, ducks, a goose, old ponies and more by making a small donation [gift levels available]. Meet the many Misfits here.

Support my indie publishing venture by donating to help defray the cost of the first book-gift levels available.

Help end children's hunger by buying a book. Buy a book on the Misfit page and this month $2 will go to help fight children's hunger at No Kid Hungry. You can also go directly to the No Kid Hungry Misfit page and make a donation [but you don't get a book that way- some people made donations anyway, yay!].

She works the camera like Grace Kelly

I looked down, she looked up. And that was that.

One itty bitty second and life changed

{Through October 20th, read, leave comment below [all comments moderated] and one of you will get a free copy of "Misfits of Love".}

October has been a hard month for me, very hard. There is such a juxtaposition of beauty and melancholia in autumn. I've always felt that way about it, even as a child. It's a beginning, but also an end - summer leaves and school starts; teenagers fly off and mothers regroup; leaves die but the dirt is nourished; winter is felt in the air but the sun still warms the face.

October is a "reminder" month for me in many ways. It is the month of many birthday's - my late father's, my old One Eyed Pug who died in April, and friends from back home who I miss. It is the first October that I have no trip planned to be with my mother who died in April. Reality has firmly set in.

It is the beginning of a holiday season that will be harder than usual this year for me. But I am working, I am moving forward and I'm looking at ways to avoid falling into a hole. So many things are shifting around me - and that is as it should be. One can't be static, I don't expect that. But shifts bring discomfort and nostalgia that the past was more serene, even though we know it wasn't. Shifts also bring growth and new challenges, new perspectives and vistas leaving one refreshed or inspired to create something brand new that would have been unthinkable before the shift occurred.

I've been on the farm almost ten years. Hard to believe, really. I think of all the animals that have come and gone, and all the fencing projects that came with it!

Three years ago a small little imp rolled into my life unexpectedly as I was driving down a rural highway. Wet and bone thin, it was a miracle the oncoming truck didn't hit her, but when I pulled over to see if I could catch her, she sat quietly on the edge of that road, cars passing by, and she squeaked once. I really did not want another house cat. And a kitten to boot. I took her to my nearby vet wondering if they might take her in, but they were full up. So I drove her home, all the time thinking of how I could manage her in the house with two other cats, and two dogs. I knew the barn cat colony would be rough on her, and she was so tiny - only one pound and skin and bones. I figured Martyn would not be too pleased. But he took one look at her and said,

"Well of course you had to bring her home."

From that moment on that cat bonded with him. To this day, she adores Martyn, and gets under the covers with him, still letting out her tiny itty bitty squeak, just like the day I found her. We get such amusement from her. She adds to the household.

So I wasn't expecting her, nor was I seeking her. But she came into my life and made it better somehow. She added to it. I am going to hold onto that thought as I go through these melancholy times. There are unexpected encounters lurking right around the corner. Who knows what they will bring into my life?

Happy three year anniversary, Itty Bitty Etta. One second earlier or later on the road, we wouldn't have met. How important the timing of a day can be, not one second can be taken for granted, no matter what state of mind one is in.

See more of Itty Bittty Etta.

Itty inside, Etta outside

Minding my own business one day years ago, driving a rural highway, a small kitten leapt out and almost was killed by an oncoming truck. I pulled over, fearing the worst. But there sat a cold, wet, tiny kitten. I feared she'd run as I approached her, but she sat still, and cried. She let me approach her and pick her up. I brought her home. She was about 6 weeks old and a bone. We put her by the fire and got her fed and warm. The Old One Eyed pug became her nurse maid, she liked to suckle him. We named her Itty Bitty Etta. But as she matured, we realized she was really two cats. Inside she was a tiny little princess pea that slept under the covers and barely spoke. But outside, she was ETTA, fierce lioness afraid of no heights or size of prey.

"I am not Itty! I am Etta!

I can fly up high.

I can pounce you.

I will carry you off to the den.

Do not try to outwit me. Or out run me.

I will get you.

I will eat you."

From the house came a woman's voice, "Itty, Itty Bitty Etta! Come inside!"

And the little cat once so lion like returned to her inner world.

She was Itty Bitty again, in her itty world, safe on the chair with a blanket.

The Giant Day of an Itty

I kept getting images for a little illustrated story about Itty Bitty that I finally decided to start putting on paper. Right now I'm just working on capturing her spirit in roughs. As some of you know, I found Itty on a rainy day on a busy county highway. She was 1# and her first days were a bit shakysnd we were unsure if we could turn her condition around. We named her Itty Bitty Etta, but she is only Etta when she steps outside, inside she remains Itty. It is a true story for sure.

So stay tuned.

In my basket

"I am in my basket. I am in my basket.

I lack nothing.

I see you, you up there.

I don't need you, not at this moment.

I lack nothing.

I am in my basket."

That nose

The nose of Itty Bitty never ceases to capture me, or maybe I should say enrapture me. The result of gazing on it for even seconds makes me want to try to capture it in a painting, but I haven't tried, at lest not yet. Why try to do it justice with colors from a tube when I can just gaze on the real thing and reach over and touch it.

When old and blind hospice the young

There are twenty one days left to fund my Kickstarter project, "Misfits of Love". I'm very proud I have almost reached 50% and am over $4,000 in pledges to help my stories of the old and adopted animals of Apifera enjoy a wider audience. There is still a long way to go, so please pledge now, or share with as many as you can. And thank you to all who have helped! One of the stories in "Misfits" is "Hospice of a Lamb", shared in this post.

The Itty things in life

I have returned from cloud dancing. The faces I left were all there to greet me, including Itty. Cloud dancing was relaxing and nice, and the perspective of my world here was freshened. I am spending what is our first rainy day, holed up in the barn with my flock, trimming feet and worming them. This is a good way to reground to my land and life here, after floating above the palm trees and ocean for 3 days.

Itty Bitty is Etta

It is time I must explain to my readers that Itty Bitty Etta is really two cats.

Hospice of a lamb

To see the slideshow of the all the photos from Hospice for a Lamb, visit this secure link.

She was just 4#. I had secretly named her Little Daisy, which is a mistake. One should never name a lamb before a few days, you learn that. But then again, maybe this one time it was important I named her. Maybe something much bigger than me, or Apifera, knew what was in store for that little creature and knew naming it would mean something to both the dying and the watcher of the dying.

Everything seemed fine at seven AM, roughly 19 hours after Daisy's triplets were born. While it is always exciting to see triplets, it is entwined with an element of dread. Many issues can arise with them - weak lambs, not enough milk, a weak ewe or milk fever. We've had a healthy set of triplets in the past from Rosie, but lost all six triplets in '09.

So with the triplets looked good in the morning, all milking a bit, tails wiggling, I felt okay. Daisy is an excellent mother too. Maybe that was one of my mistakes, not taking charge right away and tube feeding the tiny little ewe, only 4#. I check my lambs every two hours the first day for their tongue temperature, and if it's warm, I'm happy.

What happened from 7 AM to 9 AM is a secret of the universe, something no one will truly know. But I found her listless. The big boy was eating, the middle brown boy was sleeping. Sleeping day old lambs can look dead, believe me. So at first when I saw her, I didn't think anything was wrong. But I decided to give her another squirt of vitamin drench since she's so small, and her little body was like a slightly alive rag doll. I rushed her into the house, encouraging her to stay with me. I tube fed her and was careful not to get it into her lungs. I had initial hopes, but I knew she wasn't going to make it. And she didn't. She died surrounded by hospice team of an old one eyed pug, a concerned lab and a kitten that knew only too well what it meant to be saved.

After she died, I decided to tube feed both boys as a precaution, thinking it might be a milk issue. Arriving at the barn, the brown boy was now looking dopey, but better than his sister had. I thought I could save him. After tubing him, I knew he wasn't going to make it, so returned him to Daisy. He died soon after.

This is part of shepherding. I'm proud to say that I was calm and remembered how to tube a lamb without panic. I also told them to "go on now", which I think is a gift to the dying. I had tried and I knew they both tried as much as their bodies could.

The vet felt it was not a milk issue, said I did everything in my power and that triplet births can be stressful and create things you can't control. We played the 'If I had done this sooner" game, maybe they would have lived. Or maybe they would have lived and died a week later.

As the little lamb ewe lay near the fire, with her hospice team nearby, I went for my camera. I wondered if it was ghoulish to photograph the scene of near death. But I wanted to and wondered why I wanted to. I've been thinking of that all day- why did I need and want to document the moment, and was it worthy of her short life.

A creature of any kind, any kind, can touch a human life and reach deep into their best parts and say, "I know I'm little, and dying, but you cared to take pictures of my beautiful ears. You let me be warm. I could hear you too."

Her ears were so beautiful, much like the hair of one of my felted creatures.

Love the one you're with