Category Archives: The Kids Photos

Let the sun shine in

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Being on call this weekend meant not getting out for more than a cursory run to the store or coffee shop, but it also meant more time with The Kids—along with more time to do chores.

Having my foot chained to a Blackberry and a laptop darkened my mood and butchered all hope of taking walks and doing some writing; it didn’t keep me from enjoying quality time with seven shamefully demanding felines.

Larenti on the edge of the bed staring at open windows with a longing only inside cats understand (2009_02_28_011292)

What irked me most was that I had the camera on the wrong settings.  Having been used most recently for outside telephoto sessions, I hastily changed lenses yesterday but failed to consider anything else before joining in a fur person convention taking place in the bedroom.

Most of the pictures didn’t turn out, but some did.  And since photography is barely a secondary consideration at such times, I wasn’t too bothered by that result.

Besides, I was rather pleased that piles of laundry and perpetual pages failed to dampen spirits.

Kazon sitting amongst piles of laundry and looking at me with that I-love-you-Daddy-now-please-pet-me stare that melts my heart every time (2009_02_28_011611)

We played.  Oh how we played!

And in between the play, we showered in affection.

The characters changed as cats came and went at will.  Time for a bath in the sunshine.  Time for a bite to eat.  Time for a nap.  Time for whatever.

None of them went very far, and every one of them came back again and again.

al-Zill lying in the sun trying to take a nap (2009_02_28_011169)

I feel shamed when work takes from them what they deserve; on the other hand, sometimes it gives them precisely what they need.

I guess it cuts both ways.

— — — — — — — — — —

Photos:

[1] Larenti on the edge of the bed staring at open windows with a longing only inside cats understand.

[2] Kazon sitting amongst piles of laundry and looking at me with that I-love-you-Daddy-now-please-pet-me stare that melts my heart every time.

[3] al-Zill lying in the sun trying to take a nap.

Six years?

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A close-up of Vazra with wide eyes as Kako rests comfortably in the background (2008_12_27_003727)

Vazra was as surprised as I was when less than a week ago this blog reached six years of age.

We never saw that coming.

And Kako in the background never moved, never gave it a second thought.  In fact, she scoffed at the idea and spit upon the premise that anything might be more noteworthy than her needs.  But that’s how she is…

Emptiness

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I scarcely knew what to say when Jenny informed me this morning that her beloved cat Coco had slept in the sun one last time before being released to the cosmos Saturday.  Coco’s health had been failing; she was an older cat for certain.  Yet I knew the pain Jenny felt, experienced it all over again as she wept her sorrows upon a sunny day that cared little for her tribulations.

Swimming the depths of my own unflinching depression left me little comfort to offer.  I tried, though, reassuring her of the obvious: the pain would last a lifetime; telling her the weeping cannot be contained, nor should it be; holding her as we stared at the bones of the world holding up a blue sky from which sunshine poured endlessly; and letting her know I understood better than most what she felt, and I would not cheapen it with hollow words when holding her could accomplish so much more.

Of course, words do little in such cases, a lesson I learned following Henry‘s death.  The tears will come as they wish, when they wish, and nothing can stop that.  Losing a beloved, a familiar, is much like losing a bit of our heart.  Every loss takes more, and so we are forced to rend ourselves time and again such that we can replenish the well of emotion that becomes drained and dry.  For we do it time and again, we of compassion, and we set upon the same painful road over and over despite knowing what ends lie in wait.

A close-up of Grendel (2008_12_27_003753)

Grendel, Coco’s doppelgänger, reminds of what was lost this very weekend, what was lost years ago, and what will be lost soon.  Even as I cradled Jenny and let her heartache manifest in tears, I thought of the life waiting at home that careens toward the same destiny.  Cursed throughout his years with one wretched ailment after another, inflicted with agonies no creature should be made to endure, Grendel will not see the years Coco saw, will not enjoy as many sunrises and sunsets and sunny afternoons.

Along the boulevard of days rest historical markers signifying empty spaces once filled with cherished souls.  And each of us walks that boulevard every day, every moment.  We glance this way and that way, and all about us, leaping from the shadows of history, mournful things pass within our vision, no more so than for the heart full of giving for that which cannot be kept.

A close-up of Grendel as he looks out the window (2008_12_27_003754)

His trembling a constant reminder of the toll life has taken on his body, I look at Grendel and see within his eyes the clouding of a sunny day.  Coco must have looked as burdened when finally her spirit recognized what her flesh screamed upon the winds of time: These are my final hours, my final moments, and soon I go to be one with the universe, to return to that which made me.  I see that future here, here in my home, here in my arms as I hold him and caress him and speak to him.  Even his purring sounds weaker than once it did.

What grim specter besets me now sees its essence grow colder still, an icy hand scraped against my inner self and grasping at what torments as yet lie undisturbed.  A falling of dominoes brings death and its kith and kin, darkness and its ilk, anguish and its brethren.  I envy not the torture of Jenny’s soul now, especially so soon after the loss of her mother.  I see in her experiences my own destiny, with Grendel’s fate hanging in the skeletal hands of that which cannot be denied and my own father’s health rapidly succumbing to the ills of a future already written based upon a past too clear to deny.

No creature of conscience can escape the emptiness.  Why would we want to?  Doing so only means we have not loved.  For that reason alone, I hope never to be full.

[that shadowy apparition with golden eyes floating in the background of the second photo is none other than Vazra]

Quality time

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The Kids provide endless entertainment and companionship.  Unfortunately, being cats, they don’t always provide the best photographic opportunities.  I can’t tell them to sit and stay while I setup a prime shot.  I can’t let them run about the yard while I capture some magic moments.  In truth, they keep me on my toes when it comes to photographing them.

When we’re playing, it’s near impossible to snap photos while keeping them engaged.  I try, though.  What I wind up with most often are pictures of empty spaces, unrecognizable blurs, my own feet or hands, a wall or the ceiling, furniture, and anything else except cats.  Such is the curse of holding a toy with one hand as I hold the camera out and snap photos with the other.

When they’re playing on their own, I can sometimes get up and grab the camera for some snapshots.  Usually, however, they react to my movement by stopping what they’re doing and running to me for attention or a bit of personal play.  I try to keep the camera nearby for such moments, but that’s not always possible (busy doing chores or eating dinner are two examples that come to mind).

There is only one time when taking photos is simple: when they’re still (sleeping, grooming, etc.).

The next best opportunity is quality time.

Quality time for us happens as often as possible.  It’s nothing more complicated than me sitting or lying on the floor.  It draws them in like flies to honey.

We play.  We show love toward each other.  We focus on the pleasure of just being with one another.

But that represents another challenge.  It’s our quality time; I’m focused on them and they’re focused on me, so photography is nothing more than a byproduct when possible.

That there are seven of them also means my hands are full with making sure each of them receives their due affection.

Nevertheless, I find the happenstance photos from such moments often capture the wild spirits and loving souls that swim within each of these fur persons.

A close-up of Kazon as he looks at me (2008_12_27_003708)

Kazon.  What can I say?  He’s my baby.  When he realizes I’m occupying him surreptitiously in hopes of getting a picture worth the effort, he stops and looks at me with the adoration of a child.  He needs his love, his affection.  And he is a child, a big tomcat in stature with the mind of a juvenile who is always needy, always demanding of personal attention.

A close-up of Kako as she looks out the window (2008_12_27_003718)

Kako.  As independent as she is wanting of Daddy’s time, she proffers a mix of disdain and greed.  Sometimes I can’t get her off my shoulders long enough to breath; other times she smacks me around and lets me know I’m invading her personal space.  I love the bitch that dwells within this feline.  She is both distant and close all at once, a dichotomy that defines the spirit of all cats.

Larenti lying on the bed looking out the windows (2008_12_27_003720)

Larenti.  He is fear made flesh.  I always knew he was abused, for his fear of hands and sudden movements makes this clear.  Yet as much as he wants to engage the other felines, he fears them as much as he fears humans.  A bit of play quickly turns to panic, and a moment on my lap in purring contentment becomes fleeing apprehension when one of the other kids joins us and gets too close, rests against him, gets too near his personal space.  Ah, but he loves his time with me as much as he loves the rest of The Kids.  For a young cat, he still has time to realize the potential of the life I’ve given him.

A close-up of Vazra as he looks out the window (2008_12_27_003723)

Vazra.  He lives up to his name.  Simultaneously amiable and demanding, he is a true king of felines.  He demands things go his way, he demands no one else do what he does, and he demands everyone acquiesce to his needs and wants.  His physical presence, as beautiful as it is, represents a mere shadow of his personality, a big and bold being who loves with the utmost compassion as much as he expects me to answer his every demand.  He’s a mirror of my own soul…

A close-up of al-Zill as he looks at the camera (2008_12_27_003735)

al-Zill.  The neurological damage he suffered before I rescued him ensures he’s a special case in the xenogere homestead.  Affectionate with a purr that can shake dishes off the table, he’s also a child at heart who remains at odds with the disconnect between his brain and his body.  But how he loves the other cats!  As much as he loves me, I might add.  Watching him lie with Grendel as he grooms his older stepbrother warms my heart as much as it does when he pushes his way under the covers at night, when he races to claim my lap, when he follows me everywhere while continually rubbing against me, and when he gives me kisses—sometimes incessantly to the point of pain.

A close-up of Grendel as he looks at me (2008_12_27_003745)

Grendel.  A lifetime of ailments continues to take a toll on this alpha male.  He is Sponge, the cat who can never get enough petting, who can never spend enough time with me (although Kazon gives him a run for his money in that regard).  And while Grendel remains the chief of the watch, I myself lament seeing him weaken, seeing the tremors that plague him all the time now, seeing a great predator reduced to wisps of what once was.  He looks at me with frustration in this photo because I wanted him to pause long enough for a picture, yet I could only demand so much from him before I wept and held him and spoke to him with the utmost adoration.  His time is limited, something obvious by the continued downhill slide of his body.  So many memories wrapped up in this one cat whose flesh can no longer support the soul that made him master of our domain…

Although I tried also to grab a few pictures of Loki, all of them turned out as so much garbage.  He beat me profusely during this episode of quality time.  He ran about, punched me around, argued with me, and basically left me not one opportunity to immortalize his godliness within the digital confines of a photograph.  There will be other times, sure, but I’m sorely disappointed with myself for not being better prepared for his rambunctious and assaulting interaction with me.  For all the abuse I’ve taken from him over the years, I should have known better.