Dad still calls me a Niblet. That was my brother and sisters’ foster last name when my angel mama had me years and years ago. Am I still a Niblet? I suppose so.
Mom calls me a Bunny Bun on account I have no tail, and honestly, who in their right mind would want one of those swishy things? Besides, don’t bunnies actually have tails? My tail is about three hairs and some air and Mom says if anyone were to help her with house dusting, I’d be the last one picked.
Viola, are you going somewhere with this? It doesn’t really sound like a story to us. It sounds more like a conversation with a smidgen of complaining. Do you have a complaint or are you just talking?
A story? Who titled this post anyway? Not me. You want a story? Okay, here’s a story.
Once there was a wee kitten named a Niblet, for some reason, who grew into a big girl with no tail and sproing-y legs who loves boxes and crinkly paper and jumping up onto tall places and talking to Dad and giving Mom a kiss every day. And that girl ain’t afraid of anything. The end.
How’s that?
Well, it lacks a plot and only hints at action and suspense, but we see you’re passionate about getting down what really matters the most to you. And you didn’t add a complaint, not once.
Around Colehaus, we’re entering deep winter. Ice and snow have already come and gone, not that these seed-grown Violas would care. They’re living in a succulent pot close to the house, under a roof eave and loving the chill.
One of a few wild strawberry plants, also grown from seed though not intentionally (thanks to the birds) doesn’t seem to mind the cold either. Mom plans to put all the wild strawberries into one pot in the spring to keep them from taking over the flower beds but if that gets out of control, into the yard debris bin they’ll go. But what about wild strawberries to eat? Oh, sure, sure, Mom says. But with our eyes on an uncertain future, it’s all about keeping the outside looking neat as a pin this year. Thankfully, the yards are easier to maintain than ever before. All that hard work of digging and clearing overgrown plants and trees over the past summers has paid off.
Neighbor cat W promises to help with gardening this year.
Oh, who are we kidding? W just wants to watch the visiting birds and mooch Greenie treats from an old, half-opened bag we found in the garage, as any self-respecting outdoor cat would do. Here, he was racing toward Mom in hopes she had treats hidden in a pocket, and when she didn’t, he just kept walking and went home.
A decade or so ago, we had lots of little green frogs that lived in our backyard and then, one summer, they all up and moved away, probably to a different part of town with a better school system and an award-winning volunteer fire department. You know, some place that little green frogs could raise their tadpoles to become young, confident frogs with bright futures.
One frog has stayed with us for five years. We call him Joe. Now, you might speculate that no frog lives for five years, and we’d probably agree with you. But the fact remains, there’s this one, single, medium-sized frog living in our backyard, a hermit frog, if you will, who just happens to live in the rocks surrounding our fountain. And there’s a fern growing next to his home’s entrance. And someday, Mom will get a photo of Joe and his front door fern. For now, just imagine Joe out there, croaking away at all hours of the day and night, perhaps singing to his fern because he certainly isn’t singing to any other frogs.
Mom’s Cyclamen is hanging in there through the cold and she’s pretty happy about that. It has extra bark mulch tucked in around it and though it looks like someone’s been munching on a few leaves here and there, it’s looks pretty good for a greenhouse-grown florists’ plant that most people would have tossed out after blooming back in 2017.
Peeking out the front window, who do we have here? We don’t know but we’ve seen this kitty before. We’ve never gotten within thirty feet of him but oddly enough, he looked up at us peeking at him from inside and he didn’t bolt, and in fact, sat there on the chair cushion for another hour. Mom says he probably already feels safe here. It’s just a matter of time before we’re all friends.
Neighborhood cat Scruffy, who’s pushing sixteen years old this year, is still around and appreciates this fine personal fountain we happen to have for him in our backyard.
Back inside, Viola doesn’t care about what’s going on outside. Just give her her scratchy post tower and any leftover Fancy Feast from Quint’s dinner and she’s okay with the world.
Lovebugs Quint and Olivia have spent a good portion of this winter sleeping and lounging around together. You’d never guess they once disliked each other with all the fury of a thousand raging blow torches.
Lastly, Ginger Princess Pia’s spent a good portion of this chilly time of year contemplating life, love and nose freckles, like you do. Not photographed was Tessa because we all know she was sitting somewhere plotting her next bout of grumpiness. Oops, here she is:
Okay, sure, we have cats and cats know no boundaries. But even the squirt Viola learned quickly enough there were certain places a cat just was not allowed.
For Tessa, however, well, she’s just always done whatever she wants. This cat has never acknowledged rules. Witness our photographic evidence. Here, she is, full on, butt to the tabletop, on the one place she knows for absolute certain she is not allowed. One can only imagine what was going through her mind at this exact moment.
Obviously, Tessa’s a bit more comfortable in this photo. Whereas the first forbidden tabletop photo was at Dad’s place at the table, this photo finds Tessa positively lounging at Mom’s place. And Mom wonders why she often finds fur in her food . . . Silly Mom!
Let’s just say this wasn’t the front end of Tessa. And if anyone should know what happens when one sticks their nose somewhere they shouldn’t, it should be Quint. But no . . .
Lastly, and most obviously, the condition of the arm on the pleather couch. Mom says she will never, ever, replace this thing because why, when this one is so well loved. And when you hear her say that, if you listen very, very closely, you might hear Tessa snickering in the background.
Many thanks to all of you who filled our food cupboard to near capacity and stuffed the cats’ cupboard as well with Iams kibble, Quint’s special diet Fancy Feast, litter and even new toys. Thank YOU!
We’re doing well. Dad’s hearing with the state unemployment ruled in his favor. We truly expect they will appeal and that we’ll be audited for the rest of our lives. We got nothing to hide.
All the Colehaus Cats are doing great. We had a little Barf-o-Rama event last Thursday in which four of five cats were represented, mostly by hairballs. We think they may have picked up on Mom’s extra high anxiety the evening before when she knew she’d have to make that 4 a.m. 30-minute drive across town to work in snowy conditions. She did fine. Pia, Tessa, Olivia and Viola simply showed their solidarity.
