Okay, so I have it again.

Rather, it's never left, but I done went and got sick for awhile there and put it all on hold. A friend at work has a Maine Coon, the breed of all breeds, and she turned me on to Petfinder, a humane society site that you can search by breed, gender, age, size, and maybe even preference of canned food to dry, simulated tuna flavoring to beef and gravy. I'm addicted, because I would love to be able to "rescue" a cat, but also because there aren't so many rules with de-clawing this way. I will de-claw any house-cat I own. I am not of the belief that the practice is inhumane. I've observed many de-clawed cats over the years, and none of them treat their front paws gingerly or look any sort of crippled.



It is heartbreaking. I get my hopes up. Puff, the little guy on the top was my first love, and Nick seemed just as taken with him. Quickly, in our eager little minds, we plotted a road trip to Iowa, where Puff was located. When I didn't hear back from my inquiry after awhile (five minutes), I located a number and called the shelter. Puff had been adopted already.

This week, it was Bronx, and I hoped to be in Indiana right about now, getting ready to bring him home...but it was not to be with him either. I looked this morning and found four new Maine Coon males in the system, calico with white undersides: adorable. Disappointment still fresh regarding Bronx, the bottom photo by the way, I just couldn't apply.

But, mornings like this, the air crisp and me feeling poorly, the empty house with the still landscape through the panes, a treasure of purring fleece upon my lap would be so very heavenly. I would speak to him in my natural voice, the one that not many can hear because it is airy and too light, I guess, for human communication...but animals seem to like it. Sitting in the gilded gaze of the sun, we'd close our eyes and simply enjoy.