cat up a tree, Day 3

I wandered back to the cemetery at 6:oo this morning with a small bag of kibble in my pocket. I scanned the trees for signs of our oak-bound friend and, dear readers, I report this news with great relief: there was no cat.   I regret I cannot offer you some thrilling anecdote about its departure from the tree.  Perhaps it has found another less public tree to dwell in, perhaps a member of the nearby school performed a daring rescue to the wild applause of children but I suspect that this story limped to its conclusion with an unspectacular descent.  My sincere apologies for the lack of drama.  In the absence of drama, those who are keen to see cats may enjoy some nice pictures of the children.

cat up a tree, Day 2

As you can see, nothing here has changed. One was hoping for the anticipated rain showers to inspire said kitty to evacuate his nest. But rain has not yet come. Fortunately, the outraged bus drivers from yesterday were still running on outrage. One of them explained that the children who attend the adjacent special needs school were assembled in the school parking lot trying to work out how to get the cat down. The school staff crowded outside with one teacher insisting she would climb up there herself if she had a ladder. Everyone is upset about the cat and all were disgusted that the authorities refuse to deal with it. Certainly, it is possible that under extreme duress-no food, pelting rain, predacious hawks-the cat might summon the courage to get itself down. I contacted a local paper in the hope that someone at the news desk might be willing to cobble together a few words on the matter and the mention might inspire some local heroism. As yet, no one has returned my call.

UPDATE: I contacted the Mayor's office and spoke with a youngish man whose gentle voice and full concern allayed my fundamental suspicion that those in charge of doing things never do.  I explained the situation and  was promised a call back.  This kind public servant contacted someone at the MSPCA and was assured  that cats can endure several days marooned in an oak without access to food or water and will very likely climb down when they feel there is nothing more to be gained by roosting. He suggested, per the MSPCA, that I fashion some tempting tuna balls and pitch them skyward toward the poor creature. I think I have secured for all time a reputation as absurd do-gooder and ninny.

cat up a tree, Day 1

Please observe, in the not very special photo above, the cat in the tree. What you cannot properly appreciate, given that I wanted to focus particularly on the poor wee beastie and not the aerie he has occupied, is that he is perhaps 25 feet off the ground. There are no secure limbs within leaping distance, no easy path to freedom. I spotted him yesterday morning at 6:00 A.M. as I walked through a local cemetery and I returned there later in the day to find him still stranded. He's quite a beauty, vaguely Burmese-ish and has indicated no willingness to come down. Given the considerable height of his current perch, his prudence in certainly justified, but one does worry about his well being. His plight attracted the attention of the bus drivers who gather to collect children from the adjacent school. I contacted the Police and Fire departments as well as the Department of Public Works. The chap from the Fire Department explained very nicely that they are no longer in the cat rescue business.
The police claimed that this sort of thing was not in their job description and promised to forward the message to the DPW. They did not do this. The woman at the DPW assured me that no one from the police had contacted their office adding, "We would know, we're all cat lovers here".

tuesday...

I've just completed my first buttons-up-the-back pillow using one of the freezer paper stencils I made recently.  I'm really pleased with the way it turned out.  Fortunately, I am not so haplessly modern and atheistic that I am incapable of being astonished: the innovation that is the buttonhole foot is properly miraculous.

The Happy Owls...

 I decided to buy myself a present: Celestino Piatti's
The Happy Owls, 1963

You can learn a little about Piatti here.

ab ovo...

I had only the dimmest hopes for today, as I'd stayed up entirely too late last night watching news that made me anxious followed by a palliatively mindless program about the fashion industry.  The Night of Restful Sleeping has eluded me since I was three and fell prey to an unwelcome somnambulatory urge to roll out of and underneath my bed.   Lately, I've been waking up at 4AM but, given the uncharacteristically late evening, managed to make it to 6:30 when there was some grumbling from the cats.  I'm an adult now, so after a night of poor quality sleep I can easily create a convincing illusion of well-being with drugs, in this case, a fairly good cafe latte.

But what really made me snap to was this little fellow, a White Throated Sparrow, (photo courtesy of Birds of Massachusetts Field Guide), a creature I had never seen before.  He was shuffling about in the garden, kicking up dead leaves in search of breakfast.

 
I tracked down an online recording of his song, which goes something like, Oh Sweet, Canada, Canada, Canada, and I could hear him, somewhere in a tree, not too far away.  I learned that this bird is a ground feeder so I tossed some sunflower seed into the garden.  Greedily motivated by the trophy hunter's impulse, I decided to lure this sweet little bird back to the garden by pishing and playing the recording of his kind out of a bedroom window in order to attract his attention.  For those who are thinking, "Oh just leave the poor thing alone", please note: I'm slightly concerned that it worked.
But the thrills don't stop there because a wholly unexpected delivery arrived in the mail.

Yes, my parents sent me a pysanky kit from the Ukrainian Gift Shop, Inc.  Tomorrow is my birthday and this is quite a felicitous gift, I think.  So, now seems like the ideal moment to share pictures of our vast collection of Russian, Ukrainian, and Polish Easter eggs.  Things are really beginning to look up!

The collection makes an ideal storage spot for

Foof's groovy rubber ball.

The result of last year's egg dyeing experiment.

The Robber Kitten

Several years ago, I found this object at an antique shop in Southern Connecticut.  I bought it because, as must be clear to readers of this blog, I'm fond of the felines.   I'm also fond of the preposterous and find this puzzle's absurd conceit endearingly incongruous.  It's not actually a useful thing, in fact, it's just the top of a box that contained, as stated, a "picture puzzle".  As such, it really falls into the category of "ephemera" and I enjoy its silliness even though I usually keep it hostage in non-acidifying plastic in a paper bag in the middle of a pile of heavy books.  Certainly, it deserves better than that, so I thought I'd trace its history and try to figure out just where that Robber Kitten really comes from.  The picture puzzle was created by Parker Brothers, the Salem, Massachusetts games company founded in 1883 by George S. Parker who thought that games should be challenging and fun rather than the spirit dulling exercises in morality so typical of the time.

But The Robber Kitten theme was derived from a book that was highly moral in tone and written in 1858 by prolific Scottish author Robert Michael Ballantyne under the pseudonym "Comus" (lovers of Milton, take note).  It was published by Thomas Nelson and Sons, an enterprise founded in 1798.  Thomas Nelson became, supposedly, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's first publisher and is still thriving today as the world's largest Christian publishing house.  It was subsequently published (though curiously attributed to a  Dolores McKenna and not Ballantyne),  in 1904 by the Henry Altemus Co., a Philadelphia publisher which created a series entitled Wee Books for Wee Folks and included The Robber Kitten, The Three Little Pigs, The Tale of Peter Rabbit, The Foolish Fox, and Nursery Tales with Nursery Rhymes.

Chapter One, entitled, "The Kitten Decides to Become a Robber",  begins with a rhyme which recounts the kitten's announcement of its intentions to take up a life of crime...

A kitten once to its mother said,

"I'll never more be good,

But I'll go and be a robber fierce,

And live in a dreary wood;

Wood, wood, wood,

And live in a dreary wood!"

When his shocked mum questions what is surely an ill-considered decision, he defiantly reveals his motive:

"Yes mother", said the kitten, "I'm determined to be a robber; I've not got everything that I want and I feel that I must have everything that I want.  I've been good so long that I'm tired of it, so I've made up my mind to be bad now - fuff!"

Understandably, Mum is now guilt ridden and brimming with self-reproach.  If only she had not been so fond of her young son: "...she gave it too much of its own way, and was not careful enough to keep it out of bad company".   She must face some hard facts.  It's obvious that the kitten has been spending too much time with those rotten kids across the street and has been up to no good.  She follows him to his room and what she finds is every mother's nightmare.  There, she discovers him sporting a full complement of roguish accessories: a holster containing two large horse pistols, a gleaming sword, and a hat rakishly embellished with a feather.  He seems entranced, addressing his mirror as if confronting a loathesome victim, "Come on villain!  Draw and defend yourself!  Your money or your life!"

The story reveals that for all his nefarious ambitions, as a criminal, the kitten is hopeless.  His dastardly plans to stab people, make off with their riches, and raise hell generally are foiled.  He is unskillful with his weapons, occasionally overcome by the beauties of nature and plagued by stirrings of remorse.   A severe beating by a deceitful canine highwayman leaves the kitten in a pitiable state.  His sorrowful mewing is overheard by a kind-hearted owl who urges the naughty kitten to renounce his vow of thuggery and return to his mother.

The kitten came forward with its head hanging down and the tears streaming from its eyes.  Flinging its pistol and sword on the ground, it said: "Take them, mother, and put them into the fire.  Mew!  Oh, forgive me, mother!"

And she does, and through the power of love the Robber Kitten is redeemed, transforming into a Good Kitten once more.   The entire tale, by R.M. Ballantyne, can be read here.  Until I learn otherwise, that seems to be the source for the puzzle, although the Parker Bros. illustration that I have suggests that he has taken up with a confederate, formed a cat gang, and comports himself with a Robin Hood-like brio.  I'm holding out some hope that there's a murkier side to this story in much the same way that the children's rhyme Ring-Around-the-Rosy is, purportedly, about the Plague. 

There's more.  Turn the box top over and you'll find this:

It's an inscription in pencil identifying who I assume to be the original owners of my Robber Kitten Picture Puzzle.  My curiosity is relentlessly feline, so after a little research I made a few discoveries.  I know nothing of either the girl who must have been his sister, Miss Tanner, or the man I take to be her father, Dr. Avery Tanner, Jr.  But I believe I've learned a little about W. Avery Tanner, Jr., who I can imagine as a boy spending a few happy moments with The Robber Kitten  and who grew up to attend Brown University, becoming a member of the Brown University Gilbert and Sullivan Society for whom he served as technical director of  the 1942 production, graduating in 1943, and working as a personnel supervisor at a plastic bottle manufacturer in Stonington, Connecticut while living just outside of Hartford proper.  Mr. Tanner and Miss Tanner, if you're still alive, I have the top of your puzzle.