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And now I got a dragon in my mind and I'm still here in this space
It is the tenth birthday of Hestia Hermia Linsky-Noyes; lhude sing meaw. I took her official birthday picture by afternoon sunlight and the enticing rustle beyond the window of bird theater. She has one small paw now braced in the blinds, her ears hunter-swiveled.
Shortly after midnight she snuggled unexpectedly onto my lap; we sang to her and I told her the story of her mother who carried all her kittens bravely until she could give birth to them in safety and licked them all over and purred to them and taught them how to be cats. She meered up to me. I wish we were celebrating a decade of both our cats. We make much of the cat who lives with us—tonight she will receive her meal of festive ham—and we remember the cat who does not.
Otherwise I had an appointment which permitted me to walk around Fort Point in the brilliant not quite spring winds and a welcomely supportive interaction with the Traffic & Parking Department of the City of Somerville. I was told I didn't look my age by the same person who addressed me as "my dear," briefly suggesting I had slipped through one of the less stressful portions of a Mary Renault novel. The sun when I had walked for long enough to take my coat off felt like a hand laid against my back.
I was sorry to learn that in the three years since my last encounter with The Sea Shall Not Have Them (1954), my favorite actor in it had—at a sensible near-centenarian age—died, but it was from his obituary I discovered to my immeasurable delight that Ian Whittaker was much better known as a set decorator and art director for productions as varied as The Devils (1971), Tommy (1975), The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975), Alien (1979), Dragonslayer (1981), Highlander (1986), Howards End (1992), Sense and Sensibility (1995), and The Importance of Being Earnest (2002), just to select a handful I have seen. As A.C.2. Milliken, the seasick and slightly flammable medical orderly of Launch 2561, he reminded me oddly around the eyebrows of Denholm Elliott and I am charmed that the resemblance persisted into later life.
Shortly after midnight she snuggled unexpectedly onto my lap; we sang to her and I told her the story of her mother who carried all her kittens bravely until she could give birth to them in safety and licked them all over and purred to them and taught them how to be cats. She meered up to me. I wish we were celebrating a decade of both our cats. We make much of the cat who lives with us—tonight she will receive her meal of festive ham—and we remember the cat who does not.
Otherwise I had an appointment which permitted me to walk around Fort Point in the brilliant not quite spring winds and a welcomely supportive interaction with the Traffic & Parking Department of the City of Somerville. I was told I didn't look my age by the same person who addressed me as "my dear," briefly suggesting I had slipped through one of the less stressful portions of a Mary Renault novel. The sun when I had walked for long enough to take my coat off felt like a hand laid against my back.
I was sorry to learn that in the three years since my last encounter with The Sea Shall Not Have Them (1954), my favorite actor in it had—at a sensible near-centenarian age—died, but it was from his obituary I discovered to my immeasurable delight that Ian Whittaker was much better known as a set decorator and art director for productions as varied as The Devils (1971), Tommy (1975), The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975), Alien (1979), Dragonslayer (1981), Highlander (1986), Howards End (1992), Sense and Sensibility (1995), and The Importance of Being Earnest (2002), just to select a handful I have seen. As A.C.2. Milliken, the seasick and slightly flammable medical orderly of Launch 2561, he reminded me oddly around the eyebrows of Denholm Elliott and I am charmed that the resemblance persisted into later life.
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*hugs*
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when I had walke for long enough to take my coat off [the sun] felt like a hand laid against my back. --Supportive intimacy from the sun, yes, good.
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I love your descriptions!
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It's the only way, and it's so hard, but the cat who still walks with us is so, so deserving of celebration. Happy birthday, darling beastie.
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Her white whiskers are very roguish and dashing.
P.
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I wonder if Autolycus might have whispered (or perhaps just purred) in her ear that a snuggle would be absolutely the thing just then.
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And I will raise a glass to Autolycus' memory.
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Salutes to her, from someone doing similar. (In general, not today specifically.)
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beams at Hestia and at you
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Nine
Catte meweth after hamm
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Many happy returns to Hestia, and may Autolycus' memory be kind.
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*hugs*
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*hugs*
If she were human, we would place her presents at the end of the bed to wake to. As she is a cat, she is more often sleeping there herself.
Lucky Hestia.
We love her very much.
--Supportive intimacy from the sun, yes, good.
It felt wonderful. It felt like spring, even if there wasn't enough snow on the ground.
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We petted her with well-wishes of the internet!
I love your descriptions!
Thank you!
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Ave!
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*hugs*
Thank you.
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*hugs*
Her white whiskers are very roguish and dashing.
As befits the Generalissima.
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She did! She snapped it from my fingers! (
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*hugs*
Pets have been conferred. We told her how many people celebrate her.
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So mote it be!
And I will raise a glass to Autolycus' memory.
*hugs*
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*hugs*
Thank you. And to you and yours.
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*hugs*
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The celebrant of our hearth.
She doth!
*hugs*
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Her mother was the regal Hera. Hestia takes after her.
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*hugs*
Thank you.
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She was made much of.