Can We Talk? (Even if We Disagree)

This morning the Washington Post had an article that quoted President Bush's statement in 2001 about the events of that year's September 11; “The terrorists practice a fringe form of Islamic extremism that has been rejected by Muslim scholars and the vast majority of Muslim clerics — a fringe movement that perverts the peaceful teachings of Islam." The article asserted that this stance would be unacceptably pro-Muslim to the Republican Party of today, possibly even to the degree that it would be disqualifying in the nomination process.

In the readings for a class in "Religious Manyness" I am taking at Hartford Seminar, we looked at Rita Gross's thoughts about religious diversity and dialogue [Religious Diversity--What's the Problem (2014) Cascade Books]. In her introduction to models of religious diversity (which I find to be quite valuable, by the way) she states (sorry, reading it on a Kindle, I can't give page number); "...the solution is obvious. Exclusive truth claims must be given up. They are now untenable and extremely unethical and inappropriate for the world we inhabit."

I see in the two above perspectives a disconnect of troubling magnitude.

I could wish, with Gross, that exclusive truth claims would just go away. But I don't think that's happening anytime soon. It's too attractive to think that we know something, that we have got it right. Especially when we allow ourselves to think that we are right and they  are wrong. And, then we add into the mix the idea that God has reached into history and given us, our group, the one true revelation. Yay us! I think the attractiveness of exclusivist, absolute-truth positions is going to keep them in the world for a long time to come. If we proceed to discourage or exclude those with absolute/exclusive-truth claims from interreligious dialogue, I think we are very wide of the mark we have set for ourselves. In fact, these people may be the most crucial participants to bring into any dialogue that hopes to make a positive difference in our world. Many with these views have loud public voices and move in powerful places. And, as we can see from today's WashPost story, many of them are also woefully ignorant about the Other that they disparage. What might it take to bring more of them into the conversation?

First, a story: When I was young and contemplating marriage, a very close friend became convinced that my proposed partner was tragically wrong for me. She made her concerns known and I -- of course, being very much in love -- disagreed with her. Our friendship broke up over the disagreement, but as I told her then and still believe (although we were never able to repair the damage), the reason we could not reconcile was not because she held a different opinion of my proposed partner. In fact, she had some very good insights that did prove to be valid concerns. (But let me say that we just celebrated our 32nd anniversary, so the problems my friend foresaw were not fatal.) The thing that killed our friendship was that she insisted that her job as my friend was to ultimately convince me to agree with her. I could have tolerated that she was utterly convinced that she was right and I was wrong. But, she failed to even try to understand my feelings, could not imagine at all what I saw in my partner, had no respect for my judgement, and transgressed my boundaries. She would not allow me to make up my own mind, but insisted that I adopt hers. I would not give up my own autonomy, so we had to part ways.

I tell this story because it illustrates, although in a negative sense, the four most important ingredients that I believe are required in interreligious conversations, especially when they involve those with exclusive claims to an absolute truth. These ingredients are empathy, imagination, respect, and maintenance of boundaries.

For most of us, feelings about religion -- including feelings opposed to the notion of religion at all -- are deeply held and emotionally fraught. We humans don't enter into possibly contentious dialogue easily, and have entirely understandable apprehensions about dealing with a significantly different Other. Empathy, I think, must be a starting point to any dialogue that is to be productive. Contrary to popular opinion, even those who speak from the confidence that they hold absolute/exclusive truth find it difficult to assert that truth in the face of another's disagreement. All conversation in the face of important differences can make one vulnerable. Vulnerability, unless it is supported by an environment of openness and empathy, can make one retreat into defensiveness, shutting down the productivity of the exchange.

Along with empathy, I think it is critical to foster an environment where it is safe to imagine the world from someone else's viewpoint. Trying on a different viewpoint is not agreeing, and should not even be seen as a step towards loosening one's grip on absolute or exclusive truth. It can be an exercise in understanding only. I think sometimes those of us with pluralist perspectives (implying a positive/affirming approach to the multiplicity of religions and religious truths) try to interject pluralist paradigms into all interreligious dialogue, insisting that all paths are equal or that no one make claims to fuller or higher truths than anyone else. We are uncomfortable if others have not reached our "more enlightened" viewpoint. But, this is also being exclusivist in our "open-mindedness." We could all benefit from finding ways to invite people to imagine, while allowing them to feel safe in asking questions about rightness or wrongness, in making value judgements, in perhaps finding irreconcilable differences.

I think that to keep people at the table, respect across difference must be actively maintained and encouraged.  It's so easy to see our objective in dialogue as finding commonality and places of agreement. That is, of course, nice; but I don't think it should be our objective. Respect fosters understanding. Maybe some understanding is all that we can hope to achieve, all that we actually need. Even if we find no commonality, a better understanding at least precludes acting out of a disastrously incorrect or incomplete view of the Other. (See above -- Re: some in today's Republican Party!) If potential participants didn't anticipate feeling coerced to reject their claims to absolute/exclusive truth, perhaps more would be willing to enter into dialogue. Fostering real relationships would be nice too. And relationship, as well, does not need to insist on agreement.

Finally, boundaries that are acknowledged, maintained, and supported could only improve our interreligious conversations and activities. I think, since we human beings are so inherently self-referential, this may be the most difficult part. If something you believe makes me really uncomfortable, we have to fix it! (No, we don't.) You need to do something to make me less uncomfortable!  (No, you don't.) If what I believe is true, and you don't agree, I have to convince you! (No, I don't.) If there is even a possibility of absolute truth, we have to search for it, find it and agree on it. (Not only no, but hell no! How on earth are we, imperfect humans that we are, supposed to do that? If a transcendent God wants to intervene from the cosmos and humiliate all the prophets of Baal, that's something else, but it's out of our hands!  See I Kings 18.)

Religious difference is one of the pressing concerns of our day. It may even be THE PRESSING CONCERN of our era. Can we talk? Can we settle with the notion that our conversations are always going to involve some tension, discomfort, and uncertainty? Can we honor and preserve that, and learn to live creatively with it?

Evangel They Bring--Are We Sure?

We do not draw people to Christ by loudly discrediting what they believe, 

by telling them how wrong they are and how right we are,

 but by showing them a light 
that is so lovely that  
they want with all their hearts  
to know the source of it.

-- Madeleine L'Engle      

If "evangel" is supposed to be good news, then why does the word trigger such a negative gut reaction to people both inside the Christian church and out? What are we actually offering? And why do so many people think it is anything but good news for either the evangelist or the target?

I have listened to one sermon too many about how "the un-churched" need to be brought into our churches, and we have to go out and bring them in. Why? How do we know what they need? Would you trust a stranger who sidled up to you on the street and said; "Hey, listen. I've got just the product for you!" I know I would say; "Get away from me, you creep! You don't know me. How do you presume to know just what I need? I don't want any of whatever it is you're selling."

But, isn't that often our attitude when we do go out and try to "share the good news," or even worse, "to save souls"? 

Hi there. I don't actually know you, but still, I am sure we've got whatever it will take to "fix" you. (Even if I don't actually know where, or even if, you're broken.) Because, you see, we know that we've got it, and you don't: we're OK, you're not-so OK.

Our attitude comes across loud and clear -- I, from my high perch of superiority, reach down to help the one who is lower; maybe not quite up to my level but up just enough so I can feel good about myself while maintaining my sense of moral superiority.

Jesus did say to go out and do good works and preach the good news. But is this what he really meant? Are our "good works" supposed to be coercive? Do we feed the poor because they are hungry, or because we want them to listen to our sermon and act properly in awe of our "Christian charity"? Is our "good news" that we have something they need, or is it that we have been changed by God, and have found new meaning? Saint Paul said that his "good news" was that "Christ lives in me, and the life I now live I live by faith" (Galatians 2:20). To me, Paul seems to be saying, "Come get to know me, work with me, check out what I'm about these days. I believe I am different -- I feel like I've been given new meaning and purpose in life. I've been discovered by something wonderful and it has changed me, reconciled me to the universe. See for yourself if I am real."This is his good news.

And then, I think both Jesus and Paul tell us to let the other decide whether or not what we have found interests them. Jesus said to shake the dust off your feet if they do not listen (Matthew 10:24, Luke 9:5); that is, let it go -- don't let it get to you, just continue to go on and share your story. Leave it up to them to decide whether what you're offering is anything worth having.

Because, you know, just maybe it's not.

I don't know about you, but I haven't got a lock on God. I can't look into someone else's heart and tell exactly what is going on there, or discern what they need. Yes, I affirm we all "need" a relationship with the God of the universe, and as a Christian, I assert that Jesus is the complete human image of God. But, I know that my understanding is only partial, and "through a glass darkly" (1 Cor. 13:12). I am quite sure that God's involvement with the world does not start and end with me, or with my church, or even with Christianity. I believe that we can all experience God, but I am not convinced we can know God, at least not very completely. Better tread carefully! Maybe the incomplete understanding I bring to the conversation just isn't the truth about God that will have any meaning for someone else's heart? In fact, they could actually have a truth about God that I need to hear, and be offering that to me.

Maybe God's good news has nothing to do with God being found in (and only in) our churches, our sermons, our creeds, our doctrines, our Bible, or even our Christian faith. Maybe the good news is that, when we work together with others to feed the poor, heal the sick, take care of the friend-less and orphans, increase justice, and reconcile the estranged, we find and experience God together--in any place, and in unexpected ways.

Evangelism. Could the "good news" be about God's presence when we vulnerably reveal ourselves, open up to one another, open up to the possibility of our own change in the encounter?

What would things look like if I went out and, with every encounter, instead of thinking that I have something they need and that they need to change, I thought:

Today, right now, I am going to meet God. God is present and, one way or another, I am going to be changed in this encounter. God has something for me in it, which I can accept or reject--help me not to reject. If it is really Christ who now lives in me, then that grace is sufficient. I will have no agenda. I don't need to presume God's intent in this encounter. I will have no expectation of "results." God, open me up -- take whatever you want, change whatever you want, replace whatever you want.

Whether others are changed in this encounter is not part of my story, that is between them and God. Maybe what I have to offer is just, simply, not what they need. And that is OK. But, for me: Please make me aware of your presence, God, and your voice, from their words and heart as from my own. Don't let me miss the good news that you have for me--in whatever wondrous or strange form it may take.

My Spring 2015 Spiritual Auto-biography

I wrote this for my parish newsletter in March, at the time we were going through one "parish leader" spiritual autobiography each month, and as the webmaster/newsletter editor I got asked to contribute my own -- as I know very well, my sense of my own story changes over time, but this is a snapshot of what I wanted to share about my sense of God at work in my life at that one moment in time (I got in trouble for it):

Meet the Newsletter Editor/Web Master

I was, as my grandmother frequently reminded me, “Born a Methodist.” And by that, she also meant that I should die a Methodist. She never saw much need for spiritual exploration, at least not when you were born into the right path from the very beginning.
Unfortunately for my grandmother’s peace of mind, I have always been a searcher. When our local Methodist church (Lawrenceville, NY) closed in the early 70’s, my mother, sister and I joined the Southern Baptist mission that went into our old Methodist church building. (My grandmother and father stayed staunchly Methodist, and stopped going to church altogether. My brother had already left for college.)

For the 4 or 5 years that I was Southern Baptist, I picked up both the best and the very worst of that denomination’s outlook. I certainly learned my Bible: memorization was emphasized and the whole Bible was read and studied. My knowledge of the Old Testament prophets and the New Testament epistles I still credit to those days, as well as my ability to look up any passage quickly and to quote many verses. But, as this was an extremely conservative version of the Southern Baptist spectrum, I also picked up the idea that we, and only we, had it right: that there is only one proper way to be a Christian. I once heard it preached that God wrote the King James version of the Bible with his own hand; thus only that version could be considered inspired by God. I was also taught that most “Christians” weren’t really Christian — particularly not Roman Catholics, who worshiped Mary and had the Antichrist as their Pope. (I wish I could say I was making this up!)

College at Clarkson didn’t actually change me, but it did expose me to some people who believed differently. I met people with equally strong faith, and lives that had also been transformed by encounters with the divine — and they weren’t even all Christian! My office-mate in the Physics Department was both a very dear friend and a devout Roman Catholic. We had many deep discussions about religion. (In my mind, these were about how his religion was wrong, which made him very sad. But he was patient with me.) I wish now I could tell him how much those conversations helped open my mind.

Jan (then John) and I met in college and got married shortly thereafter. We both got jobs at NASA Langley Research Center, and settled down in Hampton, VA. Unfortunately, our first years were pretty tough. In a few years we realized most of our problems stemmed from Jan’s life-long gender identity confusion. She eventually realized she was transsexual and, in 2004, completed the transition from male to female. Over the course of those nearly 20 years of struggle, we each went through a variety of emotional and spiritual crises. Because of the controversial nature of those crises in a culture torn in two over issues relating to sexuality and gender, we got very little help from any of the churches we attended. We found the Episcopal Church in 1990, and the denomination’s relative open-mindedness and support was invaluable. Still, there was only some support for Jan. Our local priest and bishop were fantastic, but the wars in the denomination and some fears and agitation locally about our “lifestyle” finally caused Jan to leave the church for good. She’s currently pursuing an interest in Buddhism, which I heartily endorse. I have settled on the universalist/panentheistic (look it up!) side of the liberal wing of the Episcopal Church. That can be a bit of a problem in our diocese, but I am happy to struggle along with others who are also struggling to live in an honest community of seekers, even if we come at it from very different places.

Jan and I live with our two feline children, Amí and Sophia, in Malone, NY and Yorktown, VA. I divide my time between the two houses, and I am sure you will understand why the winter months are the Virginia months! As a semi-retired engineer/scientist who spent most of my career in front of a computer, it was a natural for me to offer to serve as web master and newsletter editor for St. Mark’s. I love being able to participate even when I am not in town, and to keep in touch with what’s going on.

Only a MAN and a WOMAN -- but what about???

I am going to try once again with a topic that I have written about before.  I've never been able to get any traction on this, but that has bothered me for a very long time.

Today Episcopal Diocese of Albany Bishop Bill Love yet again issued a statement about how marriage must be understood as ordained by Jesus to be between one man and one woman. He said that "what the church should be telling partnered gay and lesbian couples is 'Do you love your partner enough not to engage in sexual intimacy? The issue before us is not about relationships but sexual intimacy.'"

I know that the idea of a homosexuality identity, as it is currently seen in our society, is a rather new development for the church to have to address. We have to move slowly and think deeply when we move into uncharted waters. But, why haven't we spent more time looking at what the Bible and the historic faith has to say concerning the closest analogy that people in biblical times did have to deal with?

I have been told over and over, by supposedly well-meaning, theologically grounded people, that God does not deny marriage to any category of people. However, that God requires that, if a person wants to marry, that person person marries a person of the opposite sex: the idea of sexual complementarity, and all that. It has, supposedly, a profound theological meaning...  I'd take that view better if God had created everyone as either male or female, but God didn't!  Or, I'd expect the Church to have an equally profound and public theological, and compassionately pastoral, response to people who are intersex. It's not like this is a new category of being, or unchartered social waters, we've had the whole of our religious formation period to ponder these questions...

What about biblical theology and instructions concerning individuals who are intersexual?  Shouldn't the Bible contain explicit instructions about sex and marriage for people who are neither (or both) man or (and) woman: instructions about whether to abstain from sexual intimacy; instructions that do or do not allow them to marry; instructions for their place in the family and community, if they cannot enter traditional marriage relationships; etc. If gender identity and sexual intimacy are so very central theologically, this should be spelled out clearly, right?

In the ancient world, it was not possible to deny or ignore that some people are born as neither male nor female, or both male and female.* Even at the lower estimates of intersex occurrence, in almost any community of a few hundred people there would be at least one person who was intersex, who visibly combined the distinguishing characteristics of each sex. This was not a secret, nor was it hidden. Moses knew about people (and animals -- Leviticus 22:23) who were born neither unambiguously male nor female, Jesus knew (Matthew 19:11), the early church knew. It has only been in recent decades, when surgical "corrections" and hormonal interventions have been available,** that we have had the luxury of convincing ourselves that sex and gender are absolute dichotomies, that there is no in-between. But that's not how God created us, and fortunately, that understanding is again changing.

Sleeping Hermaphrodite, 2nd century BCE

Different ancient cultures dealt with intersex individuals differently. We get our word "hermaphrodite" from the Greeks, who acknowledged a god, Hermaphroditus, the child of Aphrodite and Hermes. In some cultures intersex individuals were thought to be especially spiritual (Indian Hijras, for example). However, the Jews felt that that they should not be a part of "The Assembly of the Lord"-- a term scholars generally think refers to the leaders or rulers of Israel, not the wider faith community. (See Deut. 23:1, a passage that gives instructions about apparently-male individuals who have either congenitally, accidentally, or deliberately deformed male sex organs. Women and apparent-women were already, and ontologically, excluded from the leadership.)

So, with this whole class of people who are neither male nor female, or who are both male and female, there must be explicit instructions relative to sex and marriage and the theology of male and female, right?

In fact, where are the explicit, timeless, theologically-oh-so-important instructions relative to sex and marriage in the first place?

Sure, the Bible talks about God creating "them" male and female, and Jesus talks about a man leaving his father and mother and cleaving to his wife, and scripture holds up husband and wife as an analogy to Christ and the church. But it also talks about levirate marriage, about polygamy, about love between two men surpassing the love of women, about divorce being ok and about divorce being not-ok, about rapists being duty bound to marry their victims. The bible gives Abraham a pass on marrying his half-sister (his father's daughter) even though later law forbids any man marrying his father's daughter). It talks about adultery being the appropriation of another mans property. (According to the old testament definition, sex with an unmarried woman is not adultery even if the man is married. He is not his wife's property, but she is his.) Paul says (1 Cor. 7) that it is better to marry than to burn with passion -- so why doesn't he tell us how intersex people should deal with their passion, if the church did not allow them to marry***? 

When Jesus meets the woman at the well, he remarks that she has had five husbands and the man she is living with now is not, in fact, her husband. If there was ever an opportunity for him to clear up this confusion, to launch into his own views on marriage and what is or is not allowed, this seems like it would be the one! But, he does not even condemn her. Nor do they discuss the theology of marriage or whether she is "living in sin," but they talk about how one should worship God! Even when he gets asked about when and whether divorce is ok, Jesus gets confusing -- he starts talking about Eunuchs and messages being "hard for people to hear." Everywhere I look in the Bible marriage seems to be accepted as social concept -- but not always the same social concept. A man/woman, husband/wife, Christ/church archetype is acknowledged, but marriage is also taken to be whatever the culture and society accept it as. Who is or is not married, who can get married, how many people can be in a marriage, how long it lasts -- it seems to be different in different places and times. And, it never seems to bubble up to the essential, eternal, VERY THEOLOGICALLY IMPORTANT AND NO ROOM FOR ANY DISCUSSION, concept it has become for so many in recent times.

You would have thought the founders of our faith would have been more careful to leave better instruction, if it was really supposed to be so cut and dried -- wouldn't you?


*Estimates range from 0.2% to 1% or so of the population, according to research documented by the intersex society of North America (ISNA) on their website, depending on how one defines sex and gender and what conditions one considers to be "intersex." This number would significantly increase if what we now know about "brain sex" were added into the equation. Further research will continue to elucidate how much and what parts of the sexing of the brain are due to genetic factors and due to androgen exposure levels during different gestation periods.

**In general the "correction" is to render gender ambiguous infants to appear physically female, and parents are (erroneously) instructed that gender identity is a learned phenomena, so that all will be well if they were just raise the child as a girl (unfortunately, sometimes with tragic results -- see Colapinto's As Nature Made Him).

***I cannot, in my wildest dreams, imagine that God would require, nor the true church endorse, requiring intersex individuals to "just pick a gender and stick to it," and thereafter lie about themselves and their truth, in order to fit in with the congregation.

All Roads? (What I Believe)

I wasted a lot of time in my early life trying to make myself believe what I don't actually believe. I tried -- hard -- for years, even deluded myself and paid the price in internal anguish, but I couldn't make it work.  At least for me, I think, belief is sort of instinctive -- the feeling, transcending words or logic, that things just are what they are. Not something you choose, but something that just is. I think we believe first, and then think up the logic and find our explanations and reasons for believing the way we do.

[This is, neurologically, not so strange as it may sound. Researchers have found that it's not so clear whether intent precedes action on a motor-neurological level (see work by Benjamin Libet or Itzhak Fried, for example), so maybe belief also preceded conscious thought or logical consistency.]

I am still a Christian (in my own mind, not in some other people's), but I no longer try to fit my head around some of the orthodox explanations of what Christian doctrine means. Instead, I try my hardest to find the truth of what I have experienced of life, of God, reflected in the creeds and doctrines I share with members of this historic faith. It is, at minimum, my cultural heritage and the framework in which I learned the language of faith and spirituality. It's a big part of who I am. And I have found that I can do that. But for others, this Christian creed doesn't seem to be the one that best fits with how they experience life and catch glimpses of what, if anything, is beyond and above. I'm OK with that truth, even if some fellow Christians are not. And, for a long time, that has been a source of discomfort for me. Is Jesus exclusive? Is Christianity "special" among the world's religions. However much I'm supposed to believe it, I don't believe it -- not the way others do, anyway. What is special or unique? What does that mean?

When my (also female) spouse started to get disillusioned with Christianity (It's hard to stay starry-eyed about the "promise of the gospel" when everyone is beating you over the head with the Bible for being different) and began to explore Buddhism, I should have felt like she was endangering her immortal soul, at least according to some people's interpretation of the teachings of my church. But I felt no such thing in my gut, which still always takes precedence over my head in matters of God. Instead, I felt a calm assurance that her desire to pursue spirituality in whatever form was most accessible to her was a good thing, and I encouraged it. The searching has certainly paid off for her--I can see a major difference in her confidence, her serenity, her connection with others--and for me. I feel so much more like we are on the same path, now that we are officially on different paths.

So, the problem was how to explain to myself what my experience was telling me is true, regardless of what I've always been taught. I got a glimpse when reading "The Shack," a book everyone in my current reading group told me they loved and that I had to read too. Mostly just OK, there were a couple gems that made up for what seemed otherwise somewhat muddled to me. In one spot, the "Father God" character was mentioning that true believers weren't all Christian and all Christians were not necessarily recognized by God as God's own, but true believers were any who had entered into a genuine relationship with God. The protagonist asks if that's not the same thing as saying that "all roads lead to God," which we all know most Christians think is the same thing as saying, "anything goes." God says no. In fact, we are told, no road leads to God, not even Christianity. However, God can travel down any road to meet a soul that is truly seeking. God refuses to be limited, and God is not Christian property.

God. Not us. We are not the gatekeepers. I don't know what/who God is (perhaps to be explored in a different post) but whatever else God is, God is in this context the attractor, and the actor, and the foundation that makes it all possible. Our faith does tell us that it is God's grace that save us, after all; that it is God that does the pursing, not anything that we can do to find God on our own. That's orthodox. We just have a difficult time living with so much uncertainty about the process, or that little control.

This is what my gut tells me I have believed all along.

Sophia's Christmas Letter 2014

"bored-bored-bored-bored-bored-bored-bored"

Hello all my fans!  I got so many kudos for my adoption diary that I decided to send out a Christmas letter to you, my "adoring public."  [Yes, I am worthy of all your devotion! Someone please tell Ann and Jan, who somehow think they are supposed to make the decisions around here. I don't know how that got started, but it has to change!]

My early life was admittedly pretty eventful, but life with Ann and Jan was getting to be almost too normal. To be honest, sometimes it's awfully boring. 

Since I last posted in my diary, only two things have happened that I think are worth noting in my Christmas update. The first thing I'm a bit reluctant to mention, because I'm just a little bit embarrassed about it. It's not often that **I** could be accused of being in the wrong about anything, but that's what Ann tells me happened. I don't see how I could have misjudged him, but you decide...

In August, I was sound asleep one night at Ann's place when I heard a noise on our back porch. I went downstairs to investigate, and as I was going down the stairs I saw a man coming in from the porch and walking towards the stairs. (Admittedly, it was strange that he came in through the window and not a door. But, all people are strange! I don't think I'll ever truly figure humans out.) I assumed he was coming to see my mom, so I met him on the stairs and led him up to her bedroom. (At least that's what he later told the police. I have never actually admitted it!) He did seem like a nice man, and I assumed he wanted to see mommy so I took him to her. What's so wrong about that? But, when mom got up to see him, things didn't go so well. He hit her a few times and she fell down. She was screaming so much it really scared me. Then he ran down the stairs, grabbed her purse, and went out the door. Pretty soon lots of people showed up at the house with bright lights on the tops of their cars. They began swarming all over the yard with flashlights. Then they took mom away on a stretcher in a big white van with lights on top, and I was just so scared and a little afraid I'd done something wrong. The nice man (who maybe wasn't so nice after all) had left the window open on the porch, and I decided maybe I'd better go. I ran out of the house and yard, and tried to find a new place to stay. I was afraid mom wouldn't want me back, and besides, they took mom away and I didn't know when, or even if, she was coming back. Only that scardy-cat Amí was in the house, and she was no help. She'd been hiding in the closet since we heard the first noise. (I found out later that she stayed in the closet for 36 hours. Wimp!)

There was an alley only a short run from mom's house that had many other cat smells. I thought maybe I could find my old cat colony. Would they remember me? It has been a long time! Or maybe I would find another colony to join. But, I was wet and lonely and I didn't find any new friends. I stayed away from people, because now I wasn't sure if I could trust them. That hitting and screaming really confused me! So, I found some dark, protected places and just sat, getting colder and hungrier by the minute. I discovered that I was really out of practice at hunting for my meals. They had appeared magically and regularly for so long I thought I'd always have enough to eat. A cat like me shouldn't have to work for food! I ate a few bugs. (And could feel more bugs crawling all over me! Ewww!) The next day I did hear Ann and Jan (I found out later that Jan drove up from New Hampshire to be with Ann, who was back at home after all the fuss.) walking around the neighborhood calling my name. They didn't sound angry, but I was still too afraid to come out. So I just watched and listened. It wasn't until I had been on my own for two whole days that I smelled something that I just couldn't resist. I was so very hungry, and this heavenly roast chicken smell was on the air. I had to have some. Just had to!

The smell was coming from the back of my very own house. Mommy Ann was out in the garden calling for me. She looked a little funny - her face was swollen and her eyes were black - but she was my mom! I cried out to her, and she spoke to me, and I answered again. She went inside and came out with Jan and (most importantly!) some of that heavenly smelling chicken. I was still scared, so I climbed up a tree and onto the garage roof where I could watch things. I didn't want them to trick me! Jan climbed up the tree too, and put the meat on the garage roof a few feet from me. I couldn't resist! Even though Jan was there in the tree, just a couple feet away, I thought maybe I could snatch the food and be gone before she could react. (Note to self: Jan has very fast reaction reflexes.) Suddenly her hand was at the back of my neck and her other hand under my legs. I was paralyzed by the tension at the scruff of my neck and couldn't resist her when she picked me up and handed me down to Ann. But, Ann wasn't in a position to get the scruff of my neck securely when she took me from Jan (who was still way up in the tree). I managed to really struggle when she tried to hold onto me, and almost got away. (In my defense, I was afraid for my life! I've always had to be a fighter, and never lost that instinct. I still wasn't sure if they wanted to feed me or punish me.) Ann held on with an iron grip, but I managed to get in some damage of my own before she just threw me - lock, stock and barrel - in through the porch door. Ann ran back to help Jan get down (humans aren't the best climbers), and they both came back into the house where I was cowering in the corner and feeling like my life must now be over. (I was thinking, "I was right when I wrote in my blog that nothing good would come of this adoption adventure!")

Chicken!

But then. Oh! Then! Ann put down a whole plate of the best roast chicken you have ever eaten - farm raised, organic chicken that she had gotten to serve at a family reunion! She had roasted it just for me, opening all the doors and windows so I could smell it cooking, even from far away. She told me I could have all I wanted. Having had nothing but bugs for 48 hours, I can tell you that I ate and ate until I had a round little belly like a baseball. They told me I should slow down or I would be sick, but not me! I have an iron constitution. I was, however, almost ready to burst. (Note of continuing dispute: I'm sure she told me I could have as much as I wanted from that day forth, for the whole rest of my life. We still disagree about the actual wording of her promise, and I had to go back to cat food the very next day. Deep sigh! But I have to admit that it was good while it lasted.)

Amí wasn't particularly thrilled to see me back, but I was very glad to be home - warm, fed, and loved. I think, maybe, I've decided to stay with Ann and Jan for good.

In November the other incident happened - or, series of incidents is a more precise way to put it. Ann and Jan started hauling me around in a case like so much baggage! For long trips! Is that any way to treat the embodiment of the Wisdom of the Universe!?!?

I was living in Virginia again, at Jan's house, when these episodes began. That first day, I was relaxing with Jan on the sofa when she suddenly grabbed me and tried to stuff me in this big green cage (a kitty condo, they called it). I, of course, fought her off successfully and left her with some red marks on her hands and arms to remind her that such indignities are not allowed. I went off to cool down in Ann's bedroom, and Jan went off to tend her wounds. But (do you believe it?) they followed me! I went under the bed. They pulled off the mattress, then the box spring, and then took off the slats and reached down for me...

The aftermath

When they tried to grab me, I fled under the bed frame and out the door. I ran down the stairs. But the doors at the bottom had been closed! I couldn't get into the living room or the den. They followed me down the stairs! I ran into the bathroom, the only way I could go, but then I was cornered! I hid behind the toilet and waited patiently for my fate. With Ann on one side and Jan on the other, they grabbed me and stuffed me into the carrier. The indignity of it all! A quick trip to the car, and then a long trip (12 hours) in the car. I had a box, water, and food in the kitty condo with me, but I just sat in the back and tried to be as small as possible for the whole trip. I don't think I even moved a muscle. Occasionally the car would stop and one or the other would look into the condo and say meaningless things to me in soft voices, but I didn't let it didn't calm me down a bit. I was angry and I was going to stay that way! Finally, they took me out of the car and carried me, condo and all, into a large basement room in a completely different house - it would be Amí's and my home for the next 10 days. (Yes, she came too!)

Sophie and Ami, with Jan in Jan's Mom's basement

Actually, the new place wasn't bad at all. There was a lot to explore, toys, warm places to sleep, and an easy climb to windows at ground level. We could see the squirrels and birds right outside - just inches away! Ann and Jan both spent a lot of time with us, reading on the futon, and we got to meet lots of Jan's relatives. Since Amí is so shy, I got all the attention. 

After we had been there long enough to start getting bored (I had explored everything ten times already!), Ann did a "grab and stuff" that so surprised me that I was in the kitty condo again before I knew what was happening. Then we were back in the car. (This time it was Amí who made them upend the bed, to grab her.) The trip was about 5 hours (still too long!), and then we were at Ann's place in New York. I was pretty scared on the ride, but not quite so much as the time before. Nothing terrible happened then.

I recognized Ann's place right away, and went to explore all my old haunts. Food, water, and boxes were right where they were supposed to be, and my old toys were still around. Of course, Amí had to come along, which wasn't ideal. But there's lots of room in that house, so it was OK. Jan kept the fireplace going all the time, and I spent almost all of the next 10 days on "Sophie's sofa" in front of the fire, supervising Jan's work and Ann's wrapping of Christmas presents and entertaining. Everyone who visited had to come there and do me obeisance.

At Ann's, I also had a picture window and private viewing platform, to watch the show of squirrels and birds in the backyard. I cleared off the viewing platform all by myself, so there would be a convenient place to sit. (Ann had all these silly knickknacks on it. I'm sure she's  glad I got rid of them for her.)

My viewing portal

But again, after about 10 days, the great "grab and stuff" move was performed. I was sleeping for heaven's sake! Ann grabbed me and before I knew it, she was putting me into the kitty condo. Her fatal mistake was letting go with one hand so that she could do the zipper. I used the opportunity to attack! Even though I didn't get away (at least not right then), I did perforate her hands and arms in at least 12 places. Revenge! She held on like a madwoman and finally zipped me in.

However, when Ann was in the kitchen doing something with with items called "Polysporin" and "Bandaids," I discovered that a paw carefully inserted where the zippers come together can be used to work the zipper apart. I had just made a hole large enough to escape through when Jan came down the stairs after cornering Amí in her own version of the "grab and shove." Jan called out, "Sophie's escaped!" Even better revenge. Ann groaned like a bad actor in an overblown tragicomic play, and said, "Now we'll never get her in the carrier!" (I am so good!) Jan saw me run into the dining room, and she closed off the doors to the living room and hall. I ran into the kitchen, but Ann had already closed off the door to the back stairway. I knew I was lost, but I still got as far under the kitchen island as possible. They were at least going to work to get me! 

We were back in the car at last (a bit later than they planned), and this time it was almost 13 1/2 hours before I was let out again. After 13 hours, I had had enough. I tried the paw in the zipper trick, almost successfully, and Ann had to ride the entire last half hour with her hand around behind her holding onto the zipper part of the carrier to keep me from prying it open. I wanted out right then and there! Don't you think 13 hours is long enough? (Ann said something about wiring the zipper ends together next time, so I'd better put on my thinking cap and come up with some more tricks!)

Finally, we (Amí too, unfortunately) are back in Virginia. I suppose Ann might be right when she says that going with them was better than staying in Virginia - with nothing to do an no one to feed me. But, I'm still holding out for more treats before I will let them think that I agree. In all, it was an exhausting vacation. So I will say, "Good night!"

good night!

Diary of Sophia Sage (Nimbus) -- (a.k.a. Cumulus-II, a.k.a Stormy)

Prelude

Hidden in the recesses of my current cell, I have discovered a diary.  I trust it is my destiny to record the details of whatever time I have left.  (As you will see, it's probably not long!)  Let it be a warning to any who come after me.

I'm a little sketchy about the details of my early childhood, actually about any of my life before today.  They say that trauma does things to one's memory, and my recent life (as you'll discover) has been nothing if not traumatic!  Nevertheless, I'll try to put down the gist of it in his prelude.  Today I shall call "Day 1."

I remember my mother and my siblings (we were a big family), and that we lived in a colony with a large number of close friends.  I was never lonely.  Life in the colony was hard, though.  We were out in all kinds of weather, didn't always have enough to eat (it wasn't always very tasty either!).  There were fleas and sometimes sickness, and occasionally dangerous animals came around and threatened to attack.  Every once in awhile, members of our colony went off to get food and didn't come back, especially when they had to cross the road to get to where the hunting was good.  

When I was still a teenager, some people came to the colony and hauled a whole bunch of us off to some kind of local detention center -- including me, my mom, and my siblings.  They took us to a warm, bright, noisy building and put us into cells.  There were a lot of other prisoners there, and most of them didn't seem happy at all.  Then I had something called an exam: pokings, proddings, pinpricks and worse!  Something made me go to sleep (I think I was drugged!  Is that legal?)  When I woke up, I had a very sore tummy, and someone had nicked off the top of my left ear.

Later some more people came and looked at us.  I heard them talking.  One said I was "feral," but some others said my siblings and I were too pretty to put back into the wild.  They said we might be something called "adoptable."  The next thing I knew I was in a cell again and being taken to yet another noisy building with many inmates.  We were together for awhile, but eventually my siblings got taken away one by one.  I got taken away too, to a house with a warm basement.  There I had my own condo, my own food, and my own toilet, but I shared the space with several other tenants.  I've always been timid, and I was here as well.  I was content to just sit in my own condo and watch, but I didn't want to be noticed.  If my "big-eyed, poor-me" stare didn't work, I also perfected a "stay-away" stare and would hiss pretty sharply to let them know I was serious.  I hid whenever I thought any one was looking for me.

Still, it wasn't a bad life.  I made friends with the other residents, had plenty to eat, and they gave me something called "medicine" (admittedly I didn't like taking it) to get rid of my fleas.  It was great not to feel that constant itching.  I eventually got rather fond of the dear-lady-who-fed-me.  In fact, she did more than feed me.  She would pick me up and put me on her lap, stroke me, even brush my hair for me.  She had a soft voice and said such nice things.  I lived with her for quite a long time, and I thought I would be with her forever.  That would have been fine with me.

Day 1

My foster mother (that's what that dear-lady-who-fed-me told me to call her) put me in a small cell this morning and then moved that whole cell into a big, noisy machine that moves.  It was frightening, and I objected as strongly as I could. I kept repeating, "Take me back.  I don't like this at all!" But, she just said, "Shhh!  It's alright."  Harrumph.  It wasn't alright!  When the noise and motion were over, I was in another place entirely. She put me into yet another cell in a brightly lit, glassed in room. 

There were about a dozen other inmates in several cells.  Mom said that I was in a place called "PetSmart" and that maybe, if I was lucky, I would be adopted.  I don't think there is anything at all lucky about this!  It's noisy here, and dismal.  People come in randomly and poke their fingers into my cell, tormenting me.  I am writing from the highest shelf in my cell, as far back into the corner as I can get.  I am using my "big-eyed, poor-me" stare for all I am worth, and trying to make myself invisible.  What did I do to deserve this?  Will Mom ever come back?

Day 2

Today, as I was sitting in my cell trying to be insignificant, two ladies came in and made eye contact.  I tried not to look, truly, but I couldn't help it.  I was so nervous, and I needed to keep an eye on them.  They didn't look like they were up to any good!  I heard them talking to my jailer out in front, and asking if they could see me.  He brought them into the glassed-in room, then closed and locked the outer door.  Then he took a key from his pocket and opened my cell.   The cat in the cell below me hooked his claws into a leg to try to divert their attention at the critical moment, but it didn't work.  Besides, with the outer door locked there was really nowhere to run.  First my jailer scratched my ears a bit (as if I was going to warm up to him!), then he suddenly pulled me out of the cell and put me into the red-headed lady's arms.  It was all over before I could resist.  I buried my head into her sweater so I wouldn't have to see when they completed their purpose.  I am sure now that this has been a prison holding cell, and I suspect I am about to be executed.  I thought it was going to be all over right then, but instead they have decided to torture me with prolonged anticipation.  That woman just petted me, and then the other one petted me.  They both spoke to me about seeing me again, and then they put me back into my cell.  After talking with the jailer, they asked for the phone number of my Mom and then they went away.  I have surmised that Mom must have turned me in for some crime (the nature of which, I am unaware).  These must be my judges, not my executioners.  They will talk to Mom to get the facts of the case.  I am still sure I am about to be executed, but perhaps I have another day to wait.

Day 3

Mom was here first thing this morning.  At first I thought there might have been a trial, and maybe the judges had concluded that I am not-guilty.  I might be going home!  But Mom had only been with me for a few minutes when one of the judges who came to see me yesterday arrived.  She and Mom conferred, and then Mom took me out of the cell and put me into a small, portable cell.  She handed it over to the judge.  They went over some paperwork, and the judge signed her name.  Then she picked me up and we got into yet another one of those noisy, moving machines.  I guess my place of execution is somewhere else, and she is taking me there now.

The judge, now my new jailor, carried me into a different building and up the stairs.  Then she put me down in the hall.  Another cat appeared and I eagerly went to the front of the cell to talk to her.  Maybe she could tell me what this new place is?  This cat wasn't in a cell, like me, so she must have special standing with the jailors.  She sniffed me and I hoped that she would be friendly, but then she hissed at me!  She must know that mine is a hopeless case.  Then my new jailor put me, cell and all, in a small room.  She unzipped the portable cell's door, and then went away. 

In exploring, I have discovered that there is a small toilet, some fresh water, a little food, and a blanket.  I guess it's no worse than my previous cell.  There is also a large porcelain object fastened to the floor, and a little space behind it where I can just manage to crowd my body in and be almost hidden from the door.  Both women who are my jailors came in to talk to me about once an hour, all afternoon.  Sometimes they reach behind the porcelain object and try to scratch my ears, but I try to back up and curl into the smallest ball possible.  They have left me alone for the moment.  I will hide here while I contemplate my tragic fate.  I am beyond depressed; beyond hopeless.  Am I about to die?  For what reason was I born?

Later, Day 3

One of the jailors came in late this evening.  She dragged me (kicking and screaming, I am sure I don't need to say) out from behind the porcelain, and put me in her lap.  She held me down, and I thought the best thing do to would be to just give in and not move.  There is nowhere to hide, and I am too small and too frightened to put up much fight.  She got out an object with soft bristles and started to stroke my fur.  It felt a little bit like my (real) mom grooming me way back when I was tiny.  The lap was warm, and the stroking was nice, and the lady hasn't done anything too terribly scary for awhile.  I have to think about this...

Day 4

It was all quiet for several hours after that incident last night with the lap.  In the early hours, I just had to come out and use the toilet.  I couldn't hold it anymore.  I made it safely, and since there wasn't any immediately evident pursuit, I took out some of my pent up energy by redecorating my abode with sand.  It didn't ALL need to be in the toilet!  But, as soon as I heard noises out in the hall, I went back to the safety of my porcelain hiding place -- only to get dragged out again and put back on a lap.  It was the same lady as last night, and she got out the object with bristles (she called it a brush) and started to stroke me.  I thought again about my mom and how she would wash me when I was little, and something strange happened.  I started to purr!  I can tell you right now, that I was NOT happy.  No, not one bit!  But...  I plead exhaustion and fright.  It can make one do strange things.

Later on, the other lady came in and let me sniff her hand.  It smelled like meat!  She said something about turkey and ham in a sandwich, and let me lick her good tasting fingers all over.  I liked that.  But then she seemed to think that, just because I liked the good tasting fingers, I would allow her to pick me up!  I told her in no uncertain terms that she was taking quite a liberty.  These ladies do not seem to be in any hurry to execute me, so I am beginning to feel a little bold.  It's probably a bad idea, but then, just sitting here can be a little boring!  The first lady just came in a little while ago, and sat down next to my blanket container. (Yes, I moved out from behind the porcelain fixture -- it was cold and hard back there!)  She didn't even try to pick me up, she just talked to me and scratched my chin and behind my ears.  I was DETERMINED not to respond, but somehow my body betrayed me.  Suddenly a little rumble came out of my purring apparatus.  I suppressed it, but in a few seconds it happened again.  Before I knew it, I was purring away, and I'm afraid she thought I LIKED it.  What do I do now?  My resistance is weakening.

Day 5

Last night before bed, the red-haired lady came in with a bowl of what she called "Amí's rejects" -- shredded chicken with consommé and ground bone meal.  I have never tasted anything so delicious.  I swallowed it down in one gulp, and wanted more.  But, she said I could only have a little at a time or I might be sick.  I can't believe that other cat won't eat this!

Speaking of that other cat, we made eye contact this morning.  I really want to meet her!  They tell me her name is Amí, and that in Japanese it means beautiful.  In French it means friend (I know that much about the world).  I hope she will be my friend, my ami.  I tried to jump off the lady's lap to go over to meet Amí, but she ran away.  I don't know why.  Certainly, I'M not the one who is scary!

Over night, I redecorated again; moved my blanket container to the middle of the floor, put more sand out to make the texture of the floor more interesting (I make designs in it), dropped some sand in my water -- the usual.  Again, I had it just the way I like it when the red-haired one came in and put it all back the way it was.  I guess this is her idea of a game.  This morning the other lady held me in her lap for awhile, and then she sat on the floor reading while I rested on my blanket in its container.  I put my hand out to touch her, so she would know I was grateful for her presence, and then I fell asleep for awhile.  I liked having her there, but think she misinterpreted my touch as an attempt to push her away.  She seemed sad.  I guess I do act a little standoffish -- I just can't help trying to hide every time the door opens.  I still worry that something really bad is about to happen.  I know enough to know that life is scary and the good times don't last.  But I'm also getting bored in here, and so far they have been very nice to me... 

Day 6

Today was NOT a good day.   I didn't even redecorate my room, since the red-haired one (I found out her name is Ann) doesn't seem to like me to.  But, my consideration didn't seem to make them any nicer to me.  Well, yes, the other one (her name is Jan) did come in a few times and sit with me.  That was sorta OK.  I think they would both like me to call them Mom, but they are not my Moms!  I'm still hoping Mom will come back for me.  But, later Ann let Amí into my room!  She put me back in my little cell, and the let Amí into my room to sniff it all over.  I tell you!  Is that nice?  Then Amí sniffed at me in my little cell, and we both growled and hissed at each other.  I think I won.  She hightailed it out of there, let me tell you.  That whole experience sent me back behind the porcelain for the rest of the day (well, to be honest, only when Ann or Jan were looking).  Later, Ann tried to drag me out and sit me on her lap.  I purred for a bit, but I was just so stressed from the whole day's anxieties, that I also hissed at her and swatted at her.  I'm not exactly sure why.  I do like the laps, but sometimes I just need to be by myself to calm down.  At least she did give me some more of that good chicken.  I guess the day wasn't ALL bad.

Day 7

Today started out better, with laps and soft words from both ladies.  But, then, horror of horrors, Ann tried to give me a PILL!!!  I don't even have fleas anymore.  Just something called a tapeworm.  It doesn't bother me.  I'd rather have a tapeworm than a pill, I'm sure.  We had our first real fight about that.  Now I'm hiding.  She did give me a little of that chicken after the pill, though.  I'm mad, but I'm not crazy.  Of course I came out to eat it.  But now, I"m back in my hiding place.  I hope she doesn't think that her "little peace offering" makes us even.   That pill was a SERIOUS insult.

Later, Ann caught me napping in my blanket container and she came in and suddenly zipped up the container and moved me into another room.  She closed the door, unzipped the container, and left me to come out when I wanted to.  The room is very big and bright, and frightening.  I emerged and ran for the door to try to get back to my small room.  But since the door was closed, all I managed to do was upset the water bowl and bang my head.  I quickly scampered into the darkest corner I could find to think about this new development.  Ann cleaned up the water and left me alone.  For awhile I sat still and worried, but eventually I decided to explore.  There might be even better hiding places.  

I have discovered that this room has several likely hidey-holes, and some of them are soft and warm.  It also has lots of levels.  I can jump up on the bed, or on a platform by the window (it looks out over the backyard), and I can climb into boxes under the table, or hide under the sofa.  It is much better than my old room.  I think maybe this means they are not going to execute me after all.  Maybe I'm going to be some kind of a slave.  I'm certainly still captive, and they still do scary things.  I'm not optimistic, but it is slightly better than I feared.  Both ladies come in and out regularly and talk to me, or try to pet me.  They seem to be able to find me wherever I hide, but I can at least get far enough away that it's difficult for them to reach me.  The cat Amí comes by and sniffs under the door, but so far I haven't approached when she is there.  Dealing with the ladies is enough for now.


Day 8

Last night I did a lot of exploring.  My toilet and food bowls are significantly further from my hiding places, which is scary, but there are also lots of interesting things in here.  I didn't realize that Ann sleeps in this room.  I was afraid I would not be able to explore.  However, I am nocturnal and she is a day person.  When I was sure she was asleep, I came out and looked all around.  A few things moved when I tried to discover what they were, and that made some noise.  Ann must be a really deep sleeper, because she didn't come after me or scold me, even when a few minor items (that I'm sure she doesn't want anyway) went bump/crash.  

During the day, Ann and Jan left me mostly alone. Ann came in a few times to talk to me, and she did bring some of that good food, but she never tried to pick me up.  Jan went away somewhere, I think.  Even Amí left me alone.  I am glad to just sit and think today.  So much has happened recently!

Later, Day 8

I suppose it is about time to tell you something about my name.  It has not grown any longer for the last few days, so maybe they have settled on Sophia Sage (Nimbus) -- (a.k.a. Cumulus-II, a.k.a Stormy).  Here is what they tell me:  My foster mother (Mom) called me Sage, and that was my whole known name before Ann and Jan got me.  Ann tells me she had been looking for a wise companion, a Sophia.  When she saw that there was a Sage in PetSmart, she thought we must be destined for each other.  (I didn't even know that Sophia and Sage both mean wise, and come from the same root word -- sophos.  How about that?) 

However, Jan said I looked like Cumulus, a cat they had before I was even born.  That's Cumulus in the photo.  (They also called him Cumie, Q, Kumo and Cloudy.)  Cumulus means a kind of cloud.  Jan calls me Nimbus because that's also a kind of cloud.  Nimbus clouds are darker and more stormy, and I am darker than Cumulus and have less white on my paws and belly.  My personality is also stormier, they say.  Jan thinks maybe some of what was once Cumulus might have gotten reincarnated in me, or maybe Cumulus is my guardian angel and led me to them. (I'm not yet convinced that leading me to them is something a GOOD guardian angel would do.)  Also, just like they called Cumulus "Cumie," they have been calling me "Sophie" and "Nimby."  It's got a nice sound, actually.  I don't mind answering to either one.  (But I don't understand why, when Ann calls me Nimby, she sings a the song "Don't throw your junk in my backyard."  Do you?) 

Day 9

I did even more exploring last night.  Since Ann is such a heavy sleeper, I don't worry about making noise.  I even jumped up on her bed once in the middle of the night, to take a look out the other window (it faces a house next door, not so interesting as the back yard).  She didn't move.  She didn't even wake up when I tipped over the whole basket of laundry -- that was fun!  

This morning Ann tried twice to put me on her lap and pet me.  I still don't like that.  I managed to get away pretty quickly both times, and we just looked at each other across the room.  She said "sorry" and talked in low tones, but I smell a trap.  She probably has another pill hidden in her pocket!  At least she brought me some chicken.  She called it a peace offering.  Otherwise, I just take turns going from one hiding place to another.  Boring!  The Amí cat played with a rubber ball in the hall outside my room for a long time, making a lot of noise.  I think she wants me to know that SHE is the preferred cat, that SHE has the run of the place and all the toys.  It would be nice to have more to do, but I think it's safer to just sit here -- for now.  

This afternoon the weather was nice, so Ann opened the windows and I got to sniff the outdoors.  She leaves me mostly alone, just talking to me or scratching my ears when she comes in.  I don't want more indecent liberties!  After she went to bed, I went exploring again.  For awhile in the middle of the night Amí and I played footsies under the door, but neither of us is telling.  

Day 10

This morning Ann brought in some of the good chicken, but she put it out almost in the middle of the floor.  She sat down nearby and wouldn't leave.  I thought long and hard, but it smelled so delicious I finally came out and ate a little.  I was about halfway through when she reached over and put her hand near my head.  I sniffed at it and went back to eating, but when she tried it a second time I thought I would teach her a lesson.  I retreated to under the sofa until she went away.  I miscalculated.  She took the food with her when she went!   

Currently, I am reclining in my warm muff because it's chilly in here.  The weather turned nasty and it is snowing outside.  If it were warmer, I could hide in more secure places.  Although I am toasty in here, the problem is that they can (and do!) reach in and scratch my ears every time they pass.  I don't want them to think that I like that.
  
Maybe I do sorta like it...

The last time Ann scratched my ears, she asked me why she hadn't heard me purr lately.  She said she really missed my purr.  I thought about it, and -- what the heck?  I relaxed my heretofore iron-control over my purr apparatus, and I let one rip.  The ear scratches actually ARE pretty nice.  Pretty soon she says she'll bring me my supper, and maybe Amí and I will play under the door again tonight. (Although she still sometimes hisses at me!)

Day 12

I think Ann loves me!  Or maybe I'm just shameless.  In any case, she discovered that I would do essentially ANYTHING for uncured, $9.99 /lb, gourmet deli ham: even take it from her fingers, lick her fingers, sit on her lap, allow her to pet and brush me, and purr like a freight train.   It has been said that one should beware of geeks bearing gifts (they are both engineers!), but I make no apologies.  There are circumstances under which even the most committed, vigilant freedom-fighter will, nevertheless, find herself compromised.  After all, it's not like I'm planning to be friendly ALL the time.  Just when it suits me.

P.S.  Today is Ash Wednesday.  Perhaps they are giving up torture for Lent.  This bodes well for Easter, as isn't that the season when captives are set free? 

Day 16

Both Ann and Jan have been bringing me deli ham a lot.  I heard Ann remark to Jan that she never knew being ham-handed was a good thing, but I don't know what she could mean.  I can't think of anything better!  

Even without ham hands, I've been coming out for pets lately.  They think I'm quite an athlete, because I roll and tumble and bunt so hard I almost knock things (and people) over.  But, I still get frightened easily and spend a lot of time under the sofa.  They call it "Sophie's sofa" now.  The home of the "clipped-ear club."

They left me alone yesterday, though.  They didn't even SLEEP here.  I was pretty lonely, with only Amí to play with under the door, and the birds to look at out the window.  When Ann came in at lunch time to give me my food, I wouldn't even let her pet me.  I just ignored her and sat on the window sill looking at the birds.  I did relent later on, though.  I am too nice.  I simply can't stay mad when there are pets to be had.  

I plan to keep her awake all night  -- retribution.

Day 18    

They have discovered that I don't like deli turkey (Ann said it was "a major snub"), but I LOVE deli roast beast.  That's my new favorite.  Sometimes they try to get pets without bringing me an offering, and when I'm feeling nice I will indulge.  But if they come in too often looking for pets, sans treats, I remain under Sophie's Sofa. The nerve!

I do like playing with the mousie, though, and sitting in the window now that the weather is warmer. 

Today Ann tried to pick me up without my permission.  Just on the principle of the thing, I decided to use my secret superpower on her.  After all, it doesn't do to let the hired help get TOO familiar.  But, my fabulous and ultimate superpower (I can fart on demand) didn't have quite the expected effect.  Just as she picked me up I let a good one go, one of those they call "silent but deadly," -- right in her face.  All she did was LAUGH!  If it weren't for the ear scratches and deli meat, I just might be outta here. I don't get no respect!

They have installed a baby gate in the doorway to my room, so that Amí and I can see each other through it.  I really want to be friends, but she just growls whenever I come near.  She must be curious about me though, because she is always right there.  Anyway, people are scary, other cats are not.  She can growl all she wants; it doesn't bother me.  Ann and Jan apparently don't know that Amí and I could both jump the gate with no problem (stupid people), but for some reason I feel like maybe I should stay on my side for the moment.  It does give me a feeling of having "my own space," and she has "her space."

 Day 19

I am on the prowl!  This morning I jumped the gate and decided to explore.  Amí is following me around and hissing, but she's really just a big wuss.  I'm not letting it bother me.  She runs away if I try to approach, so I will just ignore her. 

There are lots and lots of interesting things in this house.  Great places to hide.  I've already discovered a closet with boxes that weren't very stable when I investigated them.  Ann figured out where I was when those came tumbling down, but I ran into another room across the hall rather than back into my own room.  I'm afraid she might shut me up in there again if I go back, and I'm not ready!

Day 20-something

Hi.  Sorry I haven't been writing much lately.  I am free most of the time now, and I have so much exploring to do!  I do occasionally get shut back up in "MY room," but usually only when Amí and I have been hissing at each other enough to annoy Ann or Jan.  Otherwise, I am trusted. 

There were a few days when I was shut up in my room.  Ann and Jan must have gone somewhere, because somebody who called herself my "cat-sitter" came by once a day.  She was nice, and sat with me for awhile before giving me fresh food and water and taking care of my toilet.  It was pretty lonely for the rest of the day.  That routine lasted 3 days, and then Ann and Jan were back and I was allowed out again.  I hope they don't go away very often.  It's boring.

Amí still growls at me.  That's her in the photo, just the way I usually see her -- showing her teeth and hissing.  I usually just ignore her, but sometimes it really just gets to be too much.  She is definitely a coward.  All I have to do is run at her and she scampers away and under the bed or into a drawer.  But when I rush her, I get yelled at.  You would think they'd praise me for my selfless patience, but  all I get is a reprimand when I've finally had too much.  They tell me to "suck it up" because "life isn't fair."  I have learned a new phrase, though;  "Deep sigh!"   

Ann has been brushing me a lot lately.  They both look at me after I've been brushed and say things like, "She's so beautiful" or "Look at how silky her fur is."  Music to my ears!  I like the pets too, although sometimes it gets to be just a little too much and I swipe the hand that is petting me to tell them to stop.  I don't mean to do anything except send a message, but sometimes I produce red stripes on their hand and they have to go get some kind of medicine or bandage to put on it.  Humans are pretty fragile, I guess.  But, how am I SUPPOSED to let them know that I have had enough pets?  So much to learn. 

Day 28

Hard to believe it's been a almost a month since this saga began.  So much has changed.  I wanted to write more, but I discovered this magic diary I found only works when something called "the intenet" is working.  Ann told me it was down for the last several days, and that's why my typing wasn't producing anything in my diary.  I got so angry about it at one point that I jumped up on the keyboard and just sat on it.  I made the computer beep at me for a long time, until Ann yelled at me and made me get off.  But, it still didn't work.  She told me it was "fixed" this afternoon, so I am writing again.  

They told me I had been "fixed" after I had that operation that gave me a sore tummy.  I wonder if that's what they did to the internet?  And why?

 I have a regular routine now. In the morning I play with Ann and Jan for awhile and get my breakfast, then I bother Amí until it's time for my first nap.  After that, I sit in the side window and watch the birds, until I feel like second nap or second breakfast.  I sleep most of the afternoon too, but then I am up all evening and I play with Amí (she calls it fighting, but I enjoy it since I get the best of her every time).  After they have their own dinner and feed us, Ann and Jan play with me and pet me in the evening, until it's time to read.  Jan calls me "tumble-bunts" because I bunt so hard I sometimes fall over.  I can do somersaults too.  Later, I curl up beside Ann on the sofa and she pets me while she reads until she goes to bed.  I explore at night.  I like this routine just fine, but sometimes they do something different and it upsets me.  Why do humans always have to switch things up?  Can't they just be like cats -- find a routine and stick to it?  That's all I ask!  

Today as I was reading with Ann I accidentally engaged my superpower (my superfart).  I was embarrassed about not always being able to control my superpowers (I am still pretty young, you know).  I didn't want her to think that noxious smell came from me when I was having such a good time, so just after it happened I turned around and swiped her hand to indicate that I was offended by what SHE did.  Do you supposed she was fooled?  She just doesn't understand about my superpower.  What she said was that, when I have to go see the doctor for a check-up, she will ask her to do a test to make sure I don't still have any intestinal parasites.  Can you imagine?  She completely doesn't understand about superpowers.  People can be so dense.

Day 30

This will be my very last diary entry.  Read on, you'll see why. 

This morning I was extra nice to Ann.  She called me cuddly, because I kept bunting her and trying to get just as close as I possibly could when I settled on the sofa next to her.  I even crawled into her lap a few times.  She spent a long time brushing me, and she said I was shedding bucketfuls. That's good, isn't it?  She made some fur felt from my hair, and said she'd keep it for a souvenir.  There I am after a good brush, all relaxed and ready for a long nap.  I have been very happy here, and I think they really like me.  Ann even told me that she and Jan bought a new car JUST so that Amí and I can each have room for individual kennels when they travel.  I'm am not so sure about this "travel" idea, but they said they must really love me to go to the bother of getting another car just to fit the cats!  

Today Ann and  Jan signed papers to formally adopt me.  Ann told me I was now "bone of her bone, and flesh of her flesh," her own daughter.  As you have seen, I know what her blood tastes like because I've accidentally gotten some on my fingernails a couple of times.  It doesn't taste like cat at all, so I have grave doubts about the "flesh of my flesh" part.  But, if it makes her happy to think so, I'll never tell.

Now that Amí and I are going to have to live together, we are negotiating a settlement.  We are not buddies yet, but we've been having serious conversations about our future relationship.  In fact, we've started planning our world takeover.  We'll begin with training Ann and Jan to know who is boss in this household (the naive humans still think THEY can tell US what to do).  Then, once we have our slaves settled satisfactorily into providing for our every whim, we'll be looking for recruits in the cat revolution.  That's us at our first strategy session below. (Amí was sitting on Jan's lap, and Jan didn't even come close to guessing the subject of our conversation!) This task is going to take all my energy from now on, so I'm afraid there will be no more diary entries.  But, be sure to look for our joint kitty-manifesto, coming soon to a blog near you!