Fifteen minutes of play

Play is a powerful calming agent. Two days ago I played with Nick as an intervention for his aggressive behavior with Daisy. I dangled the cat charmer, a fleece snake on a wand, while Nick ducked in and out of a carpet-covered barrel pulling on the end of the toy.

He has been chasing Daisy both inside and outside the house with new ferocity for a couple of weeks. We don't worry about a little hissing, but we were hearing full fledged screaming from Daisy as she cowered under furniture. It is true that Nick is just being a cat. He chases lizards and voles outside and that chasing transfers to Daisy. They used to chase for fun but then it turned into something else and made Daisy afraid. We are not going to stand by while Nick makes Daisy scream and slaps Frida on the head during food prep time. It sets everyone on edge and it is not what we want as a routine for our family, and so we discussed an intervention. Two days ago was an especially bad incident. After everyone calmed down, including me and my husband, I had time for play therapy with him. He has been gentle as a lamb ever since. Nick the lamb. Yesterday he went outside and there was no transfer to chasing Daisy. After he came in, he curled up on a pillow with Rose.

That's Nick on the right. I'm not sure who was there first and how the compromise was reached. This is how I found them. Rose keeps Nick in line with frequent reminders that he is not on top. She makes him move when he has a spot she wants to sit on. So naturally Nick has to assert himself with the other two cats.

We are Nick's second family. His first family returned him and kept his brother because he was "mean to the other cat." I don't know how they dealt with his aggression, but I can guess from his avoidance of hands and feet that it wasn't play therapy. I also know that we can work this out with Nick. He is here to stay. He is sweet and a joker. This chasing is something new to be nipped in the bud.

I know about play therapy intervention from an animal behaviorist we consulted years ago and from the cat expert on Animal Planet. Play together and have treats together. Fifteen minutes of play a day. But like the people who consult on TV with their cats from hell, we get busy and forget to work it into our day. It's good for the humans, too, relaxing and stimulating for the brain. I played again this morning after breakfast and all four of the cats joined in. It's a rainy day and I hope to ward off cabin fever. Cabin fever in cats is not pretty. We will make time for play and that will prevent a lot of grief.

Two days ago, seeing the dramatic results of a play session, I thought that this is what we need to do with aggressive nations. Make their leaders play for fifteen minutes a day to calm them down. Build in play time for soldiers and insurgents, and not with video games but building blocks. Then give everyone treats for good behavior, perhaps some chocolate and a cookie or a biscuit with their tea. It sounds simplistic but the best solutions often are.

Clutter

We clutter our view of the sky. There is so much to see. Clouds, stars, birds. We throw up telephone wires and buildings and forget to look up.

The return of Stripe

Stripe went missing for several days. Yesterday Frida was in a frenzy looking for him. She usually sings for half and hour to an hour every morning and carries Stripe around, but yesterday she sang all day. She was still singing as happy hour approached and stopped only to yearn for the cheese we were nibbling at sunset.

I spent about half an hour looking for Stripe during the morning and instead found eight or nine rubber balls and fuzzy balls under the corner cupboard in the living room, where they had been batted out of reach. I cleaned them off and Frida took up with several of them, one at a time, as substitutes for Stripe. I promised Frida that I would look more for Stripe the next day. She was inconsolable.

This morning Frida seemed to have forgotten about Stripe and was particularly interested in the rubber balls. Nevertheless, after my second cup of tea I fulfilled my promise to look for Stripe, an all out room-to-room top-to-bottom search with a flashlight. The first place I looked was our closet in the big bedroom. The cats are not allowed in the closet, so naturally their favorite game is trying to get into the closet. We keep a small stick in the track to keep them from pushing the sliding doors open.

As I had looked everywhere that Stripe is usually found around the house, the logical place to start the search seemed to be the closet that the cats can't get into. First I looked under the small chest of drawers where I keep my scarves and pajamas. No Stripe.

Next I looked among the shoes. No Stripe. As I was leaving the closet, the laundry caught my eye. Just to be thorough, because I said I would, I pulled the laundry to one side. There was Stripe at the bottom of the pile. I took him to Frida. She didn't swat him as she usually does when he has gone missing. Instead she ignored him and continued singing with the rubber ball. It's going to take a long time for her to forgive him for this desertion.

When it because clear that Frida was giving him the cold shoulder, my husband suggested we put him back in the puzzle box for her to find. That's how Stripe first came into our house, and it is fitting that his journeys always lead back to it.

This weekend's was not the most dramatic reappearance of a favorite toy in our house. That would have to be the time Bob found Lily's pet rope in his pocket as we ate Thanksgiving dinner. He had put it there as he tidied up the house about a year before, the last time he had worn that particular pair of festive green corduroy pants, and forgotten about it. Like Frida, Lily had to find other toys to sing to until the prodigal pet rope returned. 

Letters

I am finished writing letters of recommendation for this year. I was determined to write fewer and finish earlier, and I succeeded in doing both. Thanksgiving is two weeks away and I am done.

Writing the letters is time consuming and mentally tiring but I do get something out of it personally. I have a chance to reflect on the learning styles of the students and what works with them, so I can be a more effective teacher. Mainly I reflect on how interesting they all are as they practice formulating ideas and become confident in their own creative thinking, how much they care about each other and work as hard at relationships as schoolwork. These are the people who will be figuring out what to do about the rising sea level and the economy ten years from now. I believe they will make good choices.

What a difference a few degrees make

About a month ago, I noticed dramatic and rapid changes in the angle of sunlight falling through the windows of the house from day to day. The sun was not in my eyes in my office at this hour four days ago.

Temperatures also began to fluctuate, and as it cooled very slightly at night the gingers and vines began to turn yellow. In the flower beds, the plants that reseed themselves every year are quietly dropping leaves and seeds and fading out of sight as the roses, which don't like to sweat, are putting out leaves and blooming again.

That last development is dependent on the regular spraying with the rotten egg mixture that keeps the deer from biting, of course. She checks back regularly to mouth what is nibble-able.

Rain at last

A good rain last night as the cold front came through. We have had little rain during the last month as fall moved in. As the temperatures dropped, the butterflies have slowed down. I had become so accustomed to their gyrations around the passionflower vines that the lack of movement outside the windows seemed unnatural.

At the beginning of the summer, when the small oak tree fell on the mirabilis rose and the oak leaf hydrangeas, I thought the birdbath had escaped unhurt, but several weeks later the pedestal broke in half. It must have been cracked when the tree fell and the crack took a while to make its way across the concrete column. I hope there is some kind of glue that I can find to repair it. Meanwhile the birds are enjoying the bowl of the birdbath on the ground, held level by a branch from the tree that fell on it. The ground is where they expect a puddle of water to be anyway.