Hotspur.us

Daylight. More like graylight. I chuckled, drifting back to sleep, burrowed snugly in bed. The window had some brightness to it. But nothing that could rightly pass for daylight. The clouds had hung heavy in the sky for so long that the idea of daylight was merely one of opposites. It wasn’t night. It was day. Therefore, it was daylight. More aptly graylight, my sleep befuddled brain declared.

I awoke that morning, in the mind-numbing haze with which I greet every morning. I glanced at the window and had a vague feeling I’d come up with some clever play on words. What it was, I could not trick from my subconscious.

Two days later I stared out the window watching the rain soak everything, foolishly attempting to be optimistic that “at least it wasn’t snow”. So gray. Suddenly I blurted out, “Graylight!” grinning as my word turn was rescued from all-encompassing brain fog.

Graylight.

Morgantown’s perpetual Winter day sky. 

It’s Fall. It’s been chilly and wet and basically yuck. Mornings are dark grey and confusing. My brain, already impossibly foggy of a morning, wants me to hibernate. Now.

My outfit for the day: leggings, tunic, long sweater. My closet is basically set up like Garanimals for grownups because I’m so unable to function in the morning. I choose this particularly pair of leggings because they have pocket. Real pockets that can hold stuff. I recall looking at the cuff and thinking, “eh, who cares about the black and white pattern, not like I’m wearing any other patterns.” And heading on my way to work.

Fast forward a few hours. I’m going down the hallway, attempting to put my phone in my right pocket. It does not seem to exist. Odd, but maybe these leggings only have pockets on my left. I try that side. No pockets. My still hazy brain tries to process this information. Maybe I missed the pocket opening. Try again. Nope. I look down. No pockets. How? Then I look at the cuff. And realize I would never buy a pair of leggings with a patterned cuff.

Oh.

Oh. That’s the lining.

It is with a very heavy heart that we bid farewell to our big girl, Shadowfax. The Princess. Weasel Alpha. The Big Weasel.

Two and half years ago, after our ferret room had been empty far too long, we took a trip to Hide-e-Hole ferret shelter. We came home with three ferrets. Shadowfax was The Boss. She was all muscle, all brain and a little OCD. She was in her new home maybe 15 minutes before she nearly made it over the ferret room’s Dutch door. That was our preview to life with Shadowfax.  Constantly being outsmarted and surprised by what she managed.

The dresser they all loved to sleep in? Yeah, she slept in the 2nd drawer up, because she could. That about gave me a stroke when I couldn’t find her anywhere and in desperation pulled the next drawer open. There she was. “Hi, Mom.” How? How indeed. She’d pushed the second drawer out while standing on the back of the first drawer and then climbed on up. Honest to goodness. That girl.

Our Big Girl loved mousecicles. There was a particular way in which she and Duncan would have them. First Shadowfax would take take the one she wanted. Then after eating the best part first (I’ll spare you the details) she would put the rest of hers in a corner. And then she’d take Duncan’s, whether he was done or not, and place it along side hers.

Shadowfax also had a better sense of time than I ever will. If it was closing in on dinner time, she would go to the kitchen and lay on my feet. If that didn’t work, she’d put her cold little nose up my pant leg. And if that didn’t work, she’d stand on her hind legs and put her front foot on my leg.

If I picked her up, she’d use me a launchpad to try to reach the counter top to get her dinner herself. And if I thought I’d be clever and hold the bag of mousecicles up above her head, that didn’t work out so well. For a little short legged critter, she had a heck of a vertical jump! Chasing her through the house as she ran with her stolen mousecicle was part and parcel of life with her.

One morning I was running late. I walked into the kitchen…to find her on the kitchen table, previously potted plant and soil all over the table and her standing smack in the middle of it staring me down. As far as she was concerned, I needed to get it together! Breakfast was late and that was unacceptable!

Life with Shadowfax was never predictable. One evening I went to their room and the louvered doors to the washer and dryer had been left open a crack. And there she was, standing just where they opened. I called to her. She usually would come right away. But nope, not having any of it that night. So I went to pick her up and she backed up. Which is when I saw what she was guarding….a former mouse, now headless. Oh yes, she’d caught herself dinner. Delightful. I scooped her up and called in Chad to dispose of the remains.

Shadowfax was just over four years old when she came home with us. After a while, Big Weasel developed a bump on the top of her noggin. It was a bone growth; it looked like the nubbin of a unicorn horn. That wasn’t a problem. A cyst formed on top of the bump and that’s what eventually took our little one from us. We thought she’d be with us at least four years, if not longer. It was a terrible shock to lose her at six-and-a-half years old. Our Princess drifted off in her sleep as she lay by my side.  We buried her in the shade of the trees, near a creek, on Chad’s family’s land. Godspeed Big Girl, it won’t be the same here without out you.

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After Block Party we drove to Portland to visit with B.

We did some walking around. We did some caching (duh). We did some eating. And also some drinking. You get the picture.

We got to see Mount Hood in all its glory on a beautiful day in the mountains!

Check out the gallery – clickity on the photos to embiggen to viewable size!

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