"Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower."

Albert Camus had a great point. Besides the colours of the hardwood trees, September has always felt like a beginning to me rather than an ending. From age five until age 54, with one exception, the end of August meant starting back to school for me . . . elementary, junior high and high school, university . . . and then a career in teaching for over thirty years. New pens and paper, cooler nights for sleeping, a mist over the fields as the sun burned off the dew or frost are all things that make autumn my favorite. 

Don't mistake me here. I love summer days with the warm sun on my face as I work outside in the yard or drive over the highways and byways with the top down on the car. I treasure the evenings when darkness doesn't fall until almost ten, when we can sit on the patio with friends and wine in that most contented peace that summertime gatherings bring. 

Much is new around here. Our son is in a wonderful relationship and his happiness is palpable. His beloved has an adult offspring and two "mediums", as we refer to her 11 and 13 year-olds. Instant family and co-habitation all over the course of three months makes for major change, but it seems to be all positive and this is all I could ever want for him - his happiness. I could not have handpicked a more fitting partner for him, and I confess to loving the role of grandmother to two well-adjusted, intelligent, loving young people. Q is a hockey dad now - isn't that something? Rink runs, tryouts and practices are on his resume now! We look forward to their visits when they get here to our place; everyone was immediately at home after the first stayover. 

If hard work and determination make dreams come true, Q and M and family will be leaving Eastern Passage and moving to the Valley in just a couple of years. They do dream. Their ideal home would be on a small farm in the country with a few animals and crops on which to sustain their family healthily on whole foods and fresh air. Every country road we drive down now finds us looking at real estate signs for just such places! 


















And my wife and I have begun again as we make a forever home for little Isabella, our six-month old black and white rescue kitten as well. She came into our lives just when we needed her most, two weeks after Julie's beloved Maggie, age 23, crossed over. Our sense of loss was so great, especially Julie's. Maggie had been in her life all those years, just one year short of the brief time she had with her own dear mother who died tragically at age 54. Maggie, our dowager empress, "set the clock" for us each day with her routine -  kisses and licks and up at six for breakfast, waiting for Julie all day to come home and feed her at six in the evening, then escorting us to bed and her ten o'clock "bed lunch". She always slept on Julie's pillow, head cradled in a loving hand. The void left by her absence was unbearable. Things were off . . . it was so quiet. Our other three cats and the dogs seemed confused and depressed. 


It's strange how things happen. Some people say there are no coincidences. I'll leave this one to you. 


Saturday of Labour Day weekend found us in Halifax, at the Seaport Farmers' Market in the morning, then to lunch and later at the Halifax Shopping Centre where Julie wanted to go try on some running shoes at Coast Mountain Equipment. In we went, with the intention of looking there and getting on the road home. A few try-ons later, Jules was not satisfied that the shoes in stock were the exact right ones. She asked me if I wanted to go into the mall and just look around, and I replied with a half-hearted "Sure." 


We hadn't taken fifteen steps when we saw them. Kittens.


There was a kiosk there, one that organizations rent for charitable causes and fundraisers. A gaggle of young girls was gathered around while the volunteers let them pet the fluffy little bundles of cat . . . Awwww.

Then, simultaneously, we saw her. An elegant, slim young cat with a triangular head and big ears, as white as fine china with some black markings on her head and sides, and tail! Two perfect beauty spots on her small pink nose. She was in a little red harness on a long lead and she was prancing around as if that were her daily ritual, head up and curious. She walked on her lead into the closest shop (La Senza!) as if to say, "I'm just going to duck in here and pick up a few lacy things . . ." We were smitten.


Conversation with the lead volunteer, Marilyn, revealed that this was ca-r-ma.org, CAt Rescue MAritimes, a trap-neuter-return organization which finds foster homes and then permanent homes if possible for stray, abandoned, and feral cats in NS and NB. For a minimum donation of $100 to help them continue their work, we could be considered for a permanent placement for the beautiful Isabella, who was found with her three siblings in the Burnside Industrial Park. We knew the moment we saw her, touched her, interacted with her, that we loved her. But off we went to "talk about it" anyway. 


There was nothing to talk about beyond whether our other pets accept her. We could only bring her in and try things out, but would they let us breach protocol and take her home that very day? We had told them of our home with its menagerie and our veterinary connections. We could only hope that they would see how much we loved our pet family and allow her to return to the Valley with us. Within the hour, a small cat carrier with Isabella tucked inside was by my feet in the car and she was coming home!


Suffice it to say that our animal family has accepted her into their midst, if not 100% joyfully (Ronnie Moody has some (h)issues), then with benign disregard. Feebee thinks Izzy is her puppy and washes her, chases her and has won her over. Dickens loves her, too. Everyone else just seems to say, "Well, looks like she's staying," and carries on. Julie calls this sleek little package her heart medicine and sure enough, she has helped soothe the ache and fill our moments with chuckles and surprises of the best kind.

And, in many ways, it feels like spring . . .