I have noticed that I’m turning lights on in our house in the morning when I come downstairs, then by 6 o’clock or so in the evenings. Daylight comes in shorter segments.
Nelson has been spending more time inside, curling up on my lap, probably more for warmth than affection, but I pet him anyway. He feels warm to me, and I am filled with boundless affection for him, even though he still bites when the mood hits him.
It doesn’t seem so long ago that he was a tiny kitten who fit in my hand. He is 11 now, one of a spate of kittens several West Tisburyites (or is it West Tisburyans?) adopted within a year of one another. I remember visits or running into one another at Cronig’s, exchanging reports of our cats and their naughty behavior. Climbing curtains and antique clocks, dropping live mice in our beds in the middle of the night, stalking the dog, shredding upholstery even though they had perfectly lovely scratching posts, all terrible, but biting us humans was the worst. Still, we have all survived, cats and humans, in mostly agreeable circumstances.
Nelson was middle-aged when Abby arrived. She was about 20 pounds, full of high spirits and puppy curiosity. Nelson adopted her immediately. They roughhoused in tumbles of yellow fur, then curled up together, Nelson often licking her ears or face. He may have been surprised as Abby grew into a 70-pound golden retriever. He still goes up to her first thing when he comes into the house, puts his nose to her nose, and settles in beside her. We have never had a dog and cat not get along, but these two share a special bond.
I don’t know why this story came into my head, how it became this week’s column. It’s a sweet story to share. It’s nearing the end of the day, time when Abby will get up, look pleadingly at me, and walk into the kitchen. Nelson will follow her, yowling all the way, rubbing against my legs in case I hadn’t noticed he was there. Dinner bowls need to be filled, my most important responsibility.
I have been attending Get Out the Vote postcard-writing groups every Monday since June at the Hebrew Center and Unitarian Church. At our last meeting, we learned that we had written 9,256 postcards, part of national efforts to remind voters of the importance of participating in this important responsibility of citizenship. Michelle Obama exhorted Americans to “Do something.” Martha’s Vineyard came through.
Judy Birsch and Mary Bailey sat with me that last Monday. Nice to see them both, then to see Judy again the next day at Ghost Island. She mentioned that her son and daughter, Philip and Joanne, were coming to visit, just the two of them. Judy was really looking forward to having them all to herself. Wishing them a cozy time together.
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If you have any West Tisbury Town Column suggestions, email Hermine Hull, hermine.hull@gmail.com.
