About the Cat

We spent two months in Florida last winter at a nice cottage in the woods outside of Arcadia. When we arrived the owners showed us around to make certain we were comfortable with our new accommodations.
Before they left, they said we may see a stray cat who'd been hanging around the property lately.
The next day our little friend showed up and she followed us around as we explored the grounds.

She's obviously fending for herself because she eats everything she catches. House cats hunt for sport, this one hunts for food. And she spends all of her time here. You'd think if she had a home nearby she would spend at least some of her time there.
Also, part of her ear is missing so we assume she's had a scuffle with a foe at some point. But she's no feral. This is a domesticated cat who has had to learn the hard ways of the wild. And I don't know what to do about it.

When we go outside she's waiting on the door step. If we've been gone all day she shows up within minutes of our return. And we don't feed her so that's not why she sticks around.  She must enjoy our company and we are flattered by it. Quite frankly she's very likable. She's loyal to us and seems genuinely interested in everything we have to say.

One night I took the binoculars out to stargaze and she was there in the dark. My neck got sore from looking up so I laid back in the grass to glass the sky. She gently crept onto my belly, curled up and began to purr. This intimacy broke my heart since I had so little to give in return. Sure, I stroked her with reassurance and maybe that's all she wanted.
I didn't want to disrupt her contentment so I stayed there much longer than intended. But eventually I had to go in and felt like a cad for leaving her alone in the dark. I know she was disappointed.
She's scrawny and should be fed but if you feed a cat, you own a cat and we're just not ready for that.

She was waiting on our doorstep again this morning. I don't know what to do.

We went to meet our neighbors on the other side of the jungle today and asked if they wanted a cat. No, they have three cats, three dogs, a herd of goats, many chickens, etc. I guess that would explain why our girl doesn't hang around over there.
The neighbor asked if it had the tip of it's ear cut off. Yes! "Oh, it must be a stray from the TNR program". More specifically; trap, neuter, vaccinate, eartip, and return feral cats. It's a local organization that does just that.
The neighbor said it's probably not a good idea to feed it because its survival depends on its hunting skills.
I find it hard to believe that a feral cat could be so friendly. A friendly feral? More likely an over-zealous TNR new-hire.

Once home, Chris and I built a fire under the starry sky and enjoyed a concert of crickets and tree frogs. Kitty curled up in Chris' lap for a peaceful slumber. She'd make a wonderful pet.

Her diet consists mainly of frogs, lizards, and insects. I saw her eat an entire bullfrog over the course of two days. A house-cat wouldn't do that. Ironically, she seems happy and well adjusted for one who is leading such a tough life.
I've been terribly conflicted about what to do about this. We really can't bring her home with us to Michigan. Cats don't travel well and besides, as much as we love this one, we don't want that responsibility right now. We don't even have houseplants, for god's sake.  Maybe if we weren't able to travel it would be different. And yes, we'd love a cat just like this someday, but not now.

I fed her table scraps yesterday and she ate voraciously. Poor thing.
This morning I went out to sit with her as usual but she wasn't there. After a brief search, we packed up for a canoe trip. When we got back tonight she still wasn't there so I went out to call for her every half hour or so. The anxiety and guilt was killing me.
We'll go to town for groceries tomorrow. I'll get cat food just in case she does come back.

Kitty is back after a two day absence! Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been!?
I felt a mixture of emotions upon seeing her - both elation and disappointment. Elated that she was safe but disappointed that she hadn't found a new life and secure family. So I'm back to my quandary.
I fed her half cup of dry cat food and she ate like a pirate.

Our neighbor suggested we put an ad in the local paper so we did:
Extremely affectionate young female cat. Short hair, white/tan. Neutered. Great disposition! Free to good home. 

We have good/bad news about Kitty. We got a call today. And a very nice young couple came by tonight to meet her. They have four children and live nearby.
Their cat is very old and hasn't many days remaining. They said our ad spoke to them.
As they drove off with her we wanted to cry but it was for the best. We knew that.

Every night before bed I'd been sitting with her on the porch. I don't know what I'll do tonight. Maybe just pretend she's there with me.

We were deeply disappointed that she wasn't waiting on the porch for us in the morning. Even though we knew it was unlikely, there was some hope she might find her way back to us.
I told the adopters that if there were any "issues" whatsoever to please just bring her back. But after meeting her they said, "There won't be any issues".
It was a fitful night as I agonized over whether we had made a terrible mistake.

We went to the beach today. I worried the whole time they might call so I was anxious to get back home.
But there was no call.
A little rain fell.

I still call for her when I step into the yard at night. Still look into the shadows for some hint of movement, waiting to change my tone from the voice you use when summoning someone, to the less plaintive and much more preferable one you use to welcome them back home.

Bermuda Triangle/Black Box

  If I would slow down and think things through, my good/bad luck ratio might improve. A case in point:
  I'd been enjoying aerial photography with my radio control planes and decided to buy and modify a decent camera (Nikon Coolpix 5600) for dedicated AP use.
  Being the impulsive type, I wanted to try it out immediately even though it was far too windy for a stable video flight. I figured it wouldn't matter if the maiden video looked like a roller coaster ride. It's just an experiment after all. So I mounted the camera and rushed out to the field.
  Because the grass was longer than usual, the prop caught and the plane nosed over pretty hard. With the camera still running I ran to the plane and threw it like a spear. Well, I hadn't noticed that the nose-over had cocked the wing askew and when I opened the throttle, the plane hooked left and nosed in hard enough to bend the aluminum tube fuselage. I ran to it, turned off the camera and tried bending the fuse back into place. To get better leverage, I put the plane on it's back and pushed down on it. CRACK! The rudder fractured where it joins the fuse. But it was still attached - a little wobbly perhaps, but attached.  I was getting anxious but thought, "It'll be fine". So I straightened the wing, turned on the camera and sent her back up.
  The wind was quite stiff which can be tricky if your plane is only capable of flying, lets say 10 mph and the wind is at 15. Problems can arise.
 The wind tugged the plane away from me until it was about 200 yards out over the woods and I began to struggle. The only way to counter the pull was to dive into the wind again and again to pick up speed. This maneuver puts a lot of stress on the airframe especially with the added weight of a camera.
  Then the vertical stabilizer folded and a death spiral began. No amount of control input would break the descent.
  When it disappeared on the horizon, I took keen note of landmarks and hoped for an easy find. I knew there could be some dicey tree climbing involved but surely I'd find it...or so I thought.
  After 3 hours of 90 degree mosquito hell, I broke off the search. I searched again the next day, and the next. I'm still searching, but with less hope each time.
  The tree canopy out there is thick but c'mon, it's a bright red plane! You know what I think? I think it found the Bermuda Triangle. And I'd love to see the video.

Black Box

  I was working on the roof when I saw Chris returning from trail maintenance in the woods. She waved to me from the yard and yelled that she had found a piece of my plane. My hopes soared since my good camera was on board when the plane disappeared 3 weeks ago. 

  We hurried back and sure enough, the tail section was lying under a stand of tall trees. I had searched this area many times but the canopy is so thick that very little light gets through to the floor.

  Then we spotted the wreckage. Oh, man! It was way up there. These are mature hardwoods and the plane was cradled in the top of an 80 foot sugar maple whose lowest branch was about 50 feet up. Trees grow like that in crowded conditions. Cutting the tree down was out of the question so I cut some 2x4's into 4 inch sections and began the tedious task of nailing foot/hand-holds as I advanced up the trunk. Once I was able to reach branches the climb was easy but I ran out of sturdy limbs about ten feet from my goal. So I rolled the dice and put my faith where it shouldn't be, clamping my thighs around the thin main while small branches snapped under my feet. The tree-top bent under my weight as I shinnied the last few feet to my plane. The wind swayed me but the adrenaline dump was exhilarating, especially once I had the plane in my hand. Chris doesn't like heights and got queasy watching me sway. 

  I had brought a spool of twine up with me to tie to the plane and lower it down through gaps between branches. The camera and other equipment looked pretty good despite being held to the sky for three weeks. 

  The first thing I did when we got back to the house was put new batteries in the camera and hit the playback button. Ha, it was all there! A "black box", if you will, with a complete account of the launch, the climb, the buffeting, the transition from neighborhood to forest, and then...the tailspin. The horizon raced around and around with occasional quick glimpses of the approaching canopy below. Then there was an explosion of leaves and branches as the plane came to rest. A leaf then covered the lens like the curtain at movie's end.

Here is the last minute of video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6T15DmdyUIw

  All of the electronics tested fine except the lithium power pack which was discharged beyond recovery. But the story is a happy one, really. Most of the electronics were reusable and the plane was rebuildable. My luck had shifted back to good again.

Yellow Jackets

Yellow jackets are a type of paper wasp—they build structures out of a paper made by adding saliva to chewed-up plant fibers. One species nests above ground in basket-ball sized nests you sometimes see in trees or under eaves, and the other species nests below ground.

Through the spring and summer, the colony grows. For the species that nest underground, their homes usually begin in abandoned rodent burrows that are further excavated as the nest grows and during this time, mid to late summer, the workers get defensive. They’re focused on protecting the queen within.

Yellow jackets at your picnic table are unlikely to sting unless they’re physically threatened. Their aggressive behavior is reserved for defending the nest. If the nest is disturbed you may find yourself in a load of trouble as their level of tolerance changes.

I was gathering firewood near the campsite on my property outside Grayling. While lifting a log, I exposed a nest of ground-dwelling yellow jackets and found myself in a flurry of angry wasps hell-bent on doing me harm. At the first few stings I broke into a run but they matched my pace and the stings continued. I may have set a new record for the fifty yard dash before they finally broke off their pursuit. By then I'd taken dozens of hits.

I have no history of sting allergies but with multiple stings, all bets were off. I soon found the venom burden causing me serious illness and debated whether to seek treatment in town (seven miles away) but decided to just wait and see. That may have been a mistake. I began having difficulty breathing, with stomach pain and nausea so severe I knew I shouldn't drive. So I opened a beer and awaited my fate. My heart was racing and my head was pounding. Dizziness and sweating followed. I crawled into my sleeping bag hoping to ward off the chills but couldn't stop shaking. Then it dawned on me that I may be dying and I regretted not leaving a note - even something simple like, "Yellow jackets!".

And that was the last thing I remembered.

When I regained consciousness, the sun was high and the tent was like an oven. I was covered with one-inch welts and drenched in sweat. My watch said it was almost noon -- obviously the next day. When I poked my head out of the tent and gasped for air, I saw trees, birds, and acres of blue sky. I was alive! My god, such a glorious feeling! Though feeling like I'd been in a fistfight, I crawled out of the tent and struggled to my feet to do a brief celebratory dance.

A wary glance toward their nest showed things were back to normal for the yellow jackets. The workers were going about their business; serving their queen. So I went about my business, well away from their domain. It's better that way.

Busted

I developed a love for handguns in the late seventies and started a collection that was destined to grow. I'll admit I became obsessed - reading all of the gun literature I could find, haunting gun shops and shooting almost daily. I'd swoon at the scent of gunpowder, the bright muzzle flash, the stout recoil and, of course, the craftsmanship of the hardware itself -- a marriage of fine-figured wood to metal, beautifully polished and fitted.

It was fortunate I lived at the edge of a vast woodland on the outskirts of Rochester with a trail leading from my house up into the wooded hills. Nearly every night I'd hike about a half mile into the woods to set up my targets in an area with an  earthen berm for safe backstop. This nightly ritual improved my shooting skills considerably and I shoot competitively to this day.

It was a warm night when I last went up with my gear in a backpack; guns, ammo, earmuffs, shooting glasses, targets, and beers.

At the time I was dating a girl who would eventually become my wife and lifetime companion. Things were getting serious between us so we had arranged for me to meet her parents the very next evening. But this night didn't go as I'd planned.

After about an hour of shooting, the light began to fade so I packed up to head back while there was enough light to see the trail. I kept my Smith model 41 tucked in my belt.
There was a startling commotion as I turned to leave and out of the dim woods stumbled four sheriff's deputies screaming, "Police! Put your hands in the air!" I immediately wet my pants for the first time since childhood and whimpered, "Look what you made me do!".

These guys were covered in sweat and blood from the thick tangle of  underbrush and brambles. Also, they were under full mosquito assault since they hadn't the forethought to apply mozzie repellent. It's fair to say they were in a foul mood.

I said, "Guys, I have a gun in my waist-band. I'm going to set it on the ground." As I lowered my hand toward my belt two of them were on me in a wink. One yanked my arm up behind my back while the other kicked my feet out from under me and pinned me to the ground with his knees. But they were careful to avoid my sodden crotch.
Once the dust had settled, I underwent intensive interrogation and managed to muster more politeness than I'm normally capable of. It happens that one of the deputies heard gunshots while patrolling the dirt road below and suspected possible poaching or other such malfeasance so he called for back-up.

I showed them my shooting "range", and did my best to convince them my activities were innocuous. At some point I showed them a center-clustered target and one of the cops said, "Not bad." That's when the tension eased and they started to lighten up.

My infractions turned out to be fairly minor. It's illegal to discharge firearms within city limits but I was actually only about twenty steps inside the boundary. And the guns in my backpack could have been considered "concealed" (a no-no) but they were unloaded and I had the proper registrations with me.

Once the encounter was defused, I guided them to the path so their trip down the hill would be much easier than the one up. By now it was dark and their flashlights served well.

As we were making our way back I said, "I'm glad you guys didn't arrest me. I'm supposed to meet my girlfriend's parents tomorrow night." One of them said, "Try not to wet your pants."

Fireflies

  Every night before getting ready for bed I walk out to my yard to check the stars and to just feel the night.
  Tonight is the 4th of July and fireflies sparkle like a field of diamonds before me - specks of living light twinkling in the dark. In the distance I hear the rumble of a fireworks display and think, "What a waste of gunpowder and sky." The dazzling exhibition in my yard rivals any fireworks I've seen and I feel privileged to witness this spectacle in private.
  But this presentation isn't for my entertainment. There's a lot more going on here than many of us realize. This display is of lust and death.
  These remarkable green and yellow flashing lights have always had a hypnotic effect on me. As a child I was fascinated by fireflies and would capture them in jars to serve as a bedroom nightlight. But the same pulsing glow that attracts youngsters often leads male fireflies to their deaths.
  In warm-weather months, especially where open meadows and forests coexist, the adult male fireflies of most species set out on nuptial flights in the evening hours. The females, meanwhile, await their mates in the foliage, blinking seductively. The task for each male is to find an unmated female.
  It’s critical that the female be unmated because in many firefly species the females change through internal chemistry into man-eaters once they've successfully mated. Thereafter, they use their blinks to attract meals, not males. Some females even imitate the blinking patterns of other species in an effort to attract as many unsuspecting males as possible. Femme Fatales!
It’s a fly-eat-fly world out there.