A Cat's Life

Harry doesn't curl up neatly the way cats do in story book illustrations. He's a slumper. There isn't a wall he doesn't like for that purpose.



Max is more of a traditionalist; just point him towards a bed, any bed and he turns into a fur collar right before your eyes.

Harry Has A Bad Day

Poor Harry.

He was checking the outdoors for any stray aliens passing by and found himself nose to nose with a myopic young mourning dove.



He tried head-butting the glass, surely leaving him with a view of the galaxy and he made those funny throaty cat sounds, but his mission failed.

Little Mister Dove continued to gaze at his bird world without actually taking note of his adversary.



Go play with your toy mice Harry. You can win at that.

You Don't Want To Take it With You

When I pop off into another dimension I'm leaving behind a special legacy to complete strangers.

My kids will remember me however they wish for as long as they wish, and a grand kid or two may have a few recollections and that's the end of the memory trail.

This is where my legacy comes in: I've put my heart into eight or so gardens in my lifetime and when I move on I leave footprints for just the right seeker.



The next owner after me might carelessly reduce the place to poison-drenched lawns and very little else. But then there might follow a woman who surveys the nothingness until she spots somewhere in the corner a little cache of snowdrops that escaped the toxic attack and she'll build her new garden around this small treasure.

I tuck special ferns back in a shaded nook where they will eventually flourish if left alone along side beautiful golden hostas.

What a rush to find the place you moved into during the winter gifts you with masses of daffodils, free-form tulips (no regimental rows for me thanks) and tiny crocus peeking out here and there. This was another woman's legacy and she'll get a silent thank you from me.

I'll learn what her favorite colors were and whether she loved free form planting or was she a tidy by-the-book person?



Three houses back, in a fiercely ambitious mood I tore out the back lawn, had simple raised beds built, then made pathways and detours lined with pea gravel and planted shrubs, perennials, bulbs and small trees. My trusty helper cluck-clucked throughout but when it was done he was amazed and delighted and added landscaping to his resume.

I left behind the beautiful wooden pergola my son built me with the trumpet vines meeting at the middle and spilling over the sides in a thick tangle and that is still flourishing when I drive past to take a quick peek.

The magnolia tree planted at our downtown Toronto house stands out like a glorious beacon while its in bloom.


So there's my legacy,left to strangers for generations to come.

On the practical side my kids should find enough money to give me a rowdy send-off with a few sips of champagne.

Then, compost me and that's an order.