The Tiny Terrace in the Sky

This morning the tiny terrace in the sky was a haven for golden crowned kinglets.

Every fall migratory birds fly south from their breeding grounds in the Canadian forests on their way to the tropics, and large numbers stop over in New York City.  Central Park is one big concentrated stretch of green from the air, and it attracts the migrants, provides a place to rest and forage before continuing the journey.

The tiny terrace is west and south of Central Park and has just one birch tree, one black pine, a hedge of ivy and Manhattan euonymus, and a small herb garden, but I am so glad to see the birds have found it.  

There is so much about New York that I love, but sometimes I can feel nature-deprived.  It is always possible to hike up to Central Park, or along the river in Hudson River Park, or Forest Park or Alley Pond in Queens, or Floyd Bennett Field or Greenwood Cemetery in Brooklyn, or Van Cortlandt Park or Pelham Bay in the Bronx, or the magical Staten Island Greenbelt, but there's nothing like sitting at one's desk, glancing up, and seeing a bird in a tree just outside the window.

I'm not the only one who likes watching birds; to keep the birds safe from Emelina, and to protect her from falling off the terrace, I make sure she stays inside with Green Tara.  

Birds face enough dangers on their migrations, and New York provides special challenges.  They crash into windows on skyscrapers; it's not uncommon, in the morning, to walk by tall buildings and find dead or injured birds.  Light can also be a magnet.  New York City Audubon and Project Safe Flight are working to improve things.

Creatures migrate.  It's how they survive.  Humans, too.

Meanwhile, up here, feeling grateful for the delicate beauty of birds and sky.

Maisie and Tim: a Love Story

maisie

I wouldn't exactly call Maisie a "problem cat" (there-are-no-bad-cats) but ever since she was a kitten, she has had a certain personality: contrary, cantankerous, particular in whom she allows to approach (no one.)  She was a rescue cat who had lived through the tragic circumstances of losing her mother too young and being left alone, sick, and flea-ridden until a kind vet in Old Lyme, Connecticut took her in.  I and the old girls--Maggie and Mae Mae--adopted her. Time passed.  We lived in New York, and for a while in Malibu.  The dynamic of those three cats was of love, but separation.  Each kept to herself.  There were occasional stealth attacks--Maisie, stalking the others like a wild cat, pouncing, letting out lion-sounding snarls.  Maggie would sit closest to me, on my desk while I wrote, and after she died, Mae Mae nuzzled her way in.  After Mae Mae died, I waited for Maisie to claim her spot on the desk, but she never did.  She was a loner cat, preferring to sit under chairs rather than on them, staring at me with her green eyes, coming out to be fed, but rarely petted.

Then along came Tim and Emelina.  Like Maisie, they'd been rescued from life on the streets, and we adopted them from West Chelsea Vets.

Tim and Emelina at West Chelsea Veterinary, the day we adopted them.

The twins moved in, and I was a little worried that Maisie, although now fifteen and less angry, would intimidate them--maybe even attack them.  They had such sweet personalities, loving to be held and petted, and often cuddling up with each other.  I watched Maisie carefully, ready to pull her away from the kittens if I saw too aggressive a swat.

Emelina took the hint and stayed away from her.  She made herself at home and kept her distance.

Emelina

But not Tim.  He loved Maisie from the beginning and was determined to make friends.  His initial approach, however, didn't go very well.

But he's a brave and persistent cat, named for surfer Tim West, so he stayed close and watched.

And watched.

And watched.  

And watched some more.  

Maisie noticed, and after a while she began to semi-tolerate his attention, sometimes throwing him a glance.

After a while this happened:

Then this:

They made friends.

Tim is also very sweet with Emelina, but this story is about him and Maisie.  Emelina does, occasionally, hang out with them.

But mostly, if Maisie lets anyone close, it's Tim.

He taught her about love.  She's almost a different cat.  Amazing that love can do that.

Cats in Connecticut

This summer the cats and I spent several weeks at Point O'Woods.  Maisie was born in Old Lyme, so for her it was a homecoming.  Emelina and Tim, the kittens, had never been, so it was their first time there all together. Being NYC cats, they're used to the confines of a Chelsea apartment.  Going to the country was summer vacation for them.

They enjoyed the view and sea breeze.

They found plenty of time for togetherness.

The kittens, especially Emelina, discovered their love of heights.  

And Maisie returned to one of her favorite spots, a place she used to sit with the old girls, Maggie and Mae-Mae, on the back of the loveseat next to the fireplace, proving that--indeed--you can go home again.