Saturday I went to my mother's house (the house I came home to as a newborn and the house I grew up in) to pick her up for an outing. My mother is 89 years old. We took some Easter lilies to the graves of four loved ones. There are many others who are no longer with us, but these particular four had extra special meaning.
When I drove up to her house it suddenly seemed so small. There were some other differences, too. The holly tree that had been in the front yard was gone. It died of old age or disease several years ago. It was under that tree that a mockingbird attacked me. Our cat, Nermal, also had an encounter with a bird under that tree. She kept the little knot on her forehead from that skirmish the rest of her life.
In the 'breezeway' is the little pet cemetery of some of the animals we've had through the years, for this house also was the home of my children for many years after I returned 'home' as a young single mother with two little ones. In addition to Nermal, there is Leon, the beautiful long-haired cat my daughter adopted from the animal shelter.
Behind the 'studio' is Sam, the kitty from next door, who was loved more by my daughter than its owners. There is also Wheat Germ (germy) and Honey, the two little hamsters my daughter had as pets. And somewhere is Hercules (Hercie) my first ever kitty. He introduced me to the wonderful world of felines when I was just six years old.