the sights and sounds of autumn

This past weekend, we had a visit from one of our summer guides, who has been working the last month up in Anchorage. He has officially moved out of his room now, boxing up his frozen seafood, and filling his car up to the rooftop with his belongings. We wish him all the best, and hope to see him while he is still in Alaska, in the next few months.

Mornings once again greet us with a frosty touch. Translucent leaves of shimmering gold stand lit in the afternoon sunlight. It's time to bring in the firewood, and plant a few more "privacy pines". Surprisingly, it has remained quite warm midday, allowing for easy walks and outdoor activities.





The meows that we've grown to enjoy at our doorstep will now be absent. Mid summer, a cat, wearing a name tag "Teta", showed up in our yard and seemed to claim our acreage as her own. We didn't dare feed her, not knowing where her real home was, and hoping that her midday absences were to venture back there to stay. She would always return, meowing her "hello", as she pranced our way. Though we tried hard not to let her weasel her way into our hearts, she did. She slowly became the mascot of the summer business, sunning herself as the guys did their evening boot washing and rod work, enjoying the embrace and bouncy conversation of a bearded fisherman, or two. Before I knew it, one of the guys had made her a comfortable bed on the porch, and she was more than happy to oblige by accepting it as her own.

We finally relented, and started feeding her daily. She wasn't going anywhere else. She's "found" a home with us. (Sigh....)

Radio pet-line "found" announcements went unanswered. The local vet did cross checks, but nothing under the name of "Teta" brought up information of any kind. I made phone calls and attempted to contact neighbors up and down our subdivision road. Nobody knew of her. Everyone assumed she was our cat, in seeing her in our driveway. She assumed the same.

Through the tugs at our heartstrings to want to make her our own, we knew it could never be. She could never come inside. Our grown daughter, who lives in another state, but visits us from time to time, is extremely allergic to cats. I kept this in the back of my mind, as the months continued on. When it started getting colder, she would need to go to the animal shelter, if we hadn't found her owner. Well, I knew it had to be done.

As cold as it seemed, I knew it was best for all of us.

Today was the day.
Today was the day I took her there.
I felt like a heel. I was a mess. It felt heartless.
The winds will soon turn bitterly cold, and she would have had nowhere outside for shelter.
She'll have a chance now to be adopted out, to a family that can offer what we couldn't.
We truly hope she'll find a home with great "nonallergic" folks, or even better yet, be reunited with her original owners.

A brisk walk on the Homer Spit helped clear my head, and once again I was cheered by the beauty of our changing surroundings.

(photo taken by Scott Dickerson, paragliding over the Spit this afternoon)