Fruit flies, traps, burials, and kindness

Y’all, little makes me frantic like gnats and zealous fruit flies. They are so pesty and aggressive and present when they’re present. Every time I see, feel, or sense one of those bastards near me, I go into a hand-flailing tizzy. Just an hour ago, I slammed my hand down on the kitchen counter to attempt to vanquish a f.f. (drosophila melanogaster; Ms. Reon, my high school biology teacher would be enormously proud that I have never forgotten the scientific name of the humble f.f.), missed—because they’re quick AF—and now have a bruise under my index finger because apparently in middle age, your vessels just aren’t as robust as they once were. Add them to the freaking list.

Tom is obsessed with our 3D printer and recently constructed a phenomenal f.f. trap: you print the top, it screws onto a mason jar that you’ve filled with a bit of apple cider vinegar, and voila, you soon have a morgue. He could sell these things, but he is sharing for free on thingiverse because he is a good person who wants others to be as rapidly f.f.-free as we want to be. The point of that aside is that he brought a trap to our WV home, and I am here because I had to bury a cat—more on that in a sec—and “someone” did not take the garbage out last time that person was here, and now we have an infestation. The trap is now established, and I hope to have a total morgue by tomorrow morning.

As you all may recall, at our peak in WV, we had three adopted barn cats and four purchased goats who soon became eight goats because pregnancy. Then one goat, Lefty (had listeria, only turned in left circles, screamed a lot in a friendly goat way, soft AF), died; this was awful but not unexpected, and by the time we arrived, the vultures had done such a magnificent bang-up job that Lefty was maybe a pelt and a skull. We buried her, still rather miss her eccentricities, but accepted this as the circle of life. Seven goats remain.

Then Ruby, our most diminutive sweet girl (cat) died, and that was also very sad and it was unexpected. And then we settled into not-death for a while which, on a farm, is somewhat remarkable. And then our darling Spot, our favorite barn cat, just started to look poor. Spot, as you may recall, took on a raccoon two years ago, and while I’m not sure he won, he most definitely didn’t lose. He was shaped like a trapezoid, very dense; Oliver and I could never figure out how or why he was thus. Since we bought this place and adopted the cats and then took on the goats, we have had a caretaker come every day to feed them all. But he comes once. So the cats eat once (plus their vat of dry kibble), and Ruby and Jinx (third barn cat) were always extremely svelte as you would expect, not least because in their advanced teen years they totally gave up mousing. And yet Spot was an absolute unit. And he loved to be held like a baby. He was the best sort of cat: independent as fuck, not remotely needy, but if you held him like a baby and scratched him? Forget it. Butter. Purring. Love forever. He was all of our favorite, and then he looked so poor. And I took him to the vet and found out that he had arthritis (not surprising; he was 15), and feline AIDS (surprising I guess; dormant we thought?). Nothing we could do. And then a month later, this Monday, he just called it quits, and I was and remain so truly sad. So I had our caretaker put him lovingly (and in a bag) in the freezer until I could get here, and today I came up and dug a grave in his (Spot’s, not the caretaker’s) favorite sunny spot, and wrapped him in a favorite blanket with some favorite treats, and I hope he rests easily. One cat remains.

Tomorrow I am going to plant some flowers around the grave. They’ll probably die because about 90% of all I have planted out here in this effing rocky barren wasteland has died, but whadya have without hope? And Spot was such a good boy and I know he appreciated the beauty here and the flowers and birdsong and peace. I worry for Jinx, 19 years old!, but he really cannot hear so maybe that’s helpful? He and I have been hanging out today and he also cannot really groom himself anymore so I picked burrs and matted bits and so forth, and I hope he is not too lonely, but he probably is and that kills me a bit.

I filled the bird feeders, and it’s just astonishing how quickly the feathered friends return. It’s a rave out there right now: multiple types of woodpeckers, nuthatches, titmice, and so forth. Just flitting and flapping, calling and territorializing even though there are at least 12 distinct places to eat from across two feeders and a giant suet cage. Meanwhile, I cleaned my Emily-made pond because the duckweed has done what it does best and multiplied like the f.f.s in my garbage can, and lo! Frogs have inhabited the watering hole, and I was chuffed. Their heads were popping through the surface and back down, and some others were scampering in the bushes, and I just think that if people could all just focus a touch more on the teeming micro worlds around each of us and be kind, maybe that would ripple outwards? We need something, y’all! Things are looking poor. Just like Spot. And look what happened to him!

I started this blog when Oliver was very little. He is now applying to college—my heart!—and where I once wrote daily, I now maybe write 2-3 times a year. My heart and sense of self feel a bit less expansive now, a bit more intentionally protectionist. I see other parents behaving in appallingly ugly fashion, and I think, your babies are leaving soon! What are you modeling for them with your competitiveness? I see kids behaving in mean, shitty fashion too, and while I understand that growing up is hard, I just want to scream: please, please just take a minute and breathe and be kind. Just think about how you want to be treated, what you want to get back from the world, and be kind. To your fellow people or even, equally, especially, a cat or a frog or a bird.

I have changed so much in the past fifteen years. Some has been the necessary pivots you simply must make when life throws you the shit it does. Repeatedly. You pivot or you crumble, really. I am still learning. I am as worried as the next person about the future of our world. Will our kids have jobs? Healthcare? A planet that is alive? But what will always be available is a generosity of spirit. Of kindness. Of gratitude. The value of those things is infinite; without them the world feels mean. And is becoming more so all the time.

In honor of Spot, may I ask that anyone who reads this say or do one nice thing this weekend? Pay a stranger a compliment. Help someone. Take a shelter dog for an afternoon out. Put out a bowl of water and some nuts for wild things in your midst. Go outside and listen and breathe. I wish for all of you the absence of f.f.s!