Living in Toronto means never having to say,"I wish someone would come and stay with us." There will always be someone who wants to come and stay.

Sometimes you get a few weeks' notice, sometimes a few hours. But when you live in the city of Pearson, there will always be someone who wants to stay over and drink your Manhattans and your wine and eat your food. And sleep in your guest room. And make out with your cats. We aim to please.

Daisy, Daisy, Daisy!

Some people think that I am not giving a certain cat enough attention on the blog. I have already conceded sexism (of a sort) to this person, but I will not brook any accusations of favouritism. Daisy is a busy cat; she doesn't have time to be posing for pictures all the time.


Yesterday we all went outside. Daisy made a perfect little pawprint in the snow.


She had a little sniff to see where the squirrels had been, and then sensibly came back in to warm herself up on the kitchen register. Bodil used to do this too. I don't know why there isn't a smell of burning hair.

Daisy is just a calm, sensible cat who doesn't get into trouble.

The little man, on the other hand, was busily enraging local squirrels. This one spent the whole time screaming at him:



Kelly lifted him up to have a little look, but he just wanted to get down so he could find the squirrel and kill it. As if. This is a cat who seems to think the cat food is going to leap out of his bowl and attack him -- I'd love to see him with food that actually moves.

Junk Mail Count

Zero.

Zip.

Nada.

Donuts.

Changing the world one mailbox at a time. If only it were all that easy.

Should I Stay or Should I Go?

Sometimes you feel like you have to reach out and go somewhere new. Test your boundaries. See what things look like around the corner, or in my (Sara's) case, down the hall. I've been seriously considering taking a new job. Had the first of two interviews and it went fine.

Part of me wanted to go on to the world of policy development and government meetings.

After all, maybe I'm just too comfortable where I am right now.

But, on the other hand, it's not without its challenges.

And the boss isn't that bad.

I've decided that I'm sticking around.

Winter Is A' Comin In

... and so is the junk mail. We have posted "no flyer" messages on the mailbox and one of the front step riders but so far, no luck. Just today we received a real estate flyer in the mailbox (which means the carrier also had to go up the steps). Sara is thinking of initiating a Junk Mail Count. We'll see how long that lasts.

More importantly, we wonder how long today's light snowfall will last. It is clearly bringing amazement and enjoyment to small creatures in the neighbourhood.


This little squirrel danced around the driveway and the patio.


This littleorangeguy enjoyed a sno-cone.


The triplets next door tried valiantly to make a snowman under our shared maple tree. Maybe tomorrow; there's supposed to be more snow overnight.


Hopefully not so much that it kills the lavender.

Endorphin Overload

This is a good photo, but we didn't take it.

Perhaps it was the endorphin buzz after a particularly rigorous bout of physio with Kathryn the Polish Wonder, but on Thursday I (Sara) found myself waiting for the bus on Avenue Road, mesmerized by the beauty of pigeons.

A quartet of well-fed, bright-eyed urban squab appeared almost as soon as I did and began to circle and gaze beseechingly in manner not dissimilar to Daisy and Harry when they hear the can opener. It was creepy. Three soon realized there was no food at hand and left, but hope sprang eternal for the fourth and as I watched him on his rounds I realized that there was a certain beauty in the shimmering green, purple and grey feathers covering his perfectly fat little body.

Then my mind switched to the rows of squab at the poultry counter in Harrod's Food Hall and I knew it was time to move on.

Nature or Nurture?

Kelly's mom, shown here with the littleorangeguy when he was a kitten, is concerned about our choice of name for the blog. She's afraid we're playing favourites with Harry at Daisy's expense. When this argument didn't fly, she suggested that a subtle form of sexism was at work.

Sara pointed out that this was impossible, given that neither of the cats has a gender anymore.

But gender is more than just which side of the reproductive pond you're on, isn't it? Or, in this case, whether you're even in the pond anymore. Daisy and Harry are cases in point. She can be a bully, and he squeals like a girl. The Social Construction of Feline Gender: now there's a doctoral thesis for you. Thank God we left academia.

The Healing Power of Bacon.

Fathers can be a excellent source of information. Kelly's dad certainly was: he taught her that the best cure for an ingrown toenail was the application of a piece of raw bacon. Kelly sometimes tries to get Sara to use this remedy for various ailments, but Sara prefers her bacon crisp with a side of eggs.

Kelly's dad was also a source of interesting mail (e.g. the lower half of a dessicated mouse - a gift to the cats) and this is clearly a trait shared by his sister, Aunt Ruthie, who this week sent Kelly a package of bacon strip bandaids.

And if you doubt this Southern Illinois folk remedy, we have a news clipping from the Times of London (August 28, 2006, Times2 p. 11) to verify the Healing Power of Bacon. Eggs optional.

Morning Rituals

I'd like a part in the middle ...


... maybe flare it out at the sides.

It all started when Daisy was a tiny, cute kitten. She liked to hang out in the sink (many cats do, apparently) and so one day after my shower I brushed her fur when I brushed my hair, such as it is. She now comes for a regular style. You might want to remember this if you're ever in our bathroom and feel tempted to borrow my hairbrush.

She's a very clean cat.

And no, I don't share my toothbrush with her. That's just gross.

Bullfrogged.

Our beautiful Christmas spruce is lying on our green lawn. It's just not right. This kind of naughty climatic behaviour makes you want to -- I don't know -- invest in green energy. Hmmmm.


Chez Buehstra --proudly bullfrogged since January 3, 2007!

On Guard

We have discovered that squirrels like to run along the side of the house, and we feel that we must be on guard.

Some of us take our responsibility more seriously than others...

... which can be very tiring.