Late Autumn walks are often quiet affairs. Most of the birds have moved deeper into the woods or flown south for the Winter. There are no more flies buzzing or crickets chirping. Squirrels stay bundled in their nests for much of the day. I scatter birdseed and hang suet in spots close to my house for the feathery and furry neighbors, but out on the path and the lane, it’s a ghost town.

Some days, I dream of green everywhere and an orchestra of birds. I’m thankful I’m not given to depression and seasonal sadness. Early Autumn is my favorite season with its riot of colors and sounds, but the transition to Winter is brooding and muffled. It’s more introspective and hushed. Bare branches reaching to a clear blue sky do offer their own sort of stark beauty, though. Add a mantle of snow, and I fall in love. Until I have to shovel. Just kidding. Even then, I enjoy the workout.

Titan is not so thrilled with Winter weather. He doesn’t mind his Great Pumpkin coat. I think he appreciates the warmth. His booties are another story. He runs for his bed when he sees his shoes. Which actually makes the process of putting them on easier. Then, for the first minute or two outside, his gait resembles one of those robot dogs. I think he realizes the booties are a good thing once when we’re on the trail. His paws don’t get poked by underbrush or the frozen ground. He’ll never admit it, though.

This morning, it was warm enough to forego the booties. Barely. We walked down the long, winding driveway, listening to the whispering of the white pines. The sun tried, but failed, to poke through the thick layer of gray. An ever-present breeze chilled my face and hands. I always forget my gloves at the turning of the season. I need to shove a pair into my coat pockets.

We can walk in the cornfield after the harvest, and Titan is delighted by this change of pace. More places to sniff! There’s corn scattered here and there for the deer and other wildlife and uneven rows of still-standing corn for us to dodge. I enjoy this diversion, too.

We traveled across the field just long enough to give Titan some “nose time” and then, slipped into the woods at an opening in the bushes. There used to be a big gray rock to mark the spot, but I couldn’t find it this year. Following a faint deer trail, we maneuvered around fallen trees and wild rose bushes. I have to hold Titan back, or he’ll drag me through the thorny thicket. He doesn’t worry about getting scratched until later when I tend to a boo boo because he chased a scent right into a blackberry bramble.

Once back on the trail, we climbed the hill toward my Blessed Mother statue and rounded the top corner, keeping a steady pace as we walked along the trail. The wind picked up, bringing with it colder air. I didn’t want to dilly dally, so I gave Titan just the right amount leash so he can stay beside me without keeping his nose to the ground. If I’m not mindful, he’d jerk me around, or trip over his own feet, because he wasn’t paying attention.

Movement in the brush alerted me and Titan. Half a dozen White tailed deer stood just to our left. The trail circled a small patch of woods. The small herd of deer call this land home, too.

They scattered when we got closer. Two sprinted to the right, jumping a low fence. They’re headed for a spot where they spend most nights, hidden amongst a thatch of roses and berry bushes. The rest took off to the left, deeper into the woods, with one staying behind to glare at us. I’ve been running into this particular doe since the summer. She’s usually alone, and I kid you not, she has this fierce look on her face that says, “Come closer and you’ll be sorry.” She always stands her ground, stamps her feet. Today, she stood about ten feet away from us, watching. I snapped a few photos before me and Titan continued toward the house. I don’t want to be charged by a deer. It’s rare but can happen, and she looked like she meant business. As we turned to leave the path, I caught sight of her out of the corner of my eye. She was still staring at us.

Thanks for following along today. Take care out there.

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Today’s walk began as a walnut minefield obstacle course. Damp leaves camouflaged vine tripwires. Somehow I managed to step in poo.

The deer bedding down by the old truck stood her ground, stamping her feet. I looked away, wary of making eye contact. I didn’t want to frighten her. She looked comfy in her semi-hidden spot.

Wood smoke hangs in the misty air. The faint undertone of pellet stoves lingered, too, which is more bitter, harsher than wood. Winter heating has begun in earnest.

I surveyed the landscape. Green has given way to brown with splashes of red, orange and yellow littering the ground. There are no more frilly extras. All the leaves will be gone from the trees soon, and the first frosts have culled most of the fleshy plants. A sad but inevitable cycle.

Not a sound came from the woods, not a sigh. Not until a single call from a Blue Jay. Sentinel of the trees. A distant crow replied before everything fell silent again. Quiet time has begun. Life is hidden, hibernating, waiting.

Corn husks have slithered through the upper fence, creeping across the trail. Ghosts of the summer green fields, they rattle in the breeze. Scattered bits of corn lay near bald ears like teeth that have fallen out. The woodland creatures will scavenge and eat whatever they can find as food grows scarce.

Mary stood at the top of our far hill, watching as we walk by her. I said a quick prayer of thanks before we descended the path, ever careful on rain damp leaves and loose rocks and fallen branches.

The little forest was stark in its emptiness, almost naked against the coming winter grey. The clouds looked like snow this morning, though it’s too warm. Evergreen trees and holly remind me that life is there. Their green remains to offer hope.

Titan missed all of this. He sniffed the trail and bushes and sticks and rocks. He’d have his own tales to tell if he could speak our language. I’d love to know his secrets. Who’s been there and left their messages? The entire woods are a newsfeed of sorts. Bulletin boards with branches.

A neighbor fired up their truck, loud and throaty, and the spell was broken.

We headed back to the house for apples and coffee.

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Let me give you a laugh. This is funny…but not. I laughed because otherwise - well, humor definitely helps me get through stressful experiences. No matter how big or small.

And you may have guessed this story has a squirrel in it. (See subtitle)

We had a squirrel in our house.

It came in through a hole it chewed in our roof and traveled through the ceiling and walls. Our TV room had been a porch years before we bought this house, and it was converted into a rather lovely, sunny spot, so the roof is lower than the main house. Said roof was used as a highway until we trimmed back the trees - after this incident.

We’d heard chewing, but couldn’t be sure if it was coming from inside or outside of the house. Banging on the ceiling with a golf club stopped the annoying (and damaging) behavior. At this time, I also noticed increased squirrel traffic from the window in my creative nook upstairs. (I talk about creating this writing space here.) Then, I realized one of them was busily working on the corner of the house where two pieces of spouting met. To my alarm, I watched the fuzzy shit disappear. I wasn’t sure if they were in the gutter system or…INSIDE THE ROOF. Yikes!

The Hubster investigated.

There was, indeed, a hole. Probably filled with squirrels. Which is not conducive to a positive home-dwelling experience. Not for us humans anyway.

So, we banged on the ceiling and jumped on the roof. It was hilarious.

A whole menagerie scurried out. The squirrel colony in one of our outbuildings must have kicked their misfits to the curb. I counted 6 squirrels leaving the hole in the roof. Double yikes.

That afternoon was spent watching and listening and periodically banging on the ceiling. We heard no more squirrel noises.

The Hubster stuffed the hole with some sort of metal mesh and closed it. We thought we were in the clear.

We were wrong.

The next morning, I went down to the basement to do the laundry and noted clothes on the floor. I thought - why are they on the floor? This did not compute. There’s no breeze. Titan and KitKat can’t get down there. I was the last one to go downstairs. I didn't knock my pile of laundry over. These thoughts spun through my brain in a matter of seconds.

Then, I got my answer…

…a squirrel ran across my feet.

I made a sound that wasn’t quite a scream. Because I wasn’t afraid, just startled.

A squirrel isn’t the scariest thing I’ve seen down there.

Last year, we had a spider as big as my hand pay us a visit. I wrote about it here.

Our basement isn’t finished. It’s almost like a root cellar except the floors aren’t dirt. Our house is 124 years old, and you could say it has rustic charm.

We also have snakes in our walls. Which I honestly don’t mind. They’re harmless Eastern Milk snakes. I know…some of you are saying, “Oh hell the no!” Here’s the up-side: We rarely see them, and they eat rodents. Small ones…not squirrels.

As my eyes tracked the frightened rodent, I noticed a canning jar broken on the floor.

Now, it all made sense.

The night before, I’d heard a noise I couldn’t explain. It sounded like glasses had fallen or shifted. A clinking sound. Even Titan heard it. He’d stopped munching on his bedtime apple slice and had tilted his head to listen. But I couldn’t find the source of the noise. I’d gone to bed wondering what we’d heard.

I found out in a furry little fury. (Say that 10 times fast!) The squirrel was running laps around my washer and dryer. Kinda cute in a what the heck are you doing in my house sort of way.

We opened the Bilco doors that lead outside hoping it would run out because when the Hubster had arrived with a flashlight and broom, the squirrel disappeared.

Hours later, we closed the doors, crossing our fingers that the squirrel had vacated our house. I listened to the walls for signs of our guest for the next few days, and I kept shining a flashlight up into the space where you can see the wet wall of the bathroom. The likely route the squirrel took. Another joy of an old farmhouse is visible pipes and places you don’t normally see when your home is all buttoned up.

So far, weeks later, we haven’t seen the fuzzy bugger again - inside the house.

Lately, a squirrel has been banging on one of the windows in the TV room with its furry little fists. I wonder if they’re angry that we closed off their winter stash. No matter, they’ll be okay. We have tons of walnuts and chestnuts around here. I do feel bad, but a squirrel gang should not set up shop in my house. No matter how cute they are.

**Do you have stories about uninvited critters in your home? Things can get a little crazy when the outside comes in.

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It’s funny that the last time I posted here I mentioned my feline friends. Not funny in a humorous way. Just in that way the Universe has of changing things.

George is missing. I haven’t seen him for 3 weeks. He ate dinner one Saturday evening after lounging on our porch with Kit Kat, and then I watched them run around the side of the house. It looked like they were on one of their missions, Kit Kat leading the way, as always.

That was the last I’ve seen of George.

I know he could still come back. Male cats wander. Especially in the summer months. George had only recently discovered his manly urges when Kit Kat had her latest heat. This was an odd development because he’d never shown an interest in her before. He’d play bouncer and keep her suitors from hanging out on the porch or eating their kibble. That was it.

My plan had been to make appointments at our local Humane Society for spaying and neutering once they opened their program this year. I didn’t move quickly enough. I think Kit Kat might be pregnant. Time will tell.

Kit Kat came for breakfast the morning after that fateful Saturday dinner, though she didn’t eat much, and she was skittish. I’ve been around cats long enough to know something happened. Whether it was the human or animal variety of something bad, I don’t know. It took her about a week to begin eating normally and to allow me to pet her again.

I’ve searched my property and surrounding neighbors. No sign of George. I do think I spotted him from a distance, but that might be wishful thinking. There are many dangers around here: people, vehicles, farm machinery, rat poison, foxes, dogs.

I’ve asked the Universe a few times for answers. Where is George? What happened to him?

He’s visited me in my dreams - and the Hubster, too. Each time, he shows up on the porch for mealtime like always.

Tears are threatening as I type. I haven’t been super emotional about this because I did try to keep Kit Kat and George at arm’s length. A buffer of sorts. Outside cats can disappear so easily. I’ve been feeding and looking out for them for a little over a year, yet there was a distance. I could hold George, but only in a hip carry. He didn’t really like to be picked up, so I didn’t push it. Kit Kat likes being held even less. They’re still both part of our little family, though. And my heart is bruised because of George’s absence.

So, I’m letting the tears fall and my nose run. This pain is part of loving. It sharpens the joy of seeing Kit Kat and watching after her. (The sun just burst through the clouds after two days of rain as I’m typing this.) I know, one day, she will be gone, too. As we all will pass away from this Earth. It’s not cliche to remind you to hold on to the good things. To love, to laugh and to give extra scritches to your furry friends.

Take care, dear reader. Be safe out there…and find Beauty where you can.

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Walks with Titan also include the neighborhood cats. I don’t think I’ve been without a feline in my life (longer than 6 months) for most of my 49 years.

When Bug died last February, I decided I didn’t want anymore cats. It was just too hard. The Hubster and I discussed swearing off pets altogether once Titan leaves us. I felt lighter for awhile. To have that freedom would be so alien, yet so - exhilarating.

The idea of not having a pet is strange to me. I’ve had cats for most of my life. I can’t deny that the thought of living pet-free offers some measure of peace.

I bet many of you who’ve cared for older or sick animals know what I mean. It’s not simply the monetary expense of keeping a pet, though I’ve run up some crazy credit card bills. We’ve dealt with some serious issues over the years. Like rerouting a male cat’s plumbing so he wouldn’t block. If you’ve ever had a kitty with urinary troubles, you know how hard it can be. Look up perineal urethrostomy. We also had a tripod cat with a titanium reinforced front leg courtesy of a neighbor and their love of guns. Add to this the hell of chronic kidney disease with its subcutaneous fluids and food roulette for our older cats.

For me, the emotional toll weighs the heaviest. I love my pets. They are family. They’ve been my friends. I tend to be the main caretaker, so I bear the brunt, and a life without the responsibilities and stress and expenses does sound tempting.

That’s not what the universe had in mind for us.

About a week after losing Bug, it seemed like every cat in the area knew there was an opening at our place. I’d never seen so many cats. I was determined not to feed them. I didn’t want to encourage anyone to stay. Outside cats are hard on my nerves and a scourge to the bird population. I definitely didn’t want to deal with the stress of never knowing if a fuzzball would come for dinner again. Growing up, I had more than a handful of cats who simply vanished. It’s always heartbreaking. I wasn’t sure I could take it again.

And then this little tabby cat kept showing up. Even after the others had gone their merry way.

She didn’t let me get close, and it took a few weeks to even know she is a she. I’d talk to her, and she’d watch me from a distance.

Then one day, I caved.

I had some leftover cans of catfood in the pantry. I figured they needed to be used up.

Who was I kidding? I bet you’re laughing.

I knew if I fed her, she’d keep coming back. I justified my actions by insisting she was rodent patrol. Mice and rats are a big problem for us.

I gave her a name.

Kit Kat.

Didn’t take her long to come when I called.

Then, one day, she brought a friend.

This little guy was very thin when he first appeared. He’s mostly fur in this photo. He was malnourished and had a cough. I wondered if he’d live.

For reasons unknown to me, I called him Sugar. Maybe I was working on a candy theme? The name didn’t feel right. I figured I’d find the one that fit, if he hung around. And he did.

I named him George.

These days, George and Kit Kat sleep in an insulated box the Hubster built. I added some towels and heating pads, and the little hut stays quite warm - even on nights when the temps have dipped into the single digits. It’s been a cold winter.

What does Titan think about all of this? He’s mostly zen. Until they run. Then, he likes to chase them. They are not fans of his, but an easy truce has formed.

Do you have animals in your life? What are their names?

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