SPRACK - (adj) Sprightly; lively; brisk; alert

The picture was taken just this morning by a good friend in Colorado - out her back door - Colorado is so beautiful. This is just a blip in the sphere of beauty there... (did that make sense?)

Sprack - that was NOT me this morning. This stuff gets tiring... I was on my way to my spots this morning, and my at least 10th day in a row of trying to trap the two kittens, and I thought to myself, I don't want to do this anymore. I am 'burnt out'. I want to be able to stay in bed in the morning. I dont' want to have to set a trap for these kittens, and an hour later they still won't take the bait, and I have to see their little faces as I have to leave them, having to go to work. There are folks who question my need to have to bring cats to the shelter on occasion , where their fate is pretty much sealed. If you were seeing what I see each morning, at least one very sick cat at each spot, some cats with gaping holes in their heads or necks, some with severe eye problems. And the poor red kitty that I picked up last winter literally frozen stiff in the front of the abandoned house I feed at - you watch these cats suffer and tell me its humane to keep them out there. Give me a better alternative, one that you can help me with. Then I will rethink my strategy. But until then, I cannot watch these animals suffer. A friend shared with me the following story, I just thought it appros pos to end the week with this: Just simple, childhood memories... I know I told you about when I was a boy on the farm. We had barn cats. The dominant female was Rosebud. She was a ferocious mouser but so gentle with me. I have photos of me very small pulling her tail—laying on her-draped around my neck. She loved me and I her. She must have thought I was her human. When she would catch a mouse—she would bring it and present the mouse to my Mother for approval. Once she got the “approval”—she picked up the mouse and carried away. When she would have a litter of kittens—she would bring them one by one to the back steps where my Mother and me would be sitting. Outside. She would show off her new born with mother’s pride. And get her ears rubbed. Then she would pick the kitten up by the neck (as they do) and carry back to the birth nest. Then bring up the next one and so on. After a while—we’d wonder if she was bringing up the same kitten for second pass cause there were always so many. So watching this miracle of life—After the third kitten trip—I decided to follow and find the “birth/nest/place”. She would not let anyone else follow her. But on this day—she waited for me. Walked a few yards and stop—check to see if I was still coming. Now remember—I was pretty young. Just old enough to remember this event. I can remember my Mother calling to me from the steps to not go into the back sheds. Anyways—that’s where she went and I followed. Amazing. I can’t remember how many exactly—just knew there were a lot of tiny eyes closed kitties waiting for their mommy. She got in and nursed them and showed each one to me. I still miss that cat. She was special to me. The two Himalayans I had in 1979 were also special. But still not the same as my Rosebud. So that’s my cat story of the day. .