embracing the elements
on vincent and pluto touching grass
The first time I took Vincent outside he screamed. My roommate and I had just moved into our new home in Avondale which was just a stone’s throw away from the public library. The breeze was cool and the temperature was slightly balmy, an ideal spring day. So I impulsively placed Vincent in a harness and brought him outside.
I imagined that this could become a part of our new routine, the girl and her two black cats who loved reading and who liked taking late spring strolls to the library. Moving is often a time to changes something you don’t like about yourself or your routine. In Avondale I was going to become a morning person, and my cats were going to become walking enthusiasts. Naturally, this fantasy shattered the moment he wailed—a cry so guttural and dramatic I thought that maybe I had imagined it.
He jumped out of my arms, flattening his body against the grass in our yard before he army crawled back to the front door. My roommate and I just stared at each other, baffled and laughing about how a cat could deny the great outdoors. He was made for the cool comforts of a home insulated with air conditioning, he was made for window perches—not what lay on the other side. I surrendered the fact that I had adopted not one but two black cats who were gentlemen in literally every sense of the word.
They sit politely with their paws crossed. In the mornings they pull up a chair at the breakfast table and sit patiently, their big chartreuse eyes begging for a bite of egg or cheese to be tossed their way. They have never swatted at me when I had to trim their nails. If we walked side by side in the house they would pause outside of a door and let me pass through first. I often wonder if the shelter forgot to give me their top hats and waistcoats after I signed the adoption papers.
A year later we were moving again, this time to a more permanent home in the Crestwood neighborhood. This home didn’t come with the standard landlord special (read: painted shut windows, questionable basements, or things that weren’t technically broken but also weren’t technically functioning). The windows had new screens and one day we decided to pop them open and let the gentle winds of spring air christen the new house.
Later that afternoon when I rounded the corner of the dining room, there were two long furry black bodies peering over the lip of the window. Their noses expanded and fluttered, sniffing all of the fresh air they’d once been opposed to. At times their ears would flatten and raise, an abundance of curiosity sparked in their tiny brains.
Lucky for them the previous homeowners installed a cat door that led to our screened-in porch. Now after their breakfast they poke their heads against the plastic vinyl that keeps the door closed over night. Now it was Vincent and Pluto who were contemplating a change in their routine, which now includes sweet breezes and warm summer naps. I don’t think they’ll ever be open to a walk in the park, but now they have the opportunity to embrace the elements from a safe distance.
To us now summers are for porch napping and sniffing, it’s for finding a bird in the front yard and following its every move. It’s the time of lavender gin sours and Aperol spritzes—movie nights and Bridgerton binge marathons. It’s for that stray piece of popcorn with the movie theater butter that gets swept away by a colony of ants. We are a household that embraces the elements, even if we don’t get the best experience the first time.
Happy summer dear reader, go forth and explore new places—or better yet—explore the places you have already been. Give it another try and perhaps you might find more joy than you did the first time around.
Also:
Today I attended the reception for The Ada Long Creative Writing Workshop. Check out what these fantastic students wrote over the course of three weeks, printed in their annual literary magazine: The Writer’s Block
Snake season is here! Learn from experts at the Birmingham Zoo and Children’s of Alabama on what to do (@exploreuab)
Did you know that painted lady butterflies can travel up to 4,200 miles in a single month? (National Geographic)