Learning the Curves

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I have to say, after a long eight or so days, the Cats Of Anarchy are back to almost normal. The King Gilbert, the Vigilant and the Trusted, is on the mend, eating well, and, a LOT. Need to get the weight back on him. 11 pounds is the target.   

They enjoyed having Dada Cat around all week. We have made some food adjustments now, and since the King gets several feedings per day, until Dada Cat returns to the Ulcer Factory, the other members of the Royal Court of Purrmeowia have found extra bounty as well, just not as in great of regal quantity. Fat. We all are going to get fat.   

Shout out to my #3, LJ, the Dark Prince. His history, he came here, in 2017, shortly before we went on a war footing, highly abused, and disturbed. He is no longer abused. 🙂 Since the addition of TayToe, he has embraced the role of Brother Muscle. He is playing well with the new energy, the Ginger Princess. He will decide when she is patched in, officially. He has not shown any real ill will, and continues to pull his punches. He COULD really mess her up, but has chosen to embrace her boundless energy.   

On the other hand, he has stood guard over the King, during his challenge. Just today, as the King took a solitary meal, the Dark Prince sat a foot away, watching. The Ginger Princess tried to interfere, and the Dark Prince spanked her off the counter. Know thy role, Padawan. ❤. This is the KING!  

Lest we forget, the Keeper of the Floof, Princess Poof Gracie. She was given a mission, by Princess Tabitha the Kind and the Brave, upon her departure, a year ago. "Watch." Watch, she has, until this morning. An explosion, Poof in full floof, said it was time. She has been patient, and finally blew her cork, to remind the younger female, "My gig, Tot. Don't you ever forget it." No harm done, mainly noise from #4, but we'll call it a Sleeper Cell Attack that was probably needed, from #2.   

Spring looms, we trust. The outdoor interactions will be curious. If Poof Gracie, who warred with LJ for six weeks early on, does as she did then, the first guided tour of our Green Sanctuary will be well guided. By Poof Gracie, Keeper of the Floof. Watching. She is ALWAYS watching.  

We ARE, We REMAIN, ALWAYS... 

#CatsOfAnarchyRosemountOriginals

Balance. It's important, in so many things we do, and experience, no more so than the art of the motorcycle. Without balance, nothing can happen, once the engine is brought to life, and the kickstand goes up. 

That is not to say a little imbalance doesn't have its place, either. It is all in how you define imbalance. Process and repeatability are good things, to be sure, but you don't always need to sit front row center, to enjoy the show.  

So enters into your cat life, new blood, young, fearless, and with this odd sense of life in the imbalance. Living life totally in the imbalance, on four kickstand points. Able to lean into the turns, maybe lose balance when two of those kickstands lose balance, and then just keep on going. Jealous. I can't get away with that, on two wheels.  

Then there is the imbalance of the others, once common to three territories now belong to four, that which was once unshared and sacred ground must be defended to be preserved, as we all correct our balance to the forces of imbalance. Each has their own way.  

One chooses to stand tall, amid the new chaos, another, reverts to quiet seclusion, awaiting for the storm to correct, and still another simply says, "I'm going back to my first days of imbalance, and go back to those days of uncertainty, remember them, as a way to understand the new imbalance."  

In time, the clowder will find new balance, the winter blanket will raise, and cede to kinder weather, and then we all get to head back out, into the warming ether, to find balance, and imbalance, running side by side, in perfect harmony.  

The moral of the story is, just when you think all is for not, the entry of nine and one half pounds of new feline energy can repave a tired road surface, literally overnight, and it's as if we are riding that first mount, once more. All of us. Imbalance leads to balance, once again.

I watched the King of All Purrmeowia, Gilbert the Vigilant, the other day. He was about halfway up what we call, "The Potato Chip Tree" trunk, yapping and being yapped at. He had a squirrel treed. Much discussion between the two, Gilbert surrendered his trunk position, feigned loss of interest, and the gray intruder saw an opening. He took the opening, Gilbert took chase, over to the "Pierced Tree," we call it, and away we go! I think old Gilly got a tail swipe in.

It was good to see, the King pounding turf command, once again. He hasn't been the same since, "That Day." He actually had two of them this year, alone. It was good to see him acquire a third one, this one a positive one. He's back, to his old self, save for still being unable to share the yard with his siblings, but this too, shall pass. I await, "That Day." Until then, the King gets solo access to his domain, whenever possible. It's good for him, it's healing, much like my long day rides.

I had my, one of many, "That Day," the other day. It was a good day. Perfect weather for a ride, headed out early, like always, a bit cool, to start, the warmth came up, the clouds moved in. I saw familiar, unfamiliar, crops coming out nicely, and even some fall colors. Did it all, highways, byways, high speed low speed, long runs, and twisted rolls through the farming hills, all of it. "That Day." This one was probably the last all day ride day, that the weather going forward shall offer, this year. It was a GOOD, "That Day."

"That Day." We all have them, and I also think most have countermeasures in place, for, "That Day." "That Day," is not always a bad thing, it can be, but more often than not, it is more a milestone of yet another life pattern, than a planned event. Things just happen, in your cat life, in your road life, in your professional life, things just happen. Who, of those of us who have gained some scars of age, hasn't done it? It's your birthday. "Oh, THAT Day? Yeah, we just kind of ignore that one."

"That Day." For Gilbert, the loss of his Princess, and shortly thereafter, His Queen. He became, the King. It's a joy to watch him return to his old self, and I recall the "That Day" the others have had. Poof Gracie, "That Day," when she came in, 7 of 7, and it was seamless transition to a new and wonderful existence. "That Day," LJ first set paws in cool grass and vast expanses, to experience a whole new world not known before. I have had my share of, "That Day" inventory as well, most recently, the day I realized the New Order forced upon me was indeed, a very good thing. Now, we all look ahead. There is a fork in the road, we will take it, and we are going to just ride it out, and see what will arise, as the new member(s) of our clowder. It's going to happen, how and when, we don't know, but we will know. "That Day."

"That Day." The machine brings me, as it has all season, mentally cleansed and physically spent, home. The ether said a grand thank you, "That Day," and I gave it back, as well. It was another good year, a great cat owned year, save for our losses, and a great road warrior year. It beats being the road worrier that once defined who we were. Now, we transition slowly, into what lies ahead, as daylight and ambient temperatures wane. We'll all get a few more small tastes, between now and the Winter Shutter, and with that shutter, this year? Sure to be entertaining.

We ARE...We REMAIN...ALWAYS...
Cats of Anarchy Rosemount Originals
For, "That Day."

It has been said, nay, believed by many, that one of the greatest punishments one man can impose, upon another, is isolation. "Solitary confinement." I'm not so sure that is universally true, for all, and it might be, for many. To others, isolation can be a blessing, and an actual healing place. Whether the yowl of a loyal cat, or the rumble of a stout engine, sometimes, just the noises of solitary pleasures, without other human involvement, are treasures to seek, and often.

There is a difference between isolation and confinement, to be sure, as the former still provides relative freedom, and autonomy, while the latter provides obvious physical barriers, both to the pack access, and to the solace of a far away place, a place away from the din of the pack. As the machine attacks the next sweeping corner of fresh asphalt, I find great enjoyment, away from the pack. It really is a dog / cat thing now, this difference between isolation and confinement. The dog is a pack animal, largely socially successful that way, with the pack hierarchy. As long as that hierarchy remains in place, the pack doesn't know they are confined, until, one breaks from the pack. The breakaway may be outcast, or may be followed. They don't know, until it happens.

The cat is not a pack animal, but not without social order, either. It is indeed, optional, for there to be a clowder, or pride. Unlike the dog pack, the cat clowder may have a caste, but will never have the confinement of "order." The cat that chooses to be solitary, for a variety of reasons, will not be hazed by the clowder to follow, join, and abide. The cat chooses to take the road less traveled, away from the rest, and it goes largely unnoticed, by the others. This is why I ride alone now, for the most part, the unnoticed autonomy is intoxicating, and there is no need to "follow" a group think or lead. There is no need to worry about finding "welcome" back in the crowd. They don't even know I'm gone.

About 100 miles into today's ride, it becomes necessary to break from the impromptu traffic crowd, and revert back to those less traveled roads. Not immediately known to me, I had acquired a follower, a pearl of light in my rear view, that never got too close, and never got out of sight, either. I was being paced, at a distance, by an unknown, and I would find later on, the Dog was "chasing" the Cat. Yes, I know a road less traveled or two, Red Wing to Cannon Falls. The Dog finally reaches the Cat, and tepidly approaches.

"Hey man! I never knew about that back way. That's pretty cool! I need to remember that. Thanks!"

Oh, I suppose, I could engage deeper, find out where, and why, the Dog chose to sniff the trail of this wandering Cat, and follow it, but, I'm a cat. I don't care. All I care about is the next, spontaneous, "Oh look, a squirrel," turn down another unknown road.

"You're welcome. I think all the numbered country roads off of 19, do that, but 6 is kind of rough though."

That is where the interaction reached exhaustion, I let the Dog run off in the direction of choice, went the other way, and sweet isolation returns. It's been a year, a tough one to digest, as there have been some losses, and one, most recently, that hit harder than I thought it would. The clowder is nomadic, it runs far and wide, kind of how this Cat rides, but claims no territory of its own. The Information Super Highway provides a virtual riding experience, you go down some roads less traveled, and you meet some wonderful people, along the way. In this case, the loss came before I was able to make the virtual a physical reality, but we became close, in the clowder way. It seems the order of the year, to date, remains, "Gone too soon." Dammit.

I'm going to miss Linda, weird as that might sound, to some, or assumed weird, by the pack, only because, there never was a physical, or "real," connection. There was a bilateral connection. A clowder connection. As the wheel points back to home base, still on the roads less traveled, my thoughts turn to her life partner, and her kits, both human and feline, and I try to understand, where he and his clowder are placed now. Isolated? Confined? A bit of both, or neither, at all? I know they are going to be OK, just not sure why, or how, and how I might provide a road less traveled, to a healing. Maybe following me? I don't really know. I just know, with loss, inside the clowder, all feel it, some more overtly than others, and some may seem unmoved at all. For now. As I have learned, many times, at times of loss, love does lie bleeding, but doesn't always wail, at least, not right away, for some of us. It will, when nobody is watching.

The machine moves back into the safe haven of the Garage, 250+ miles engaged, until next time. It was a good day, riding, it was a good day, of isolation food for the head, and it was a good day, as Linda got to ride along, at long last. I think she kind of enjoyed it, no longer in the painful confinement, of unexpected infirmity. I'm going with that premise, because, I know it's true. I don't much care, as always, what the pack thinks, just like Linda never did.

That first ride of the year. It's calculated, it has specific purpose.

It's a pretty simple concept, to those who know it, and know what it means. Both you and your machine have taken fallow, for a few months, but the day comes. A day of careful preparation and study, with thought given to but two things. Your safety, and your rust. You have both to consider so you check EVERYTHING. Then, the other thing, that is easy to forget, muscle memory. Riding a motorcycle is a sport, and even the switch from flats to riding boots makes you walk "funny," for a while. That's the easy part.

It's a NICE day, vest and sleeves worthy, but you don't. Full leathers, gloves, helmet, just in case the rust blows off in the wrong way, and it did, within a few blocks, a back wheel slip on sand, but you catch it. Let the real ride begin! You had your glitch.

Comfort and confidence, tempered with early season caution, return in about 50 miles. The mechanical sinew is good, as is the synergy, man to machine. The voice rises in my throat, song to my lips. It feels good, and natural. On to the purpose, the real purpose, of the ride. Memorial.

It's been said that those who don't understand the bond with companion animals need to understand something. Most will never get past teenage years, in human numbers, but will return 80 years of loyal pleasure, in that short time. I've surrendered my share of teenaged felines to the Reaper, too many, another one, just the other day, a second in a few month's time. I owe them this Memorial Ride.

These two rode with me, to three different homes, so I visit them all again. No, you can't go home again, things change, but some vestiges remain, deserving of salute, in their honor, a reminder, a sad reminder. There will be others, but there will not be another. I pull into my father's grave, he whose passing made this bond of man to feline even possible, with his passing, 18 years ago, or so. I let him know, his last gift to me, unknowing as it was, to him, was the greatest gift of all. End of but a few eras, now. We soldier on, ALWAYS.

I believe Sir Elton John said it best, as I consider this Funeral For A Friend, on two wheels. No matter who, or how, you engage another mammal, even those with two legs, there is but one possible outcome, no matter how it ends, or why it ends. Loss is loss.

Love lies bleeding in my hands.

I try not to think about it much, but it has been a year of change, for many of us, and one of few positives. The purpose of life among the cat owned, and motorcycle obsessed, as I have said many times, is life on the edge of control, and enjoyment of same, by choice. It gets harder to find escape, more and more, harder still to find choices.

I inventory, then pat my feline charges goodbye, then engage the asphalt and concrete. I do that alone now, for a variety of reasons, none of my own making, but I am beginning to understand it more, with each run. Four legs are good, very good, and few of those with two legs can compete with two wheels, anymore. Two legs bad, for the most part. Changes and positive choices seem mutually exclusive, to most, these days.

I takes a little longer now, to reach the mind clearing road synergy, as I think about the changes, both mine and the fur charges. They probably don't notice it as much as I do, but they pick up on the fact that I'm not quite "right," either. How can I be? How can they be?

You then make changes, in the shadow of realizations. It is quite unlikely that any of the changes not asked for will go away as easily as they were made. What is here for us today may be gone tomorrow, for a long time to come, if ever to return. I don't like to think about where my personal "54-40 or fight" line actually is, but my fear is someone else wants to find out, first. Then we learn together, and it ends well for only one of us.

What do I do in the short term? I change. It was once the road less traveled, but now? The road never traveled, where possible. See what I can see that is new, to me. When I do that, the important, truly important mysteries that are within my ability to solve, are within reach of resolution now. My head clears, the synergy returns, my powers of deductive reasoning are no longer foggy. Clarity.

264 miles later, I figured out how to prosecute the feline diets of my charges, from ages 4 to 18, across five loyal members. I saw a few places that were new to me, some are that way different due to changes since last I rolled by. And I broke in a new pair of riding boots. It was a good day, and I now know, there will be more of them. I know where my 54-40 line is now, and four leggers may cross it without asking. Two leggers, not so much, if at all actually. Changes eventually lend clarity, on the road never traveled, and I've never been more clear.

Hear Ye, Hear Ye, All Cats of Anarchy!

The National Parent, 

#RosemountOriginals, went to church yesterday. (Had a club meeting), Queen Tsarina and King Gilbert presiding.

#WestWiscoOriginals Mama Cat also in attendance, with a vote.

Old Business: 

Made official, the creation of the EGG Badge, (Extra Good Girl), long overdue. EGGs are powerful kittie girls that influence their clowders for 5 or more years. Awarded to current #CAMCRO members, Tsarina, Tabitha, and Poof Gracie. Posthumously awarded to Little Queen, Tookee, and Josie.

EGGs were also awarded to:

IP Miki of #HonoluluOriginals 

Mo'Ki of #CapeCoralOriginals 

Bella "Beans" of #SealBeachOriginals (Posthumously) 

Mandy of #WallaSquaredOriginals (Posthumously) 

New Business: 

Awarding of the VGB (Very Good Boy) badge. In the entire history of the Cats of Anarchy, only two VGB badges were ever awarded. It comes to boy kitties at least 5 years senior, who demonstrate leadership and loyalty, in and outside of a ruling position. HRH Mr. Wesley the Red (1993-2009) was the first, current HRH King Gilbert the Vigilant, the second recipient.

Be it known, on this day, 31 October, 2020, after less than 3 years, HRH, the Dark Prince, Laker Satin Jaxson, through tireless fence patrols, dog defense, and vermin eradication, has been awarded the coveted VGB badge, in excellent standing! It was decided that he has EARNED the right to this award, early, as no other. (One dissenting vote, HRH Princess Poof Gracie, Keeper of the Floof. Yeah, she never got over it...)

Congrats to LJ, the Little Gray Rocket of #CAMCRO!

Ya done GOOD, VERY GOOD, BOY!

Connections seem to be important, they are, but is it the quantity or quality of connection that matters more? Quality, each time.

It's about the Core. Maybe Eric Clapton told that story better than any other:

"Oh, I have a flame; feel it touch my heart.

"And down at my core is the hottest part.

"I can burn without fuel."

Empathy is the most important connection. When under the influence of the cat, and in the orbit of others of like influence, even the loss of a friend of a friend of a friend has impact. Why does it have impact? The same reason that the loss of people of notoriety has such monumental impact on so many. An empathetic connection of a common obsession or influence can reach across many layers of removal, and isolation, to reach the Core.

The road life isn't much different. The scenery goes by, most of the time, at a blur, but you aren't prevented from feeling it, either. A friend of a friend of a friend took that final ride the other day, maybe you knew of them, but not with the immediacy of those near you. Your radar is up. Fellow riders off on the road side, you slow, and feel it. You know, with only a glance, if the stop is social, or the stop is one of need. Your Core will tell you, if you listen to it, if you feel it. You feel that, much as you feel that thrice removed loss of a friend of a friend of a friend's disturbance in the Feline Force.

Either way, we can burn without fuel. That's how we do things in the cat owned world of motorcycle Zen. We burn without fuel because we don't need it. We may seem distant, uninvolved, uncaring, and centered on self. All but three of those things are true, we do center on self, at the Core, in search of not the most proper response, and action, or inaction, because, everything is precarious. To chose a lifestyle of unpredictable constants gives a cause to pause, inside of shared loss, no matter how far removed, and digest it. Connections.

Watching the loss of a feline clowder member? You won't see tears, no signs of obvious grief, just what appears to be an observance of a void and an awareness of something being different now. The grief comes later, much later, in ways not so obvious to the untrained eye, and so it is with the human counterparts. I see your loss, feel it, down to the Core, as I am one of you. You may not even know that I am one of you, but I would be remiss if I didn't grieve with you, later on, but for now, my uncaring look and dry eyes just mean one thing.

I get it, in low quantity and high quality. I get it. I FEEL it.

I've watched companion cats grieve for seven years, over the loss of a clowder member. Never underestimate the power of dedication inside of a life on the edge of control. Your loss is not my loss. Your loss is our loss. Connections? It's about timing more so than time.

I have often said, and, in my mind, have proven the link between being cat owned and motorcycle obsessed. Both require comfort with the edge of control as a given, and both are highly misjudged and misunderstood by those who don't live in those worlds. Cats ain't dogs, bikers ain't people, and neither are a threat to the status quo.

There is one critical difference between these two choices of lifestyle. Yes, if money and brains were no object, I'd have 5 bikes and 20 cats. That being said, just how one gets into that cat owned, bike owning position is entirely different.

Both decisions are...easy. I want a bike, I want a cat. Bike selection is a science. You research, you shop, you decide, you acquire. Cat selection is...not a selection, at all.

Two examples. I arrived at my current mount as expected, whittled the choice down to three stout street machines, rode but one of the three, and the fit was perfect in every way. A possible exception to that rule would be the number of choices elected to make a decision, but it always works out as practical decision.

The cat? It doesn't work that way, at all. I give you the story of Tookee (2000-17). Yes, I was "in the market" for fresh clowder members. Note, I use the term, "members." It's always a possibility that more than one may be part of the calling.

There in a kennel were three cow cats, two boys, and a girl. The girl had retreated in silence to the back of the kennel, the other two, just plain in your face nuts. I embraced one, and gave him a look/see while the other yowled in protest. Then, almost unseen, that shy little girl did what the other boy failed to do. She exited the kennel by jumping to the ground, and turned circles around my leg. "Elsie" made her message clear. Her rap sheet showed over 12 foster homes in her first year, and her message was, "YOU are FOREVER! I KNOW it! Pick me." And so, the cat that gurgled and popped, but did not meow, was at my side for 17 years, Tookee, the first Cat of Anarchy of Y2K.

You select a motorcycle, a cat selects you. If you are not OK with that, then you aren't near insane enough to embrace a life on the edge of control, and unable to enjoy the organized chaos that rewards, on the road, and at home.

10 years.
I think that is the new, generational demarcation line of the Digital Age for us "OK Boomers!" When the age gap reaches 10 or more years, it almost always gives rise to a disconnect. When you are 10 years older, God Google says you made it up, even when you didn't. Memory erasure need not wait for neuron failure to be dismissed as a spinner of fiction.10 years younger seems a tad more forgiving, but in both cases, the disconnect is more about how old you want to be rather than how old you are. Nobody actually acts their ages. Thank God.

We, who are under thumb of the Cat, and under the spell of the Motorcycle? It's a whole different Zen. We live on the edge of control, in so many ways, both at home, and on the road. Age doesn't mean a whole lot, but experience does. Some of the most long of age have the short share of experience, as is the converse. Young learn from old, old learn from young, as it is with the feline condition.

Calico, Tabby, Siamese? Harley, Beemer, Honda? Cat Bikers don't get caught up in all that nonsense. You look that 17 year old Calico girl in the eye, with just a crackle of age in her iris, and then you look at that 3 year old Little Boy Blue with unmanaged exuberance behind his intense yellow eyes.

The door opens to the back yard, a treasure trove of vermin based livestock to be targeted. Blue Boy dashes out in search of a kill while Miss Calico slowly saunters into her domain, confident that, in time, WE will get them ALL, but, "Let's see what you got, Little Blue Boy. I'm an old hand it this, but you may have something new, to me." 

Looking over the LJ year in review, and I noticed something that needs some explaining.
I said often in his opening days at #CAMCRO, "if he is in good health." I need to explain that a bit.
Many years back, I took in a little black cat at 6 weeks old and named him Wingnut. Ears. He had these way over sized ears. 6 months later, when he got "altered," that lit up a problem inside of him, FIP or FIV, I don't recall anymore, whole different cat, and then he was gone. The problem then was he had bitten two of the clowder, thankfully, before his disease came out from dormant, so it was a no harm, no foul result for the rest.

LJ came in as the great unknown last year, with a good story, and if I can say anything conclusive about the electronic age, it has made much better liars out of many people. I was terrified that I had brought in a problem that would have taken the whole clowder down.
It's gone quite the other way. He is really good for us, all of us, in his own mayhem way. If he had come with a serious problem, such as Wingnut had, with no resolution, I was prepared to do the right thing, and not let him suffer further.

It didn't go that way. He had some head trouble as he was NOT well cared for...before...in the cat head. It took a while, and if you've followed along with his, shall I call it, growth? We are all over this. WINNING!

Well, there's cat people, there's bikers, and there are bikers that are cat people. LJ and the others hit the jackpot, being part of this thing we call #CAMCRO.
We ARE...we REMAIN...ALWAYS...
#CatsOfAnarchyRosemountOriginals 

I love fall rides. The gusty winds add just another variable to the art of counter steering, another rush, that makes the familiar paths all new. There is just enough nip in the air to where the leather feels good all day, and gloves, and not gauntlets are enough to keep the hands nimble and ready.

I prefer the byways to the freeways, at this time of year. Much to digest as crops come out, and trees surrender their military green to a variety of colors at the red end of the spectrum. I enter the little towns along the way, and go from observer to observed. They know what I am, but not who I am. They don't know my story, and never will. I just tell them the truth; I go where the whim and wheel point me.
I respect the low speed limits of the little towns that dot the landscape, until I get out the other end. Then, double nickels is the rule, but once back on the open road, a mere suggestion. I let my mount decide the pace it wants, today. With the wind, against the wind, I really don't care. It's just a complete sensory experience I know I can't live without. I love fall rides... 

I learned some things last weekend, some affirming, some unpleasant, and some that made things right, at least in my head.

I once had a, let's call it a vision, of maybe, one day, having that Wyatt Earp moment, after the OK Corral, where we get our reckoning with the Cowboys. I have decided to let that go.

Bad will always be bad, good will always be ambivalent, in the face of bad. There are no scales, there is no balance, there is only now, and what is in front of you.

In biker vernacular, I'll keep an eye in the rear view, the near rear view, but what's past is now past. I still will come to the fork in the road, and take it, with little thought given about which fork, and just feel it.

As always, 100 miles of bad road teaches you things. The older I get, the more I can sniff out the bad fork without having to think about it much. The sinew of my youth is not what it was, but the experience of my oldth carries far more power. Exponentially more.

Everything is precarious. Care for those that truly care for you. Eat the cake. Drink the beer. Hug your fur kids. Ride in the rain, but not the storm. Be asphalt aggressive, and gravel cautious. And when your fur kids say, "Oh look! Our bad ass biker dad is journaling again," hold them close. Tomorrow is not a given, and yesterday, it rained. Or not. Either way, you can't change what was, nor what will be.

The Eights and Aces will come one day. There is no denying that, but until that day? Life is a Royal Flush in Hearts. Place your bets accordingly.

We ARE...We REMAIN...ALWAYS...

#CatsOfAnarchyRosemountOriginals

#ThereIsNoReckoning

#NoOneDareStandInOurWay

#PayItForward

#RideOn

There's a different feeling of loss when you practice the art of the motorcycle in a seasonal climate. Spring is the tease, summer, the coitus, fall, the afterglow, and winter is the bitch. Maybe fall is also a tease, as the season ending beauty bursts around you with only a select few days good for a run. Either way, those cold and rainy fall days, just on the cusp of autumnal brilliance, they belong to you and your mount, but they don't. It is then you realize, the command is not truly yours. You have responsibilities, and you hate them. They are in the way.

You then ask, "Is this it?" Have you only the memories of what was to get you through the bitch to what will be? We hope not, so we grab a furry friend, hold them close, and look out the windows. They want turf command, with all the joys and excitement that only stout grass and and sunny days in a secure compound can bring. You? Crave that one last taste, the sinew of horsepower, tackling asphalt and cement, solely at your whim, of where, and when. Then, there is the quandary, how are the two 

balanced? How? How do you give them what they need at the same time for you to get what you need, yet the answer is simple. A partner, one who understands the needs of both feline and human needs, as the skies turn gloomy, for far, far too long. We count on that partner to make it work, for all of us. That one who understands, and willingly allows us to have it all, at their expense. If only we could truly put that wrinkle in time, and put many good days inside of just one, for feline, biker, and partner.

These are the challenges of the Cats Of Anarchy, and this is why We ARE, and We REMAIN, ALWAYS. We make things right, we find new ways to pay things forward. At this time of year, we look to Karma, and a trusted few, to give us that last vestige of seasonal freedom. Because, we ALL need it. 

Synergy.
Defined as spending the the day, saddle to saddle, with a best friend of four decades, machines in tune, perfect weather, and mixing with a lot of good people, most you'll never see again, sharing the Freedom of the Road. Bikers have no color, no gender, no age, no limits, and but one preference: A calling and common purpose in pleasure and mutual support.
In other words, Saturday. 

 LJ Update. the Little Gray Rocket
Yesterday, we took refuge from the heat and did mundane tasks inside, caught up on some DVR stuff, etc. At one point, the LGR came up and did something he never had done before. He gave me belly biscuits. He followed that up with a couple of Queenie kisses. What's going here? Who is this cat, and what have you done with LJ?

The last few weeks have actually seen a calming, of sorts, in his always on demeanor. I wasn't sure why as there are several factors that could be causing this. I was almost concerned, but when he did the Queenie kiss thing, the light bulb went off. He is...MANY cats.

I haven't had a Queenie kiss since the 90s. 1st Cat, Best cat, Little Queen, would paw up on my shoulders, and push her nose under mine. Never another cat did this until LJ, and he did it to perfection. Belly biscuits were as Kilo did them, and, like Kilo, the bedroom guard kitteh.
LJ/Satin/Mr. Big is like no cat I have ever been blessed to be owned by. He is a channel cat. I can, to date, see him channel Kilo, Queenie, Wingnut, TJ, and Josie, with no rhyme or reason, but those five are definitely "in" the LGR, at any given time. More to come?

Of interest, Mr. Wesley has not allowed a connection in this manner. I believe that old Wes doesn't think it is quite time for this little Padawan to be allowed the secrets of the Very Good Boy Priesthood this early on. Like Gilbert did, LJ needs to earn those chops, and they do not come with ease. He has his #CAMCRO patch, but the VGB badge is a ways off.

I think many people would have labeled this cat a "bad" cat, for all his quirks, but that's why he is here. As with all us other bad asses here, we just need time to be understood, and not everyone is up to the task. Six patched members here at #CAMCRO, one hooman, five feline, stand as band of the once unwanted by most, and now a force to be reckoned with.
We ARE, we REMAIN, ALWAYS...
#CatsOfAnarchyRosemountOriginals 

Over the last week, I know personally of two events with pet people such that their precious fur critters fell suddenly, and critically ill. Both critters have survived the event.
I have a theory.

Yes, some of us had, and are still having, a long and tough winter. I've seen for myself the results of that winter in the form of little rodents taking up residence in some odd places. My theory is that in response to these little squatters, some folks are getting out of hand with the rat poison. As is with your thermostat, when you want it to get to 68, turning it up to 90 doesn't get it there any faster.
If you have a problem with small vermin, DON'T poison them. Snap trap, live trap and feed a reptile friend, hammer, small explosives, low caliber firearms, anything but the poison.

Above all else, WATCH your fur kids, even if leashed or confined to the compound as mine are at #CAMCRO. The #CAMCRO Gang practices "catch and release," except for Gilbert. He never got over that incident with the bloodied nose via vole a few years back. His Phaser is set on kill, in that regard, but the Dada Cat goes full on Nancy Reagan and says, "Just say NO to al fresco snacking," Berto.
This PSA is brought to you by the Cats Of Anarchy Motorcycle Club Rosemount Originals. Tell a friend.