The Calico Cat at the Paia Inn

There are two kinds of cats - the talkative, bendable, must-be-with-you-at-all-times lap cat, and the cold, cigarette smoking, trench coat wearing cats - too cool for you.  My childhood cat Puff was the latter. I loved him more than anything or anyone in the world.

I dealt with his testy meows, his rejections, and finnicky eating habits for his short life of 10 years... and I told you how much I loved him anyway right?  But if I could have another cat, I'd hope to get one like this calico who ran up to greet me when I checked into the Paia Inn in Maui.

She chatted with me as she led me to my room, came right in as I unpacked, walked back out the door with me, and bid me a noisy adieu as we parted ways in the parking lot.

The next morning I went to get coffee on the lanai and found her napping on a chair. True to form, though you can tell she is a little groggy, she immediately snapped awake and said not one but four hellos.

A Visit with Elvis

I read somewhere that Muscovy ducks have a life span of about three to maybe five years. This then leads me to be extra delighted when I visit The Park and find Elvis safe and sound, since I've been visiting him at The Park for about 5 years already. I've written much about Elvis on this blog, but if you haven't read it, CLICK HERE to get your introduction.

I've said his world is small, and, I imagine, relatively simple. I find inspiration in that. He is free to go where he wants, and while there is a big lake, an island or two and several forested areas he could visit, he chooses to stay on or at the edge of the reflection pond at the entrance of The Park.

I get warm fuzzies when I see him, alone or with a rotating group of 1-3 feathered mates that roll with him. He's alive and well after all this time and his black pompadour still looks fabulous (hence the name...). 

This day he was on his own, which delighted me. I always could call him over and he'd eat from my hand, but it's much nicer when it's just us two, and he doesn't have to compete with the others in his gang.


I sit, and he rests on the water, occasionally using a back webbed foot to stabilize his position, and we commune. Sometimes he gets out and stands on the side, eyeing me at first for a couple of bites, then fully trusting. There is nothing better than just being quiet with an animal, being respectful that they have allowed you to be close to them, within their territory.

After awhile, he, or I, decide to go on our way. Until the next time.  And so far, there always has been a next time.

Bye-bye Elvis... for now.