Like Terry, I consider myself an "old soul." Sometimes I feel that I must have been part of Noah's entourage, especially when it's time for potty-removal detail. On the Ark, self-contained and floating around on high seas, that must have been a 24-7, 365-days-a-year detail.

Having animals was one of the unexpected blessings that came with becoming American. Germany's animal population was strictly limited to use: cows for milk, pigs for meat, chickens for eggs, and rabbits for Sunday dinner. On the farm, that is. In the city, some people had dogs and cats and canaries. War put an end to everything that was not vitally essential for survival. Here in America, even the trash hauler's wife had dogs and cats and birds.

I love animals, and it didn't take long for me to introduce my husband to the pleasures of having animals. Then one day a friend brought us a little black-and-white furry thing called a skunk. It had been orphaned by a careless driver. That was the beginning of foster-parenting orphaned wildlife. I was in heaven. Adding animals to the household was a way of teaching unconditional love and assuming responsibility for the Self as well as the Other. Small mammals and birds arrived by way of caring people who felt inept when it came to wild things. Abandoned cats and dogs came seeking food and shelter. With the kids came turtles and frogs and snakes. God in his wisdom gave me a husband who was a willing collaborator.

Now there are no wild creatures. There is a city ordinance that makes it illegal to have anything other than a cat, a dog or a small bird. I often wonder if all the people who purchase exotic animals from the pet store live outside of the city limits. My children grew up knowing and understanding that as a family, we are always willing to extend a helping hand to those in need, be they man or beast. The children grew up and have children of their own. They raised their children the way they were raised, teaching love and responsibility by loving and caring for those who need assistance, man and beast alike.

There are still lots of animals here. Before my husband passed away, he cared for a tribe of feral cats. It was a venture he shared with his friend across the road, Vernon Stockmann, who fed them first. Alva fed whatever crossed the road to come to our house. The neighbors used to smile to see the parade of alley cats leaving Vernon's place to see what was offered here. We were able to befriend some of the animals sufficiently enough to take them to the vet for the necessary operation. Vernon Stockmann passed away before my husband, and after Alva's death the responsibility was mine.

Abandoned cats that survive and reproduce are known as feral cats. Feral cats are grateful and independent. While they allow me the privilege of petting them and feeding them, they do not allow anyone else to pet them or feed them. They do love Kipper, the collie dog. Frisbee players often smile when they see my entourage on their daily walk through the park : one collie followed by an assortment of cats. All of the cats are named and respond to my call. Some folks bring their dogs to the park without a leash, and it is necessary for the cats to understand signals that tell them that danger is afoot and it is time to scurry out of harm's way. Survival—mine, theirs, ours—is still a primary objective in this household.

When Mother Nature provides a challenge, survival depends on how man and beast can cooperate. Power outage and frozen wasteland was something none of the feral tribe or two-legged friends had ever witnessed. Like everyone else, we lost power and made do. When the temperature went to zero, it was important for man and beast to have food and shelter. That meant the outdoor cats had to be indoors without disturbing the pecking order. That was doable until people who needed shelter occupied the same space. When the power was restored, Kalam's friends who were without also took shelter here. After all, computer games can be played only where power is present. My friend Alexandra came to stay here as well. The primary objective at our house became the integration of all who took shelter, and that included the feral cats.

There are two kinds of feral cats. There are alpha cats, much like alpha people. Greedy, Blue and Simba are alpha cats. They spray, claim territory, and in general forbid access to food. They are the outside cats. Andrew, Wyatt, Midget, Lola and Grey are not Alpha cats. In order to keep them alive, they reside in the studio. Mama Cat and Fluffy have house privileges. Boots is the guardian of my bedroom.

My grandson, Kalam, came to live here with his own entourage of rescued felines known as One (female) and Two (male). We had scarcely managed an amicable semblance of peace integrating One and Two to the household when the ice storm occurred. It wasn't easy teaching young humans (male) to remain motionless while Grey, Lola, Andy and Midget migrated from the Greenhouse through the front of the house, past the unknown person female, and then, of all things, more people and more gadgets with sounds and things before they could reach the safety of the studio.

But today I felt that I had reached my goal. Kalam's friend noticed the cats in ready and heard them calling. He quietly offered to leave the room while the parade was in transit. Of course, he crossed Midget's path and surprised Kipper as well as Alexandra.

I do have sign language and when I pointed my finger, the humans sat quietly and the dog dropped to a Halt Stay position. The little parade looked at me and the can of scrumptious cat food in my hands. Lola was first, followed by Grey. Midge crossed the distance in a split second. Andy refused. Well, three out of four ain't bad, as they say.

I thought about all of that while I listened to the speaker at today's ICON meeting. If he wondered why I smiled, I could have told him. Ten minutes is probably the longest that I sit down uninterrupted in front of my computer. With Kalam's and my both having people taking shelter, I find myself more frequently rising, answering questions: No, the dog doesn't want to go out; yes, that's a feral top cat and he will rip the skin of your hands if you lay a hand on him and he will go out, if necessary through a closed door; and no, Mama Cat is not pregnant, she just happens to be a fat cat.

The speaker at the ICON meeting discussed ERGONOMICS. For some of us, that was a new term. All of us know and understand that new words and new terms are part and parcel of existence in today's complicated world. Simple may be desirable, but simple no longer survives. I listened as the speaker told us how our bones connect and how we need to take our place in front of the computer. I promised myself to check my own setup for a minimum of discomfort and possible damage to my bones.

he streets were ice free all the way home. Most of the trees raised accusing stubs of limbs skyward—silent sentinels warning us of an impending change of climate: Global warming, man-made or not, looms large on the horizon. I thanked Gerry for the ride and the opportunity to get away from the problems existing at the house. In passing, I glanced at hopeful blades of spring—flowers pushing their way through ice. I smiled and thought of the end to ice and snow and power failure. As I opened the door to the house and looked back at the road and the grey sky, I became alarmingly aware of snowflakes. I remembered one of the children's songs : "Here comes Susie Snow White dressed in a snow-white gown…Go away, Susie Snow Flake, my heart and my soul and my mind is ready for Daffodils."