It's with a disappointed heart that I share the following: this blog is going on hiatus until further notice.
I've been writing. I have. It's not that I have neglected my art. Most of what I have been writing has wound up in the mouths of my teenage actors. I've been writing new plays for them every 6 to 8 weeks or so, and I also feel that the time has come for me to resurrect some of my older skits and plays and give them new life.
In addition, I feel that God is calling me to do a new thing in my life, something that will require me to stretch my faith, embrace my gifts, and trust him in an area of my life that I've always considered a hobby, rather than a professions. I am not ready to share this new goal just yet, but it will - God willing - involve me reaching out to others like myself to cultivate the link between the dramatic arts and the church.
I want to thank those of you who have read, commented, encouraged and supported me from my first social media posts (yep - myspace) until now. You have helped carry me through times when I doubted my talent, doubted that I had anything worthwhile to say. After many years, I believe I am finding my voice, and I know what I want to share.
I still have novels and skits and poems in my head that may never come out, but it's time I sat down at the computer and let them have a real fighting chance to do just that.
I'm not ready to seal up this chapter of my life just yet, so I'm keeping my "good-bye" open-ended. It's entirely possible that my path will bring me back here with a lot more to say. But, for now, I need to step back and give my increasingly limited free time to the words that have been locked in my head for too long.
May God's love sustain you, may you never run out of coffee, and may every cat you encounter remind you of me.
Signing off for now,
Rebecca L. Godlove
Showing posts with label cat. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cat. Show all posts
Sunday, April 17, 2016
Sunday, June 28, 2015
Understanding Your Introverted Female Writer Friend
We're the ones that you can't fully comprehend. Why in the name of all things holy would we decline a Saturday night party in favor of sitting at home with microwave popcorn and Netflix?
Because people exhaust us, generally. And because we prefer the ones living inside our own heads.
We are the ones driving to and from work, or school, or the grocery store, listening to the radio and applying the songs to scenes in the movie-versions of our manuscripts.
We work out and choreograph fight scenes in our mind.
We have the capacity to be incredibly kind and conversational to the cashier at Target but only for like four minutes and then we want to be done with people.
We remember you as you were when you inspired us to create a character based on you. Not how you are today. Which may be very, very different.
We think about writing fanfic, or we have written fanfic, and we wonder if it damages our ability to be taken seriously as writers.
We see ads in fashion magazines and create entire backstories for the people featured in the images.
We play dress-up in the mirror, carefully applying lipstick we may never wear in public, to get into our characters' heads.
We sometimes loathe selfies but we hope that ours - the ones we do take - make us look both pretty and pensive. Smart is sexy.
We're in multiple fandoms and we do not take issue with people who like both "Star Trek" and "Star Wars" but for God's sake, people, don't confuse one with the other.
When we are not actively working on a story, we are dreaming up situations for our characters, playing with their histories and their futures. We are listening to playlists we have created for them, trying to get to know them well enough to do them justice in print.
We like coffee. And cats.
If you give us coffee and cats, we might put you in a book.
As a nice person. Like, the hero.
...or maybe this is all just me.
Because people exhaust us, generally. And because we prefer the ones living inside our own heads.
We are the ones driving to and from work, or school, or the grocery store, listening to the radio and applying the songs to scenes in the movie-versions of our manuscripts.
We work out and choreograph fight scenes in our mind.
We have the capacity to be incredibly kind and conversational to the cashier at Target but only for like four minutes and then we want to be done with people.
We remember you as you were when you inspired us to create a character based on you. Not how you are today. Which may be very, very different.
We think about writing fanfic, or we have written fanfic, and we wonder if it damages our ability to be taken seriously as writers.
We see ads in fashion magazines and create entire backstories for the people featured in the images.
We play dress-up in the mirror, carefully applying lipstick we may never wear in public, to get into our characters' heads.
We sometimes loathe selfies but we hope that ours - the ones we do take - make us look both pretty and pensive. Smart is sexy.
We're in multiple fandoms and we do not take issue with people who like both "Star Trek" and "Star Wars" but for God's sake, people, don't confuse one with the other.
When we are not actively working on a story, we are dreaming up situations for our characters, playing with their histories and their futures. We are listening to playlists we have created for them, trying to get to know them well enough to do them justice in print.
We like coffee. And cats.
If you give us coffee and cats, we might put you in a book.
As a nice person. Like, the hero.
...or maybe this is all just me.
The Bleeding Basement (and Other Homeowner Woes)
Surely I am not being too arrogant in assuming that at least some of my faithful readers have wondered where I've been these past six weeks? Surely someone missed me?
Well, we moved. It all happened rather fast, for something so big and dramatic and life-changing. We weren't really looking for a house, but my husband was getting regular e-mail updates on local homes from his former boss, and now real-estate agent, Jan. He wasn't reviewing them to move, per se, but was looking to purchase a possible rental property. I wasn't keen on the financial risk, especially since we have a baby now, but he kept looking.
Lo and behold, a small house became available - on the same street as my parents. Now, before we had the baby, I would never have imagined living so close to my folks. Even though they are wonderful and I truly consider them among my favorite people in the world, I thought it was important to establish myself away from them. I still do. But a baby is a lot to handle, even a happy and relatively easy baby like Ronen.
Long story short, it ended up being the perfect place for us. Most everything is on one story, which is great because all of our parents are nearing that "limited mobility" phase in life, plus I don't want to trip down the stairs with my son ever again. We call our new place the Hobbit House. It was clearly built for short people (I can easily reach all the kitchen cabinets). We love it.
Except...
Well, unless we started from scratch on a brand new home, there are always exceptions, right?
The perks of the new place are many: recently redone hardwood floors, a galley kitchen (divine compared to my old "two-room" kitchen), two large and one small bedroom (which we turned into the TV room and are decorating with sci-fi posters and art), a slightly sloped yard, pleasant neighbors (kinda), and a huuuuuuge attic for storage. The cats have already laid claim to their new spots - Loki sleeps upstairs, on the window ledge or atop the railing. Freyja prefers the windows in the baby's room (the only grip I've got is that she leaves fur all over his changing pad!), and Thor likes to sprawl in the middle of the hallway between the rooms. Which means I've already tripped on him 8,239 times since moving. The basement is divided into several smaller rooms, one of which Ross has already claimed as his Man Cave, and another will be my writing nook (once we clear it of unpacked boxes).
Oh, yeah...
The basement.
While it was absolutely a selling point for us, it's also let us in on some unexpected surprises.
Like the blood on the floor.
Well, it wasn't really blood, my hypersensitive olfactory powers determined.
It was balsamic vinegar.
And it was seeping up through the paint on the cellar floor.
If you go downstairs during a heavy thunderstorm, you will see "blood" drops glistening on the floor.
It's terrifying. And, yes, I had a "Telltale Heart" moment when I first saw it, oozing out from beneath Ross's gaming television.
Apparently, the elderly Italian man who had lived here was a homemade wine aficionado. And apparently, he got rather clumsy when he imbibed. So he spilled some. We aren't exactly sure how that all worked out, but we guess that it stained the floor, dried up but was never cleaned, was painted over (with the wrong kind of paint), and now gets "rehydrated" during rainy days.
So, yeah, maybe it's more Poe-esque than that, and maybe there's a horrible story associated with it. I don't want to think about that, though. Right now, we're just trying to figure out a way to dry out the cellar while keeping the litter-box smell from wafting up through the rest of the house. The cats have their own "bathroom" downstairs, too, with a small window for ventilation and a door I prefer to keep mostly closed.
Oh, and there's a bidet.
Did I mention the bidet?
I find Thor curled up around it, asleep, sometimes. People, there's not a lot funnier than a cat wrapped around a bidet.
Unless it's a cat in a bidet.
(We're getting rid of the bidet.)
Well, we moved. It all happened rather fast, for something so big and dramatic and life-changing. We weren't really looking for a house, but my husband was getting regular e-mail updates on local homes from his former boss, and now real-estate agent, Jan. He wasn't reviewing them to move, per se, but was looking to purchase a possible rental property. I wasn't keen on the financial risk, especially since we have a baby now, but he kept looking.
Lo and behold, a small house became available - on the same street as my parents. Now, before we had the baby, I would never have imagined living so close to my folks. Even though they are wonderful and I truly consider them among my favorite people in the world, I thought it was important to establish myself away from them. I still do. But a baby is a lot to handle, even a happy and relatively easy baby like Ronen.
Long story short, it ended up being the perfect place for us. Most everything is on one story, which is great because all of our parents are nearing that "limited mobility" phase in life, plus I don't want to trip down the stairs with my son ever again. We call our new place the Hobbit House. It was clearly built for short people (I can easily reach all the kitchen cabinets). We love it.
Except...
Well, unless we started from scratch on a brand new home, there are always exceptions, right?
The perks of the new place are many: recently redone hardwood floors, a galley kitchen (divine compared to my old "two-room" kitchen), two large and one small bedroom (which we turned into the TV room and are decorating with sci-fi posters and art), a slightly sloped yard, pleasant neighbors (kinda), and a huuuuuuge attic for storage. The cats have already laid claim to their new spots - Loki sleeps upstairs, on the window ledge or atop the railing. Freyja prefers the windows in the baby's room (the only grip I've got is that she leaves fur all over his changing pad!), and Thor likes to sprawl in the middle of the hallway between the rooms. Which means I've already tripped on him 8,239 times since moving. The basement is divided into several smaller rooms, one of which Ross has already claimed as his Man Cave, and another will be my writing nook (once we clear it of unpacked boxes).
Oh, yeah...
The basement.
While it was absolutely a selling point for us, it's also let us in on some unexpected surprises.
Like the blood on the floor.
Well, it wasn't really blood, my hypersensitive olfactory powers determined.
It was balsamic vinegar.
And it was seeping up through the paint on the cellar floor.
If you go downstairs during a heavy thunderstorm, you will see "blood" drops glistening on the floor.
It's terrifying. And, yes, I had a "Telltale Heart" moment when I first saw it, oozing out from beneath Ross's gaming television.
Apparently, the elderly Italian man who had lived here was a homemade wine aficionado. And apparently, he got rather clumsy when he imbibed. So he spilled some. We aren't exactly sure how that all worked out, but we guess that it stained the floor, dried up but was never cleaned, was painted over (with the wrong kind of paint), and now gets "rehydrated" during rainy days.
So, yeah, maybe it's more Poe-esque than that, and maybe there's a horrible story associated with it. I don't want to think about that, though. Right now, we're just trying to figure out a way to dry out the cellar while keeping the litter-box smell from wafting up through the rest of the house. The cats have their own "bathroom" downstairs, too, with a small window for ventilation and a door I prefer to keep mostly closed.
Oh, and there's a bidet.
Did I mention the bidet?
I find Thor curled up around it, asleep, sometimes. People, there's not a lot funnier than a cat wrapped around a bidet.
Unless it's a cat in a bidet.
(We're getting rid of the bidet.)
Monday, March 23, 2015
Which One of My Cats Are You?
Hey, Buzzfeed is all over this kind of thing. So, I figured I'd give it a go.
1. Your significant other has returned home from a long day. What is the first thing you do?
(a) Check his or her bag. Any presents for you?
(b) Fall over yourself with excitement.
(c) Warmly greet him or her, then push for some snuggle time.
2. How do you react to something unexpected and new?
(a) I check it out, but I'm likely to reject it.
(b) I'm curious. I am willing to learn more, but I'm nervous, too.
(c) New things are great! Things will work out fine, I'm sure.
3. What are you most likely to watch?
(a) Something dark and brooding, like Criminal Minds.
(b) Something bright and happy, like My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.
(c) Something charming and romantic, like Pride and Prejudice.
4. Someone invades your personal space. What do you do?
(a) I make it VERY clear that intimacy is on MY terms. Period.
(b) Depends. Sometimes it's ok and other times I'm like OMG LEAVE ME ALONE.
(c) I welcome it. I love feeling close to others.
5. What kinds of foods do you like?
(a) Anything. Especially if it's bad for me. Doritos, pizza, wings - yeah!
(b) I'm crazy picky. It's almost embarrassing how picky I am.
(c) I'm up for most things. I'm also good at putting meals together for myself.
6. Naptime! What's your deal?
(a) Somewhere private, cozy, and comfy. You're not likely to find me for hours.
(b) I can fall asleep anywhere. You'll find me somewhere unusual.
(c) I'm always in the same spot, out in the open. I'm not ashamed. Nappers unite!
7. Who's your bestie?
(a) Someone I can connect with. Someone who understands my needs completely.
(b) Someone who is fun and playful and not afraid to be silly!
(c) Someone I can nurture and protect. I'm kind of parental that way.
8. Which is closest to the childhood you experienced?
(a) I felt abandoned.
(b) Nothing but love!
(c) I was a loner.
9. Let's talk hygiene. What's your deal?
(a) I am FASTIDIOUSLY clean. To a fault. Borderline OCD, even.
(b) I like things the way I like them. That's about it.
(c) I'm kind of a slob.
10. Be honest. How do you get along with others?
(a) I don't like people.
(b) I guess I'm kind of an ambivert. Mostly people are okay but I need my space.
(c) No matter what race, age, sex, religion or ethnicity you are, I LOVE YOU.
Tally up your score!
If you got mostly A's, you're Thor. Basically, you're pretty much a jerk. You're that stereotypical cat that makes people dislike cats. You're alternately needy and dismissive, and you're not particularly social. You're extremely picky about who you like. You're kind of like the introvert of people's nightmares. If you have to spend too much time with people, you turn into a bit of a bully. Seriously - only a mother could love you.
If you got mostly B's, you're Loki. You are one heck of an odd bird. You have pretty terrifying mood swings, and they definitely keep people on their toes - even though, most of the time, you're just friendly and curious. You're a typical middle child, sometimes bullied, while other times you're the bully. You're playful and creative, though, and because of this, you're likely to turn anything into a game. You have a persistent personality and never take "no" for an answer. You also like to hang out in the bathroom. While someone uses it. Creep.
If you got mostly C's, you're Freyja. You're unusually nurturing and patient - for a cat. Seriously. You are, like, a saint. You're extremely friendly, gentle, generous, and loving. You're more of a loyal German Shepherd than you are a cat, actually. You're not judgmental in the least and you love spending time with others. You don't always stand up for yourself, though, which might be your ONLY flaw. Other than your tendency to vomit on the buffet table, that is.
1. Your significant other has returned home from a long day. What is the first thing you do?
(a) Check his or her bag. Any presents for you?
(b) Fall over yourself with excitement.
(c) Warmly greet him or her, then push for some snuggle time.
2. How do you react to something unexpected and new?
(a) I check it out, but I'm likely to reject it.
(b) I'm curious. I am willing to learn more, but I'm nervous, too.
(c) New things are great! Things will work out fine, I'm sure.
3. What are you most likely to watch?
(a) Something dark and brooding, like Criminal Minds.
(b) Something bright and happy, like My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.
(c) Something charming and romantic, like Pride and Prejudice.
4. Someone invades your personal space. What do you do?
(a) I make it VERY clear that intimacy is on MY terms. Period.
(b) Depends. Sometimes it's ok and other times I'm like OMG LEAVE ME ALONE.
(c) I welcome it. I love feeling close to others.
5. What kinds of foods do you like?
(a) Anything. Especially if it's bad for me. Doritos, pizza, wings - yeah!
(b) I'm crazy picky. It's almost embarrassing how picky I am.
(c) I'm up for most things. I'm also good at putting meals together for myself.
6. Naptime! What's your deal?
(a) Somewhere private, cozy, and comfy. You're not likely to find me for hours.
(b) I can fall asleep anywhere. You'll find me somewhere unusual.
(c) I'm always in the same spot, out in the open. I'm not ashamed. Nappers unite!
7. Who's your bestie?
(a) Someone I can connect with. Someone who understands my needs completely.
(b) Someone who is fun and playful and not afraid to be silly!
(c) Someone I can nurture and protect. I'm kind of parental that way.
8. Which is closest to the childhood you experienced?
(a) I felt abandoned.
(b) Nothing but love!
(c) I was a loner.
9. Let's talk hygiene. What's your deal?
(a) I am FASTIDIOUSLY clean. To a fault. Borderline OCD, even.
(b) I like things the way I like them. That's about it.
(c) I'm kind of a slob.
10. Be honest. How do you get along with others?
(a) I don't like people.
(b) I guess I'm kind of an ambivert. Mostly people are okay but I need my space.
(c) No matter what race, age, sex, religion or ethnicity you are, I LOVE YOU.
Tally up your score!
If you got mostly A's, you're Thor. Basically, you're pretty much a jerk. You're that stereotypical cat that makes people dislike cats. You're alternately needy and dismissive, and you're not particularly social. You're extremely picky about who you like. You're kind of like the introvert of people's nightmares. If you have to spend too much time with people, you turn into a bit of a bully. Seriously - only a mother could love you.If you got mostly B's, you're Loki. You are one heck of an odd bird. You have pretty terrifying mood swings, and they definitely keep people on their toes - even though, most of the time, you're just friendly and curious. You're a typical middle child, sometimes bullied, while other times you're the bully. You're playful and creative, though, and because of this, you're likely to turn anything into a game. You have a persistent personality and never take "no" for an answer. You also like to hang out in the bathroom. While someone uses it. Creep.Saturday, February 1, 2014
Pretty Kitty Roller Derby
So, no, I haven't thrown up during my pregnancy. Awesome! I'm very fortunate!
But our newest kitty-cat has more than compensated for it. In every possible way.
Apparently, Lady Freyja the Gray is not adjusting particularly well to being a housecat. In the beginning, she was kept in her own room, with her own food and litter box. She went in the box and ate all her food, trying to escape the room each time the door was opened. We played with her each day, brought her toys (which she rejected) and pet her soft fur. Sometimes the other two cats would pay her a quick visit, under our supervision. We called her the "Princess in the Tower". Once we got her to the vet, who put her age around Thor's (2 1/2 to 3 years) and seemed surprised that she was in good health for a stray, we began the process of giving her run of the house.
It has not gone well.
Loki seems to resent being the "middle child" and has made that very clear to Freyja. Although Freyja is a larger, older cat, she lets Loki boss her around. Loki has determined that Freyja is "allowed" to live on top of the chest of drawers in our front entryway. She's sometimes "allowed" to sleep on top of the kitchen counters (these are Loki's rules and they do not jive with mine.) She's also "allowed" to sleep on the couch, provided that Ross or I am on the couch, too. If she ventures too far away from the living room or the hallway, Loki tears after her like she's got wheels, fur flying. Per Loki, Freyja is not "allowed" into the basement...which has created some pretty putrid potty problems upstairs. After the fourth pile of fresh poo that was waiting for us after work, we called in the big guns.
I texted my baby sister Jules, who is in grad school to be a vet.
I shared my concern that Freyja was regressing due to anxiety and territorial problems, and both she and her "cat expert" colleague agreed. They suggested temporarily putting a litter box near where she likes to poop. In the kitchen. UGH! That worked for a week or so, until it wasn't cleaned to Freyja's liking. That day, she punished Ross by taking a potty break right in front of the front door.
At our wits' end, we finally tried moving the covered box to right next to the front door, underneath the (unused) writing desk in the entryway. She is definitely using it now, and, at least since it's winter, we're not noticing any particularly unpleasant aromas from it.
But she's also been having other tummy troubles.
She horked in Ross's shoes last week.
It wasn't entirely her fault. Since, according to Loki's Law, she is not allowed on the floor, she had to vomit from on top of the drawers. Ross's work shoes happened to be directly underneath.
She's thrown up a few times since then, and I don't think it's what she is eating so much as how fast she is eating. Terrified that Loki will attack her, I've seen her gulp her Friskies faster than Garfield downs a tray of lasagna. Of course, cat physiology isn't entirely different from that of humans, and if they eat too quickly, guess what happens?
I actually caught her puking the other day. It was a pretty gruesome sight. She seems fine otherwise, and she's been cleared of worms by the vet, so the only thing that seems to make sense is that she's been agitated. And I know that it's not Thor doing the terrorizing. Oh, Loki. Sometimes you are so very like your namesake...
I guess all the cats are cooperating in order to prepare me for motherhood.
How sweet of them.
But our newest kitty-cat has more than compensated for it. In every possible way.
Apparently, Lady Freyja the Gray is not adjusting particularly well to being a housecat. In the beginning, she was kept in her own room, with her own food and litter box. She went in the box and ate all her food, trying to escape the room each time the door was opened. We played with her each day, brought her toys (which she rejected) and pet her soft fur. Sometimes the other two cats would pay her a quick visit, under our supervision. We called her the "Princess in the Tower". Once we got her to the vet, who put her age around Thor's (2 1/2 to 3 years) and seemed surprised that she was in good health for a stray, we began the process of giving her run of the house.
It has not gone well.
Loki seems to resent being the "middle child" and has made that very clear to Freyja. Although Freyja is a larger, older cat, she lets Loki boss her around. Loki has determined that Freyja is "allowed" to live on top of the chest of drawers in our front entryway. She's sometimes "allowed" to sleep on top of the kitchen counters (these are Loki's rules and they do not jive with mine.) She's also "allowed" to sleep on the couch, provided that Ross or I am on the couch, too. If she ventures too far away from the living room or the hallway, Loki tears after her like she's got wheels, fur flying. Per Loki, Freyja is not "allowed" into the basement...which has created some pretty putrid potty problems upstairs. After the fourth pile of fresh poo that was waiting for us after work, we called in the big guns.
I texted my baby sister Jules, who is in grad school to be a vet.
I shared my concern that Freyja was regressing due to anxiety and territorial problems, and both she and her "cat expert" colleague agreed. They suggested temporarily putting a litter box near where she likes to poop. In the kitchen. UGH! That worked for a week or so, until it wasn't cleaned to Freyja's liking. That day, she punished Ross by taking a potty break right in front of the front door.
At our wits' end, we finally tried moving the covered box to right next to the front door, underneath the (unused) writing desk in the entryway. She is definitely using it now, and, at least since it's winter, we're not noticing any particularly unpleasant aromas from it.
But she's also been having other tummy troubles.
She horked in Ross's shoes last week.
It wasn't entirely her fault. Since, according to Loki's Law, she is not allowed on the floor, she had to vomit from on top of the drawers. Ross's work shoes happened to be directly underneath.
She's thrown up a few times since then, and I don't think it's what she is eating so much as how fast she is eating. Terrified that Loki will attack her, I've seen her gulp her Friskies faster than Garfield downs a tray of lasagna. Of course, cat physiology isn't entirely different from that of humans, and if they eat too quickly, guess what happens?
I actually caught her puking the other day. It was a pretty gruesome sight. She seems fine otherwise, and she's been cleared of worms by the vet, so the only thing that seems to make sense is that she's been agitated. And I know that it's not Thor doing the terrorizing. Oh, Loki. Sometimes you are so very like your namesake...
I guess all the cats are cooperating in order to prepare me for motherhood.
How sweet of them.
Friday, December 6, 2013
November Is the Awesomest Month
I’ve been thinking a lot lately, far more than writing. Obviously.
I’m thinking of getting together via the interwebs with my old roomie Megs, who is one of the funniest human being on the planet. She has three kids, I have three cats. We both believe in God, but practice our faith differently. Megan is a vegetarian. I’m an everthing-I’m-not-allergic-to-a-tarian (which means I am, in fact, open-minded in regards to vegetarian cuisine. To a degree.) We went to college at Clarion. We’re both pretty cheesed off at the school right now for the retrenchment debacle, which has decimated all three of our fields of study and basically made us look like fools for choosing such “useless” majors. (psychology, theatre and English). Together, we’re kind of like generally-not-angry superhero comediennes. Maybe we’ll start a blog: The Bec and Megs Comedy Minute. It’ll just be flashes of our status updates. Kids and cats are funny on their own. Put them together and you get comedy gold.
I had signed up for this year’s NaNoWriMo and finally
hatched what I thought was a great idea, but some (good) life circumstances
threw me off track in November and I didn’t get more than about 500 words
written. I’m keeping the idea in mind,
though, for a future project. It’s
called “101 Ways to Disappoint Your Mother” and it’s borne, in part, of my
experience losing my mother earlier this year – and no, it’s not quite as
snarky as it sounds. It in an
exploration of (mostly) female relationships: mothers and daughters, sisters,
friends – and how they define women. The story starts with an engagement in
post-WWII Alabama, and moves on from there.
I have a great deal to flesh out before I even share a lot more about
it, so we’ll leave things at that for now.
Let’s just say that it’s in no way a man-bashing book, nor is it a pair
of rose-colored glasses strapped onto a vaguely sappy memoir.
I’m not all about that!
My birthday was on November 15th. Early this year, my step-mom shared with me
that she was convinced it would be my best birthday ever. After my mom passed away in February, and
Ross struggled to find a better job (while I was still unemployed), that seemed
hard to believe. When Ross’s grandmother
died in the summer, it seemed even harder to believe.
But things started to change. Actually – things really began to change once
we completed the Great Race in September.
It was almost as though we’d accomplished both this huge physical and spiritual event. Our bodies were aching but we were so
incredibly proud that we’d done something that we never thought we could
do. I thought a lot about running as
it’s mentioned in the Bible, too. Paul
frequently refers to the Christian life as a race. It’s all about discipline and endurance. (If you’re doing it right, anyway!) Although I didn’t train properly for the
Great Race, I had a wonderful first-time experience as a runner and want to
continue (once my doctor gives me the okay).
Once we hit that milestone, life started looking up.
Our Disney vacation soon followed, and I can hardly begin to
explain how wonderful it was! The
experience definitely deserves its own post, which I’ll work on soon. After that, my husband sent me to the Pat
Benatar concert on my birthday with one of my best friends, Jaime. We were pretty much the youngest people
there, which I can only guess was quite soothing to Jaime’s “recently thirty”
mentality. Can I just tell you why I
have so much respect for Pat Benatar?
First of all, even though her life hasn’t been ideal (she married and
divorced quite young), she’s been married to the same man for nearly 30
years. She has two adult daughters and a
healthy relationship with them both.
She’s talented. She never got into the drugs and alcohol pop star scene. She’s more than a pair of legs and a
voice. I love that she’s always had a
heavy hand in writing her own material.
Her songs are more about female empowerment than about female
superiority, which I personally think is awesome. And she still sounds incredible. Unlike a lot of pop stars today, Pat Benatar
was never really gimmicky.
She sounds great without auto-tuning.
Ross would have gone with me, but he’d already committed to
a men’s weekend (with my blessing) before starting his new job within the
company. He’s still dreaming of his
ideal job, and I hardly blame him, but we’re both pleased that he’s now working
in Career Services, helping graduates find jobs, rather than trying to remind
former and current students that they do, in fact, owe the school money…even if
they didn’t complete their schooling. My
poor hubby probably heard the phrase, “What?
I didn’t sign nothing! I never
signed anything!” a dozen times a week a t least. That can be an incredibly frustrating job,
even for a perpetually sunny guy like Ross.
So things are looking up there, too.
We’ve gotten some other pleasant news lately but we’re not
ready to share those little details just yet.
I’m thinking of getting together via the interwebs with my old roomie Megs, who is one of the funniest human being on the planet. She has three kids, I have three cats. We both believe in God, but practice our faith differently. Megan is a vegetarian. I’m an everthing-I’m-not-allergic-to-a-tarian (which means I am, in fact, open-minded in regards to vegetarian cuisine. To a degree.) We went to college at Clarion. We’re both pretty cheesed off at the school right now for the retrenchment debacle, which has decimated all three of our fields of study and basically made us look like fools for choosing such “useless” majors. (psychology, theatre and English). Together, we’re kind of like generally-not-angry superhero comediennes. Maybe we’ll start a blog: The Bec and Megs Comedy Minute. It’ll just be flashes of our status updates. Kids and cats are funny on their own. Put them together and you get comedy gold.
Right?
We’ve also brought our outdoor stray into our home, too,
which is what officially brought the above housecat total to three. Freyja goes to the vet tomorrow. We’ve kept her in her own room for the past
week, to get the other cats acclimated to her and also to protect them in the
event she’s got fleas or worms (we suspect neither, but you can’t be too
careful. This kitty has been a stray for
at least a year, according to our neighbor, and cats, you know…just pick things
up.) She is a gorgeous girl, very gentle
and sweet-natured, and she’s never once scratched or bit either of us since she
started visiting us in August. Slowly we
worked up to picking her up and cuddling with her, which isn’t her
favorite. But she tolerates it without a
lot of fuss. She has a conversational
and very insistent meow, and she is affectionate and likes the infrequent belly
rub. She learned how to sit on command (yes,
really. Loki does it, too.) She takes treats directly out of my
hand. She has the most beautiful green
eyes lined with white fur and a gray pretty
face; she looks kind of glamorous. She
used the litter box immediately, leading me to believe that maybe she’d once
been a house cat. Who would ever want to
get rid of such a wonderful little girl?
Problem is, we think she might be preggers.
Leave it to us to have pity on the unexpectedly expectant
cat in the neighborhood, right? I guess
we’ll learn tomorrow if Tubbs, the fully-equipped, ugly-faced stray male who
sometimes lurks by our house, is gonna be a daddy. If it’s not him, I’m utterly stumped, since I
haven’t seen a single un-neutered male cat in our area other than him. Not since we found little Thor shivering in
the rain two springs ago.
It’s the Christmas season, but I don’t think the acknowledgement
of the Virgin Birth extends to local felinity.
Thursday, October 3, 2013
Crazy Cat Lady
I do not believe in ghosts. Or that the spirits of the dead can inhabit the bodies of the living. I do, however, believe that spiritual gifts can be passed from one generation to another.
 |
| Freyja's new toy. :-/ |
Now, granted, I don't recall that "talking to animals" is listed among any spiritual gifts in the New Testament. Nevertheless, I'm thinking that, just maybe, upon her passing, my mom's uncanny and often freakish ability to connect with animals may have fallen upon my shoulders.
I mean, I held a chipmunk the other day. That's, like, Disney Princess level animal communication, right?!
I guess maybe it's more of a mutant power than a spiritual gift.
I guess maybe it's more of a mutant power than a spiritual gift.
My mom, to my recollection, was never a social butterfly. She was certainly good with people, especially when she worked in the service industry. But she was never, ever a "let's chat over a cappuccino" kind of girl. Especially in her later years, I think she preferred the company of animals to people. I mean, can you blame her? Scroll through your Facebook feed for thirty seconds if you still wonder a person might like dogs better than humans.
My mom rescued a groundhog who had gotten his head stuck in a jelly jar. My mom taught our adopted mutt to obey commands that she spelled. My mom caught and freed panicked hummingbirds that had gotten trapped in our garage. My mom had four neighborhood pups trained to line up on her porch for treats twice a day. My mom nursed a mostly-dead tomcat back to full-fluffed, glossy and shiny health, despite repeated suggestions that she let the local vet "put that thing out of its misery". I am fairly certain that my mom could have taught a fish to sing or a rabbit to brew her tea. My mom had a gift.
Granted, I fell head-over-heels in love with my sweet Thor long before we lost my mom, and we adopted our snuggly Loki months before she passed away. Yes, I cuddle them, even when I am wearing black (Thor in particular enjoys leaving his soft gray brand of fluff all over the house). Yes, I have long, detailed conversations with them. I also baby-talk to them. I sometimes even let them sleep with me. But. . .
. . .Twoper - now Freyja - didn't stroll back into my life until after my mom was gone. I wouldn't be surprised if she'd asked God to send us just one more kitty to love - one cat to temporarily fill the void left after each of our lost pregnancies. Three fur-babies to love. Freyja will be getting a visit to the vet in the next few weeks, if we can set aside the money, and she'll be moving from Porch Cat to her rightful place as a Cat of Asgard. She is certainly the gentlest cat I've ever met. In the more than six weeks that she has been hanging around my house, not once has she scratched, swatted, or bit at Ross or me - or anyone else. In fact, during our Geek Gala, she positioned herself like a tiny, loaf-shaped sentry in the middle of the porch and saw our guests out with a rumbly meow. I love to cuddle with her and scratch her back.
Last week, when Ross and I were leaving Target, we encountered a man about our age holding an absolutely gorgeous gray and black kitten. "You guys want a cat?" he asked. I must have looked shocked, because he hurriedly continued, "I found her by Chick-Fil-A and I gave her some food and now she won't leave me alone." Sure enough, when he placed her on the ground, she sniffed at Ross, then our truck, and rubbed up against me, but lingered nearby. Of course I wanted her! Ross even had the same look on his face that he did when we impulsivelyadopted Loki. But four cats? With one not even house-trained yet? "I'm sorry," I said sadly, "We just adopted out local stray, or else we'd take her." "That's what happened to us! That's how we got our cat," the guy replied enthusiastically. At least we could tell he was a cat-friendly person. As we reluctantly left, I prayed that the little girl would end up in a home that really needed the unconditional love of a pet.
 |
| Loki is a Jedi. |
That's the thing about cats, people. Yes, they do have a reputation for being aloof, solitary, and, thanks to internet-sensation Tardar Sauce (AKA Grumpy Cat), even arrogant. Some are, I guess. Unlike those cats of world wide web fame, Loki is flat-out sociable. She jumps into the laps of people who are trying to eat at my dinner table. She spent all of last month's party in the middle of the living room, politely perched on a pillow or examining vacant chairs. She plays fetch with her woefully ragged cloth mice (the last gift my mom had picked out for them before she died). She is curious and desperately cuddly (some of the time). Thor, I guess, is more your typical housecat. He is irritated by changes in routine; he's possessive; he's often dismissive. He thinks he's the alpha male, but he doesn't really act like it. But with me, he's a bundle of loving fluff. He curls up on my chest at night, before I go to bed, and demands that I put my phone down to nuzzle his nose. He'll flop on the couch and watch television with me. He lets me flip him on his back and stick my face in his bunny-soft belly fur. He lets me clip his claws with absolutely no protest. He even lets us bathe him
with minimal fuss. And it was Thor who came to me when I learned of my friend Linda's passing, and he sat with me on the bathroom floor until I was done crying.
 |
| Thor is a superhero. |
Freyja will likely have her own set of quirks when she moves in. I can't wait to see how she lets us love her, and how she shows her love in return.
Yes, this formerly skeptical girl has become a full-blown crazy cat lady. Apparently, contrary to popular opinion, being happily married does not prevent this condition. Even my baby sis, dog-mom to the Unreasonably Huge Mutt, Tex, admits that her recently-adopted kitten, Ranger, has wormed his way into her heart and become a part of her family much faster than she expected.
All I can say is "told you so!"
Wednesday, September 4, 2013
Three
Looks like the family might be expanding very soon.
Why, it's another cat, of course!
For those of you who follow me on Instagram or Twitter, or who are friends with me on Facebook, you already know about the latest little four-legged sweetie to enter our lives. But, for those of you who don't, I'll fill you in on the soft, fluffy details...
Three years ago, fairly soon after Ross and I got married and over a year before Thor showed up (literally) on our doorstep, a small, gray and tan female cat stopped by. She visited over the course of a few weeks, staying long enough for a little snack and some kind words. Once, she actually came into the house! We didn't have any cat food for her, so we poured a saucer of milk. Hence, her nickname: Two Percent Milk, or Twoper, for short, was born. A few days after she came into our house, we saw her for the final time, sporting a fancy brand-new pink collar around her neck.
I was crushed. She had an owner? Humph. If I had a cat, I thought, I'd never it roam the neighborhood. I knew a lot of people did that; even my childhood pets were indoor-outdoor cats until they became old, but I never liked it. In fact, one cat ended up dying from eating poisoned garbage and another was hit by a car. No way were my fur-babies going outside unless it was straight into the car for a trip to the vet!
About a year or so later, Thor came into our lives, then we adopted Loki during a Humane Society event. Both have turned out to be pretty amazing animals we can't imagine life without. Thor is moody but a mama's boy and a real cuddle-bug, and Loki, while clumsy, has shown an incredible ability to learn tricks, just like a dog. We're a perfect little family right now - Mommy-Cat, Daddy-Cat, and the two feuding fur-babies.
Imagine my surprise, then, when I saw the unmistakable figure of Twoper on my porch just recently! Of course I fed her and pet her. She's a sociable and very affectionate little girl. She's talkative and purrs loudly. And I noticed that she was not wearing a collar. I didn't think anything at first - sometimes Thor, who does not wear a collar inside the house, slips outside unnoticed for a quick jog around the neighborhood (but he always returns to use the litter box; despite being born and spending his first weeks of life as an outside cat, he categorically refuses to use anything except his litter box for his business). I pet her again, called her a good girl, and went back inside.
The next day she returned.
In fact, in the past two and a half weeks, only one or two days have gone by without her visiting. And it's not a quick stop by to suck down some Fancy Feast before she's on her way, either. She is waiting for me in the morning when I wake up and she sits on a specific corner of the porch while I am at work, running down the steps to greet me when I come home. She has tried to follow me into the house numerous times (once she succeeded!). She lets me pick her up and hold her. (For those of you concerned with diseases and whatnot, I wash my hands after every time I touch her and she has had no contact with my indoor cats; nor will she until the vet clears her for any kind of infection or infestation.) In fact, last Friday, for kicks, I put a collar on her to see if her "real" owners would remove it when she returned home. (Wouldn't you freak out of your previously naked kitty suddenly came home with a swanky new leather collar and a bell? Wouldn't you wonder who was trying to steal your cat-kid?!) Well, it's Wednesday night now, and the collar is still intact.
I'm starting to call her Freyja now. Twoper is certainly a cute nickname with a cute story behind it, but if this sweet little girl is gonna run with my fur-babies, she'll need a name worthy of the other Cats of Asgard.
I've contacted my vet already to see what steps we should take, and also placed an ad on craigslist to see if anyone has reported her missing. I'm trying to do the right thing before adding to my menagerie. I think my parents think I'm nuts for adopting all these cats, but I'm stopping at three. For me, I'm temporarily replacing each of the three biological children I have lost. I'm not giving up on having babies, but right now I have a lot of love to give, and these little friends are a great way to do that! Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if my mom, in Heaven, leaned over to God and said, "They look lonely. How about another cat until it's time for the baby?"
I'm a proud cat-mom, right here, folks. Twelve little paws pattering around the house? I think it will sound beautiful.
(Get back to me around Christmas, though...when I'm lamenting all my broken ornaments...)
Why, it's another cat, of course!
For those of you who follow me on Instagram or Twitter, or who are friends with me on Facebook, you already know about the latest little four-legged sweetie to enter our lives. But, for those of you who don't, I'll fill you in on the soft, fluffy details...
Three years ago, fairly soon after Ross and I got married and over a year before Thor showed up (literally) on our doorstep, a small, gray and tan female cat stopped by. She visited over the course of a few weeks, staying long enough for a little snack and some kind words. Once, she actually came into the house! We didn't have any cat food for her, so we poured a saucer of milk. Hence, her nickname: Two Percent Milk, or Twoper, for short, was born. A few days after she came into our house, we saw her for the final time, sporting a fancy brand-new pink collar around her neck.
I was crushed. She had an owner? Humph. If I had a cat, I thought, I'd never it roam the neighborhood. I knew a lot of people did that; even my childhood pets were indoor-outdoor cats until they became old, but I never liked it. In fact, one cat ended up dying from eating poisoned garbage and another was hit by a car. No way were my fur-babies going outside unless it was straight into the car for a trip to the vet!
About a year or so later, Thor came into our lives, then we adopted Loki during a Humane Society event. Both have turned out to be pretty amazing animals we can't imagine life without. Thor is moody but a mama's boy and a real cuddle-bug, and Loki, while clumsy, has shown an incredible ability to learn tricks, just like a dog. We're a perfect little family right now - Mommy-Cat, Daddy-Cat, and the two feuding fur-babies.
Imagine my surprise, then, when I saw the unmistakable figure of Twoper on my porch just recently! Of course I fed her and pet her. She's a sociable and very affectionate little girl. She's talkative and purrs loudly. And I noticed that she was not wearing a collar. I didn't think anything at first - sometimes Thor, who does not wear a collar inside the house, slips outside unnoticed for a quick jog around the neighborhood (but he always returns to use the litter box; despite being born and spending his first weeks of life as an outside cat, he categorically refuses to use anything except his litter box for his business). I pet her again, called her a good girl, and went back inside.
The next day she returned.
In fact, in the past two and a half weeks, only one or two days have gone by without her visiting. And it's not a quick stop by to suck down some Fancy Feast before she's on her way, either. She is waiting for me in the morning when I wake up and she sits on a specific corner of the porch while I am at work, running down the steps to greet me when I come home. She has tried to follow me into the house numerous times (once she succeeded!). She lets me pick her up and hold her. (For those of you concerned with diseases and whatnot, I wash my hands after every time I touch her and she has had no contact with my indoor cats; nor will she until the vet clears her for any kind of infection or infestation.) In fact, last Friday, for kicks, I put a collar on her to see if her "real" owners would remove it when she returned home. (Wouldn't you freak out of your previously naked kitty suddenly came home with a swanky new leather collar and a bell? Wouldn't you wonder who was trying to steal your cat-kid?!) Well, it's Wednesday night now, and the collar is still intact.
I'm starting to call her Freyja now. Twoper is certainly a cute nickname with a cute story behind it, but if this sweet little girl is gonna run with my fur-babies, she'll need a name worthy of the other Cats of Asgard.
I've contacted my vet already to see what steps we should take, and also placed an ad on craigslist to see if anyone has reported her missing. I'm trying to do the right thing before adding to my menagerie. I think my parents think I'm nuts for adopting all these cats, but I'm stopping at three. For me, I'm temporarily replacing each of the three biological children I have lost. I'm not giving up on having babies, but right now I have a lot of love to give, and these little friends are a great way to do that! Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if my mom, in Heaven, leaned over to God and said, "They look lonely. How about another cat until it's time for the baby?"
I'm a proud cat-mom, right here, folks. Twelve little paws pattering around the house? I think it will sound beautiful.
(Get back to me around Christmas, though...when I'm lamenting all my broken ornaments...)
Sunday, June 2, 2013
Ketch-Up
My step-mom used to be the children's church teacher at Berean Fellowship, and she led the kids in a simple game they called Ketch-Up. She took an empty Heinz ketchup bottle (we're Pittsburghers, so the kids literally rejected the Hunt's bottle I once tried to substitute) and passed it down the line of kids. When a child had the bottle, he or she had a few minutes to share something - whether it was a worry about a test at school, an upcoming vacation, or a Christmas list. The other kids were not permitted to talk when one of them had the bottle. Not that that part of the plan always worked, mind you.
Well, I wanted my first blog after my unexpected hiatus to be deep, significant, and thoroughly thought-out. But ain't nobody got time for dat, so here's my "ketch-up" version. Don't interrupt. Read on.
1. I got a new job. I now work in a pediatricians' office. I'm still adapting to working full-time after 6 months of unemployment (part of the reason I haven't written lately). I generally like it quite a bit. Sometimes my heart aches when newborns come in, but most of the time I enjoy what I do.
2. I'm back on the weight-loss train. After stalling out after my mom's passing, I'm now exercising five times a week (35-45 minutes of brisk walking during my lunch hour, which for me equals around 2 miles). When I told my family I was planning on signing up for the Great Race in September, they smiles politely and said nothing. Which is the response I also got from my husband. Completely understandable, given my history of (a) hating exercise; (b) having trouble completing tasks, and (c) hating exercise. But I'm still going to try. I am starting out with teensy-tiny baby steps so I don't get discouraged. My blood pressure is going up again - inexplicably - and I know this will help.
3. Ross is still actively looking for a better job. He had an interview with Duquesne, which was something that we hardly even imagined would happen. He was one of only three people considered for the position, but he did not get an offer. I had a harder time than him about it, and had several temper tantrums that were directed at God for being "unfair" and "tricking us". Yes, even we "mature Christians" struggle to understand how and why God allows certain things to happen that don't seem to make any sense at all. I've calmed down considerably, but we are still fighting discouragement about his career situation.
4. We're going to Disney! I'm not telling when, because then all my Facebook stalkers (pfft, yeah, 'cause there's hundreds of them) will loot my house while we're away...but we have plans, it's paid for, and I'm crazy excited for my first-ever trip to the Magical-est Place on Earth!
5. Loki now plays catch in addition to playing fetch. If I bought into the theory of reincarnation, I'd say it was 100% evident that kitten was a Golden Retriever in a previous life. WHOSE CAT DOES THAT?
6. I found a pair of red snakeskin-print stilettos at K-Mart for $3.99.
Now, here's where we take a more serious turn. Another huge change that took place recently is that Ross and I made the difficult decision to step down as the youth leaders at Berean Fellowship and North Church. It was a choice that was, unfortunately, a long time coming. Around the time of our third miscarriage, we began to struggle a little with our obligations. It became more of a chore than a joy. Then I lost my job, and even though I had more time to work on youth-related events, it was something I was forcing myself to do. Ross and I repeatedly heard ourselves saying "no, we have church on Saturday" when our friends or family wanted to make plans. (Don't get me wrong, Pastors Mark and Steph are NOT slave-drivers! We could have taken off days here and there when we needed them! But, for our purposes, things were often last-minute and we couldn't really find a pinch-hitter two days before we were due to teach. It wasn't fair to the people we'd be asking for help.) We loved our church (and still do) but were lacking the fellowship of our circle of peers (many of whom we'd met at the now-defunct young adults' group The Bridge). Ross's sister Lindsey was in town twice (we only see her a few times a year, at best) and both times we were unable to see her. Then, his dad had a stroke right before Christmas, the healing from which has been complicated by his Parkinson's. And then, in February, my mother died. (It still sucks royally to even type those words.) And I still wasn't finding work. My unemployment was running out. Things were really ugly.
Dealing with the pressures of so much loss in such a short period, we weren't treating the kids the way we wanted to - heck, we weren't treating ourselves the way we should have been! Ross and I went back and forth debating, discussing, and even arguing about what was best for us, for the kids, and the church. We were concerned that the kids would feel we had abandoned them. We were concerned that we were giving up simply because the job was tough. We were concerned that we were letting down our church - and God. We were concerned that people would fear we were leaving the church (that fear WAS confirmed as several members of the congregation did approach us with concerned whispers, asking if we were heading elsewhere - at least they came to us instead of letting their imaginations run wild; we were grateful for that respect!). We prayed about it and finally brought it up to Pastor Mark - but God had already given him a hint as to what was in our hearts. We received nothing but encouragement and understanding from him, which confirmed that we had made the right choice for this season in our lives. Our goal right now is to focus on our friends and families - to spend time with them. To help Ross's dad with his antiques business. To see our nieces' recitals. To grill ridiculously delicious burgers on my aunt and uncle's patio. To hop from estate sale to estate sale with Deana as she hustles for eBay treasures. To see our friends' new babies. To reconnect with the many relationships God has given us.
We love our church family dearly. We love serving. We love being trusted as leaders, even if we don't carry a title anymore. We love our pastors, who never made us feel like failures - or even that we were giving up at all! We love the kids we taught, and we're still a part of their lives. We love talking with them and staying in touch - even if we're maybe not quite as cool as the incoming leaders, Tim and Victoria. But we're grateful that God's voice is persistent, and he kept telling us what was most important in our lives right now.
We still want children. Desperately. We feel that God is using this season to draw us closer to him and the network of loving friends and family we have in order to make that dream a reality. We have a "plan" in place, but experience has taught us that God loves wrecking our plans because we dream TOO SMALL. His goals for us are so much bigger than we can wrap our minds around...and sometimes we have to take a step back and be willing to wait for his next step to be revealed.
That's where we are right now. Waiting with a purpose.
Yeah, that doesn't make it any easier. But here we are. Go ahead, God. I'm watching for you.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Bird-Brained!
Our century-old house has its share of challenges: poor insulation, faulty wiring, a window in the bathtub (really). It's also got a pretty unappealing backyard. The view from the dining room is one of a steep, homely hill scattered with trees and limp bushes. The back porch isn't much more than a slab of concrete big enough for the grill and a wooden bench.
But my cats love it.
For several hours a day, they perch on the old buffet table I inherited from my grandmother (please...no one tell her about all the scratches they've put on it!), and watch the birds outside. Thor, in particular, is an avid bird-watcher - or maybe he's really an aspiring chef, imagining all the delicious things he can do with the plump, juicy-breasted robins who hop around in the grass.
Since my mom's passing, I've actually become a bid of a bird-watcher myself. I've always been fond of the cardinals who live in the bush beside our house. We named them Tony and Pepper (after the characters in Iron Man, yes; if you haven't already branded me a super-geek by now then by all means, here's your chance). Their single "wheet" note is strangely encouraging to me. I love hearing it because it means they're nearby. They always seem like happy birds, and that makes me happy, too.
Right before Mom died, a trio of blue jays moved in. Now, some people hate them because their squawking isn't exactly soothing. But I think they're brilliantly beautiful and obviously, Thor does, too. I researched and learned that jays might not be the friendliest birds, but they're very intelligent. They can mimic the cry of a hawk in order to intimidate a real hawk that might be snooping around the area! Since hawks are territorial, it's unlikely that a hawk would muscle in on another one's territory. (Although, since I did see a real hawk in our bush the other day, I don't know if Dick, Bruce and Barbara are doing their jobs properly).
Last week, on a whim, I bought a cheap bird-feeder and a huge sack of songbird seed. I hung the feeder on the back porch and was immediately rewarded with a flutter of black-capped chickadees, joyful little house sparrows, and a solitary tufted titmouse. I couldn't believe it, but we've got a red-headed woodpecker, too!
When we were little, my sister was obsessed with birds. She wanted to be an ornithologist for a while, if I recall. Bo. Ring. Still, when I had read all the novels, magazines, pamphlets and cookbooks in the house, I finally cracked open her Guide to North American Birds. It was a pocket-sized bright blue book with full-color illustrations. It wasn't as dull as I'd thought, although Gina had beaten it up pretty badly. The cover was worn nearly in half from her constantly referring to it.
Strange, the things you remember from childhood. I've been able to identify nearly every little winged friend that stops by the feeder, just from reading a book two decades ago.
I haven't named them all, yet. But, if I decide to, it's okay. There's plenty more heroes in the Marvel and DC Universes for me to pick from.
But my cats love it.
For several hours a day, they perch on the old buffet table I inherited from my grandmother (please...no one tell her about all the scratches they've put on it!), and watch the birds outside. Thor, in particular, is an avid bird-watcher - or maybe he's really an aspiring chef, imagining all the delicious things he can do with the plump, juicy-breasted robins who hop around in the grass.
Since my mom's passing, I've actually become a bid of a bird-watcher myself. I've always been fond of the cardinals who live in the bush beside our house. We named them Tony and Pepper (after the characters in Iron Man, yes; if you haven't already branded me a super-geek by now then by all means, here's your chance). Their single "wheet" note is strangely encouraging to me. I love hearing it because it means they're nearby. They always seem like happy birds, and that makes me happy, too.
Right before Mom died, a trio of blue jays moved in. Now, some people hate them because their squawking isn't exactly soothing. But I think they're brilliantly beautiful and obviously, Thor does, too. I researched and learned that jays might not be the friendliest birds, but they're very intelligent. They can mimic the cry of a hawk in order to intimidate a real hawk that might be snooping around the area! Since hawks are territorial, it's unlikely that a hawk would muscle in on another one's territory. (Although, since I did see a real hawk in our bush the other day, I don't know if Dick, Bruce and Barbara are doing their jobs properly).
Last week, on a whim, I bought a cheap bird-feeder and a huge sack of songbird seed. I hung the feeder on the back porch and was immediately rewarded with a flutter of black-capped chickadees, joyful little house sparrows, and a solitary tufted titmouse. I couldn't believe it, but we've got a red-headed woodpecker, too!
Strange, the things you remember from childhood. I've been able to identify nearly every little winged friend that stops by the feeder, just from reading a book two decades ago.
I haven't named them all, yet. But, if I decide to, it's okay. There's plenty more heroes in the Marvel and DC Universes for me to pick from.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
Blog Bit: Stuff My Cats Do (Part Four)
Oh, Loki.
You are probably a very normal cat, but since Thor is not a normal cat and we only have him for comparison, you seem like a very, very strange little lady cat.
I mentioned before that the cats don't typically sleep with us. Maybe once a week. However, apparently, even that brief amount of time spent cuddling under the covers, purring, joyful and content, has spoiled Loki to anything else.
She has gotten into the absolutely horrifying habit of pressing her tiny mouth to our (closed) door in the middle of the night, clawing at the frame and screaming something terrible. For hours, if we let her.
Maybe we should have named her Banshee.
This is all even stranger because, when we adopted her, Loki was a very, very quiet cat. Unlike Thor, who, as a kitten, mewed and chattered to himself ad nauseum, Loki rarely made a peep. She didn't meow, or cry, or hiss. She only purred like a perfectly-tuned little sportscar. As she has grown older, she has incorporated strange sounds into her vocabulary. She squeaks and chirps a lot, chuttering at the birds or when she is woken up. She growls and hisses violently when we trim her claws.
And now, she cries piteously when we go to bed. She howls. She weeps. She shrieks. She has made up for those few months of silence with a torrent of shrill howls that are, of course, designed ultimately to show her affection for us.
Of course.
You are probably a very normal cat, but since Thor is not a normal cat and we only have him for comparison, you seem like a very, very strange little lady cat.
I mentioned before that the cats don't typically sleep with us. Maybe once a week. However, apparently, even that brief amount of time spent cuddling under the covers, purring, joyful and content, has spoiled Loki to anything else.
She has gotten into the absolutely horrifying habit of pressing her tiny mouth to our (closed) door in the middle of the night, clawing at the frame and screaming something terrible. For hours, if we let her.
Maybe we should have named her Banshee.
This is all even stranger because, when we adopted her, Loki was a very, very quiet cat. Unlike Thor, who, as a kitten, mewed and chattered to himself ad nauseum, Loki rarely made a peep. She didn't meow, or cry, or hiss. She only purred like a perfectly-tuned little sportscar. As she has grown older, she has incorporated strange sounds into her vocabulary. She squeaks and chirps a lot, chuttering at the birds or when she is woken up. She growls and hisses violently when we trim her claws.
And now, she cries piteously when we go to bed. She howls. She weeps. She shrieks. She has made up for those few months of silence with a torrent of shrill howls that are, of course, designed ultimately to show her affection for us.
Of course.
Monday, April 30, 2012
Blog Bit: Stuff My Cat Does (Part One)
We've known since the beginning that Thor really wasn't a normal cat.
First, the way he came to us was strange: in late spring, during a raging thunderstorm, and right before a time in our lives when we really needed the unconditional love of a pet.
Second, his name: we gave it to him, granted, but who names a housecat after a heroic and incredibly masculine Norse god of the weather?
Third, his eating habits: I admit, even though I was dead set on never feeding him "people food", I have become the ridiculously over-indulgent squealing pet-owner who slides him nibbles of lunchmeat as I am making Ross a sandwich.
Thor has gotten to the point of exploring our kitchen in a new and fun (for him) way. If anything is in a bag, sealed, on a countertop, he firmly believes that he needs to chew the bag open and sample the contents. This doesn't apply to things that are interesting and crunchy, like potato chips and carrots. No, this applies to carbs. Pizza. Sweet buns. Jewish rye. Challah bread.
Hey, my cat is kosher!
Thor has done this at least five times. He'll nimbly leap upon the counter (when we're not home, of course), and with perfect little razor-sharp white fangs, he nibbles through the cellophane. In the case of a whole loaf of bread, each individual slice becomes a victim. I walked into the house a few weeks ago to find my delicious artisan marble rye bread all over the kitchen floor, with a kitten-sized nibble taken out of each and every piece.
Then, last night, Ross confessed as he was getting into bed, that Thor had taken his art of carb thievery to a new level. That little turd actually got into my purse, which housed a small bag of delicious, homemade chocolate chip cookies. He carefully - and apparently very quietly - gnawed off one end of the bag, selected a cookie, and began to eat it. Ross caught him in the nick of time and rescued the cookie...by eating it himself.
Like "father", like feline, I guess.
First, the way he came to us was strange: in late spring, during a raging thunderstorm, and right before a time in our lives when we really needed the unconditional love of a pet.
Second, his name: we gave it to him, granted, but who names a housecat after a heroic and incredibly masculine Norse god of the weather?
Third, his eating habits: I admit, even though I was dead set on never feeding him "people food", I have become the ridiculously over-indulgent squealing pet-owner who slides him nibbles of lunchmeat as I am making Ross a sandwich.
Thor has gotten to the point of exploring our kitchen in a new and fun (for him) way. If anything is in a bag, sealed, on a countertop, he firmly believes that he needs to chew the bag open and sample the contents. This doesn't apply to things that are interesting and crunchy, like potato chips and carrots. No, this applies to carbs. Pizza. Sweet buns. Jewish rye. Challah bread.
Hey, my cat is kosher!
Thor has done this at least five times. He'll nimbly leap upon the counter (when we're not home, of course), and with perfect little razor-sharp white fangs, he nibbles through the cellophane. In the case of a whole loaf of bread, each individual slice becomes a victim. I walked into the house a few weeks ago to find my delicious artisan marble rye bread all over the kitchen floor, with a kitten-sized nibble taken out of each and every piece.
Then, last night, Ross confessed as he was getting into bed, that Thor had taken his art of carb thievery to a new level. That little turd actually got into my purse, which housed a small bag of delicious, homemade chocolate chip cookies. He carefully - and apparently very quietly - gnawed off one end of the bag, selected a cookie, and began to eat it. Ross caught him in the nick of time and rescued the cookie...by eating it himself.
Like "father", like feline, I guess.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Notes from the Litterbox
Dear Diary,
Today is gonna be AWESOME!!!
It's been great so far. First, when I woke up - before the big bright ball lights up the sky - I went to perform my most important duty of the day. I have to wake up my People!
They don't let me sleep with them in their Big Kitty Bed, even though there is room for me. (But that's okay. Sometimes, when they leave for the day, I test it, just to make sure it is still a good bed for them.) So I wait outside the door every morning and I meow to make sure they don't sleep in. Sometimes, they don't hear me and I worry that they won't wake up in time to feed me, so I meow louder, and I keep meowing. Usually it's the Short Curvy One who gets up first, and I follow her into the White Room. She uses her litter box (which transforms into a water bowl, OMG!) and pets me. If I purr, she hugs me. Which is great, but she squeezes kind of hard. Then the Furless One wakes up and goes downstairs. He looks at my bowls and ignores them. Sometimes he goes into my toilet and scoops out my poo. What could the People possibly want with that stuff? He puts it into little bags, like he is going to save it for later. People are so gross sometimes. After he looks at my bowls, I lick myself several times.
The Furless One doesn't feed me, so I play with his feet. He LOVES it! He picks me up and shoves his face in mine. He keeps making a noise that sounds like "NONOSTOPITNOCUTITOUTNONO!" Actually, the Short Curvy One does, too. That must be how they say they love me! That's so cute! They also try to give me baths a lot, with water from a little blue bottle, when I sit on the tables. Silly People. They don't understand that I clean MYSELF. Several times a day. In fact, I'm doing it right now.
I wait for the Short Curvy One to put food into my bowl. She keeps filling it with this hard crunchy stuff but it is SOOO gross. If I dance around and sing loudly enough, for a long enough time, when she seems pre-occupied with something that isn't me, she will sometimes reward my talents with some soft gooey food from a can. OMG I love that stuff! I could swim in it! I mean, I would if I liked to swim, of course.
Then they hurry to leave me alone and guard then house until they come home. I lick myself a few more times, and watch them leave from the back of the chair - my chair, that is. I heard the Short Curvy One say something about it being my throne. I don't know exactly what a throne is, but it sounds like something very special and I should probably be proud to have one of my own.
I eat a couple more bites of that nasty crunchy stuff, but then I get really bored. I wish that they'd leave that bright box on for me. The one in the food room, that beeps and spins things in circles. That is the coolest thing I've ever seen! The best part is that when the things start to turn inside, they also smell really yummy! I keep hoping it'll pop open and drop a treat for me, but it never does. Maybe I have to dance better and sing louder for it.
Well, there's plenty more to do today, so I made myself a list so I wouldn't forget anything:
8:30 - 8:45 - Lick myself
8:45 - 10:30 - Nap on rug
10:30 - 11:15 - Watch birds
11:15 - 12:00 - Tease neighbor's idiot beagle
12:00 - 1:30 - Lick myself
1:30 - 2:15 - Nap on couch
2:15 - 3:00 - Explore basement
3:00 - 3:05 - Try to eat dry kibble
3:05 - 3:30 - Sniff in trash can for something better to eat
3:30 - 3:45 - Lick myself
3:45 - 4:30 - Nap on bed (remember: leave thank-you present!)
4:30 - 10:15 - Attempt to secure treats from the Short Curvy One
10:15 - 10:30 - Poop in litter box WHILE Furless One is cleaning it
10:30 - ? - Guard the People's bedroom from intruders and/or insects
Wow, so much to do! Well, dear diary, I'd better get started. I'm exhausted just thinking about it! Maybe I'll switch things up and take my nap first, after all.
Love and licks,
Thor "Thundercat" Godlove
Today is gonna be AWESOME!!!
It's been great so far. First, when I woke up - before the big bright ball lights up the sky - I went to perform my most important duty of the day. I have to wake up my People!
They don't let me sleep with them in their Big Kitty Bed, even though there is room for me. (But that's okay. Sometimes, when they leave for the day, I test it, just to make sure it is still a good bed for them.) So I wait outside the door every morning and I meow to make sure they don't sleep in. Sometimes, they don't hear me and I worry that they won't wake up in time to feed me, so I meow louder, and I keep meowing. Usually it's the Short Curvy One who gets up first, and I follow her into the White Room. She uses her litter box (which transforms into a water bowl, OMG!) and pets me. If I purr, she hugs me. Which is great, but she squeezes kind of hard. Then the Furless One wakes up and goes downstairs. He looks at my bowls and ignores them. Sometimes he goes into my toilet and scoops out my poo. What could the People possibly want with that stuff? He puts it into little bags, like he is going to save it for later. People are so gross sometimes. After he looks at my bowls, I lick myself several times.
The Furless One doesn't feed me, so I play with his feet. He LOVES it! He picks me up and shoves his face in mine. He keeps making a noise that sounds like "NONOSTOPITNOCUTITOUTNONO!" Actually, the Short Curvy One does, too. That must be how they say they love me! That's so cute! They also try to give me baths a lot, with water from a little blue bottle, when I sit on the tables. Silly People. They don't understand that I clean MYSELF. Several times a day. In fact, I'm doing it right now.
I wait for the Short Curvy One to put food into my bowl. She keeps filling it with this hard crunchy stuff but it is SOOO gross. If I dance around and sing loudly enough, for a long enough time, when she seems pre-occupied with something that isn't me, she will sometimes reward my talents with some soft gooey food from a can. OMG I love that stuff! I could swim in it! I mean, I would if I liked to swim, of course.
Then they hurry to leave me alone and guard then house until they come home. I lick myself a few more times, and watch them leave from the back of the chair - my chair, that is. I heard the Short Curvy One say something about it being my throne. I don't know exactly what a throne is, but it sounds like something very special and I should probably be proud to have one of my own.
I eat a couple more bites of that nasty crunchy stuff, but then I get really bored. I wish that they'd leave that bright box on for me. The one in the food room, that beeps and spins things in circles. That is the coolest thing I've ever seen! The best part is that when the things start to turn inside, they also smell really yummy! I keep hoping it'll pop open and drop a treat for me, but it never does. Maybe I have to dance better and sing louder for it.
Well, there's plenty more to do today, so I made myself a list so I wouldn't forget anything:
8:30 - 8:45 - Lick myself
8:45 - 10:30 - Nap on rug
10:30 - 11:15 - Watch birds
11:15 - 12:00 - Tease neighbor's idiot beagle
12:00 - 1:30 - Lick myself
1:30 - 2:15 - Nap on couch
2:15 - 3:00 - Explore basement
3:00 - 3:05 - Try to eat dry kibble
3:05 - 3:30 - Sniff in trash can for something better to eat
3:30 - 3:45 - Lick myself
3:45 - 4:30 - Nap on bed (remember: leave thank-you present!)
4:30 - 10:15 - Attempt to secure treats from the Short Curvy One
10:15 - 10:30 - Poop in litter box WHILE Furless One is cleaning it
10:30 - ? - Guard the People's bedroom from intruders and/or insects
Wow, so much to do! Well, dear diary, I'd better get started. I'm exhausted just thinking about it! Maybe I'll switch things up and take my nap first, after all.
Love and licks,
Thor "Thundercat" Godlove
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Four-Legged Surprise
Two weeks ago, as I was snuggled up in bed, Ross burst into the room, grabbed a shirt and a flashlight, then ran out the door.
I have been married to him for eighteen months now, so I rarely question his behavior. I returned to my reading as the thunderstorm raged outside.
I have been married to him for eighteen months now, so I rarely question his behavior. I returned to my reading as the thunderstorm raged outside.
Fifteen minutes later, Ross returned to the bedroom.
Holding a kitten.
"...what's that?" I asked, as what I was seeing was not properly registering in my brain.
"...it's a kitten," he replied with a lop-sided grin.
"I know that," I was able to choke out, "...but why is it in my bedroom?"
"It was crying outside the basement window. In the rain."
The poor thing was still shrieking like a feline banshee, all grey and white and soggy and shivering. It clung to Ross's chest for dear life as I approached it.
"We'll take him to the Humane Society first thing tomorrow," I declared as I bunched up my bright pink robe to dry it off. I grabbed an old shoebox, stuffed in a towel, and we wrapped the screaming little thing up to keep it warm. With nowhere else to put it, we stuck the box in the bathtub, popped open a can of tuna, added a dish of water, and turned off the light.
"Meoooowowowow!" it sobbed.
The next morning, when we went to gather up the kitten, it had not moved a single inch. It was still wrapped up exactly as it had been eight hours before. The tuna and the water remained untouched. It hadn't even pooped. I kinda felt bad for it. It was so tiny and so scared. Every time we approached it, it panicked and hissed. It never moved to scratch us, but I attributed that to the fact that it was literally petrified stiff. Poor thing. We nicknamed it Thor, since it came to us during a thunderstorm.
The Humane Society opened its doors at ten on Sunday morning, so, unfortunately, we had to miss church to take the kitten in. Once there, we learned two things: that Thor was not, in fact a girl kitty (like we had guessed), but a boy kitty, and that, due to his slight sniffle, young age (about five weeks), and weight (under two pounds), they could not guarantee that they would not euthanize him. Apparently, if he had a respiratory infection, he would get all the other cats sick, and based on his weight, he was too little to send out for foster care. The tech we spoke with, Erin, was very friendly but very honest about his chances for survival there as she did a once-over of the mewling kitten.
While Ross asked about a cat's general health care needs, I watched the tiny grey striped kitten panic in Erin's gentle hands. We couldn't take this kitten home. No way. We were allergic. In fact, as a surprise two weeks before, Ross had conspired with one of my co-workers and brought home an absolutely gorgeous female kitten he had named Simone. After I got over the shock, I fell in love with her, then proceeded to have a violent asthma attack. I even got hives on my lips where I had kissed her perfect little furry forehead. I felt horrible when Ross had to drive all the way back to Washington to return her to her litter-mates.
Plus, we didn't know the first thing about raising a kitten. When I was a child, we had three cats, but they all came to us as strays, and my mother was the one who took care of them. I just pulled their tails and cried when they scratched me. Years ago, Ross had been given a crabby old Maine Coon cat named Oliver and he despised the thing. The feeling was mutual, as Oliver eventually stowed away in Ross's parents' van and then ran away. To an Amish farm. No joke.
Ross had nearly wept with joy.
So, you see, we're not cat people.
Plus, we were about the leave for vacation the following week, and we didn't know who could possibly take care of the kitten. My dad could, of course, but his idea of "taking care" of cats generally involves shotguns and target practice.
No way would we be taking this guy home.
Ross turned to me with vibrant blue puppy-dog eyes and said, "I don't like the idea of knowing he may not make it, especially when what he has is treatable."
The kitten came home with us.
Just until we could find a "buyer", so to speak. Another co-worker had expressed an interest in adopting a kitten, as had one of Ryan's friends. So, regardless, the kitten would not be headed back to the shelter and, possibly, to his death.
Within a day, he was eating wet food and pooping in the litter box. Within two days, he was very carefully exploring his surroundings, tending to hide awkwardly behind radiators and under chairs. I kept waiting for the inevitable allergy attack, but it never came. Ross and I were a bit more sniffly than usual, but that was it.
Within three days we had determined that we weren't getting rid of him. A family from church, who live close to us, agreed to take care of Thor during our trip. He was the absolute darling of the veterinary clinic just minutes (mercifully!) from my house. Plus, the vet determined that there wasn't much wrong with him other than fleas and worms, which we had already expected. He is due for booster shots next week.
His first bath was a traumatic experience for everyone involved. No photographic proof exists. It's better this way.
He has already learned how to climb stairs, perch on top of his scratching post, attack my leopard-print slippers, eat dry food (although he doesn't like it), hide behind everything with at least 1/2 inch of clearance, and chew on my toes.
My personal goal: to train Thor, the mighty Thundercat, how to eradicate the home of centipedes and stink bugs.
This will be good.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)