Friday, July 12, 2019
|That's not Toothless. That's Luna.|
This time, I think the answer is both. I've definitely been crying, and I'm definitely feeling sorry for myself, but maybe this can be useful to others as well. This could be more than just purging thought. This could be a story about doing the right thing, even if it hurts. Or it could be a story about the importance of microchipping your cat. Up to you.
Last week, my friend Rita texted me for some urgent help, and she sent pictures. A pretty little black cat had taken residence on her deck. What should she do? Here's where I mention that Rita is severely allergic to cats.
When I get there with food and a cat carrier, the little monstrosity is lounging on her deck furniture, and her kids are loving on her. Food, groom and sleep between the children. Lots of purrs and cuddles.
The story is that the kitty has been hanging out across the street. The neighbor shares his house with his mother, who won't let him keep the cat. He's been feeding her leftover ribs and steak, but can't let her in the house. It's his mother's house, and she won't let him. He put up a crappy sign, wrapped in Saran Wrap saying "FOUND small black cat...." and I couldn't make out the rest. He'd done it in ball point pen. Well, at least he tried.
So kitty wanders to Rita's house and bonds with her children. Rita loves the cat, loves how her children are with the cat. They decide on the name Luna. Rita really can't breathe, or even see through her watery, bloodshot eyes, even though she never touches the cat. So awful, because Rita would LOVE to keep Luna, but her allergies won't allow it.
We make Luna as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, but something must be done. She can't go into the house, neighbor can't keep her either. The weather was garbage and there are local cats coming into the yard because they smell Luna's food.
I wasn't really planning on taking Luna. I wasn't sure if our house was big enough for three cats, no matter how much I want another one. I wasn't sure I could trust my furkids to be nice to Luna. What if it didn't work out? Then what? We'd figure it out. There were options. And when I picked Luna up to tell her she was coming home, she kissed my nose.
I PROMISED Rita's kids that no matter what, I would do what was right for Luna. I rarely make promises--you have to be rock solid with your ability and intentions-- but this was one I knew I could absolutely keep. No doubts whatsoever.
Luna slept for three days. She ate lots, groomed even more, explored, sniffed Spartacus Jones in the face, and slept. She slept and slept and slept. She ate everything on her plate, ate Spartacus Jones' leftovers, (he's a big eater, I think he left them for her deliberately) backed off from Freya's hissing, explored, groomed excessively and slept even more. Shouldn't a kitten sized girl like her be getting underfoot and constantly require supervision? No. She slept.
Today, she woke up and charged around the house. Yay! She's healthy!
I planned on getting her a collar, tags, and a harness. I wrote a grocery list for snacks and booze so I could invite my neighbors to meet her. Just one little vet visit--get her checked out for illness, if she's spayed, and get her checked for a microchip and--
She had a microchip. She'd been out and about for a week, but someone cared enough about her to get her a microchip. All my plans changed.
Here's what happens when the veterinarian technician finds a microchip here in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada. The technician calls the company that monitors the microchips for lost pets, and they get started looking for the owner.
You, the rescuer, have two options
a) You can leave the cat, and they will take care of everything from there...but you'll never see that animal again. OR
b) You take that pet to Animal Care and Control right beside the Humane Society. It's the same process, but you can ask for a Buddy Number. That means that even though you surrender the animal, you can request to adopt the animal in the event that her owner can't be found. They will contact you FIRST. The process will take two weeks.
It should be noted that surrendering an animal in this city costs $25, so really not much for the life of a cat. Do it. If you intend to adopt that animal, that fee will be rolled into your adoption price.
I opted for the second option. If Luna's owners can't be found, we want her back. Here's what it means to me: Luna will win either way. She either goes home to someone who loved her enough to microchip her. If not, WE will love her and she will still have a family who loves her.
I'm telling you, reader, do the right thing, even if it hurts. Why? Because....IT'S THE RIGHT THING. There doesn't need to be a reward. But you will sleep better at night, knowing you did it RIGHT.
If, in a couple of weeks, Luna comes home to us, I'll write you a happier blog. I PROMISE.
Friday, June 21, 2019
But this post isn't about me. It's about you. I actually think about you a lot.
I'm thinking about the two divorces. You didn't come right out and say, but I noticed the changes, and the absence left behind by former spouses. You stopped talking about them.
I noticed two long term relationships ended. And when someone healed your hearts and made you happy again, those relationships failed and left you hurt and angry once more. More photos to delete.
I saw the financial struggle, and the difficult fix.
I see the grief for lost parents. Is it three or four fathers this year? A wonderful mother has gone as well.
I see the tired moms, and the PISSED OFF voters, the frustrated feminists.
Two of you are sick and yes, I've noticed your silence. You have me worried.
Someone is planning a wedding, but I don't know why you're upset. I'm still waiting for that PM.
I want to reach out and ask you all, but I tell myself that if it was my business, you would tell me.
Don't think I don't care, I do. But I don't know where to start. There's so many of you. You know how to find me, right? I'm always on Facebook, six days a week. I'm a click away, and you can have my number if you don't already.
If you see yourself here, please reach out. I'm thinking of you
Friday, April 5, 2019
You've been gone for two years now, as of Tuesday. We still dream about you, see signs of you everywhere. The loss still hurts, but your random messages help us through. I see all of your 'elevens', the angel numbers.
Your mother is overcoming pneumonia, at 96 she's still part part sugar, part solid rock. She scares me when she sees you in dreams. I know how much she misses you.
Your brother Arnold is fine. I watch him especially carefully, and now I can see the ache in his bones when he walks.
Mom and my sister are fine. Today I found them the perfect apartment--only twenty minutes away from me, in a community built for convenience with a bus stop outside and a shopping center next door. There's a grocery store, a clinic, an optometrist, a bakery and much more. The apartment is on the ground floor, so Mom never has to worry about stairs or if the elevator breaks down. Oh, and it's huge!
I have a new job. It's part time and intimidating. I like it. It allows me unusual freedoms--like allowing me to make my own schedule, so I can help mom and Jody move and I can help take care of things. The troll is working too, so we're okay.
Your loss was so painful, so profound. I remember who reached out, and why. Now I use my experience to reach back whenever I can. It's odd how something so terrible can bring so many interesting and wonderful changes. We're recovering. We're growing again.
I'm still trying to write, but these days it's mostly editing. I know now it will be okay. I know soon things will be as normal as they can be in light of the circumstances. I know someday soon, I'm going to breathe again and I'll find the peace I need to create once more.
You may be gone, but you'll always be a part of us. We're already recovering our strength.
Thursday, January 17, 2019
|The red with the black tips.|
"I'm in a rut." I tell them. I haven't written, edited or even opened one of my files in a few weeks. Why?
Is it because I'm tired? Been off for three weeks. Is it because I'm still grieving? No. My heart has settled, and I'm dealing. Is it because it's January, and everything is cold, dark and dreary? Maybe. Everyone around me feels that too.
My birthday is around the corner, and there's a new meme circulating on Facebook. It wants to know how we AGED.
Oh dear God, if you follow me on Facebook, Twitter, Linked In or Instagram you may have noticed that there aren't many pictures of me. I don't like how I look. I have an oval shaped head. I have acne in my wrinkles and Rosacea on my acne scars. My dislike of sitting in a hairdressers chair means I frequently need a haircut. And I'm bored with blonde, I only keep it now because it's easy--
"You're bored with blonde?" Rita asks. "Do you have a different color in mind? What did you feel confident in?" We talked about the red. We talked about the red,black and blonde and how hard it was to maintain. We talked about the red with the black tips.
Remember the eighties? All those wild hair colors? I remember wishing I could wear them, but I was too young then and I wasn't really allowed. And I wished I could do that now.
"Why not?" Rita asks. BECAUSE, I tell her. I'm almost 47 years old. It's going to look stupid. When I was seventeen, I saw a thirty-something soccer mom in a Metallica T-Shirt, and it insulted my eyes. I knew her too....No way that women owned a Metallica album.
"People like you can still pull that off." Melaida says. "Some people still have that spirit with them, and it doesn't look silly."
I thought of an old friend of my husband's, who envied my metal shirts. "Why don't you wear them?" He asked. I felt like I was too old for them, I explained. I was afraid of looking like I didn't belong in them. "But you do." He said, "Those are your bands. That's part of who you are."
The more thought I give to all this, the more I became convinced that I am denying my true self. I'm in a rut, because the real me has to bust out. So here's what I did...
|Holy shit...I feel pretty!|
You know what? It's exactly what I needed. I needed the bright hair and the shouty black lipstick. I realize now, I'm not comfortable with looking normal. It makes me feel frumpy. I don't see me applying for jobs or hanging in pubs looking like this, but it feels good. Yeah, I've grown older, but who says I have to feel or look old?
I can honestly tell you that this is the very first time since I had my photo taken professionally that I've liked a picture of myself. Oh, it feels AWESOME! I feel like I can conquer those worlds I love to blurt through my fingers. I'm excited to be myself again.
If you'll excuse me, my blue hair and I have some snarling, sassy bitches to create.