Corners

Day
is
done
corner
cleaned
doors
are
open
no
piles...
at
least
not

in

that

corner....

Big Girl Panties

Thank you to all of you for your prayers and thoughts these last few days. They have helped me more than I can express. I've read and reread your comments. Do you all do that? It's like a little visit each time and it helps all over again.

But now, it's time to put on my big girl panties and move forward a little.

I have a lot of ideas in the cooker for articles. Just waiting for my heart to cooperate. It will. In the meantime, nothing says "Buck up" like organizing. That's why I do it so rarely. I don't like being told to "Buck up." It's rude. But today I'm gutting a corner. Wow. Nothing like long-term committment. But it's a corner that actually has bi-fold doors off the entry leading to the study/schoolroom. I haven't opened them in quite awhile. Didn't really want to as I needed to use it as wall space more. I put the old Mission rocker in front of them. We bought the rocker from a gal down the road who had a true "estate" sale. Her grandfather sat in it out on his front porch for as long as she could remember. The sale wasn't advertised and there weren't many people so a lot came home with us. We bought a couple of quilts, some china, furniture. But it has all remained "Mel's." That was her name. We thought her identity should come with the treasures.

ANYway...WHAT was I saying? (You should try listening to me in PERSON. My friends that have to can testify, I'm sure...) Oh....well, the rocker has quite a following now. Many have gathered around migrating down from shelves, out of closets......runaways from filing cabinets. The "trash-y" are even there (but what's a gathering without a little color?) So it's time to chase them all off and back to where they belong. And open the doors. And shed light. And downsize. And distract myself. And actually have that sense of accomplishment that is healing in its own right.

Wish me luck....I'm goin' in and hopefully, coming out with something to show for it besides a clean rocking chair and 315 little piles.

"Kitty Baby" - A Love Story

“Kitty Baby.” It wasn’t supposed to be a name, just something to call her until we figured it out. But I’m sure most of you know how that goes and, after while, she just couldn’t be called anything else.

I found her late one afternoon as I turned into Wendy’s for a quick bite. She was hanging out at the trashcans eating French fries (fast food would continue to be a favorite her whole life). I have always been a sucker for cats and dogs so I couldn’t help stopping to talk to her and see if I could get her to come. We made eye contact and a little sizzle of connection zipped between us. She rolled over onto her back with a bit of a tease on her face. She wanted to come to me but was unsure. No one at Wendy’s knew anything about her but when I inquired at the bank next door, a lady said she had fed her intermittently for about six months and she seemed to want to make contact with people.

I left the parking lot determined to catch her. The weather had been unusually cold and was forecasted to drop to 17 degrees that night, with freezing rain. We had been experiencing record low temperatures for several days and nights and I wondered how much longer she could take it. I made my way to the local animal shelter, secured a trap, and headed home to give Jamie the good news. He was less than thrilled, but amenable. We baited the trap with anchovies and tuna and left her alone. A half-an-hour later she was protesting loudly, with fish breath, from the confines of the cage. She was officially ours.

I was 5 months pregnant with our now 17-year-old daughter and Kitty was wild as a March hare once she was confined. Jamie had built a large convalescence cage for a former cat and that became Kitty’s home. Each day he admonished me to stay away from her until he could tame her. I was very careful but I couldn’t stay away. I spent time with her and talked to her. I brought treats. Within a week she began to rub against the cage and flip over onto her back. I knew any threat that may have existed was gone. I reached into the cage and petted her. Warm response. I leaned over and ran my hand under her belly, giving her a little lift up. No protests. Soon I dropped her into my arms. She nuzzled my face, purred, and became mine. I left the garage and headed into the house with her in my arms. Jamie thought I was nuts and immediately envisioned toxoplasmosis and rabies. The baby and I were never in danger. In fact, nothing could have been farther from the truth.

Kitty seemed to know I was expecting and doted on me. She was especially fascinated with my burgeoning belly and would spend hours draped over it. She would stare at the movements underneath and send her purring vibrations directly to Miss Hannah. We three spent many contented evenings snuggled up together.

Once the baby arrived, Kitty took over. She diligently watched out for her. Wherever I would lay Hannah down, Kitty was immediately nearby. When Hannah nursed, Kitty would drape herself over my shoulders and around the back of my neck, gazing down at her. Occasionally she would get down and give her head a good washing so she would not only be fed, but clean. One time as I sat in the rocker with my nursing bra on, Kitty walked up, took a look at Hannah on one side and decided the other side ought to be put to use as well. She opened her mouth wide, gently latched on, then looked up at me as if to say, “What’s so great about a mouthful of cotton?” She decided it wouldn’t work for her. I couldn’t have agreed more.

When my son was born four years later the treatment was the same. Each time the babies learned to crawl she shadowed them. If they went into the playpen, so did she. If they pulled out fists of fur….all in a days work. She knew they were baby “things” and afforded them every exception. She never slept near their faces but I would occasionally find her snuggled in a crib at their feet. She watched baths and hung out close by. She endured the dress-up of fashion shows, bit parts as the “baby” actor in plays, and dutifully accepted being pushed around in strollers and mini-shopping carts.

She never bit, hissed at, or scolded a child. The only time she got her tail in a knot was if we had been gone for a few days. When we would return she would snub us for a bit, and then absolve us. That changed, one time, with an extended absence. The kids and I had been traveling for three weeks and Jamie was the only one home. When we finally returned, Kitty was beside herself with joy, meowing loudly. Suddenly she disappeared and ran out the pet door. I forgot about it with the unpacking and didn’t give it another thought until I flopped down on the couch exhausted. In a few minutes I heard the telltale sound of yowling that cats make when they have prey in their mouths. Kitty was just below me. I looked down as she looked up and our eyes locked. We both regarded the dead gopher she had laid at my feet. Her most prized prey was my welcome home gift. And she’d even thought to skin it for me. What a gal.

Then there was the night she came in injured, with a terrible abscess. I thought it was a bite but actually came to find out years later it would be a chronic condition she developed many times. She had a fever and needed immediate treatment, and the vet was closed. Having grown up around critters, horses, kids, etc. I wasn’t squeamish and had some limited medical training. I shaved her down, got out a scalpel from my ditch medicine bag, treated the area with betadine, and, after donning gloves, employed ten-year-old Hannah as my assistant – she’s tough as nails. There was no anesthesia so we made every effort to be as gentle as could be managed. Kitty was in so much pain she seemed to be relieved at any treatment and lay as quietly as she could. She never tried to bite either one of us though the procedures would sometimes take two hours to complete. We would drain and clean the affected area, and debride the necrotic tissue. I would do Internet searches for what antibiotic would be effective and then go on the hunt for left over meds the kids hadn’t been able to take. (Remember, we don’t do meds well in our family so those were always plentiful.) Invariably, I would have what was called for, measure it out by tiny amounts on a grain scale, and treat accordingly. She recovered beautifully each time and only needed a trip to the vet for it once or twice.

And there was no mistake: as much as she loved the kids it was because she saw us as co-parents. She belonged to me and it was me she slept with and sought out for love and assurance. We had a sixth-sense connection. Those don’t come along with just any animal but if you’ve experienced it, you know what I mean. That made it doubly hard as her health began to deteriorate. She looked to me for comfort but dreaded the meds I had to dole out to help her and would often avoid me. I began to know the decision was coming. I just didn’t know it would happen so suddenly, all at once, in a day.
We laid her to rest here. It was terribly hard to part with her beautifully soft fur and gentle little body. But we will always keep the love we shared so earnestly through the years. She brought me great comfort during times of sadness or crisis and there were many during the years. And she offered abundant love and true friendship on a daily basis. I hope I’m half the patient, loving, friend my cat was. I will continue to learn from her legacy. Good-bye, my dear little friend. I will sorely miss you.

Losing My "Kitty Baby"

Just wanted you all to know that very unexpectedly today, I had to lay to rest my dearest old cat, "Kitty Baby." She was one of a kind and one of the sweetest cats I've ever had the privilege to call my friend. She was 18 1/2 and had definitely shown signs of aging but went downhill and into kidney failure today, followed by a seizure. She became blind and deaf very suddenly and was disoriented. But, as always, she sought comfort in my arms and was not panicky. It was a great sorrow and loss and I can't write any more about it tonight. Those are just the details of her death. Her life deserves description far more because she was an incredilbe cat and I will do that tomorrow. For now, I'm just sitting with empty arms and a very full heart. I loved her more than should be possible.....unless you've loved a pet like that, and then you know, without a doubt.

And I know a pet is not a person so please don't feel as though I'm equating the two. I have experienced that type of loss as well in losing a sister, uncle, babies I was carrying, and friends. But our pets are special gifts from God and they can be difficult to part with. However, the grief of goodbye will never outshadow the joy of relationship on any front. She was a blessing and she reminded me in many dark times that God loves me. Thank you, Kitty, and thank you my friends for listening tonight.

Ma "Barkers" Gang

I just posted about my dogs last night so it would seem fitting that I’d be barking today. The cold I was whining about a few posts ago turned into the creepin-crud, which means I’ll be more of a joy than usual to live around. Nothing like hearing someone coughing up a lung to beautify your day. The dogs don’t care though. They’re on the bed with me, upstairs, and as long as I look out the window when I start barking, they join in and think we’re having a party up here. Anyone outside who appears in our line of vision gets heck from us.

And that’s the thing about dogs that we all know: they love us no matter what and they’re always happy just to hang out. Minky, our new Border Collie pup, is so thrilled at the sound of my key in the door she nearly turns herself inside out bawling and yipping. I haven’t had a reception like that in years. (I think Jamie and I were dating.) Even our old dog, Jo, saves those free-for-alls for extended absences. She has her dignity you know.

So here we are....holed up and hackingly happy.....and those kids are gone at another sleep over/party. They get out more than juicy gossip. So much for the myth of homeschooled kids not having a social life. It's me you should worry about. I've gone to the dogs.

I'm In Love With Herding Dogs

Introducing baby "Minky"

Not ready to leave my mama yet

4 months old and livin' large at my new home

I look innocent when you want me to pose...

But I'm actually packin'.....think "Aliens" meets "Jaws"

Do you see the knowing, tired look on my older sister's face? Her name is "Jo Jo" and she's 11.

Witness Jo Jo's happy, carefree days a few months ago with her boy. Now I stay constantly attached to any available part of her body - preferably her jowls - just like a tick.

Jo Jo has the title "Best Dog in the Whole Wide World"......at least to her family. (I have a way to go to earn my stripes and get a title like that.) She has raised two kids, chased off bad cats, protected good cats, and even been bear bait. (My HM - human mama - will have to tell you that story....it's a good one, except to Jo.) Her daddy was a working McNab and her mama was a McNab/Border Collie. I am from a working class family. My mama is the most beautiful, gentle Australian Shepherd family pet, and my daddy is a rough and tumble, get-r-done, cattle-drivin' Border Collie. You know opposites attract. My Aussie mama didn't like my teeth either and was glad to see me go, for Pete's sake. Her last, snappy words to me were, "Get off a me!" Geez.

These are the beautiful kids Jo Jo is raising.

She just took them on a backpacking trip to Cliff Lake in the Sierra MountainsIt was a big trip for an old dog but Jo says, "If something was gonna kill me, I'd want it to be this."

My HM will be dropping in tomorrow to tell you why not even my teeth can deter her from falling madly in love with me. Apparently, what I lack in dental discretion I make up for in love and enthusiasm.

Decorating - Gotta Do It

You all have such great sites and here I am, sitting around with "Generic Blog Background #who knows." (I'm trying this one on but I'll probably go back into the changing room even though I HATE those LIGHTS!! Do ANY of us look good in the changing room? More about that later....) So, today I'm searching and figuring out what to get because I want something reflective of me - quick glance in the mirror, maybe not.

My hair looks like I styled it with my Kitchen Aid, my sweat-shirt is older than my thirteen-year-old son, and underneath it I have a workout t-shirt with a pocket on it. The pocket is significant because I constantly carry dog treats in it since I'm training a puppy. And that gets rather strangely obscene looking because my puppy is always jumping up on me and rooting around the pocket right over my bosom-age, as if she's trying to nurse.....takes some explaining.....and in so doing she chewed a hole in the pocket. And my pants were actually okay until about two hours ago when the same puppy jumped up on me, grabbed on, and tore a hole in them. You can see how well the training is going. "The Dog Whisperer" is safe. No threat from me.

The puppy's name is "Minky," short for Minkler, a family name. It was far more complicated than naming a child because then it was just the two of us arguing over names. This twerp has four parents (what with the two kids and all) and everyone of us had to agree. And you might ask, "And THIS is what you came up with?" What can I say.

Minky will be the subject of my next post because, unlike my teenagers, she's actually happy to see me and that kinda goes to my head. Oh, here I go. I better stop and fix up my "home" so it's more fun for all of us. I'll be able to post pictures, too, and will let you meet Minky and her teeth.

Hope you all have a great day and I'm sure you're looking better than I am! (And I don't plan to do anything about it. My husband......WHAT a lucky guy! Woohoo honey!)