I have often heard it said that the dictionary defines one big word with another. In many cases, that seems to be true. It's no different with the word "poignancy", which is defined in my book as "the quality or state of being poignant". Rrvit! And then, of course, I had to look up "poignant" ... "deeply affecting the feelings".
There's really no one word that can adequately describe how one feels when a member of the family dies, one you have lived with and loved for many years. Poignant is as good a word as any, I guess.
Yesterday morning, Polimom wrote a beautiful post about the loss in her family. It moved me deeply. I was going to publish this in response before I left to play in the tournament, but I got caught up in reading some of my previous posts - the ones where I spoke of my love for cats - and there just wasn't enough time left to do it justice.
Why am I speaking of my love for cats? Polimom lost a member of her family!
Well, it wasn't a person who died. It was Pounce, her beloved cat. Cancer took him. I couldn't believe how fast he went! A really good thing. And he died where he knew people loved him. Polimom didn't have to undergo the horrendousness of taking him to the vet to be 'put down', thank goodness.
[She and I spent the better part of an hour in the late afternoon talking about him, about the other pets in the family and pets in general, and about feelings. I figured she needed the emotional outlet and was glad I was there to provide it.]
To honor Pounce - and especially in memory of my own Serendipity, who died fifteen years ago this Valentine's Day - I'd like to re-publish a poem I wrote for her that dreadful evening when I came home and discovered that she had somehow managed, in her terribly weakened state, to climb up onto my bed before she took her last breath.
My Valentine
Words cannot begin to describe how I feel
Now that my pretty one's insides have begun to congeal.
I cannot stop petting her -- her fur is still so soft
I suppose I'll continue to find fleas until summer -- even in the loft.
I hated to leave her this morning ... she wanted to lay in the doorway -- ajar
(I guess) so she could see what she had (seems like just yesterday) chased from afar.
Queen of the fence, rooftop, trees
She went exactly as she pleased!
Now my lovely has died on my bed, her head near my pillow, her mouth open, quite dead.
I don't want her to awaken ... there must have been pain
I wouldn't want her to have to go through all that again.
Tears shed on my bed. I've dug the hole, but will have to make it deeper ...
Can't stand the thought of yukky bugs and God knows what all getting at my beautiful sleeper.
Oh, Serendipity! My unexpected pleasure!
You were such a wonderful treasure!
The above poem was written the evening Serendipity died and was first published on this blogsite here, almost two years ago. I couldn't stop crying until I wrote it. It made me feel a little better to get all of my raw feelings down on paper. I imagine, if I'd been blogging way back then in 1995, I'd have written about it.
Anyway, perhaps - for those of you who have experienced similar losses - this post will help alleviate your pain. Hugs, Polimom!
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Love. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Dibs and dabs
Just got back home from my dental appointment and running a couple of errands. Didn't stop by the "Central Market" - that's the name, not "Farmer's Market", as I incorrectly told you yesterday! - altho I did cruise up and down Richmond and Alabama for several blocks each direction trying to find it. (The reason I couldn't immediately locate it, of course, is that it isn't on either Richmond or Alabama. It's on Westheimer! LOL)
My mouth was watering for a junior-sized egg salad sandwich on rye from Nielsen's Delicatessen, a little dinky place just a couple of miles from my dentist's office. Hadn't been there in a few months. Last time I went, it was the same kind of situation - hadn't been there in a few months. However, when I came in the front door that time, the gal behind the counter asked, "Junior egg salad on rye, right? Add lettuce?"
Heavens to Betsy! She wasn't there today, but the young man who took my order acted like he knew me (He didn't. I've never seen him before!), but that's always the case every time I've been in there - just one big happy family. They do a humongous business ... huMONgous!
Parked in the shade for a few minutes on the way over to Kroger's to write out a check to Shell Oil for my gas purchases ... $40 and some change. It's really hard to believe now that I used to spend between $300-400 a MONTH for gas when I was driving a taxicab. Wow! Makes me tired just to think of working that hard or putting that many miles on the car!!
Dropped that payment off at a nearby post office and continued on my way over to Kroger's. I really wasn't anticipating that they would have my beloved grape salad - and sure enuf they didn't! - but intended to cruise by the deli counter, anyway, 'just in case'.
No, what I was looking for was large kleenex. Have I talked to you about this before? I don't remember when I first discovered this size, but it's been quite a few years now. Not all stores have it. It's the "Kleenex" brand. The box is approximately 11" long, 6" wide and 2" deep. On the pulloff tab portion at the top, it says "extra-large". Also, you'll find some writing in French that says, "Marque Mouchoirs" ... 60 3-ply white tissues/mouchoirs blancs 3 epaisseurs 11.0x10.9in/27.9x27.6cm. Just a great product, and it's spoiled me forever, I'm pretty sure!
Found it! Grabbed two boxes, another bunch of those luscious green seedless grapes and headed back on home.
Waiting in my computer was an e-mail updating me on Jennie's surgery. I'm going to share parts of it with you. It's one of those good news/bad news-type of bulletins, so be prepared.
Dear Friends,
We just wanted to provide you with an update on Jennie's surgery today.
She is successfully out of surgery, and is recovering in the Surgical ICU, which is standard procedure after this type of surgery. We were able to talk to her, and although she is groggy, she is doing well. We will check in with her again later today.
Her doctor expects her to take it easy for about a month.
The tumor was not benign as expected, but the surgeon feels confident that he was able to get all of it out, and the next step in the process will be radiation. He and her oncologist will work out the next part of her treatment.
We will let all of you know when she can receive visitors.
Thank you for all of your kind words and prayers!
There's not much left to say after that, is there? I'll hope, I'll pray and will continue to send as many positive thoughts as I'm able her direction. I thought some of you might be interested in reading portions of the e-mail I sent to her daughter, Jean, yesterday evening.
Thank you for taking the time to send a test e-mail, and God bless your mom – and you, for following through! – for even thinking of someone else at a time when she’s so scared. I know she’s scared. I’m scared, too, Jean, and have been – and will continue to be – sending as many positive thoughts and prayers as I possibly can her way throughout the coming days, but most especially tomorrow. I pray that God will guide her surgeon’s skillful hands in removing this latest unwelcome intrusion into her body.
Much love to all. Don’t forget to give your dad a special hug, Jean. Many men have not the vaguest idea how to show emotion, particularly at times like these.
I wish I were there, but I’d only be in the way, I think.
Dear Lord, please hear my most fervent prayer for my friend Jennie. Hold her tightly in your arms as she struggles with yet another cancerous invasion. I pray that her surgeon was correct when he said he thought he'd gotten it all. Keep her free from pain, safe from nightmares and give her the strength she needs to fight this evil marauder. Amen.
My mouth was watering for a junior-sized egg salad sandwich on rye from Nielsen's Delicatessen, a little dinky place just a couple of miles from my dentist's office. Hadn't been there in a few months. Last time I went, it was the same kind of situation - hadn't been there in a few months. However, when I came in the front door that time, the gal behind the counter asked, "Junior egg salad on rye, right? Add lettuce?"
Heavens to Betsy! She wasn't there today, but the young man who took my order acted like he knew me (He didn't. I've never seen him before!), but that's always the case every time I've been in there - just one big happy family. They do a humongous business ... huMONgous!
Parked in the shade for a few minutes on the way over to Kroger's to write out a check to Shell Oil for my gas purchases ... $40 and some change. It's really hard to believe now that I used to spend between $300-400 a MONTH for gas when I was driving a taxicab. Wow! Makes me tired just to think of working that hard or putting that many miles on the car!!
Dropped that payment off at a nearby post office and continued on my way over to Kroger's. I really wasn't anticipating that they would have my beloved grape salad - and sure enuf they didn't! - but intended to cruise by the deli counter, anyway, 'just in case'.
No, what I was looking for was large kleenex. Have I talked to you about this before? I don't remember when I first discovered this size, but it's been quite a few years now. Not all stores have it. It's the "Kleenex" brand. The box is approximately 11" long, 6" wide and 2" deep. On the pulloff tab portion at the top, it says "extra-large". Also, you'll find some writing in French that says, "Marque Mouchoirs" ... 60 3-ply white tissues/mouchoirs blancs 3 epaisseurs 11.0x10.9in/27.9x27.6cm. Just a great product, and it's spoiled me forever, I'm pretty sure!
Found it! Grabbed two boxes, another bunch of those luscious green seedless grapes and headed back on home.
Waiting in my computer was an e-mail updating me on Jennie's surgery. I'm going to share parts of it with you. It's one of those good news/bad news-type of bulletins, so be prepared.
Dear Friends,
We just wanted to provide you with an update on Jennie's surgery today.
She is successfully out of surgery, and is recovering in the Surgical ICU, which is standard procedure after this type of surgery. We were able to talk to her, and although she is groggy, she is doing well. We will check in with her again later today.
Her doctor expects her to take it easy for about a month.
The tumor was not benign as expected, but the surgeon feels confident that he was able to get all of it out, and the next step in the process will be radiation. He and her oncologist will work out the next part of her treatment.
We will let all of you know when she can receive visitors.
Thank you for all of your kind words and prayers!
There's not much left to say after that, is there? I'll hope, I'll pray and will continue to send as many positive thoughts as I'm able her direction. I thought some of you might be interested in reading portions of the e-mail I sent to her daughter, Jean, yesterday evening.
Thank you for taking the time to send a test e-mail, and God bless your mom – and you, for following through! – for even thinking of someone else at a time when she’s so scared. I know she’s scared. I’m scared, too, Jean, and have been – and will continue to be – sending as many positive thoughts and prayers as I possibly can her way throughout the coming days, but most especially tomorrow. I pray that God will guide her surgeon’s skillful hands in removing this latest unwelcome intrusion into her body.
Much love to all. Don’t forget to give your dad a special hug, Jean. Many men have not the vaguest idea how to show emotion, particularly at times like these.
I wish I were there, but I’d only be in the way, I think.
Dear Lord, please hear my most fervent prayer for my friend Jennie. Hold her tightly in your arms as she struggles with yet another cancerous invasion. I pray that her surgeon was correct when he said he thought he'd gotten it all. Keep her free from pain, safe from nightmares and give her the strength she needs to fight this evil marauder. Amen.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Dizziness
Thirty-five years or so ago, I woke up one morning, sat up and discovered that I could not keep my eyes open without the room swirling around me.
I thought, "I must have sat up too quickly." I decided to lie back down and try that act again. The next time, however, I opened my eyes without sitting up. The same thing happened. The room just swirled around and around. I thought I was going to have to throw up. The dizziness stopped only when I closed my eyes again, but even so it took a few seconds to subside.
"My God!" I thought. "What's going on?" I was scared, really scared. Somehow, tho, I managed to roll off the bed onto the floor, knock the telephone receiver off its cradle and dial "0".
[This was in the good old days when, if you dialed "0", a real live person actually came on. I doubt if I would have been able to dial "911".]
I told the operator that something was really wrong, that I didn't know what it was, and asked her if she could possibly call my husband at work to have him come home and get me. She asked what the number was. I probably couldn't remember the number in my befuddled and bedraggled state of mind, but told her where he worked and his name.
Somehow or another, she was able to reach him. He came home, got me dressed and out to the car. I couldn't stand. I couldn't walk. He must have carried me. I don't remember. He would have placed a very large bath towel on my lap during our trip to the doctor's office, probably, but I don't remember. All I remember for sure was thinking every second that I was going to throw up. Oddly enough, I never did!
When we got to my doctor's office, a nurse was waiting outside with a wheelchair. I remember being wheeled in, but that's about the last thing I remember. Things happened pretty quickly after that.
Dr. Cowling's office was right next door to Sharpstown Hospital, and that's where I woke up fully a day or so later, feeling perfectly fine and ready to get the heck on out of there and go home! I don't remember any tests being run or drugs being administered, none of that stuff!!
You know, I've thought briefly about that episode maybe a time or two over the years, but it wasn't until this past week or so that it all came back full bore to the front of my memory banks.
I had called my friend, Jennie, just to see what the news was her way and how she was continuing to recuperate after her latest cancer surgery, and was distressed to hear her tell me of something 'new' going on in her life ... an episode of dizziness - she did throw up! - that was completely outside her realm of previous experience. As you might imagine, she was very interested in hearing what had happened to me years ago.
Well, the upshot of this whole story is that an MRI detected a benign tumor in the right side of her brain and she is scheduled for surgery Wednesday to have it removed. I spoke with her on the phone yesterday. She didn't really have much time to talk. Relatives are arriving from everywhere to try and give their support.
She's scared.
[I've had to pause - every so often during the creation of this post - to close my eyes and say yet another prayer for my dear friend who has undergone so much. My logical mind tells me that this tumor is benign, that this next surgery should be a 'piece of cake' - and I don't mean in the slightest way to belittle the fact that another part of her body will be bored into and an unwelcome intruder removed ... ... I guess what I really want to say is, "Get rid of it, Jennie. It's benign! It's 'nothing' in the larger scheme of things!!"
But this time it almost sounds like she's 'had it' with her body being investigated, poked at, bored into and carved up like --- sorry, I can't finish the simile w/o introducing something macabre, and that's the last place I want to go with this post!]
She's scared, yet she took the time to send me a message explaining that her e-mails might be on the wane for a while and signed it, "Love, Jennie".
One of Jennie's more recent e-mails had the subject of "Friendship" ... it's worth sharing. I'm going to copy here for you some of the (imo) more important points.
Take the time to live! Do not value the things you have in your life, but value who you have in your life.
Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.
Learn to write your hurts in the sand, where the winds of forgiveness can erase them away, and to carve your benefits in stone.
We all love and care about you, Jennie.
I thought, "I must have sat up too quickly." I decided to lie back down and try that act again. The next time, however, I opened my eyes without sitting up. The same thing happened. The room just swirled around and around. I thought I was going to have to throw up. The dizziness stopped only when I closed my eyes again, but even so it took a few seconds to subside.
"My God!" I thought. "What's going on?" I was scared, really scared. Somehow, tho, I managed to roll off the bed onto the floor, knock the telephone receiver off its cradle and dial "0".
[This was in the good old days when, if you dialed "0", a real live person actually came on. I doubt if I would have been able to dial "911".]
I told the operator that something was really wrong, that I didn't know what it was, and asked her if she could possibly call my husband at work to have him come home and get me. She asked what the number was. I probably couldn't remember the number in my befuddled and bedraggled state of mind, but told her where he worked and his name.
Somehow or another, she was able to reach him. He came home, got me dressed and out to the car. I couldn't stand. I couldn't walk. He must have carried me. I don't remember. He would have placed a very large bath towel on my lap during our trip to the doctor's office, probably, but I don't remember. All I remember for sure was thinking every second that I was going to throw up. Oddly enough, I never did!
When we got to my doctor's office, a nurse was waiting outside with a wheelchair. I remember being wheeled in, but that's about the last thing I remember. Things happened pretty quickly after that.
Dr. Cowling's office was right next door to Sharpstown Hospital, and that's where I woke up fully a day or so later, feeling perfectly fine and ready to get the heck on out of there and go home! I don't remember any tests being run or drugs being administered, none of that stuff!!
You know, I've thought briefly about that episode maybe a time or two over the years, but it wasn't until this past week or so that it all came back full bore to the front of my memory banks.
I had called my friend, Jennie, just to see what the news was her way and how she was continuing to recuperate after her latest cancer surgery, and was distressed to hear her tell me of something 'new' going on in her life ... an episode of dizziness - she did throw up! - that was completely outside her realm of previous experience. As you might imagine, she was very interested in hearing what had happened to me years ago.
Well, the upshot of this whole story is that an MRI detected a benign tumor in the right side of her brain and she is scheduled for surgery Wednesday to have it removed. I spoke with her on the phone yesterday. She didn't really have much time to talk. Relatives are arriving from everywhere to try and give their support.
She's scared.
[I've had to pause - every so often during the creation of this post - to close my eyes and say yet another prayer for my dear friend who has undergone so much. My logical mind tells me that this tumor is benign, that this next surgery should be a 'piece of cake' - and I don't mean in the slightest way to belittle the fact that another part of her body will be bored into and an unwelcome intruder removed ... ... I guess what I really want to say is, "Get rid of it, Jennie. It's benign! It's 'nothing' in the larger scheme of things!!"
But this time it almost sounds like she's 'had it' with her body being investigated, poked at, bored into and carved up like --- sorry, I can't finish the simile w/o introducing something macabre, and that's the last place I want to go with this post!]
She's scared, yet she took the time to send me a message explaining that her e-mails might be on the wane for a while and signed it, "Love, Jennie".
One of Jennie's more recent e-mails had the subject of "Friendship" ... it's worth sharing. I'm going to copy here for you some of the (imo) more important points.
Take the time to live! Do not value the things you have in your life, but value who you have in your life.
Be kinder than necessary, for everyone you meet is fighting some kind of battle.
Learn to write your hurts in the sand, where the winds of forgiveness can erase them away, and to carve your benefits in stone.
We all love and care about you, Jennie.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Inspirations
I have a dear, dear friend ... one whom I have never met, but one whom I consider very dear ... who has recently undergone radical breast surgery (her second time around with this dreaded disease that we commonly term 'cancer') and is trying to recover from trying to rid her body of its latest alien invasion.
She is my age! She talks about 'having to take naps now' - whereas before the surgery she didn't, she says.
I'd like to share with you a couple of e-mails that she recently sent. This first one, titled "If my body were a car", goes like this ... ...
If my body were a car, this is the time I would be thinking about trading it in for a newer model. I've got bumps and dents and scratches in my finish and my paint job is getting a little dull, but that's not the worst of it.
My headlights are out of focus and it's especially hard to see things up close. My traction is not as graceful as it once was. I slip and slide and skid and bump into things, even in the best of weather.
My whitewalls are stained with varicose veins. It takes me hours to reach my maximum speed. My fuel burns inefficiently, but here's the worst of it ... ... Almost every time I sneeze, cough, or laugh, either my radiator leaks or my exhaust backfires!
Not enough of an inspiration for you? Try THIS one! It's called "Smiles or groans" ... ...
1. The roundest knight at King Arthur's round table was Sir Cumference. He acquired his size from too much 'pi'.
2. I thought I saw an eye doctor on an Alaskan island, but it turned out to be an optical Aleutian.
3. She was only a whiskey maker, but he loved her still.
4. A rubber band pistol was confiscated from Algebra class because it was a weapon of math disruption.
5. The butcher backed into the meat grinder and got a little behind in his work.
6. No matter how much you push the envelope, it'll still be stationery.
7. A dog gave birth to puppies near the road and was cited for littering.
8. A grenade, thrown into a kitchen in France, would result in Linoleum Blownaparte.
9. Two silkworms were in a race. It ended up in a tie.
10. Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
11. A hole has been found in the nudist camp wall. The police are looking into it.
12. Atheism is a non-prophet organization.
13. Two hats were hanging on a hat rack in the hallway. One hat said to the other, "You stay here. I'll go on a-head."
14. I wondered why the baseball kept getting bigger. Then it hit me.
15. A sign on the lawn at a drug rehab center said, "Keep Off the Grass".
16. A small boy swallowed some coins and was taken to a hospital. When his grandmother telephoned to ask how he was, the nurse said, "No change yet."
17. A chicken crossing the road is poultry in motion.
18. The short fortune teller who escaped from prison was a "small medium at-large".
19. The man who survived mustard gas and pepper spray is now a 'seasoned' veteran.
20. A backward poet writes 'in-verse'.
21. In democracy, it's your vote that counts. In feudalism, it's your count that votes.
22. When cannibals ate a missionary, they got a taste of religion.
What could I possibly add to these? Nothing of worth, certainly!
She is my age! She talks about 'having to take naps now' - whereas before the surgery she didn't, she says.
I'd like to share with you a couple of e-mails that she recently sent. This first one, titled "If my body were a car", goes like this ... ...
If my body were a car, this is the time I would be thinking about trading it in for a newer model. I've got bumps and dents and scratches in my finish and my paint job is getting a little dull, but that's not the worst of it.
My headlights are out of focus and it's especially hard to see things up close. My traction is not as graceful as it once was. I slip and slide and skid and bump into things, even in the best of weather.
My whitewalls are stained with varicose veins. It takes me hours to reach my maximum speed. My fuel burns inefficiently, but here's the worst of it ... ... Almost every time I sneeze, cough, or laugh, either my radiator leaks or my exhaust backfires!
Not enough of an inspiration for you? Try THIS one! It's called "Smiles or groans" ... ...
1. The roundest knight at King Arthur's round table was Sir Cumference. He acquired his size from too much 'pi'.
2. I thought I saw an eye doctor on an Alaskan island, but it turned out to be an optical Aleutian.
3. She was only a whiskey maker, but he loved her still.
4. A rubber band pistol was confiscated from Algebra class because it was a weapon of math disruption.
5. The butcher backed into the meat grinder and got a little behind in his work.
6. No matter how much you push the envelope, it'll still be stationery.
7. A dog gave birth to puppies near the road and was cited for littering.
8. A grenade, thrown into a kitchen in France, would result in Linoleum Blownaparte.
9. Two silkworms were in a race. It ended up in a tie.
10. Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana.
11. A hole has been found in the nudist camp wall. The police are looking into it.
12. Atheism is a non-prophet organization.
13. Two hats were hanging on a hat rack in the hallway. One hat said to the other, "You stay here. I'll go on a-head."
14. I wondered why the baseball kept getting bigger. Then it hit me.
15. A sign on the lawn at a drug rehab center said, "Keep Off the Grass".
16. A small boy swallowed some coins and was taken to a hospital. When his grandmother telephoned to ask how he was, the nurse said, "No change yet."
17. A chicken crossing the road is poultry in motion.
18. The short fortune teller who escaped from prison was a "small medium at-large".
19. The man who survived mustard gas and pepper spray is now a 'seasoned' veteran.
20. A backward poet writes 'in-verse'.
21. In democracy, it's your vote that counts. In feudalism, it's your count that votes.
22. When cannibals ate a missionary, they got a taste of religion.
What could I possibly add to these? Nothing of worth, certainly!
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Pink, yellow and blue
Here's kind of a poignant one from Beth that I've been meaning to share with all of you for several days now. There's a lot of truth in it. Here goes ... ...
I bumped into a stranger as he passed by.
"Oh, excuse me!" was my reply.
He said, "Please excuse me, too!
I wasn't watching out for you."
We were very polite, this stranger and I.
We went on our separate ways after saying goodbye.
But at home a different story is told,
About how we treat our loved ones, young and old.
Later that day, while I was cooking the evening meal,
My son stood beside me -- very still.
When I turned, I nearly knocked him down.
"Move out of the way!" I said with a frown.
He walked away, his little heart broken.
I didn't realize how harshly I'd spoken.
Later that night, while I lay awake in bed,
God's still small voice came to me and said,
"When dealing with a stranger, common courtesy you use,
But the family you love, you seem to abuse.
Go and look on the kitchen floor.
You'll find some flowers there by the door.
Those are the flowers he brought for you.
He picked them himself ... pink, yellow and blue.
He stood very quietly, so as not to spoil the surprise.
You never saw the tears that filled his little eyes."
By this time I felt very small
And now my tears began to fall.
I quietly went and knelt by his bed.
"Wake up, little one, wake up!" I said.
"Are these the flowers you picked for me?"
He smiled. "I found 'em, out by the tree.
I picked 'em because they're pretty like you.
I knew you'd like 'em, especially the blue."
I said, "Son, I'm very sorry for the way I acted today.
I never should have yelled at you that way."
He said, "Oh, Mom, that's okay.
I love you, anyway!"
I said, "Son, I love you, too,
And I do like the flowers, especially the blue."
I bumped into a stranger as he passed by.
"Oh, excuse me!" was my reply.
He said, "Please excuse me, too!
I wasn't watching out for you."
We were very polite, this stranger and I.
We went on our separate ways after saying goodbye.
But at home a different story is told,
About how we treat our loved ones, young and old.
Later that day, while I was cooking the evening meal,
My son stood beside me -- very still.
When I turned, I nearly knocked him down.
"Move out of the way!" I said with a frown.
He walked away, his little heart broken.
I didn't realize how harshly I'd spoken.
Later that night, while I lay awake in bed,
God's still small voice came to me and said,
"When dealing with a stranger, common courtesy you use,
But the family you love, you seem to abuse.
Go and look on the kitchen floor.
You'll find some flowers there by the door.
Those are the flowers he brought for you.
He picked them himself ... pink, yellow and blue.
He stood very quietly, so as not to spoil the surprise.
You never saw the tears that filled his little eyes."
By this time I felt very small
And now my tears began to fall.
I quietly went and knelt by his bed.
"Wake up, little one, wake up!" I said.
"Are these the flowers you picked for me?"
He smiled. "I found 'em, out by the tree.
I picked 'em because they're pretty like you.
I knew you'd like 'em, especially the blue."
I said, "Son, I'm very sorry for the way I acted today.
I never should have yelled at you that way."
He said, "Oh, Mom, that's okay.
I love you, anyway!"
I said, "Son, I love you, too,
And I do like the flowers, especially the blue."
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
The ten laws of love
I don't remember exactly where I saw these, but (imo) they are absolutely critical for any lasting relationship ... marriage included, of course. Perhaps, if I had adhered to any more than one or two of them, I would still be 'happily' married to my first husband.
Chemistry ... #1 ... it's the magic, the special energies that signal partners possess the raw materials for success. Chemistry is not optional. It provides the synergy couples need to survive the rapids of any new relationship, and keeps them high on a course to achieve their goals.
Priority ... #2 ... a couple's commitment to keep the health of their relationship front and central. It asks partners to begin to psychologically "leave the nest" of their first families - and to address any compulsions and addictions, including codependence, in order to be fully available to their second family.
Emotional integrity ... #3 ... asks partners to create an emotional "safe zone" with each other. They do this by taking responsibility for their feelings, especially by learning the difference between 'acting them out' and expressing them healthily. This law also guides partners in identifying and healing blind spots and 'hot buttons' that cause disharmony in all relationships.
Listening ... #4 ... the greatest act of love, and a (an acquired?) skill. It involves the partners' ability to hear each other's words - along with the feelings underneath - with understanding, compassion and empathy.
Equality ... #5 ... about fairness and respect. It involves acknowledging power imbalances in the relationship and helps partners see through the tyranny of unnegotiated (and often antiquated) roles, responsibilities and unconscious expectations.
Peacemaking ... #6 ... a couple's commitment to maintain their emotional safe zone through the use of anger management, conflict resolution tools and agreements.
Self-love ... #7 ... talks about landmines and unfinished business from childhood and prior relationships. (Personally, I'm having a little trouble with this one. To me, self-love has a lot to do with a myriad of other things that are not mentioned or discussed here, but I'm including it because it is important!)
Mission in life ... #8 ... true love cannot be sustained until both parties are engaged in their own true work. The discussion goes on to say that "intimates are either the mission's most powerful support or its most-feared saboteur".
Walking ... #9 ... addresses the primary insecurities that plague all partners. Emotional and financial dependencies can lead to a slow death of trust, love, respect and passion. When intimates are willing and able to leave the relationship, if need be, you can almost bet on the fact that they will not!
Transformational education ... #10 ... the 'fail-safe' mechanism. It represents partners' commitment to do whatever healing is necessary if they get stuck on any of the first nine laws.
You know what? Upon typing these and trying to assimilate all of the possible meanings, it occurred to me that these were written for "same-sexers".
But, you want to know also what? I see a whole lot of truisms there for those of us in the heterosexual world who have experienced wholesome, faltering or even failed relationships - myself included.
Chemistry ... #1 ... it's the magic, the special energies that signal partners possess the raw materials for success. Chemistry is not optional. It provides the synergy couples need to survive the rapids of any new relationship, and keeps them high on a course to achieve their goals.
Priority ... #2 ... a couple's commitment to keep the health of their relationship front and central. It asks partners to begin to psychologically "leave the nest" of their first families - and to address any compulsions and addictions, including codependence, in order to be fully available to their second family.
Emotional integrity ... #3 ... asks partners to create an emotional "safe zone" with each other. They do this by taking responsibility for their feelings, especially by learning the difference between 'acting them out' and expressing them healthily. This law also guides partners in identifying and healing blind spots and 'hot buttons' that cause disharmony in all relationships.
Listening ... #4 ... the greatest act of love, and a (an acquired?) skill. It involves the partners' ability to hear each other's words - along with the feelings underneath - with understanding, compassion and empathy.
Equality ... #5 ... about fairness and respect. It involves acknowledging power imbalances in the relationship and helps partners see through the tyranny of unnegotiated (and often antiquated) roles, responsibilities and unconscious expectations.
Peacemaking ... #6 ... a couple's commitment to maintain their emotional safe zone through the use of anger management, conflict resolution tools and agreements.
Self-love ... #7 ... talks about landmines and unfinished business from childhood and prior relationships. (Personally, I'm having a little trouble with this one. To me, self-love has a lot to do with a myriad of other things that are not mentioned or discussed here, but I'm including it because it is important!)
Mission in life ... #8 ... true love cannot be sustained until both parties are engaged in their own true work. The discussion goes on to say that "intimates are either the mission's most powerful support or its most-feared saboteur".
Walking ... #9 ... addresses the primary insecurities that plague all partners. Emotional and financial dependencies can lead to a slow death of trust, love, respect and passion. When intimates are willing and able to leave the relationship, if need be, you can almost bet on the fact that they will not!
Transformational education ... #10 ... the 'fail-safe' mechanism. It represents partners' commitment to do whatever healing is necessary if they get stuck on any of the first nine laws.
You know what? Upon typing these and trying to assimilate all of the possible meanings, it occurred to me that these were written for "same-sexers".
But, you want to know also what? I see a whole lot of truisms there for those of us in the heterosexual world who have experienced wholesome, faltering or even failed relationships - myself included.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
On becoming an orphan
A very old man died this past week. I barely knew him, but his death has caused me to reflect on family, on life and those losses that I have personally experienced.
My brother died in a motorcycle accident when he was only 23 years old. He was the first in my immediate family to go. His death affected all of us greatly. He was the baby in our family. He was well-liked and had a brilliant mind. No one in our family was at all prepared to have Johnny leave us at such an early age, in the prime of his life and with such a bright-looking future. It was a shocking and tragic loss.
My mother succumbed to the ravages of lung cancer ten years later. Although she was not a "young" woman (she was in her 60's), she had reached a point in her life where - for the first time - she had achieved enough financial stability that she was able to do some traveling and was looking forward to seeing many more of the places she'd only read about. My father didn't much care about traveling, so Mom and Gladys (one of her long-time friends) often traveled together.
It was on one of those trips, when Mom was forced to sit down and rest while climbing some steps, that she first realized something was wrong. When the diagnosis of a terminal illness was made, she exclaimed, "Isn't this just the shit's titties?" Worst thing I ever heard her say. She had spent almost her entire life taking care of others with little or no thought given to herself. First having to drop out of high school to help support her family when her father left her mother and youngest brother and her alone, taking the two middle children with him; then getting married and spending the next almost 40 years carefully watching the family's pennies and stretching every dollar. In those years she did not work outside the home. Instead, she spent almost every waking moment trying to figure out ways to make our lives better, to cook wholesome meals, to plan fun outings (picnics, gathering berries, sing-alongs, games), to not cry (altho I often heard her crying down in the basement). She never let on that she was hurting, and so I never told her that I could hear her crying. She was a very proud person and family was everything to her.
But, as usual, I'm digressing and I'll stop. My family is really not the main point of this post.
I can remember her often saying to us as we were growing up, "I don't want to ever be a burden. If it comes to the point where I can't take care of myself, put me in a 'home'." She was adamant on that. The idea of putting a beloved family member in a home or long-term care facility has always been abhorrent to me, but once again I can feel myself digressing.
I began this post by writing, "A very old man died this past week." How old was he? He was 97. This is not a typo. He was 97. Was he in a 'home' or long-term care facility? No. He was in a home, but it was one that had originally been purchased by his daughter (since deceased), and for the past 10+ years had been supported financially (in part) by his son and looked after by a 'caretaker' who lived upstairs. This caretaker had a full-time job outside the home, but was personally available every noon hour to make sure the 'old man' was OK. It was only in the last very few years that the old man began to show signs of his true age. He starting having trouble remembering who his son was. He developed incontinence. Overall, however, his health was remarkable, and many people thought he would live to see his 100th birthday.
His death, following very soon after a pretty good-sized heart attack, seemed to take his son by complete surprise. I would have thought - I know the son - that plans would have long ago been put in place for final arrangements (especially considering his father's advanced age) and all that would have needed to be done in such an event was simply plug the plans in and get them going. (The son is an 'organizer extraordinaire'.)
This was not the case, which brings up several questions, none of which (imo) can be adequately answered or even debated ... at least, not in specifics, only in generalities (and I'm not sure how effectively these questions can be even generally addressed).
1. What price family? 2. What price memories? 3. When do we start giving up? 4. When do we lose hope? My answers are "Priceless" to #s 1 and 2 and "Never!" to #s 3 and 4.
My most heartfelt thoughts go out to this young man who is now, in his 50's, an orphan. I empathize.
My brother died in a motorcycle accident when he was only 23 years old. He was the first in my immediate family to go. His death affected all of us greatly. He was the baby in our family. He was well-liked and had a brilliant mind. No one in our family was at all prepared to have Johnny leave us at such an early age, in the prime of his life and with such a bright-looking future. It was a shocking and tragic loss.
My mother succumbed to the ravages of lung cancer ten years later. Although she was not a "young" woman (she was in her 60's), she had reached a point in her life where - for the first time - she had achieved enough financial stability that she was able to do some traveling and was looking forward to seeing many more of the places she'd only read about. My father didn't much care about traveling, so Mom and Gladys (one of her long-time friends) often traveled together.
It was on one of those trips, when Mom was forced to sit down and rest while climbing some steps, that she first realized something was wrong. When the diagnosis of a terminal illness was made, she exclaimed, "Isn't this just the shit's titties?" Worst thing I ever heard her say. She had spent almost her entire life taking care of others with little or no thought given to herself. First having to drop out of high school to help support her family when her father left her mother and youngest brother and her alone, taking the two middle children with him; then getting married and spending the next almost 40 years carefully watching the family's pennies and stretching every dollar. In those years she did not work outside the home. Instead, she spent almost every waking moment trying to figure out ways to make our lives better, to cook wholesome meals, to plan fun outings (picnics, gathering berries, sing-alongs, games), to not cry (altho I often heard her crying down in the basement). She never let on that she was hurting, and so I never told her that I could hear her crying. She was a very proud person and family was everything to her.
But, as usual, I'm digressing and I'll stop. My family is really not the main point of this post.
I can remember her often saying to us as we were growing up, "I don't want to ever be a burden. If it comes to the point where I can't take care of myself, put me in a 'home'." She was adamant on that. The idea of putting a beloved family member in a home or long-term care facility has always been abhorrent to me, but once again I can feel myself digressing.
I began this post by writing, "A very old man died this past week." How old was he? He was 97. This is not a typo. He was 97. Was he in a 'home' or long-term care facility? No. He was in a home, but it was one that had originally been purchased by his daughter (since deceased), and for the past 10+ years had been supported financially (in part) by his son and looked after by a 'caretaker' who lived upstairs. This caretaker had a full-time job outside the home, but was personally available every noon hour to make sure the 'old man' was OK. It was only in the last very few years that the old man began to show signs of his true age. He starting having trouble remembering who his son was. He developed incontinence. Overall, however, his health was remarkable, and many people thought he would live to see his 100th birthday.
His death, following very soon after a pretty good-sized heart attack, seemed to take his son by complete surprise. I would have thought - I know the son - that plans would have long ago been put in place for final arrangements (especially considering his father's advanced age) and all that would have needed to be done in such an event was simply plug the plans in and get them going. (The son is an 'organizer extraordinaire'.)
This was not the case, which brings up several questions, none of which (imo) can be adequately answered or even debated ... at least, not in specifics, only in generalities (and I'm not sure how effectively these questions can be even generally addressed).
1. What price family? 2. What price memories? 3. When do we start giving up? 4. When do we lose hope? My answers are "Priceless" to #s 1 and 2 and "Never!" to #s 3 and 4.
My most heartfelt thoughts go out to this young man who is now, in his 50's, an orphan. I empathize.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
For Valentine's Day
I thought I'd share poems of love today - perhaps even throw one of my own in, who knows?
This first one is a WITS entry by Damien, 6th grade, and was published February 5th.
I love you with a love that isn't love
Which is a different love from the depth of love that is from me
The most loving soul ever in the time of history.
I love you like the sun loves to warm the plants.
I love you so much I would go to the breadth of the universe.
When you walk your body moves to the music of love.
In my soul I love you so that I write until I have no more hands.
Here are a couple that I wrote, many years ago, before my third marriage. You can see what a romantic fool and how in love with love I was!
Jumper Cable
When all else seems to fail,
When life wags its grim tale
Of woe & sadness, it seems to me
My heart jumps just looking at thee!
This, Too, Shall Pass
The magic aura of the first pangs of love
Sends us soaring far beyond the clouds above.
You say you're giddy, I say I'm drunk.
Between the two of us, we've sunk
Far below our mutual points of resistance.
(May we never wish to keep our distance!)
To think, "This, too, shall pass," only disturbs the illusion
And seems to add to the general confusion
Going on in our minds while we're living this phase
Of discovery, utter delight, and not enough time in our days.
Next, - not really a poem, but I'd like to include it - taken from The Jerusalem Bible, is one with which we are all probably familiar. Here is 1st Corinthians, Chapter 13.
If I have all the eloquence of men or of angels, but speak without love, I am simply a gong booming or a cymbal clashing. If I have the gift of prophecy, understanding all the mysteries there are, and knowing everything, and if I have faith in all its fulness, to move mountains, but without love, then I am nothing at all. If I give away all that I possess, piece by piece, and if I even let them take my body to burn it, but am without love, it will do me no good whatever.
Love is always patient and kind; it is never jealous; love is never boastful or conceited; it is never rude or selfish; it does not take offense, and is not resentful. Love takes no pleasure in other people's sins but delights in the truth; it is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes.
Love does not come to an end. But if there are gifts of prophecy, the time will come when they must fail; or the gift of languages, it will not continue for ever; and knowledge -- for this, too, the time will come when it must fail. For our knowledge is imperfect and our prophesying is imperfect; but once perfection comes, all imperfect things will disappear. When I was a child, I used to talk like a child, and think like a child, and argue like a child, but now I am a man, all childish ways are put behind me. Now we are seeing a dim reflection in a mirror; but then we shall be seeing face to face. The knowledge that I have now is imperfect; but then I shall know as fully as I am known.
In short, there are three things that last: faith, hope and love; and the greatest of these is love.
This first one is a WITS entry by Damien, 6th grade, and was published February 5th.
I love you with a love that isn't love
Which is a different love from the depth of love that is from me
The most loving soul ever in the time of history.
I love you like the sun loves to warm the plants.
I love you so much I would go to the breadth of the universe.
When you walk your body moves to the music of love.
In my soul I love you so that I write until I have no more hands.
Here are a couple that I wrote, many years ago, before my third marriage. You can see what a romantic fool and how in love with love I was!
Jumper Cable
When all else seems to fail,
When life wags its grim tale
Of woe & sadness, it seems to me
My heart jumps just looking at thee!
This, Too, Shall Pass
The magic aura of the first pangs of love
Sends us soaring far beyond the clouds above.
You say you're giddy, I say I'm drunk.
Between the two of us, we've sunk
Far below our mutual points of resistance.
(May we never wish to keep our distance!)
To think, "This, too, shall pass," only disturbs the illusion
And seems to add to the general confusion
Going on in our minds while we're living this phase
Of discovery, utter delight, and not enough time in our days.
Next, - not really a poem, but I'd like to include it - taken from The Jerusalem Bible, is one with which we are all probably familiar. Here is 1st Corinthians, Chapter 13.
If I have all the eloquence of men or of angels, but speak without love, I am simply a gong booming or a cymbal clashing. If I have the gift of prophecy, understanding all the mysteries there are, and knowing everything, and if I have faith in all its fulness, to move mountains, but without love, then I am nothing at all. If I give away all that I possess, piece by piece, and if I even let them take my body to burn it, but am without love, it will do me no good whatever.
Love is always patient and kind; it is never jealous; love is never boastful or conceited; it is never rude or selfish; it does not take offense, and is not resentful. Love takes no pleasure in other people's sins but delights in the truth; it is always ready to excuse, to trust, to hope, and to endure whatever comes.
Love does not come to an end. But if there are gifts of prophecy, the time will come when they must fail; or the gift of languages, it will not continue for ever; and knowledge -- for this, too, the time will come when it must fail. For our knowledge is imperfect and our prophesying is imperfect; but once perfection comes, all imperfect things will disappear. When I was a child, I used to talk like a child, and think like a child, and argue like a child, but now I am a man, all childish ways are put behind me. Now we are seeing a dim reflection in a mirror; but then we shall be seeing face to face. The knowledge that I have now is imperfect; but then I shall know as fully as I am known.
In short, there are three things that last: faith, hope and love; and the greatest of these is love.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Pilling cats 101
Serendipity, my beloved pet of many years, was a typical cat in some ways, atypical in others. I have published over 400 times now, but only five of those - this will be the 6th - have been labeled "Love". Four are based on my own memories. This one poignantly describes the loss I felt when she died - almost fourteen years ago now - on February 14, 1995.
I remember one time - this would have been in the mid-80's - when I was petting her, and she reacted (not violently - she never reacted violently with me, but it seemed like she was trying to pull away from my touch) as tho I was hurting her.
Handling her most carefully, I began the slow process of examining her body all over to try and ascertain where the problem area might be. I found it! A wound, ulcerated and oozing. It almost looked as tho she had been 'stabbed' in the side.
Sick at heart, I took her to the vet, who - after a thorough examination - told me that she had been bitten by a dog. And it would have been a big dog, she said. Pills were prescribed along with an antibiotic salve, which had to be administered directly into the open wound at least once a day.
Ugh, I thought! The pills I could probably handle. I mean, you force the cat's mouth open, shove the pill in, and then hold the mouth closed - all the while massaging the throat until all gagging has stopped and it appears obvious that the 'vile object' has been ingested. That's all there is to it, right? Easier said than done, of course!
The salve was a whole other ball game, it seemed to me. The vet assured me that Serendipity would allow it. And so we went back home. Pills were administered - forcefully, but successfully. Salve was not only tolerated but (seemingly) welcomed until one day she simply would not lie still for any of it!
I called the vet with my concern and she said that my cat would somehow instinctively have known when the treatments/medications should stop. Serendipity was right. Vet was right. I was needlessly concerned.
So what did I know? I was only a human pet owner, for crying out loud!
Now, the rest of this post is very much tongue-in-cheek, and is courtesy of my friend Jennie. Thank you, Jennie! The subject is "How to give pills to cats and dogs" ... ...
CATS:
1. Pick cat up and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby. Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat's mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth, pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.
2. Remove pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process.
3. Retrieve cat from bedroom and throw soggy pill away.
4. Take new pill from foil wrap, cradle cat in left arm holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of ten.
5. Remove pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe. Call spouse from garden.
6. Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees while holding cat's front and rear paws. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold cat's head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into its mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously.
7. Remove cat from curtain rail. Get another pill from foil wrap. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figures and vases from hearth and set to one side for gluing later.
8. Wrap cat in large towel and get spouse to lie on cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill in end of drinking straw, force mouth open with pencil and blow down drinking straw.
9. Check label to make sure pill is not harmful to humans. Drink one beer to take taste away. Apply Band-Aid to spouse's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.
10. Retrieve cat from neighbor's shed. Get another pill. Open another beer. Place cat in cupboard and close door onto neck to leave head showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick pill down throat with elastic band.
11. Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges. Drink beer. Fetch bottle of Scotch. Pour shot, drink. Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus jab. Apply whiskey compress to cheek to disinfect. Toss back another shot. Throw away shredded T-shirt and fetch new one from bedroom.
12. Ring fire brigade to retrieve the friggin' cat from tree across the road. Apologize to the neighbor who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid cat. Take last pill from foil wrap.
13. Tie the little bugger's front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining room table. Find heavy-duty pruning gloves from shed. Push pill into mouth followed by large piece of fillet steak. Be rough about it. Hold head vertically and pour two pints of water down throat to wash pill down.
14. Consume remainder of Scotch. Get spouse to drive you to the emergency room. Sit quietly while the doctor stitches fingers and forearm and removes pill remnants from right eye. Call furniture shop on way home to order new table.
15. Arrange for SPCA to collect "mutant cat from hell" and ring local pet shop to see if they have any hamsters.
DOGS:
Wrap pill in bacon, drop on floor.
I remember one time - this would have been in the mid-80's - when I was petting her, and she reacted (not violently - she never reacted violently with me, but it seemed like she was trying to pull away from my touch) as tho I was hurting her.
Handling her most carefully, I began the slow process of examining her body all over to try and ascertain where the problem area might be. I found it! A wound, ulcerated and oozing. It almost looked as tho she had been 'stabbed' in the side.
Sick at heart, I took her to the vet, who - after a thorough examination - told me that she had been bitten by a dog. And it would have been a big dog, she said. Pills were prescribed along with an antibiotic salve, which had to be administered directly into the open wound at least once a day.
Ugh, I thought! The pills I could probably handle. I mean, you force the cat's mouth open, shove the pill in, and then hold the mouth closed - all the while massaging the throat until all gagging has stopped and it appears obvious that the 'vile object' has been ingested. That's all there is to it, right? Easier said than done, of course!
The salve was a whole other ball game, it seemed to me. The vet assured me that Serendipity would allow it. And so we went back home. Pills were administered - forcefully, but successfully. Salve was not only tolerated but (seemingly) welcomed until one day she simply would not lie still for any of it!
I called the vet with my concern and she said that my cat would somehow instinctively have known when the treatments/medications should stop. Serendipity was right. Vet was right. I was needlessly concerned.
So what did I know? I was only a human pet owner, for crying out loud!
Now, the rest of this post is very much tongue-in-cheek, and is courtesy of my friend Jennie. Thank you, Jennie! The subject is "How to give pills to cats and dogs" ... ...
CATS:
1. Pick cat up and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby. Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat's mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding pill in right hand. As cat opens mouth, pop pill into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.
2. Remove pill from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process.
3. Retrieve cat from bedroom and throw soggy pill away.
4. Take new pill from foil wrap, cradle cat in left arm holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push pill to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of ten.
5. Remove pill from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe. Call spouse from garden.
6. Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees while holding cat's front and rear paws. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get spouse to hold cat's head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into its mouth. Drop pill down ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously.
7. Remove cat from curtain rail. Get another pill from foil wrap. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered figures and vases from hearth and set to one side for gluing later.
8. Wrap cat in large towel and get spouse to lie on cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put pill in end of drinking straw, force mouth open with pencil and blow down drinking straw.
9. Check label to make sure pill is not harmful to humans. Drink one beer to take taste away. Apply Band-Aid to spouse's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.
10. Retrieve cat from neighbor's shed. Get another pill. Open another beer. Place cat in cupboard and close door onto neck to leave head showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick pill down throat with elastic band.
11. Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges. Drink beer. Fetch bottle of Scotch. Pour shot, drink. Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus jab. Apply whiskey compress to cheek to disinfect. Toss back another shot. Throw away shredded T-shirt and fetch new one from bedroom.
12. Ring fire brigade to retrieve the friggin' cat from tree across the road. Apologize to the neighbor who crashed into fence while swerving to avoid cat. Take last pill from foil wrap.
13. Tie the little bugger's front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining room table. Find heavy-duty pruning gloves from shed. Push pill into mouth followed by large piece of fillet steak. Be rough about it. Hold head vertically and pour two pints of water down throat to wash pill down.
14. Consume remainder of Scotch. Get spouse to drive you to the emergency room. Sit quietly while the doctor stitches fingers and forearm and removes pill remnants from right eye. Call furniture shop on way home to order new table.
15. Arrange for SPCA to collect "mutant cat from hell" and ring local pet shop to see if they have any hamsters.
DOGS:
Wrap pill in bacon, drop on floor.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Love
Mary and her husband Jim had a dog named "Lucky".
Lucky was a real character. Whenever Mary and Jim had company come for a weekend visit, they would warn their friends not to leave their luggage open because Lucky would help himself to whatever struck his fancy.
Inevitably someone would forget and something would come up missing. Then either Mary or Jim would go to Lucky's toy box in the basement and there the treasure would be, admidst all his other favorite toys. Lucky always stashed his 'finds' in his toy box, and he was very particular that his toys stay in the box.
One day Mary was diagnosed with breast cancer. Something told her that she was going to die of this disease. She was sure it would be fatal.
A double mastectomy was scheduled. The night before she was scheduled to go into the hospital, Mary snuggled with Lucky.
A thought struck her ... "What would happen to Lucky?" Although the 3-yr-old dog liked Jim, he was really Mary's dog through and through. "If I die, Lucky will feel abandoned," she thought. "He won't understand that I didn't want to leave him." That thought made her sadder than the thought of her own death.
The double mastectomy was harder on Mary than even her doctors had anticipated, and she was hospitalized for over two weeks. Jim took Lucky for his evening walks faithfully, but the little dog just drooped, whining and miserable.
Finally the day came for Mary to leave the hospital. When they arrived back home, she was so exhausted that she couldn't make it up the stairs to their bedroom. Jim made her comfortable on the couch and left her to nap.
When Mary woke, she didn't understand what was wrong. She couldn't move, and her body felt heavy and hot!
Panic soon gave way to laughter, however, when she realized what the problem was. She was covered -- literally blanketed with every treasure Lucky owned! While she had slept, the sorrowing dog had made trip after trip to the basement to bring his beloved mistress all his favorite things in life. He had covered her with his love.
Mary forgot about dying. Instead she and Lucky began living again, walking further and further each day. It's been 12 years now, and Mary is still cancer free.
Lucky? He still steals treasures and stashes them in his toy box, but Mary remains his greatest treasure!
Lucky was a real character. Whenever Mary and Jim had company come for a weekend visit, they would warn their friends not to leave their luggage open because Lucky would help himself to whatever struck his fancy.
Inevitably someone would forget and something would come up missing. Then either Mary or Jim would go to Lucky's toy box in the basement and there the treasure would be, admidst all his other favorite toys. Lucky always stashed his 'finds' in his toy box, and he was very particular that his toys stay in the box.
One day Mary was diagnosed with breast cancer. Something told her that she was going to die of this disease. She was sure it would be fatal.
A double mastectomy was scheduled. The night before she was scheduled to go into the hospital, Mary snuggled with Lucky.
A thought struck her ... "What would happen to Lucky?" Although the 3-yr-old dog liked Jim, he was really Mary's dog through and through. "If I die, Lucky will feel abandoned," she thought. "He won't understand that I didn't want to leave him." That thought made her sadder than the thought of her own death.
The double mastectomy was harder on Mary than even her doctors had anticipated, and she was hospitalized for over two weeks. Jim took Lucky for his evening walks faithfully, but the little dog just drooped, whining and miserable.
Finally the day came for Mary to leave the hospital. When they arrived back home, she was so exhausted that she couldn't make it up the stairs to their bedroom. Jim made her comfortable on the couch and left her to nap.
When Mary woke, she didn't understand what was wrong. She couldn't move, and her body felt heavy and hot!
Panic soon gave way to laughter, however, when she realized what the problem was. She was covered -- literally blanketed with every treasure Lucky owned! While she had slept, the sorrowing dog had made trip after trip to the basement to bring his beloved mistress all his favorite things in life. He had covered her with his love.
Mary forgot about dying. Instead she and Lucky began living again, walking further and further each day. It's been 12 years now, and Mary is still cancer free.
Lucky? He still steals treasures and stashes them in his toy box, but Mary remains his greatest treasure!
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Serendipity ... (part four) ...
First and foremost, you should know that I am a cat lover. I first began this series on February 28th (this year), concluding on the 29th , the very next day.
What has occurred that made me think of adding a 'part four'? Good question.
Earlier today I drove Joyce back to Hobby Airport. As I said in that post, she's a talker. I asked her about Joanne (her sister), of course, and she said that she was doing really well, actually. Well enough to complain about her physical therapist!
Then she went on to tell me how much she was enjoying taking Joanne's cat out for a walk. I asked, "What do you mean, 'taking' the cat out for a walk? Is it on a leash or something??"
[I have never 'taken a cat out for a walk'. Per the 3rd link in the introduction above (see the 6th paragraph once you get to the link), the only cat that I have EVER had who deigned to 'accompany' me on walks was Serendipity!]
And so I was really interested in hearing her answer. The answer was that there's some sort of cat carrier type of thingee (Don't you just love how accurately I am able to describe some of this stuff??) on wheels. When the 'cage door' is opened, said cat jumps in, anticipating a walk in the fresh air.
[This would never have worked with Serendipity, I can guarantee you!]
Joanne, of course, with her very recent knee replacement surgery, has not been able to take her cat out for 'walks'.
My mind immediately went wandering, as it often does, and I was reminded, once again, of the 'mentally retarded' cat that we had in Indiana. (See the 1st link in the above introduction, perhaps a little more than 1/4 of the way through, beginning with "I've had lots of cats" and ending with "Maybe he had no sniffer?")
Our very best friends at the time were Paul Joe and Jacky Kerker. Paul Joe was a farmer. (I say "was" because he passed away some years back.) They had two children, of whom I only taught the older, Krystal, who is herself now a teacher, but that's a story for another day (maybe).
They were the ones we relied on when Johnny (my brother) had his terrible accident and with whom we left our kitty if we were to be out of town for any length of time.
Paul Joe and Jacky's 'pets' were never considered as indoor critters. They were relegated to the outdoors, and if Paul Joe 'felt like' feeding them, they got fed. Otherwise, they would have to forage for themselves. We were understandably reluctant to leave our mentally retarded wonder, albeit much loved, in the care of such a person.
Both Paul Joe and Jacky, however, told us that we could rest-assured go on our canoe trip up to Superior/Quetico in Minnesota/Canada (dropping DD off at the University of Wisconsin at the Olympic speed-skating summer training camp along the way).
Well, we called along the way north (I don't remember where we were when we called) just to check and see how our 'baby' was doing. Jacky answered and then proceeded to hand the phone off to Paul Joe, who said (you absolutely MUST try and visualize a heavy, heavy Indiana farmer's accent here!), "Oh, yeah! He's doing great!"
[It was only after our return that we learned that, at the time of our call, Paul Joe actually had our kitty entrapped underneath a milk crate and was poking at it with a stick!)
Later ... quite a while, actually, after our return to Indiana ... we had Paul Joe and Jacky over. Our mentally retarded wonder took one look at Paul Joe sitting on the couch and immediately went over and bit him on his thumb!
We thought, "Whaaat!!" It was then that we learned of the milk crate entrapment. Also, Jacky disclosed to us at the same time, our kitty had chosen one of Paul Joe's boots to pee in!
Our baby might have been retarded, but he was selective!
What has occurred that made me think of adding a 'part four'? Good question.
Earlier today I drove Joyce back to Hobby Airport. As I said in that post, she's a talker. I asked her about Joanne (her sister), of course, and she said that she was doing really well, actually. Well enough to complain about her physical therapist!
Then she went on to tell me how much she was enjoying taking Joanne's cat out for a walk. I asked, "What do you mean, 'taking' the cat out for a walk? Is it on a leash or something??"
[I have never 'taken a cat out for a walk'. Per the 3rd link in the introduction above (see the 6th paragraph once you get to the link), the only cat that I have EVER had who deigned to 'accompany' me on walks was Serendipity!]
And so I was really interested in hearing her answer. The answer was that there's some sort of cat carrier type of thingee (Don't you just love how accurately I am able to describe some of this stuff??) on wheels. When the 'cage door' is opened, said cat jumps in, anticipating a walk in the fresh air.
[This would never have worked with Serendipity, I can guarantee you!]
Joanne, of course, with her very recent knee replacement surgery, has not been able to take her cat out for 'walks'.
My mind immediately went wandering, as it often does, and I was reminded, once again, of the 'mentally retarded' cat that we had in Indiana. (See the 1st link in the above introduction, perhaps a little more than 1/4 of the way through, beginning with "I've had lots of cats" and ending with "Maybe he had no sniffer?")
Our very best friends at the time were Paul Joe and Jacky Kerker. Paul Joe was a farmer. (I say "was" because he passed away some years back.) They had two children, of whom I only taught the older, Krystal, who is herself now a teacher, but that's a story for another day (maybe).
They were the ones we relied on when Johnny (my brother) had his terrible accident and with whom we left our kitty if we were to be out of town for any length of time.
Paul Joe and Jacky's 'pets' were never considered as indoor critters. They were relegated to the outdoors, and if Paul Joe 'felt like' feeding them, they got fed. Otherwise, they would have to forage for themselves. We were understandably reluctant to leave our mentally retarded wonder, albeit much loved, in the care of such a person.
Both Paul Joe and Jacky, however, told us that we could rest-assured go on our canoe trip up to Superior/Quetico in Minnesota/Canada (dropping DD off at the University of Wisconsin at the Olympic speed-skating summer training camp along the way).
Well, we called along the way north (I don't remember where we were when we called) just to check and see how our 'baby' was doing. Jacky answered and then proceeded to hand the phone off to Paul Joe, who said (you absolutely MUST try and visualize a heavy, heavy Indiana farmer's accent here!), "Oh, yeah! He's doing great!"
[It was only after our return that we learned that, at the time of our call, Paul Joe actually had our kitty entrapped underneath a milk crate and was poking at it with a stick!)
Later ... quite a while, actually, after our return to Indiana ... we had Paul Joe and Jacky over. Our mentally retarded wonder took one look at Paul Joe sitting on the couch and immediately went over and bit him on his thumb!
We thought, "Whaaat!!" It was then that we learned of the milk crate entrapment. Also, Jacky disclosed to us at the same time, our kitty had chosen one of Paul Joe's boots to pee in!
Our baby might have been retarded, but he was selective!
Friday, February 29, 2008
Serendipity ... (part three) ...
My dictionary, circa 1976, gives the definition of serendipity as ... "the faculty of finding valuable or agreeable things not sought for".
I have since, of course, looked up current definitions on Wikipedia, some of which include meanings that are very similar, such as: ... "the effect by which one accidentally discovers something fortunate, especially while looking for something else entirely" ... "an aptitude for making discoveries by accident" ... "an instance of making such a discovery".
My second husband was 'allergic' to cats, therefore we could not have one. After our divorce, however -- and almost imMEDiately -- I went in search of a cat.
I found one. She was not found 'by accident' or 'while looking for something else entirely' ... and, when I did find her, I named her Serendipity. I thought she was my "unexpected pleasure".
And, truly, she was. She filled my heart with love.
She was Queen of the hill/rooftop, she followed me wherever I went (to the pool? -- she was right behind me all the way. for a walk? Ditto. if I drove away? -- she would not run behind. Rather, she would wait patiently for me to come back and then, hearing the sound of my vehicle's engine, greet me from wherever she was at the time with just a humongous meow [she was a tremendous talker!]).
She was just a wonderful companion and friend.
She was a 'one-person-kitty', or so I thought, until Butch appeared on the scene. Butch was the only other person I ever met that Serendipity seemed to be really attached to. She not only tolerated him, she liked him!
Serendipity died on Valentine's Day in 1995 ... thirteen years ago, for crying out loud! It seems like just yesterday. I couldn't even beGIN to get over my grief until I had composed a poem. ... ... ... here it is ... ... ...
My Valentine
Words cannot begin to describe how I feel
Now that my pretty one's insides have begun to congeal.
I cannot stop petting her -- her fur is still so soft
I suppose I'll continue to find fleas until summer -- even in the loft.
I hated to leave her this morning ... she wanted to lay in the doorway -- ajar
(I guess) so she could see what she had (seems like just yesterday) chased from afar.
Queen of the fence, rooftop, trees
She went exactly as she pleased!
Now my lovely has died on my bed, her head near my pillow, her mouth open, quite dead.
I don't want her to awaken ... there must have been pain
I wouldn't want her to have to go through all that again.
Tears shed on my bed. I've dug the hole, but will have to make it deeper ...
Can't stand the thought of yukky bugs and God knows what all getting at my beautiful sleeper.
Oh, Serendipity! My unexpected pleasure!
You were such a wonderful treasure!
As I said, it's been thirteen years. I never replaced her with another kitty. As a matter of fact, I never even thought about the possibility of replacing her!
I was never home as a taxicab driver, for one thing. Well, I guess that's the main thing! Today, however, as of this writing, I am having second thoughts.
I have since, of course, looked up current definitions on Wikipedia, some of which include meanings that are very similar, such as: ... "the effect by which one accidentally discovers something fortunate, especially while looking for something else entirely" ... "an aptitude for making discoveries by accident" ... "an instance of making such a discovery".
My second husband was 'allergic' to cats, therefore we could not have one. After our divorce, however -- and almost imMEDiately -- I went in search of a cat.
I found one. She was not found 'by accident' or 'while looking for something else entirely' ... and, when I did find her, I named her Serendipity. I thought she was my "unexpected pleasure".
And, truly, she was. She filled my heart with love.
She was Queen of the hill/rooftop, she followed me wherever I went (to the pool? -- she was right behind me all the way. for a walk? Ditto. if I drove away? -- she would not run behind. Rather, she would wait patiently for me to come back and then, hearing the sound of my vehicle's engine, greet me from wherever she was at the time with just a humongous meow [she was a tremendous talker!]).
She was just a wonderful companion and friend.
She was a 'one-person-kitty', or so I thought, until Butch appeared on the scene. Butch was the only other person I ever met that Serendipity seemed to be really attached to. She not only tolerated him, she liked him!
Serendipity died on Valentine's Day in 1995 ... thirteen years ago, for crying out loud! It seems like just yesterday. I couldn't even beGIN to get over my grief until I had composed a poem. ... ... ... here it is ... ... ...
My Valentine
Words cannot begin to describe how I feel
Now that my pretty one's insides have begun to congeal.
I cannot stop petting her -- her fur is still so soft
I suppose I'll continue to find fleas until summer -- even in the loft.
I hated to leave her this morning ... she wanted to lay in the doorway -- ajar
(I guess) so she could see what she had (seems like just yesterday) chased from afar.
Queen of the fence, rooftop, trees
She went exactly as she pleased!
Now my lovely has died on my bed, her head near my pillow, her mouth open, quite dead.
I don't want her to awaken ... there must have been pain
I wouldn't want her to have to go through all that again.
Tears shed on my bed. I've dug the hole, but will have to make it deeper ...
Can't stand the thought of yukky bugs and God knows what all getting at my beautiful sleeper.
Oh, Serendipity! My unexpected pleasure!
You were such a wonderful treasure!
As I said, it's been thirteen years. I never replaced her with another kitty. As a matter of fact, I never even thought about the possibility of replacing her!
I was never home as a taxicab driver, for one thing. Well, I guess that's the main thing! Today, however, as of this writing, I am having second thoughts.
Serendipity ... (part two) ...
... (continuing on) ... I love cats!
"Pepsi", I think, was the 'tortoise-shell' kitty that we brought down to Houston with us from Columbus, Ohio.
My husband had already been in Houston for a while, and my daughter and I were driving down from Columbus in a station wagon filled with assorted items that we had not wanted the movers to be responsible for -- stamp collection, musical instruments, etc. Pepsi, of course, was in the car as well.
We stopped at Bellingrath Gardens, in Alabama -- just west and a little south of Mobile. I had heard of those beautiful gardens, and thought, "Why not? We've got time."
Then, when we got there, I thought, "Whatever are we going to do with Pepsi?" Certainly, I could crack the windows so that she could get air, but I was having some trouble with the idea of leaving windows ajar. I noticed a sign that said (something like) 'pet boarding'. I decided to check it out. Did it cost money? Had any of their boarders ever escaped? You know, stuff like that.
The money issue would not have been a problem. The 'escape' question really concerned me. (Outside of "Timid Timothy" -- see last post, all of our cats had at least equal to or more than their ordinary share of cat IQ.) We were assured that no animal had ever escaped from their care. SO, we deposited Pepsi.
When we returned from our tour (and it was absolutely GORgeous!) to pick up Pepsi, we were met with mortification ... they had been looking for Pepsi, and didn't know where she was ... it seemed as tho she had, indeed, escaped!!
DD and I spent several minutes walking through the parking lot calling her name with no response. More minutes passed, calling and calling, with no answer.
FINally, we decided that we just had to leave. As we were going back to the car, we could hear this very loud "Meow"! And it was Pepsi, of course ... we were so relieved! She was up in a tree, waiting for us to come back and claim her. Heavens!!
The mother of one of DD's best friends, a year or so later, brought 'Pepsi' to our house, saying that she must have gotten lost.
Well, that kitty wasn't Pepsi! She looked a lot like Pepsi, but was quite a bit smaller. We kept a pretty good watch out for a "lost kitten" ad, but didn't see one, and my daughter decided that we should call our new kitty "Cola".
The two of them really had a great time playing together! One of my most distinct memories is of them playing with a box -- one inside the box, the other outside -- there's a very small pinprick of a hole in the box, at first ... then, as the 'game' progresses, the hole gets larger and larger until you see a paw sticking out and reaching/batting. A FUN game!
I don't remember what happened to Cola. She probably was too small, and perhaps even abandoned by her original family. I don't remember. She was a real sweetie and just loved to be cuddled!
Pepsi lived on to be a ripe old age. She had to be 'retired', finally, by my ex-husband. She had gotten to the point where she felt she owned the house (ALL cats are so inclined, by the way, if they're anywhere near worth their salt!). --- --- However, this cat felt as tho she had the right to 'poop' in any area she so chose. In this particular case, however, the pooping was done in our daughter's bathtub!!
The last time I saw her, she leapt into my arms and we exchanged multitudinous hugs and kisses. Ex-husband exclaimed, "She doesn't let anyone do that!"
One of my bridge partners and a close friend, Frank Jones, was visiting at our home one day and holding Pepsi.
It was obvious that he was a cat lover ... Pepsi knew, instantly!
Frank related a story to me about one of his cats ... a Siamese, I believe. (I have never been fond of Siamese, but that's beside the point.)
Anyway, it seemed that his cat (male) had been getting into just all sorts of trouble! He was climbing the fence and terrorizing the neighbor's dogs, clawing his way up into the trees, chasing the birds and getting into their nests, mutilating the neighbor's screens with his claws, frightening passing children, etc.
Frank had been receiving complaint after complaint about his cat. FINally, he thought, something had to be done. He decided to have the cat de-clawed. He really didn't want to do it, but he felt he had no choice. And so, he took the cat to the vet.
Returning from the vet, cat meowing piteously, Frank felt just AWful!
Weeks passed.
Those pitiful sounds kept ensuing from his cat. He could barely move, much less take himself outside to 'go potty'. Frank had to carry him, all the while uttering words like, "There, there. It's going to be all right. Daddy's here."
Frank felt TERrible! Finally, in desperation, he went back to the vet and told him what was going on. The vet suggested that the cat was 'putting him on', that there was no way the cat could still be in pain after all this time.
Frank thought, "Whaaaat!?!" And then he thought, "Well, maybe I should just test out this vet's theory for myself!" And so he did.
One day, after carrying said cat outside to 'do his business', said cat meowing piteously all the time, dragging his hind feet so that he might possibly be able to get to a good spot, Frank said, "O.K. I'll come back outside in just a little bit to get you."
That said, Frank retired to what he thought might be a good hiding place behind the drapes to see what might actually occur.
What he saw was hard to believe!!
As soon as the cat felt that he was 'unobserved', he hopped the fence, terrorized the various dogs and children in the neighborhood, managed to snag a baby bird or two ... ... ... THEN, when Frank opened the back door to carry him back in, he sort of fell to one side, and -- meowing piteously, dragged his back legs as tho they could hardly support him.
Well, that was the end of that charade! Frank said, "I see you. I saw what you did. Get your body on in here!" And, of course, the cat did.
That's probably one of my most favorite stories.
I don't know where you might be now, Frank, but I hope that -- wherever it is -- you are still a cat lover!
"Pepsi", I think, was the 'tortoise-shell' kitty that we brought down to Houston with us from Columbus, Ohio.
My husband had already been in Houston for a while, and my daughter and I were driving down from Columbus in a station wagon filled with assorted items that we had not wanted the movers to be responsible for -- stamp collection, musical instruments, etc. Pepsi, of course, was in the car as well.
We stopped at Bellingrath Gardens, in Alabama -- just west and a little south of Mobile. I had heard of those beautiful gardens, and thought, "Why not? We've got time."
Then, when we got there, I thought, "Whatever are we going to do with Pepsi?" Certainly, I could crack the windows so that she could get air, but I was having some trouble with the idea of leaving windows ajar. I noticed a sign that said (something like) 'pet boarding'. I decided to check it out. Did it cost money? Had any of their boarders ever escaped? You know, stuff like that.
The money issue would not have been a problem. The 'escape' question really concerned me. (Outside of "Timid Timothy" -- see last post, all of our cats had at least equal to or more than their ordinary share of cat IQ.) We were assured that no animal had ever escaped from their care. SO, we deposited Pepsi.
When we returned from our tour (and it was absolutely GORgeous!) to pick up Pepsi, we were met with mortification ... they had been looking for Pepsi, and didn't know where she was ... it seemed as tho she had, indeed, escaped!!
DD and I spent several minutes walking through the parking lot calling her name with no response. More minutes passed, calling and calling, with no answer.
FINally, we decided that we just had to leave. As we were going back to the car, we could hear this very loud "Meow"! And it was Pepsi, of course ... we were so relieved! She was up in a tree, waiting for us to come back and claim her. Heavens!!
The mother of one of DD's best friends, a year or so later, brought 'Pepsi' to our house, saying that she must have gotten lost.
Well, that kitty wasn't Pepsi! She looked a lot like Pepsi, but was quite a bit smaller. We kept a pretty good watch out for a "lost kitten" ad, but didn't see one, and my daughter decided that we should call our new kitty "Cola".
The two of them really had a great time playing together! One of my most distinct memories is of them playing with a box -- one inside the box, the other outside -- there's a very small pinprick of a hole in the box, at first ... then, as the 'game' progresses, the hole gets larger and larger until you see a paw sticking out and reaching/batting. A FUN game!
I don't remember what happened to Cola. She probably was too small, and perhaps even abandoned by her original family. I don't remember. She was a real sweetie and just loved to be cuddled!
Pepsi lived on to be a ripe old age. She had to be 'retired', finally, by my ex-husband. She had gotten to the point where she felt she owned the house (ALL cats are so inclined, by the way, if they're anywhere near worth their salt!). --- --- However, this cat felt as tho she had the right to 'poop' in any area she so chose. In this particular case, however, the pooping was done in our daughter's bathtub!!
The last time I saw her, she leapt into my arms and we exchanged multitudinous hugs and kisses. Ex-husband exclaimed, "She doesn't let anyone do that!"
One of my bridge partners and a close friend, Frank Jones, was visiting at our home one day and holding Pepsi.
It was obvious that he was a cat lover ... Pepsi knew, instantly!
Frank related a story to me about one of his cats ... a Siamese, I believe. (I have never been fond of Siamese, but that's beside the point.)
Anyway, it seemed that his cat (male) had been getting into just all sorts of trouble! He was climbing the fence and terrorizing the neighbor's dogs, clawing his way up into the trees, chasing the birds and getting into their nests, mutilating the neighbor's screens with his claws, frightening passing children, etc.
Frank had been receiving complaint after complaint about his cat. FINally, he thought, something had to be done. He decided to have the cat de-clawed. He really didn't want to do it, but he felt he had no choice. And so, he took the cat to the vet.
Returning from the vet, cat meowing piteously, Frank felt just AWful!
Weeks passed.
Those pitiful sounds kept ensuing from his cat. He could barely move, much less take himself outside to 'go potty'. Frank had to carry him, all the while uttering words like, "There, there. It's going to be all right. Daddy's here."
Frank felt TERrible! Finally, in desperation, he went back to the vet and told him what was going on. The vet suggested that the cat was 'putting him on', that there was no way the cat could still be in pain after all this time.
Frank thought, "Whaaaat!?!" And then he thought, "Well, maybe I should just test out this vet's theory for myself!" And so he did.
One day, after carrying said cat outside to 'do his business', said cat meowing piteously all the time, dragging his hind feet so that he might possibly be able to get to a good spot, Frank said, "O.K. I'll come back outside in just a little bit to get you."
That said, Frank retired to what he thought might be a good hiding place behind the drapes to see what might actually occur.
What he saw was hard to believe!!
As soon as the cat felt that he was 'unobserved', he hopped the fence, terrorized the various dogs and children in the neighborhood, managed to snag a baby bird or two ... ... ... THEN, when Frank opened the back door to carry him back in, he sort of fell to one side, and -- meowing piteously, dragged his back legs as tho they could hardly support him.
Well, that was the end of that charade! Frank said, "I see you. I saw what you did. Get your body on in here!" And, of course, the cat did.
That's probably one of my most favorite stories.
I don't know where you might be now, Frank, but I hope that -- wherever it is -- you are still a cat lover!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Serendipity ... (part one) ...
I am a cat lover.
When I was a kid, there always seemed to be both a cat and a dog in the house. And, they got along. In fact, seemed to be best friends. They would romp and play, groom each other, and sleep together (the cat curled up right next to the dog's tummy).
I don't know how my folks managed to do that! I don't remember them ever bringing home a kitten and a puppy at the same time. Whatever they did, tho, it worked!
We had a cocker spaniel for years, and a collie, too (I really liked that dog!)... I don't remember what kind of dog it was that we had when we lived out on West Arndale Road in Stowe, Ohio. I think it might have been some kind of 'setter'.
Our cat, at that time, was just a tremendous mouser, which was a good thing. We lived out in the country a little bit, and raised Rhode Island Reds. (It's hard for me to even imagine such a thing, looking back on it, but I know it actually happened. I was there!)
Anyway, daddy came home from work one night and -- after eating, went traipsing all over the place looking for our dog, who was missing. (You know what? I think that dog was a setter ... a pretty good size, longish, reddish-brown hair, tail that wagged incessantly, and tongue always out [either panting or wanting to lick somebody].)
He was gone for a long time. Finally, daddy came back, tears just streaming down his cheeks, cradling our dying dog in his arms. Some awful person in the area had found it necessary to lace meat with rat poison. Our dog was not the only one that died that year. I don't think we ever found out who did it.
Years later, I'd come home from college to visit. I don't remember seeing a dog then, but there was always a cat. Daddy liked to walk home for lunch and then take a brief snooze on the couch before heading back to work. Their cat would wait patiently for him to settle on the couch, and then "Bingo!", up the cat would leap and settle right next to daddy's tummy and the two of them would enjoy their nap together.
I've had lots of cats. I don't even remember all of their names. One, tho, we had in Indiana, who -- while not formally tested for intelligence -- was certifiably (by me) mentally retarded.
We were renting a house out in the country, and there was a problem with field mice coming in through the stove, somehow. We had a cat, so what was the problem? I mean, I ask you! Well, the problem was that the cat was simply ignoring, not interested, not hungry, blind, wasn't in the mood to 'play' with the skittering toy that so willingly presented itself time and again.
Finally, I took matters into my own hands. I would 'lay in wait' for said skittering creature and then, "Wham!", would hit it as hard as I could with a broom. That, at least, would temporarily stun it. I thought, "Well, I can permanently dispose of it later if the cat still takes no interest."
It was at that point, would you believe, that our cat -- you know, I think this might have been the one we named "Timid Timothy" -- now thought that this looked like a really fun toy, and started batting it around and mauling it a little bit. I'm pretty sure this was the same cat that, if we moved his food dish an inch or two he couldn't find it. Heavens to Betsy! Maybe he had no sniffer??
"Buffy" came along in Ohio. I was teaching 1st grade, hubby was teaching at Ohio State University, and DD (Darling Daughter) was attending Columbus School for Girls.
Everyone had left the house except for me, and I was about to leave. I was frantically looking all over for Buffy. I had to make sure 1) Buffy was in the house and 2) that she was separated from and couldn't get to, even if she tried, our parakeet.
I couldn't find her! Just sick at heart, I made sure the bird was secure and headed out to the car. And there, just outside the back door, lay Buffy. She was gasping for breath! Her eyes were already glazing over. I didn't know what could possibly have happened, and visions of my daddy carrying our dying poisoned dog from years earlier came rushing back over me!
I called my husband, who was already at work, and -- sobbing so hard that I could barely speak -- told him what had just happened. He told me to go ahead to work, that he would come home and see what was going on, take Buffy to the vet and get an autopsy -- you know, all that horribly gruesome reality stuff.
I was only a few minutes late to school. I think my husband had called to tell them that I was on my way. When I got there, the principal was actually the one waiting in my classroom with the children.
He had already told them the story of what had happened. They all looked so sad. I was a mess! I've seen other people cry, and their eyes look luminous and kind of pretty. When I cry, my eyes get all red, blotchy, and swollen, and I can hardly see! It doesn't seem fair, somehow.
Anyway, we spent several minutes talking about losing one's pet and grief. Some of the children had already experienced a loss like that in their young lives. They knew exactly how I was feeling. They were so supportive and sweet. I love that age!
Later that evening, my husband told us that the vet said Buffy had not been poisoned, that she had been hit by a car, rupturing her diaphragm. The vet told him that there would have been no pain, that she would have died instantly.
We all knew that wasn't the case. Our house sat back perhaps thirty yards from the street, and Buffy had managed to get all the way to the back door -- she was trying to reach us, to get help. She came close!
Buffy was anything but slow. She was a mighty hunter, and would often proudly bring home her latest 'trophy' to show us. Usually it had been mauled so badly that we had no chance to save it. We would simply bury it in the back yard. We were never able to break her of this habit. (She would have had a 'field day' in Indiana, wouldn't she?)
We had a planter in the combination dining/game/family room that seemed to both fascinate and challenge her. She knew that she wasn't supposed to dig in it, so she would wait until we weren't looking, make a lightning leap up to it, and dig furiously because she knew she had only a few precious seconds to try and have a little fun!
Sometimes we'd notice her eyeing the forbidden object, her muscles twitching in anticipation of a quick leap and dig, and we'd warn, "Buffy!". Usually right after that she'd come over and meow and purr, and knead with her claws, showing us how much loved we were and what a good kitty she was.
We always thought she would meet her demise at the hands of a large wisteria we had right outside the back door. Somehow or another, tho, she never chewed on it ... must have been some kind of instinctive thing.
She challenged a car, instead, and lost her final dare.
When I was a kid, there always seemed to be both a cat and a dog in the house. And, they got along. In fact, seemed to be best friends. They would romp and play, groom each other, and sleep together (the cat curled up right next to the dog's tummy).
I don't know how my folks managed to do that! I don't remember them ever bringing home a kitten and a puppy at the same time. Whatever they did, tho, it worked!
We had a cocker spaniel for years, and a collie, too (I really liked that dog!)... I don't remember what kind of dog it was that we had when we lived out on West Arndale Road in Stowe, Ohio. I think it might have been some kind of 'setter'.
Our cat, at that time, was just a tremendous mouser, which was a good thing. We lived out in the country a little bit, and raised Rhode Island Reds. (It's hard for me to even imagine such a thing, looking back on it, but I know it actually happened. I was there!)
Anyway, daddy came home from work one night and -- after eating, went traipsing all over the place looking for our dog, who was missing. (You know what? I think that dog was a setter ... a pretty good size, longish, reddish-brown hair, tail that wagged incessantly, and tongue always out [either panting or wanting to lick somebody].)
He was gone for a long time. Finally, daddy came back, tears just streaming down his cheeks, cradling our dying dog in his arms. Some awful person in the area had found it necessary to lace meat with rat poison. Our dog was not the only one that died that year. I don't think we ever found out who did it.
Years later, I'd come home from college to visit. I don't remember seeing a dog then, but there was always a cat. Daddy liked to walk home for lunch and then take a brief snooze on the couch before heading back to work. Their cat would wait patiently for him to settle on the couch, and then "Bingo!", up the cat would leap and settle right next to daddy's tummy and the two of them would enjoy their nap together.
I've had lots of cats. I don't even remember all of their names. One, tho, we had in Indiana, who -- while not formally tested for intelligence -- was certifiably (by me) mentally retarded.
We were renting a house out in the country, and there was a problem with field mice coming in through the stove, somehow. We had a cat, so what was the problem? I mean, I ask you! Well, the problem was that the cat was simply ignoring, not interested, not hungry, blind, wasn't in the mood to 'play' with the skittering toy that so willingly presented itself time and again.
Finally, I took matters into my own hands. I would 'lay in wait' for said skittering creature and then, "Wham!", would hit it as hard as I could with a broom. That, at least, would temporarily stun it. I thought, "Well, I can permanently dispose of it later if the cat still takes no interest."
It was at that point, would you believe, that our cat -- you know, I think this might have been the one we named "Timid Timothy" -- now thought that this looked like a really fun toy, and started batting it around and mauling it a little bit. I'm pretty sure this was the same cat that, if we moved his food dish an inch or two he couldn't find it. Heavens to Betsy! Maybe he had no sniffer??
"Buffy" came along in Ohio. I was teaching 1st grade, hubby was teaching at Ohio State University, and DD (Darling Daughter) was attending Columbus School for Girls.
Everyone had left the house except for me, and I was about to leave. I was frantically looking all over for Buffy. I had to make sure 1) Buffy was in the house and 2) that she was separated from and couldn't get to, even if she tried, our parakeet.
I couldn't find her! Just sick at heart, I made sure the bird was secure and headed out to the car. And there, just outside the back door, lay Buffy. She was gasping for breath! Her eyes were already glazing over. I didn't know what could possibly have happened, and visions of my daddy carrying our dying poisoned dog from years earlier came rushing back over me!
I called my husband, who was already at work, and -- sobbing so hard that I could barely speak -- told him what had just happened. He told me to go ahead to work, that he would come home and see what was going on, take Buffy to the vet and get an autopsy -- you know, all that horribly gruesome reality stuff.
I was only a few minutes late to school. I think my husband had called to tell them that I was on my way. When I got there, the principal was actually the one waiting in my classroom with the children.
He had already told them the story of what had happened. They all looked so sad. I was a mess! I've seen other people cry, and their eyes look luminous and kind of pretty. When I cry, my eyes get all red, blotchy, and swollen, and I can hardly see! It doesn't seem fair, somehow.
Anyway, we spent several minutes talking about losing one's pet and grief. Some of the children had already experienced a loss like that in their young lives. They knew exactly how I was feeling. They were so supportive and sweet. I love that age!
Later that evening, my husband told us that the vet said Buffy had not been poisoned, that she had been hit by a car, rupturing her diaphragm. The vet told him that there would have been no pain, that she would have died instantly.
We all knew that wasn't the case. Our house sat back perhaps thirty yards from the street, and Buffy had managed to get all the way to the back door -- she was trying to reach us, to get help. She came close!
Buffy was anything but slow. She was a mighty hunter, and would often proudly bring home her latest 'trophy' to show us. Usually it had been mauled so badly that we had no chance to save it. We would simply bury it in the back yard. We were never able to break her of this habit. (She would have had a 'field day' in Indiana, wouldn't she?)
We had a planter in the combination dining/game/family room that seemed to both fascinate and challenge her. She knew that she wasn't supposed to dig in it, so she would wait until we weren't looking, make a lightning leap up to it, and dig furiously because she knew she had only a few precious seconds to try and have a little fun!
Sometimes we'd notice her eyeing the forbidden object, her muscles twitching in anticipation of a quick leap and dig, and we'd warn, "Buffy!". Usually right after that she'd come over and meow and purr, and knead with her claws, showing us how much loved we were and what a good kitty she was.
We always thought she would meet her demise at the hands of a large wisteria we had right outside the back door. Somehow or another, tho, she never chewed on it ... must have been some kind of instinctive thing.
She challenged a car, instead, and lost her final dare.
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