The Land of Missing Pets

“Katie!”

The dreaded sound of Mama’s voice beckoned me from my perch in the tree house. The sun was setting gold, yellow, and pink over the horizon, and I knew it was time to go back inside. Still, I pretended that I didn’t hear. I would stay in that tree house as long as possible, eyes scanning our yard, the neighbor’s yard, searching desperately, desperately for Mollie.

It was my fifth afternoon in the tree house; the fifth afternoon I’d spent calling her, watching the woods, watching the driveway, watching everything for any sign of her gray and white coat.

Mama and Daddy had all but given up, but the eight-year-old I was stubbornly held on, keeping vigil on Daddy’s plywood and the limbs of an old oak tree for as long as possible. I don’t remember how many more days I stayed in that tree house from after school until nightfall calling Mollie’s name, but I do remember she never came back.

She wasn’t my only pet that went missing, but she’s the one I remember the most…except for Danny of course. Danny was an escape artist. If there was a hole in a fence, he would find it for you and help himself to the always greener grass on the other side.

Not unlike many of the horses I’ve known, Danny was food motivated. Extremely food motivated. He loved cheese puffs, animal crackers, and apple treats. Not to mention sweet feed, alfalfa, and carrots.

If there was nicer, sweeter, more fragrant grass on the other side of the fence, Danny would find a way through and indulge. Thankfully, he escaped only twice (we think), but both times, he managed to get himself in a whole heck of a lot of trouble.

The first escape resulted in a nasty collision with a car.

Thankfully, the driver of the car escaped with only a few scratches, but Danny wasn’t quite so lucky. The accident tore a nasty gash on his beautiful face. Forty-three stitches and three thousand dollars in vet bills later, we decided it was time to move on to greener—and more secure—pastures. Danny’s new home provided better fencing and a little peace of mind.

Several years passed without incident. We checked the fences religiously, patching where needed and always keeping an eye on our big, flashy blonde Appaloosa, lest he should revert back to his old Houdini ways.

And eventually, he did.

When I came home from school one day, Mama broke the news to me.

“Danny’s missing.” She said with a grim tightness around her lips. “Daddy’s already out looking for him.”

Missing? The word didn’t compute. Danny was huge. Hard to miss. How could a 1500-pound horse possibly be missing?

But he was.

We called the Sherriff’s Department daily, drove up and down the streets calling his name. We did all the things you do when a pet a missing, even though our pet happened to be a horse.

About three days out, we got a lead that Danny was spotted in a church parking lot on a Sunday; I guess he was praying that we’d find him. At the time, I imagined him milling about the church goers, nibbling on the floppy hat of the pastor’s wife, saying his “hi, how are you’s” and nodding his gigantic head.

The church lead never did pan out, but all the praying I'd been doing did finally pay off.

Daddy was the one who found him. On one of dozens of drives down country roads. Like me holding vigil for Mollie in my childhood tree house, Daddy just wasn’t willing to give up.

Danny was pinned in the front yard of a mobile home of a family who claimed they’d tried to find his owners, but I suspect they hadn’t. They had a nice setup going on, new (temporary) fencing, fresh hay. We figured they intended to take him to the livestock sale, make a few extra hundred dollars. 

Thankfully, we found him just in time. Thankfully, he wasn't destined to disappear to the land of missing pets, that elusive place where cats and dogs--yes, I suppose even horses--go when their people can't find them, that place where they all sit and wait patiently until we finally come to take them home.

The Blonde Who Still Has My Heart

Psst! Did you notice my new blog banner? How could you not, right? Isn't it amazing? The image is by the incredibly talented Flood. I was lucky enough to win a few customized images by Flood in the yeah write Superfecta Challenge.  I recommend you check out Flood's Photostream immediately. Her images are beautiful, unique, and haunting. 

Linking up with yeah write, a wonderful, supportive community of writers who blog. Just click the button below for extraordinary writing. 

The Catervention

Last night, I was part of a Catervention. As informal as it was, I’m pretty certain that some detailed planning went into the entire thing.

My parents, husband, and I were cruising down the interstate, discussing fascinating topics like the weather and flatulence in the workplace, when the subject of my new kitten came up. They probably thought it was a casual turn in the conversation. I know better.

My love for cats has long been a source of contention in my family. During my twenty-nine years on this earth, there’s never been a time when I was catless. Growing up, my parents begrudgingly surrendered to my obvious need for feline interaction, but we rarely (see: never) had more than one cat at a time. They controlled my addiction as long as I was under their roof.

But when I wasn’t under their roof anymore, I entered the cat collecting phase of my life.

The first apartment my husband and I lived in didn’t allow pets. This minor detail didn’t stop me from moving my diabetic cat in with us. After she passed from an infection, Jeremy and I went to the shelter and rescued Kisa, our first cat together.

We lived in bliss with Kisa for a little over a year before deciding that we needed to rescue another cat: Sushi. Another year passing saw the rescue of Poe.

Up until last week, we were a three-cat household with no plans for expanding our family. Three cats was quite enough, thank you. The shedding. The litterboxes. The never-ending cycle of pouncing, napping, eating, and meowing. It had finally satisfied my yearning for cats. Finally.

The satisfaction lasted a whole year or so. Which brings us to present and last Friday, when a deaf kitten showed up on our doorstep, and I officially entered Crazy Cat Lady territory.  Hence the Catervention.

We’re pretty sure the kitten was dumped, cast off by a family who didn’t have the time or inclination to care for her. We live in a large subdivision, so what better place to dump your unwanted pets? I won’t get on my soapbox regarding abandoned pets today…but suffice it to say, it’s one of the things that make me fighting angry.

I was minding my own business, ironically writing a story about my Pawpaw and his love for cats, when I heard her desperate meowing.

She was curled up on the rug in front of our door, and when I opened the door, she didn’t even budge. Looking back, I should have known right away that she couldn’t hear me and that’s why she didn’t move, but we didn’t discover her hearing impairment until later that night.

Cat lover that I am, I immediately fell head over heels. She was tiny, still a kitten but at that stage where they look more like a miniature cat than a kitten. Golden eyes, black fur highlighted with splashes of gold. Adorable and sweet, so sweet.

Thoughts of “what are we going to do?” rushed through my head. We could take her to the animal shelter, leaving her with an uncertain future. We could advertise her on facebook to a handful of friends.

We could keep her.

I kept circling back to the keeping-her option. What can I say? I’m a sucker.

When Jeremy came home, it was probably already a hopeless case. By that time, I was pretty sure that she was deaf and that put another checkmark in the Keeping Her column. And unfortunately, Jeremy is also a soft-touch with no common sense when it comes to these sorts of things, so there was no one around to talk us out of what ultimately became our final decision.

Futilely, my parents tried last night, five days after Bast (named after an Egyptian goddess) entered our lives.

“We just don’t want you to turn into those women we saw on that Animal Planet Show the other night.” My mom pleaded. “You said you’d stop at two cats, then at three. We don’t want to watch you on Animal Hoarders one day!”

And I don’t want that to happen either, but I couldn’t possibly say no to that little kitten with the black fur and gold spots, especially considering we have room in our hearts and home for her.

Just say a quick prayer that no other strays show up on our porch, because four cats is our limit. No more after four…

Probably.

Linking up with the writers at yeah write once again!

Hand Me Down

With our bellies full and our sights already set on the joyful tasks of the coming season, my husband and I began pulling out our Christmas decorations over Thanksgiving weekend.  To call them our Christmas decorations may be a bit of a misnomer, however.  It’s true that the decorations are stored at our house now, and it’s true that, for the moment, they do belong to us, but the real truth is that these Christmas decorations, a lot like many of our possessions, are what you might call hand-me-downs.

You see many of the decorations that deck the halls of the Ross house are classic, maybe even a little vintage, passed down to us from our parents and grandparents and more precious than any brand new decorations could ever be. Each ornament has a story and memory attached to it, and when we start dragging all of those decorations out, the memories come with them. That’s what I love about hand-me-downs. Everything has a history, a story to tell, so that possessions take on a life of their own and become much more than simple “things.”

Since I was a little girl, I have lived in a world of hand-me-downs. Having a big sister meant that many of my toys had been played with before, carried on adventures through my sister’s imagination and then through mine as well. It wasn’t as if I didn’t have my own toys mind you, because I did. I had generous and loving parents who made sure I had everything I could ask for, but I also had parents who made me appreciate the little things in life, the simple moments, the beauty of imagination, and the joy and history of hand-me-downs.

To this day, I prefer old things over new. I drag my husband antiquing all of the time. We search for vintage Pyrex, handmade furniture, and all sorts of other treasures just waiting to reveal themselves. I love the thrill of finding something unique and old on a trip antiquing. I always try to imagine where that item came from, what stories it has to tell, what kind of people owned it before me.  I try to appreciate the history of something, while also giving it a chance to become a part of new stories and adventures.

Via

Even our cats are hand-me-downs. Second-hand felines rescued from the Humane Society and brought to live among our rag-tag collection of antiques and uniques. They were all someone else’s discarded trash until they became a precious part of our family.

I’m sure that each of our cats have exciting stories to tell about the lives they led before they came to live with us. Just as I’m sure that the ornaments that Jeremy’s Granny made could tell all about the love she had in her heart as her hands crafted each one. Or the white oak basket that Papa made would tell of his love for Coca-Cola and biscuits and syrup and a favorite grandson that would become my Daddy. I would love to hear the tales that an abandoned biscuit cutter I bought for a dollar in a thrift store would tell of delicious meals and savory conversations over supper.

One day I’ll try to write down some of those stories, those moments of history caught forever in family Christmas decorations and vintage mixing bowls, just waiting to be handed down again so that the stories within them may continue forever. 

Is your life and home filled with hand-me-downs? Or do you prefer new over old?

Cats Don't Understand Sarcasm

The holidays are once again upon us, and for my family, the holidays mean food, fellowship, and fights over putting up the Christmas tree.

It's a tradition that stretches across three generations, beginning (we think, at least) with my Mawmaw and Pawpaw. Last weekend, my Mom and I witnessed just what my Pawpaw had to go through every year when putting up the Christmas tree. As Mawmaw sat perched (dare I say judgmentally?) in her recliner, Mama and I slaved over the decorating of the tree; however, Mawmaw was not totally uninvolved in this process. She gave us very explicit orders as we went. Her favorite criticism? "You need more ornaments along the bottom!" By the time we finished our task, Mama's tree was more-than-a-little bottom-heavy.

Mama and Daddy typically get along regarding the placement of ornaments. It's the getting the tree in the stand that's the kicker for them. One year, I fully believed my parents might divorce over that dang Christmas tree. The holiday spirit was alive and well that Christmas.

Jeremy and I continued the Christmas tree fighting family tradition this weekend in our own unique way as we "fluffed" our pre-lit artificial tree (something I never thought I'd have but that's another blog post for another day). I had been fussing at our cat Sushi, who was attempting to "help" with the fluffing by chewing on the tree limbs. As Jeremy joined me to help with the tree, he said to the cat: "Sushi, you're so helpful."

Annoyed, I glared up at him. "I've just been scolding her for being under there, and you come in and try to undermine me. We need to show a unified front to her."

He laughed, Christmas tree lights twinkling in his unreasonably merry eyes. "I was being sarcastic, Katie."

"Jeremy." Followed by a sigh. "Cats don't understand sarcasm."

Out of Order: How to Overcome a Writing/Blogging Drought

I feel like I need to hang a sign on Chicken Noodle Gravy's doors. It would read in big red letters:

Out of Order

And it would give readers some sort of indication as to what the heck is going on around these parts. Because something is definitely going on...and that something is defined by the fact that pretty much nothing is going on and how that sucks. 

I'm going through a dry spell; I can admit it. We all have them. I haven't been inspired to write much of anything lately, and so honestly, I haven't written much of anything, even though I know the whole key to overcoming writer's block is writing through it. But what I have written in the last couple of weeks has been drivel and that annoys me. It's annoying enough having to deal with writer's block in the first place, but having to deal with bad writing, too? Well, that's just too much. So instead of writing badly, I just don't write at all.

Not a good answer.

And because I've been so absent as a writer, I'm finding that I'm pretty absent as a reader as well. When I sit down at my laptop to catch up on blog reading or (miracle of miracles) actually WRITE something, I get distracted by things like this:

And like this:

                                                                        Source: thedailytail.com via Katie on Pinterest

Because, I mean, who wouldn't? But getting distracted by cat videos and beautiful horses isn't really getting me anywhere in the whole "become a writer" endeavor that I've taken on, so I'm determined to start "writing through" this...whatever it is. Even if writing through it means I write some really horrible crap, at least I'll be writing something. 

So, in the spirit of overcoming this blog/writing drought I'm in, I'm going to make up some advice for myself and for you, if you choose to follow the advice of some random internet lady who has no idea what she's talking about. 

Without further ado, I bring you: How to Overcome a Writing/Blogging Drought in Ten Five Four Three Easy Steps!*

3) Take a "break" from blogging. This is not to be confused with a break from writing, because that's not accomplishing much of anything. We've been over that. But getting away from your computer and bloggy land might do you some good, might give you a little perspective, and I'm pretty sure that getting out of the house will provide you with better blogging fodder than the view from your couch provides you. Fact: no one can blog about the lint under their husband's recliner or the drink rings on their coffee table and make it sound compelling. True story. 

2) Pick a fight with your husband and/or significant other (like how I added the and/or there? Hey, I don't judge! Whatever floats your love boat, man). Now this particular step is to be handled with care and caution. I don't recommend picking any fights that might end in violence or divorce, because that's not cool, but a tiny little fight over clipping toenails in the kitchen should be allowed. Passion is definitely something that gets the creative juices flowing, and chances are getting a little "het up" will be a great way to open the flood gates o' inspiration. Studies show. 

And the number one way to overcome a writing/blogging drought is:

1) Write! Who cares if you write complete crap that you wouldn't even wipe your tail with? No one will read it, unless you're like me and like sharing everything, so what does it matter? Write a story about that gnat that flew up your nose last week. From the gnat's perspective. Write about how your front porch steps desperately need to be painted. Write a letter to your former arch nemesis with whom you are trying to make amends. It doesn't matter what you write. Just write. Because writing is what you love and without it, you feel a little empty inside and that makes you cry. And no one likes a big cry baby. 

*The author of this blog does not endorse these three easy steps. Follow at your own risk.

There you have it. The end of the Chicken Noodle Gravy Blog Drought of 2011. Now back to your regularly scheduled posts full of awesomeness and killer writing. 

PS ~ I will catch up with my blog reading. Someday. I promise. I miss you guys!

A Good Soul, or Today I'm a Cat Blogger

Over the weekend, The Lightning and Lightning Bug community linked up posts about their blogging identity, who they are as a blogger, what they write, that kind of thing. A great link up because I got to learn so much about my blogging/writing buddies and how they got their start blogging. It also helped me think about who I am as a blogger. In fact, I discovered that Chicken Noodle Gravy is a blog with no identity and that I'm completely okay with that.

The best thing about having a blog with no identity? It can be whatever it wants to be whenever it wants to be that. And tonight, Chicken Noodle Gravy wants to be a cat blog.

My regular readers may already know that I have three cats: Poe, Sushi, and Kisa. They are characters in their own right and definitely make mine and Jeremy's lives more interesting, but today's post is not about them. No, today's post is about the fourth cat that almost joined our family. The fourth cat that I managed to successfully avoid.

Kisa, posing with my owl pajamas on our unmade bed

Sushi, hiding her face and evilness from the camera

                                     

Poe being Poe

At work a couple of weeks ago, I was quietly minding my own business in my office. I was probably on the verge of solving the debt crisis or something else incredibly brilliant, when I was interrupted by my coworker. She had a huge grin on her face. "Umm...can you come out here for a minute?"

I heaved a sigh. I figured a student wanted me, that's what I usually have to go to the lobby for, but when I got to the front desk, I knew why my coworker had been grinning. A student was waiting for me, but this student wasn't interested in our admissions process, and she didn't need to be counseled on what to do with her life. This student held a kitten.

He was about 9 weeks old, a grey and black tabby. He was cuddled up in the student's arms and smiling. My heart melted, and I immediately felt that old sensation, the sensation that I was about to do something incredibly stupid.

The student smiled at me, probably knew I was a sucker the moment she laid eyes on me. "He was dumped in the parking lot."

Without wasting a moment to think, I opened my big, stupid mouth. "I'll take him."

And so I did. My coworker (a fellow animal lover) had her dog's cage in her car. She let me use it for the kitten. We found him a bowl and filled it with water; another coworker shared a bite of ham sandwich with the little guy. A makeshift litter box was added to the cage, and the kitten was set. I knew at the end of the day I would take him home. I knew Poe, Sushi, and Kisa would hate him on sight. I knew feeding another cat would be expensive, that adding another litter box to our spare room would be pushing it. I knew all of this, but I saw no other choice.

The kitten was one of the sweetest animals I've ever met. Every time someone came by to visit, he would reach his paw through the cage as if to shake hands. When we picked him up, he'd cuddle up close, purring loudly. In the cage, he would simply curl up in the corner, keeping one eye on me and smiling his sly cat smile. I don't know how else to describe him except to say that he had A Good Soul.

Bad picture taken with my cell phone of A Good Soul

As the afternoon wore on, we asked nearly every student that came through our doors if they wanted a cat. Most made awful faces at the mention of the feline.

"I hate cats!"

"Cats are only good for target practice!"

"I'm a dog person!"

Even Whitney, my friend who doesn't care much for cats, felt sorry for our kitten after awhile. No one seemed to want to even give him a chance. And in the end, it was Whitney who ended up saving him. She was talking to a mother and her little girl in her office. She'd just got done describing the admissions process, and as we had done all day, she rounded out the meeting with a simple question, "Do y'all need a cat?"

The mother was excited! Turns out, they'd been looking for a kitten for her daughter. Turns out, our kitten was the perfect kitten for them. As soon as I pulled him out of the cage, he was their's. It was obvious to everyone. No more than five minutes after Whitney had asked them that question they were out the door with that great little kitten.

Personally, I think it was fate. It was definitely a happy ending to the tale; we ended up saving a kitten and making a little girl's life brighter. All in a day's work.

And even better for me? A fourth cat for the Ross household was successfully averted. My crazy cat lady days are delayed for a little while longer...



And to round out this very long post that already includes one of my favorite things (cats), I'd like to send a shout out and a HUGE thank you to another of my favorite things (my buddy Neens!) My friend Nina over at The Adventures of Artsy Nina and Camp Honeybelle (her wonderful Etsy shop) did an amazing thing for me. She sent me a gift in the mail, a handmade gift made with love and heart. Check out the Word Owl she made me! Nina's a wonderful friend, one who has been there for me lately with words of support and wisdom. I cannot tell you how much this simple gift lifted me up. She's one incredible lady, a "good soul"...and yesterday was her birthday! Happy Birthday, friend! Love you and thanks again! Stop by Nina's blog and wish her a happy birthday, and be sure to check out her Etsy shop that's filled with unique vintage and retro treasures!

The Goose Who Didn't Go

The goose who didn’t go

Refused to fly away

She didn’t care for flying

And wanted just to stay.

Her sisters and her brothers

Flew into a sky of gray

But for this goose a different fate

Awaited her that day.

I wasn’t like all the others. I wasn’t ready to leave home, to explore the great, vast world. I was perfectly comfortable in my own little nest on my own familiar pond.

I watched them all leave, day after day, seeking the thrills and adventures of a life in flight, but I didn’t envy their journey. I didn’t even consider their path in life for myself. I was destined for something altogether different, and while I might not have known what it was at the time, I was sure that it was great.

Mother and Father worried over me. They honked and fussed, kept insisting that I try to fly, that I give my wings a chance. But I knew my own heart, and I knew I couldn’t leave my pond, at least not until I learned what my true purpose was.

I didn’t have to wait long. My fellow fledglings had already left the pond, soaring south as our instincts demanded. Only a few members of my flock remained. Mother and Father were growing desperate, but I was steadfast in my wishes; I insisted that they go on without me.

You’ll freeze! You’ll starve! You’ll be eaten by a fox! Mother exclaimed frantically; her desperation made her honks high-pitched and pitiful. I tried to ignore the twinge of guilt I felt. You’ll freeze, and your wings will fall off, and then where will you be!!??

I wondered where she thought I’d be if I left. Just like all the rest. Another goose living a goose life, flying south and back and south and back. I wanted something different. I wanted something new. I tried to make her understand this for what would be the last time. She and Father argued until they could argue no more. Their stubborn gosling was just a stubborn goose, and there was no helping it. They left me standing on the shore of our pond; they refused to look back or even say goodbye.

On this the day I didn’t go, I felt a little lonely. I stood on the shore for what seemed like an eternity, watching the spot where Mother and Father and all the others had disappeared into a vast sky, a sky that didn’t beckon me or call my name. I waddled around the banks, snapping at the random beetle bug, sifting through the grass for seed. It was while I was sifting through the grass that I met my true purpose and began to understand why I didn’t feel the call of flight.

I poked my bill through the thick grass of the bank. Something smelled interesting in that specific spot, so I stuck my bill in again just for another moment.

Ow!

The squeak was so soft I might have missed it altogether if it hadn’t been accompanied by a quick swat to my bill. I took a couple of steps back and flapped my wings in the most threatening of ways. Whatever lay hidden deep in the grass didn’t move a muscle. I waddled a bit closer. Hello?

My greeting was met by a low growling sound. Don’t come any closer.

I stretched my neck, peered deeper into that thick grass. Some black fur was nestled in the tall stems, a peak of white.  Who are you?  I asked quietly. All kinds of creatures lived near the pond, but I knew I’d never seen one with black and white fur before. I vainly wished another goose was there to help figure out this curious critter.

The growling sound was replaced by a pitiful mew. I’m no one. I’ve lost who I am.

Lost who you are? How was that even possible? This creature was very strange indeed. I honked a platitude and nosed in closer. Two perfect black ears poked out from the top of the grass, glowing yellow eyes followed. For a moment, I grew a little frightened. Perhaps this was one of those fox things Mother had warned me about.

Then the rest of its head appeared. If this was a fox, it was far too cute to be threatening. Its golden eyes blinked at me. You’re a goose.

Yes, I am, and what are you?

I used to be a kitten, but I’ve lost my mother, so I’m not sure what I am anymore. The creature…er, kitten dropped its head sadly. Suddenly, I realized the reason I didn’t want to fly away with the others. I discovered my purpose in this strange being with its black and white fur and soft, mewing voice. I think I had been waiting on it.

I straightened out my neck, smoothed down my wings and tried to look peaceful and comforting. Well, I used to be a goose, but I didn’t fly away, so I’m not sure what I am either. Maybe we can figure out what we are together.

And so we did. 

via

Author's Note: This was written for the Lightning and Lightning Bug prompt: I Need a Vacation. We were instructed to write a story about a vacation or a journey. As usual, I tried to take my response in an unexpected direction. So I wrote about the lack of a journey that led to a journey. 


By the way I'm guest-posting over at Narragansett No. 7 today. I reveal a dark and dirty secret...be sure to check it out!

An Unspeakable Evil, aka Fan Fiction

 

My Dearly Departed Diabetic Cat

I clapped my hands and jumped from foot to foot. The squeal that was building in my chest would burst out any moment but that wouldn't do; it might scare them away. I tried holding my breath to keep the sound stifled. PawPaw was down on his hands and knees, reaching through weeds and into the darkness below the blue utility building. He grunted, and I watched the spot where his hand had disappeared under the building, eyes wide with wonder and anticipation. "Gotcha." He said and moments later pulled out a tiny grey kitten.

He turned to me with his blazing grin and presented the tiny fluff of fur. From the moment he dropped her into my hands, I was in love. You see PawPaw had a thing for cats, and he'd passed on his thing for cats to me, his youngest granddaughter. Neither of my parents ever fully understood my connection with animals as a child, but PawPaw did. He loved them like I did, cats most of all.

Little Bit's newest litter resided under the blue utility building. It was PawPaw's intention to get them out so I could admire them up close-like. The first kitten he pulled out was enough for me though. I can remember sitting down in the cool grass and pressing her to my chest. She mewed softly at me and gazed up out of nervous green eyes. She was perfect. From that point on, every visit to MawMaw and PawPaw's was spent with the kittens and that perfect little grey kitten in particular. I wanted to take her home with me, but like most parents, mine weren't too keen on adding another member to the family, especially one that they assumed I would tire of within a few months.

But I wasn't to be deterred, and I enlisted the help of PawPaw in developing a plan. My parents had dropped me off at Kitten Haven while they went on a date night. While they were gone, PawPaw and I plotted and planned, thinking of various arguments and reasons why I needed that grey kitten. By the time my parents returned, we had our script perfected. They didn't stand a chance against us. That night, I rode home with the grey kitten in my lap.

The kitten never really got a proper name. We called her Kitten for awhile, and with our Southern drawls, her name eventually developed into Kidden. Because PawPaw gave her to me, she was more special than any pet I'd ever had and will probably ever have since. She would prove to be an inextricable tie to him even after he passed away from cancer only a few years later.

I loved that cat with a fierce passion that only a child can possess. I grew up with her, rarely can remember a time when she wasn't there.

When she was twelve-years old, she became sick. We took her to several veterinarians, desperately searching for what was causing her severe weight loss and dehydration. Eventually, she was diagnosed with diabetes. The vet advised that most owners of diabetic animals had to make the tough decision to euthanize their pet, simply because the time and money involved in caring for a diabetic pet was overwhelming. He explained that Kidden wouldn't live much longer anyway, no more than six to nine months.

By this time, PawPaw was no longer with us. Kidden reminded me of him and kept his love alive for me. I couldn't bear the thought of losing this last part of him. We decided to try the vet's recommendation of feeding Kidden a special diabetic food and giving her insulin shots twice a day. Have you ever given a cat a shot? Well, trust me when I say, it's not pretty.

Kidden went on to live for two more years. She died just a few months after Jeremy moved to Georgia. I think she was making sure I had someone else to love before she left. I still haven't quite gotten over her passing. When I think of her, I think of PawPaw and all the wonderful times we shared. I'm so grateful for the time I had with him and all the memories he gave me. I'm so grateful for that little grey kitten that would watch over me for him when he wasn't there to do it himself.

Do you have a special pet that still carries your heart?

The Three Little Owls of Hawthorn Park

Once upon a time, because all good stories start that way, there lived three little owls with crazy little eyes in Hawthorn Park, a magical subdivision kingdom in Georgia. These three little owls sat upon their one little perch and watched over a little couple and their three little cats. And by "watched over," I mean "freaked out" with their crazy little eyes. Those crazy little eyes followed the little couple and their three little cats everywhere they moved. Oh, you're vacuuming? Said the three little owls in their weird, all-in-unison voices. Allow us to watch you vacuum. We love to watch vacuuming!

And so the little couple decided that maybe the three little owls should find a new home. The little husband said to his little wife. Do you see now that just because they're owls doesn't mean they're cute and that we have to own them? And the little wife did see. She really did. But the three little owls were on clearance at Target, and she just couldn't resist them.

The End.

"A wise old owl sat on an oak;

 The more he saw the less he spoke; The less he spoke the more he heard;

 Why aren't we all like that wise old bird?" 

It's not too late to play Captchouli. Gain exposure for your blog here at Chicken Noodle Gravy and at My 3 Little Birds!

  

Lazy Katie and the Nice People She Loves

I make no excuses for the extreme streak of laziness that courses through my blood. I'm sure I could come up with plenty, but frankly, I'm just too lazy to. So, I won't make any excuses for why I am just now getting around to creating this post...other than the fact that I'm lazy. For which I apologize.


Let's move on. Here we go. Some great blogger buddies have taken the time to give my blog some shout-outs, and what have I done in response? Absolutely nothing. I suck. The point of the blog award is to accept it, play the little game, and pass the award along to some more great blogger buddies. Have I done any of that? Absolutely not. I suck. And now things have piled up, and I'm ashamed of myself. But I'm going to rectify my mistake/laziness today in one gigantic THANK YOU/SHARE THE LOVE post, which I present to you now in beautiful, fabulous Technicolor:


Stylish Blogger Award

From Belle of The Desert, fellow Georgia girl who's now soaking up some desert rays, cheering on the 'Yotes, and avoiding cilantro like the freaking plague. She's lovely, she's funny, and she's one of my faves. Check her out! 


Versatile Blogger Award 

From My 3 Little Birds, a talented Mom who writes beautifully and makes me think and laugh. Join her on Mondays for great recipes at the What's For Dinner Linkup and everyday for sometimes thought-provoking and sometimes hilarious posts.


From One Mixed Bag, an absolute riot with beautiful cats and awesome skills for making crafty cards. Blogs about the little things in life and never fails to make me smile (or crack up laughing); her tales featuring Mr. Bernie are my favorite and keep me giggling for days!


From Belle of the Desert (cue laziness on writer's part and see above) ;)


I Love This Blog Award

From The Colie Chronicles, a newly discovered favorite. I swear I can't get enough of these women who make me laugh. Even her freakin' side bars crack me up with her clever humor. Check this chick out for laughs and general lovableness. Her PMS post is my favorite so far; you'll die laughing!




So there you have it. Someone thinks I'm versatile, stylish, and lovable...although I can't imagine why. These honors are SO awesome coming from these fabulous ladies, but the real award is having had the chance to read each of their blogs and being able to call them blogger buddies...I'm a sap, I know. Seriously, do yourself a favor and check them each out. They all rule the school and rock my socks. 


The awards each have their own set of rules, but I'm going to  ignore bend those rules and come up with my own set for all three.  Remember, I'm super-dee-duper-ty lazy.


Here are the real rules:


The Stylish Award (share seven things about yourself that we don't know and pass to 15 bloggers)


The Versatile Award (share seven facts and pass along to 15 bloggers)


The I Love This Blog Award (share ten things you love and pass along to 10 bloggers)


And here are my made up rules. 


Ten Things You May or May Not Already Know About Me:


1) I'm lazy. Duh, y'all. By the way, this is the fact that you may already know ;)


2) I'm thisclose to being a crazy cat lady. We have three cats, but if my husband would let me, we'd probably have more. I don't think I would hoard cats, but I wouldn't put it past me. Keep an eye on me, and if I get another cat, call Animal Planet.


3) I was an English major in college, a fact that haunts me to this day. I'm the go-to gal for help with papers, writing emails, etc. And I love it. What I don't love? When I make a grammatical error, I never live it down. 


4) I adore anything hot and spicy. To the detriment of my digestive system. I'm pretty sure I long ago burned off all of my taste buds.

5) I'm obsessed with Johnny Depp. I've seen MOST (never got to see The Brave) of his movies multiple times. I even helped run a Johnny Depp community online years ago with my buddie Andie. Truth is I miss that site. It was called Modern Day Pirate.


6) As a teenager, I wrote fan fiction. Not just any fan fiction. Fan fiction for Days of Our Lives. There, I've admitted it. I'd rather leave this in the past and move along now. Move along, there's nothing to see here.


7) I'm a total Gleek. Rachel Berry is my (anti-)hero. I want her and Finn to be together so bad it hurts. I have all of the Glee soundtracks. I sing the songs at the top of my lungs in the car.


8) I have an itty bitty owl obsession. I haven't allowed it to take over yet, but if I did, I'd probably buy anything and everything with owls on it in sight. 


9) My favorite author is Edgar Allan Poe. Jeez, my friends are right: I'm totally gothic. Our youngest cat is even named Poe. The other two? Kisa Jane and Sushi.


10) I'm a tom boy, incredibly unconcerned with primping and pampering myself. I'd probably die if someone made me go to a spa. I only get my hair cut every 6 months or so. It's bad.




I'm passing along all three of my awards to the same fifteen bloggers, because picking and choosing who gets what would be way too hard. Each and every one of these blogs is wonderfully unique and worth a visit. I highly recommend them all!


By the way, if you've already gotten one of these awards, I apologize. And if you haven't, no worries if you don't pass them along. I've probably really messed up the rules here, and I wouldn't blame you for not wanting to follow in my footsteps :) The point is that I like you and your blog, and I want you to know it. And just so we're clear, I'm awarding you each ALL THREE awards. That's right, you've just been awarded. Feel free to take one or two or all three or none. Feel free to just post it on your blog sidebar and ignore posting about it. Feel free to do whatever you want, because I obviously did. And I feel like I'm breaking some sacred blogging rules here. I may get totally shunned from the blogging community for this...but I hope not. 


15 Blogs That I Think are Versatile, Stylish, and Lovable (in no particular order)


1) Narragansett No. 7
2) The Colie Chronicles 
3) Belle of the Desert
4) McCormick Madness
5) Shrink to Fit
6) Melody-Mae
7) Carrigan's Joy
8) The Fancy Flea
9) Modern Southerner
10) My 3 Little Birds
11) One Mixed Bag
12) Of Woods and Words
13) Another Cookie, Please!
14) Not About Cake
15) TexaGermaNadian




   

Wordless Wednesday - Japantown Cat Bowls

Rice Bowls from Japan Town in San Francisco

You have permission to be wildly jealous.

Wordless Wednesday - Kitty Burrito

Kitty Burrito with extra cheese.

Socks in the Door

I don't think it ever occurs to you how strange you are until you look at yourself through someone else's eyes. What's normal to you maybe totally foreign to someone else. This thought came to mind Thursday night after my friend Whitney visited to spend the night. As soon as she arrived, being the gracious Southern hostess I am (Ha!), I showed her around our humble home. Of course, I stressed over the fact that the house wasn't spotless, but I'm comfortable enough with Whitney to have let her seen it at its end-of-the-week, clothes-strewn-everywhere, kitchen's-a-disaster worst.

Looking at our little family of three cats, me, and Jeremy, I couldn't help but wonder what she thought of us in our "home environment." Sure, I work with Whitney everyday, but it's rare that you get to see your coworkers in relaxed-home mode, so I just wondered what Whitney must think of my relaxed-home mode...and here's what I came up with.

Things Whitney and others probably notice while visiting the Ross family:

1) First of all, there's the trio of felines constantly plotting your demise. I know this because they're constantly plotting our demise as well. I catch them staring at me sometimes, and I can see it in their eyes. "Must overtake human and claim house as territory." They jump all over you and the furniture, for which I apologize, but controlling a cat is like controlling a...well, cat. They're pretty much going to do what they want. Added to this is the cat hair that sticks to your clothes like glue. This makes their presence a constant and annoying one. Why do we have them, you ask? Love or craziness...I haven't decided which.

Here they've organized themselves by level of evil-ness.