Pitter Patter....

I went to visit the kittens today. Purr machines! We've tentatively settled on names for them. Basil and Jasmin. Friends of mine have adopted the little charcoal kit and she is called Lola.

Baz and Jazzie. They'll come home at the end of next week.

*sigh*

:)

Please tell me I'm not a Fool, or Some Kind of Idiot.....

THIS is what made my heart go "Aaaah!" Gods, can you handle the cuteness? Its too soon to tell, but I think brother might be a 'Bullseye' Ginger, which is rare. It means he doesnt have the usual striping but has round, circular markings. Sister is So lovely and gentle, with a white belly and reminds me of Xena, with her black and orange brindle markings. Aren't they gorgeous?

This is what is making me happy, what is getting me excited about having new life in the house, new energy, and new creativity. THIS is what is getting me engaged in the process of creating and being here NOW in life, inspiring me and helping me shake off the last dregs of the winter, down-dragging blues.

I made a whole entirely new raised bed in the garden today, near the studio and close to where the gate will go eventually, and ringed it with stones in an almost spiral; sort of a circle which went inwards and then flared at the edge. That makes no sense of course but no matter because the point is that each stone was dug out by me, by HAND from the sand-box/gravel pit that pretends to be soil on this acre which is slowly but surely becoming beautiful. The reason for the new raised bed was to honour Muriel's potted plants, which have been languishing for two years, waiting to find a proper home where they can put down their roots. So I planted B's mum's two shrubberies, along with loads of other plants which I transplanted from here and there. It looks gorgeous. I'm stoked. I'm sure Muriel is pleased (even though I accidentally broke a piece off one of her her Christmas cactus plants the other week... Sorry M...)

I'm off the couch, feeling SO much better. Spent the whole day outside and am feeling really positive. Got a bit of sun on my face. I worked like a maniac and couldnt believe how much I got done. With all the digging and getting wheel barrows of dirt from the meadow below the woods, I did something weird to my Sacro Illiac, but I dont care! Its like I feel a new infusion of "YES, lets GO!" flowing through me. And it felt truly like Spring has not only arrived, but has had a fanfare of trumpets, with feather boas and sequined ta-ta's, to announce "Hello everybody, I'm AT the PARTY!"

I dont know why this is so important to me. It is symbolic maybe. Another Mother's Day has past without babies of my own body. This time of year, 18 years ago, I lost one of my 3 pregnancies.... This is an anniversary. Its a letting go and a way to be okay with that. This is a surrogate, for sure. And also here's a way to expand Life, caring, nurturing. Symbolic of me reconnecting with giving myself what I want and need, which I havent done for so, So long....I used to be so adamant about what I wanted. I've become a blanc-mange; but now things are shifting back to how they were, or even into something new, something better, at last. It feels really good.

B came with me to visit the 'twins' today. Their eyes have turned from blue to green in the last two days, which tells us they are about 6 weeks old. His comment: "Yup, they are really cute" was a bit quiet, but remember that he now has my cold, which I of course have got rid of. Hoping his enthusiasm levels will rise as the 'due date' gets closer. He is not very 'animated ' in general these days which I can well understand (who can blame him?) and have compassion for because I BLOODY WELL know how it feels ( for the last two plus months!)

Anyway, back to the kits. They have to gain some weight before they can be spayed and neutered. The local SPCA no longer lets any animal out of their care before they've been fixed, which I think is a good thing. They have to wait until the kits are at least 2 lbs before they will be strong enough to undergo surgery. So it will be a number of weeks yet before they come home. Did I mention that already? Oh probably. I'm so thrilled I'm babbling and repeating myself.

So today was a very good one.....

Until I spoke to my brother.

So, if you please, if you can, answer me this:

Why? WHY?!

Why do I always fall into the same trap of my own making? Why do I always attempt, despite the evidence and years of experience to trust my brother and tell him anything about my life, as though he might inquire about how I am, what's going on, why I am where I am and is that ok, or make some positive statement of any kind whatsoever? At. All.

I talked to him on the phone and told him about the kittens, though to be absolutely truthful I only actually mentioned one kitten, intuitively trying to protect myself from his reaction; trying to lessen the load which I sensed was going to come down on me. Intuitively knowing that to tell him would be a mistake...and I did it anyway, more fool me, ( MORE FOOL ME!) Wanting for him to be a part of our happy news news. Wanting him to hear joyfulness in my voice and share it and ...approve. (Why do I need his approval!?) Wanting him to ask if I missed Tashy, and do I feel that it must take two cats to fill the hole in my heart that she left when she went, BIG in my heart as she was. Or laugh and say, "you're mad" or, "you should have been born a farmer", or, "Yegads, I hope you got that vacuum cleaner replaced". Wanting him to be happy for me. Wanting him to understand that I cant fill my house with the pitter- patter of tiny feet other than the four footed kind, and wanting him to fucking GET THAT...Wanting him to know that I need this, and why. I so want him to understand who I am, but he doesnt, or wont. He doesnt want to. Doesnt care to. I just want him to be part of my life as it is, and be .... a part of my life. But he just doesnt want to....

Instead, no surprise, he levelled both barrels at me and let me have it, straight on and head on. So much judgement. So mean. So much criticism. I should have known. I did know.... Of course I knew but I tried anyway.

I was so hurt. I let him rant and then quietly said I had to go. Said goodbye, and rang off. Then I got a vicious, utterly brutal and completely rancid email from him telling me, among other things, that 'normal people' dont require so many pets, that 'normal people' might consider our number of animals 'adequate'. "That 'normal people' might find the the number of pets over the top, and suggested that the pet hair and dander might make 'normal people' not want to come to our house (well the hell with them, then, Goddammit!). That I've been sick so much lately because of my pets (?!?!) That I'm defensive and then (O.M.G!) he asked me if I'm bored with my other pets.... Jesus! Can you believe that? Oh sure, ask your friend next time she's on her second, or third, or whatever pregnancy... "Why are you having another...are you BORED with the first?" Please put on your 3-d glasses on right now and watch her rip your throat out in striking technicolour. Then, THEN, he said he was entitled to his opinion (huh, not wrong there, but I'm likewise entitled to mine) and accused me of hanging up on him. Hello! HELLO!!! I said I had to go. I SAID GOODBYE... in a polite voice even.

I'm gutted. Why dont I ever learn? Why do I bother? Why do I invite him in and let him HURT me. Again and again. It never changes....

He's been really very not nice to me... a lot, in my life. He's been the apple of my eye since he was born and he has resented me, hated me, humiliated me, rejected me, judged me, treated me like absolute shite, and befriended the very people (most certainly 'normal people') who have trampled over me and abused me....Why do I try to engage, and bother to share what's happening for me, what's important to me, what is really good and exciting in my life? Why do I want him to CARE?!

Probably because I'm not a 'normal person'.

More fool me. I should know better.

Fuck him.

These babies.... They are my Mother's Day present, thank you. Thank you very much. If you dont understand that, cant understand that....

Raining Dogs and Kittens...

This time I've completely lost my mind. Having heard, late last week that the local SPCA just took in two tiny kittens, I called, went by to get an application form, picked up two donation tins for the store tills, saw the babies, fell in love, had an argument with B who thinks two is excessive (and he's right) but I fell in love in the way I did with Zeus. In a weird, not being able to sleep, obsessing about it kind of way. I'm not sure that is healthy... Today I went by again to drop off the form and now there are three. Obviously I'm not that cracked up, but now I'm wracked with doubt about taking two.

My gods they are cute. It was the dark tortoise-shell, with the strawberry blond eyelashes who spoke to me, as her orange fuzz-ball brother was snoozing and I didnt want to wake him when I first saw them. Today they were all three awake and bopping around, using their liter box (good babies!) and generally being devastatingly adorable, even if they all needed a bath. I stroked and held each one. Little Ginger boy was the most affectionate, purring like a machine, his soot coloured sister the most aggressive and bold, and little turtle was gentle, soft and curious. She likes having her head rubbed in exactly the same way Tashy did. Their eyes are still blue. It will be a few weeks before they can come home.

What to do?

I've been depressed. I've been sick for a long time, not genuinely sick as in something to really be worried about but just ill off and on which has made me depressed. Am I looking for comfort to fill a hole in my life? I mean, seriously, who really needs 8 pets?

And yet the other side of the coin, as I try to sift through my feelings with a fine tooth laser is that I've been feeling less and less grief about not having children. I think I've let go. I'm in a place of acceptance. Or so I thought. Is this sudden desire to expand the menagerie a way of dealing with that? On the other other hand I feel a rightness when I feel into these kittens, and I can see them here, feel them here already. My doubt may spring from another financial commitment I am taking on for the next, potentially, two decades, but I am mindful of how small my world has become. How I dont expand. How I dont give myself what I need, and maybe, just maybe its time to do that. I havent had a baby in the house since Zeus was a puppy and that was 7 years ago. Old Tashy was the last time I had a tiny kitten.

I guess I do need a baby after all. What matter if he/she/they are four footed!

In other domestic news, B went off island and exchanged the super-duper vacuum cleaner. Lets hope this one works. We're going to need it!

Go on, comment! Tell me just how crazy I am.

What to do With the Problem Child.....?

Last night Teddy bit me. Quite hard, and I sustained a deep puncture wound, and some bruising on the inside of my left wrist.

You wont know this because my other long lamented blog went the way of the dodo bird some time ago, but Tashy's story was on there. My much beloved and ancient 19 1/2 year old cat who was dying of renal failure, 2 years ago now, and not having any fun anymore, had soiled herself, as old people sometimes do. Well I cleaned up my grandmother too, when she needed it at the end, and I cleaned up Tashy-cat, but lordy she hated water. And she was frail, so she must have been uncomfortable as I held her and slowly poured warm water over her, trying to be as gentle as I could. Well she bit me. More to the point, she bit my thumb clear to the bone, and by the morning I knew something was very wrong, so I went to the hospital and was told to go straight onto an antibiotic IV. Inconvenient timing, I told the locum on call, which he responded to by telling me I could go and make a big family dinner, or stay here and keep my arm. The blood poisoning tell-tale red line was well past my elbow at that point. My mother always said that once the line reaches the shoulder, you're dead. So I did the sensible thing and followed Dr.'s orders, and went in every 8 hours for 2 and a 1/2 days for my IV drip. And I'm still here. But you understand that animal bits are something I no longer take in stride with a cavalier attitude, yes? Especially when the outcome was that a few weeks later, I had to make the terrible decision to release Tashy from this mortal coil, which wasnt doing her any good anymore, but which cost me a piece of my heart.

Teddy and I were having a snuggle, and suddenly he growled. Well I'm of the opinion that their teeth are bigger than mine, so they need to know who the leader is at all times, so I got up, took his collar, and said, "Come on T-T, you're going outside for a while". He struggled. This is again uncharacterisic of him, and I pulled harder, very firmly, and then he rounded on me and bit my wrist. HARD.

It bled some. That deep scary black red blood that takes a moment to well up. The kind that tells you: This is deep. I'm still finding blood on the floor, and the location of the bite worried me and set me to thinking that he might have nicked a vein. We went forthwith to the Hospital, me voicing murderous epitaths and striking the fear of God into B, who literally thought he'd have to take Teddy to his father's farm in the morning and shoot him. It was a touch and go thing for a while there.

It was my fault. I know he gets the creeps at night. I was aware of it, and aware that he needs to be handled softly, no matter how rude he is (and he was VERY rude), or I am just teaching him to be afraid of me. The thing is, I'd never tolerate that behaviour with one of my own dogs, and I never get that behaviour either, and I got angry. I was so angry in the car I had decided we had to put that stupid dog down. Our tenant has a child, for goodness sakes. Yet as far as I know he's only ever bitten me. What does that tell you? I must be a horrible person. After all I've done for him, does he hate me, the little shit!?

I've been crying about it off and on all day. I dont trust this animal anymore. I feel abused - as he probably did in that moment. We dont know what gives him the creeps at night, only that maybe B's mother hurt him...when she was drunk. She was drunk a lot. Most of the time, actually.

T has taken a lot of love, patience, and gentle work to get over many of his issues. He's had more of my attention that my own dogs, Xena and Zeus, or B's other dog Willy. We spoil him, coddle him (enable Him?) and it has to stop now. He's been demoted to the bottom of the pack now, and I dont know what to do with this problem child.

Nor do I know what to do with me. When T-T arrived, we thought he was autistic. Seriously. And he'd been traumatised by being in a kennel. He couldnt be left alone so I'd have to take him to work with me. I painted houses at that time. Once he saw me leave around the corner of the house and he literally crawled out of the window where I'd left a 5 inch gap. He was still skin and bones then but know this, he's a very powerful and big dog. The next time, with windows less open and car in the shade, I left his sight, he literally shredded each door panel of my car to bits and pieces.

I've been so proud of our progress, of the happiness I see shining out of his eyes at last, of his willingness and responsiveness. He's happy to stay at home with his siblings now and doesnt worry that we wont be back, because he know we will and he'll get to go run outside with his housemates when we do. He is part of the pack and they all adore him. Finally he is showing His huge intelligence, his acute sensitivity, and his shy affection. It beautiful to watch him open up finally and let us in. To see how happy he is to see us, and the way I feel honoured when he shows his desire to be close, which is rare and usually on his terms. To see him join in the pack and run with them like the wind....its been a long haul, but has been a gorgeous thing to see his healing. This is his home now. And it is a good one. And one sees that he accepts that and knows it, and loves it back.....

Akitas bond with one person, and when that person is gone, they have trouble bonding and may never bond to another human again. Luckily he knew Willy and B since he was a pup, so they were/are the bridge for him to be able to bond again. We took him. When Muriel died. We took him because B's last promise to his dying mother mother was: "I'll take care of Teddy, Mum. Dont worry." Who can argue with that?

On the one hand I feel that the responsible thing to do would be to book some time with a dog trainer (I'll go with a new one. One I know of who has a very soft approach to her technique, and who has even worked with animal communicators, which is somthing I've considered with this wayward son). On the other hand, I feel like I've paid my damned dues with this dog, thank you Muriel, I've spoiled him rotten, even COOK for him and I am disinclined, now, to give him anything more. Not if he's going to bite the hand that feeds him. Yet he's the foster child with a sad childhood, and big issues. You dont give up on that. And Yet still, I feel I've done my best and he's still blocking me out....Maybe I'm the problem child....

I show him my bandaged arm and he looks away, lies down. He knows. He comes to sit by me and I tell him 'Off!" I dont want him near me right now. My arm throbs when I look at him. It isnt business as usual. How does a human tell an animal they're sorry? How does a human, who goes by the book when it comes to dog training (I'm considered very good) not find it in herself to actually LISTEN to the individual needs of that animal, allow intuition to provide information, and run instead rough shod over his old emotional hurts. How is it that my inborn skills with animal behaviour and psychology, with dogs, have made me blind to approaching him as HE needs to be approached. Is it my arrogance?

How does an animal say sorry? Business as usual? I dont know. I only hope that in that moment he must have been frightened for his safety, or he wouldnt have done it. I wasnt THAT hard with him. I saw him panic, I actually did, and I didnt listen to him. I should have released him, but I wanted the dog to obey me. He needed me to listen to his fear (Of me, of something triggering the past, of his night time creeps?) and change tactics to jolly him into doing what I wanted in a soft way. I needed him to smarten up and listen to ME.

Maybe I failed this one.I got it wrong.

What the hell did B's mother Do to him?!!!

In related news, they put me on yet another course of anti-biotics at the hospital. I went to my GP (Dr. Wonderful) today to confirm meds with him and he said all the right things, and said I'd done all the right things, but if my sinuses dont clear up in a week or so, he wants me to have them x-rayed.

Is that like having my head examined? Would probably be a good thing. Who in their right mind even has four dogs? Maybe they'll see, written in impacted and multihued snot, "crazy woman, too many dogs, off with her head!" Huh.

I'm feeling very wobbly now. Sad, embarassed. Remorseful, angry, vulnerable. Feel weepy still. I cried in the car today. I havent cried since last fall when we got robbed, and I told my mother about it. I am Tired. Very, Very tired.

If anyone has any to spare, I could use some good thoughts sent my way right about now.....Please and thank you....

Domestic Demons from Hell

A few posts ago I was waxing lyrical about the vacuum cleaner I had planned to buy. Signed, sealed and delivered, it lasted 20 minutes before something died. Lovely. $300.00 (including ferry costs to get off the Island) and the damned thing had to be emptied rather a lot, and then the carpet spinning brush thingy choked. And so did I.

Mercifully, it still had great suction, which allowed me to attach one of the spiffy attachments for bare floors and also to deal with the frighteneing great billows of cobwebs. BUT NOT THE CARPETS. No. The main place where dog hair sticks and builds up...

After some investigation (really, this machine is completely disassemleable -not a real word, I know, but so what - and all the parts are totally washable. Very cool.) I discovered the belt had broken. Strange.... I had envisioned the building of a solid and long term relationship here, and this gave me pause. But I'm trying hard to be positive about all things. So I gave it the benefit of the doubt.

All sweetness and Light, I called (long distance) to the retailer and told them my dilemma, telling them that the belt had snapped after 20 minutes use. I suggested that they send me two as a courtesy, but only one arrived in the mail today.

Very excited, I swivelled locks and clicked bits apart, and put the belt on. Clicked, swivveled, put everything back together, Voila! simple as pie. Turn it on. Suction but no spin.

Give me strength. I'll have to go off Island again (another Ferry fee) and exchange it.

Is this a conspiracy?

Stretching Myself... too Damned Far

I've been sick lately... for a long time. I dont feel like doing anything. Dont feel like writing much. Dont feel like working, and have made myself go into the garden and get some stuff done, which is finally making me feel better. It looks pretty.

Finally gave in and went to the doctor 2 weeks ago, who said I have a systemic infection (ears, lungs, digestive tract, throat, sinuses....Eew); put me on antibiotics (which I loathe, but hey, sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do) after my not-flu flu went insane and tried to kill me. Okay, I'm exaggerating, but seriously folks, 8 weeks is just too much. I got things under control just before the bronchitis turned into pneumonia, and was ordered off work for 5 days. The silver lining. I got to sit around and watch soaps whilst I ate metaphoric bon-bons. I slept a lot. Doctor's orders. Who am I to argue with a diagnosis of, "You've been pushing too hard and not taking care of yourself, you nit-wit, and now you have to sit on your arse and be good to yourslf with rest".

Seriously, Dr. Wonderful would never say that. He's the soul of compassion and thoroughness with just the right amount of information (a lot without actually pontificating in latin), and frankly, I adore him.

Meanwhile, I am on the horns of a dilemma. Back at work now, I'm finding my Spirits somewhat dampened by the constant sick and tired, I'm faced with making shite pay for retail slave labour, and alternatively, pushing like crazy at the plumb job I have with faux finishing, which wont be endless, so, in other words, I have a decision to make. Do I splash out and cut my hours at the retail facory and try to beat the bushes and drum up more work which actually respects my skills and pays me for them, or do I stay safe, and make crap pay, trying to do BOTH and thereby exhaust myself? Seems like a no-brainer, right? Not so easy....But I have to start thinking of me. I cant bloody afford to work there, truth be told. I got a small raise, but slave wages are still slave wages.

I feel guilty, isnt that silly? For being sick and letting things slide, so to make up for it I've been jumping back in with both feet every time I feel better, and working 6 to 7 days a week. No wonder I kept relapsing. Self inflicted wounds do not get a sympathy vote. Huh.

But here's the thing: I do not know how to say no. I worked an extra shift yesterday, when I was tired out and needed to rest, as a favour to a co-worker who was moving. Today I agreed to go to a dinner for another co-worker who is leaving. And I just dont wanna. I'm tired, dammit. I think I'll go to the company do, and then beg off for the drinks and dinner thing. I just dont have it in me.

What I need is a holiday. Its been about 7 years since I had one. I'm bone weary, and feel like I have CFS again.

Pah! If you dont have anything nice to say, dont say anything at all... now you know why I havent been writing much lately. I hate sounding like a misery....

Count all the "dont's " and "haven't's " in this post. Disgusting! Little Miss negative.

Off to See the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz.....

Greetings fellow blogsters! Long time no write. I've been remiss, and have little time right now but am going to give you a quick update. Aren't you thrilled?

Its been a month of dragging my heels fighting a not-flu flu which migrated from body region to body region. Not sick enough to be sick and not well enough to be well. Exhaustion. One week I was intestinally challenged, the next week I was coughing all night with a weird dry cough that had nothing to do with congestion in my lungs. Post nasal drip sucks.( Oh, I'm just so hilarious.) Then I felt okay for a day or two and then I'd relapse. I wont bore you with all the gory details. Suffice it to say, after being ill for so long I might have expected my body to have shed a few pounds, as a slender silver lining, but no such luck. My appetite didn't get sick. It was voracious, my body demanding fuel to fight the lurgy.

A side effect was that I've been depressed. I don't think I've felt actual sadness, as such, but I've been a slob and a sloth, lethargic and unmotivated. Bursts of misdirected anger. Feelings of huge resistance to everything. The inner judge has been loud. All symptoms of depression (or adolescence, and we can have a dialogue about that if you like, so long as its funny...it might make a good conversation.)

Tomorrow we have an exciting plan. (I hear the song in my head, dippy and silly, "We're OFF to see the WIZARD..." I'm SO excited!) We are going off island to buy a vacuum cleaner. Now this might sound slightly mundane, if not in fact inane, but you have to put things in context. For one thing, we hardly ever leave the Island (why would we?!) And for another,my ancient (20 + years) vacuum has bit the proverbial dust, pun intended. The sound effects were amazing: Rhuuuur! Rhuuur! Rhuuur...ppppthththtthpt! Huuuuhghghghg. Ugh. Pthththtt. Nothing.....The smell was frightening. Charred plastic and slow roasted dust, marinated in worn out parts, or vice versa. Poor thing died a slow and choking death, over a matter of years to be sure, but the last few weeks it went downhill fast. A familiar story.... not unlike Vaudeville. With 2 cats and 4 dogs, all of whom shed like they invented it, the sheer amount of animal hair in my house could be woven and knitted quite literally into dog hair blankets that might warm the population of a middling sized community in the Himalayas, or Siberia, even. Cobwebs hang from the ceilings in waving swathes, quite rude, if you ask me... Dust bunnies the size of hyenas, with a similar malevolent presence gather like their proverbial pack in the corners of the hallways, the rooms, under the bed, behind the couches (dont for Godsakes look back there!) and they move softly too and fro in the breeze when a door opens, quite like a stalking predator. I worry that one (or the lot of them) will take it into their hairy heads to choke me in my sleep. Visions of being suffocated by a van sized dust bunny.. it sits on the end of the bed, watching me sleep, biding its time until it senses the right moment to strike.

Yegads! Move over Stephen King! :)

Tomorrow we'll go to Canadian Tire and get "The Shark" vacuum, which seems to be a Dyson knock-off. (I'm a big believer in knock off's these days. I got myself some pretty purple knock off Crock clogs the other day for 7 dollars. I call them my 'Crock offs'). This hoover is highly recommended for animal hair. I am sure I could write a testimonial and get myself my own very personal (and probaby embarassing) tv commercial. I just cant wait. Have you ever been excited about getting a cleaning implement? Its weird. Gross almost. Kind of surreal. And utterly uncharacteristic of me, but that only underscores the point of how desperate I am.

I cant even remember what a clean house looks or feels like. But I will know soon. Woo-hoo!

Meanwhile, the faux finishing goes well. The owner lost one of her little dogs to a car the other week and when I arrived on Tuesday, after having been away sick for so long, I brought her a dwarf red rose bush in Ruby's memory, and a card. As soon as she saw it her face crumpled and I just threw my arms around her. She cried. We both did. That was a fine little dog. She was. You cant understand what it feels like unless you have a dog. They live in your heart, you see, almost as deeply as a child, and when they go, a piece of your heart goes with them. Having your heart torn out hurts....You cant understand how people dont get it that when you experience a loss like that it is very real. I have a feeling that she hadnt gotten a lot of understanding lately for her sadness, and I just cried with her, knowing what I will one day feel when I lose my own dogs.

Meanwhile, the garden is waking up, but late. Things are filling out with green, but its still quite unseasonably cold and I worry about the crops and the bees. The fruit trees are all bursting into bloom and hardly anyone has seen a single solitary bee. Its been too cold and wet. I worry that the crops wont be pollinated before the blooms are blown to bits by the mercurial weather (WHY is Winter hanging on so hard this year?) and that our produce will be damned to an infertile season.

In other news, back to the off-island obsession, I have been scouring the SPCA's online photo galleries and have set my sights on a young boy cat. He is named Tommy and is 6 months old, orange and white with a look that says, "I am here!" and which makes you take notice. I'd like a very wee baby, frankly...oh, wait a minnit...What's that? You have something to say? You think I have too many animals and that I am certifiably, completely and unquestionably crazy?! Nuts to that. Huh, took you long enough to figure that out. And might I just ask, what is your point? All of the beasties are getting on, you know. The youngest, Dolly, is 5 and I'm hankering for a baby. Zeus was my last baby and he's seven. Its time, okay? Pushkin is 13 now and when he goes, Dolly will need to have a friend by her side. So we need to think about that.

I havent decided if Tommy is our cat or not, but my hidden agenda is to convince B to take a swing by the SPCA so we can have a looksee. Dont know yet if they are open on a Sunday. Or if B will be convinced. He says he'll come with me to the local SPCA on Tuesday, but I dont know that thewy have any kittens....

Meanwhile, B is taking the dogs to the ravine as I write and I have to get ready because we are going to Dad and Kathleen's for dinner. He's been ill and has walking pneumonia, which is rather a serious concern at his age ( he's 82 and kickes the ass out of any statistic you might care to throw out), so why he thinks hosting us is a good idea right now, I dont know. But he says he's much better since I brought him a basket of food and home-made chicken soup early in the week. Kathleen was away in Oregon and he wasnt eating. Gods, my heart nearly dropped out when I heard. And there's nothing worse than cooking for yourself when you feel like shit, is there? Anyway, Dad says he's on the mend and we'll have his famous pot-roast and chat and play crib, no doubt. A nice evening.

Thanks for listening. Its been a while since I vented and having your ears does me good. Hope all of you are well out there in blogland.

Love, Bird.