Last Tuesday, my cat Cricket died. She was about 20 or so years old. I got to be with her all day and into the evening, at least. My little Queen Bee.
She was the last of 12 (13?) critters in my animal family. I kinda lost count of how many critters I had, because, well, I can’t count too good. *wry laugh* I started doing rescue work, and ended up with a lot of new animal friends. (<—sucker).
Cats: Sid, Nancy, Forest aka Loki, Lettuce, Smelly Cat, Cricket. Rabbits: Rowan and Charlotte, plus a guinea pig named Bubble Piggy, and an (also adopted) hamster named Russia. And some fish and a couple of captive-bred leopard geckos I got from a herp expo. I’ve got a gazillion pictures I could post, and about that many more on actual film. Want to see? Nope? Fair enough. (Maybe just one more?).
Care to hear about the million and one things that made them all the best critter companions ever? I didn’t think so.
It goes without saying that I miss them so much. All of them. Even Smelly Cat, the old stray who showed up on my doorstep crying pitifully, being outrageously skinny, and in the end stages of renal failure. (And, yes, he looked just his more famous counterpart!)
Cricket had to be everywhere I was in the house, so not having her around is just beyond comprehension. About half the time, I don’t even believe that she’s gone.
I always made a joke of the fact that my livespace belonged to my animals, not me. One of my animal rescue colleagues came over one day, and told me that when she died, she wanted to be reincarnated as one of my pets. But, with all of them gone now, I realize that my living in a house was a lot more than just making sure that my animal friends had a plethora of toys, litter boxes, gourmet food, comfy beds, hidey-holes, playpens (for the rabbits and guinea pigs), and the majority of my own bed space.
Any house, apartment, etc. was, and is, expressly for my animal family. Now I’m sitting here in this current too-empty house, and wondering what the point is of living in one place, surrounded by four walls. It’s basically a fancy container to hold all my stuff. Even after all the downsizing I’ve been doing, I still have so much crap. I can’t bear to donate all of their cat beds and toys and food bowls and kitty crates for travelling.
A long time ago, I dreamt of my beloved cat Sid…one of those cats that’s almost like a soulmate…and he was waiting for me by the ocean.
I think of that spot all the time now. In my quiet house as I stare at all my crap I can’t bring myself to get rid of, but at the same time, wish I could just set fire to.
I stare at one of my pictures by Landon Richmond. The one of a little girl in a red-and-black scorched apocalyptic-looking world, using a phone booth. The text in the print says “Can I come home now?”
And I want so badly to go home. But I don’t have anybody to call. Or anyplace to go. Or any money, for that matter. So, every night, right before I go to sleep, I visit that spot by that grey, stormy ocean, with a garden and a forest and lots of magic and magical creatures and definitely some wild horses. And Sid there, still waiting, by the salt-frosted roses.
And everybody else warm and happy and fat and non-smelly in the dappled-sun garden.
I didn’t want to make this into a blog about how much I miss all my critter babies.
I just wanted to put out into the universe somehow that I hope to see them all again. Even in this disjointed blog entry. To finally have a place that feels real. A place that’s safe, where everything makes sense, and a place that I actually belong. I just want that place to exist, somewhere, in some dimension out there.
Muddled would be a good word for the day. Or the week. My eyes/vision has been a little more wonky this past week.
But, then, everything is (still) going wonky. I’ve been trying to meditate and focus on healing and chakras and mindfulness and all that kind of crap, but it’s a frustrating process sometimes, for someone who’s more action- and results-orientated. I wish I had the magic to heal my eyes myself. Or to fix things this 437th (transition) time around. Let’s just say I’m not very good at the whole passive acceptance thing. ROFL.
Been trying to look at blogs but I’m afraid my very old computer (by modern-day standards) might be dying. Or it’s my internet. It feels like the old days of dial-up when you were just staring at that little hourglass going around and around, only now it’s a circle. Still annoying though. A lot of the blogs I subscribe to never even loaded and eventually I had to shut them down. It’s been like that all week. So, sorry if I failed to stop by your blog! 🙂
Then I went somewhere for someone else’s celebration and was staring at what I think is a new food trend–deconstruction/deconstructed. The lemon tart I ordered looked very pretty and artistic but I just couldn’t understand why it was in pieces. Perfect blobs of meringue on one side, dots of some dark red jelly, a rectangle of jiggly lemon filling standing in the middle, and a bunch of crumbles to its left. I was perplexed by the dish. I guess the concept of fancy food is lost on me. *laugh*
But a lot is perplexing me these days. Kinda stuck in a morass of confusion right now while I try to figure things out. Or not. Just sit here and wait for things to come, because endless striving doesn’t seem to bring anything closer?
But, I am having really amazing dreams, for the most part. When they’re not about people I used to know have died without me knowing about it and are now ghosts and watching me as I go through my sad little life routines. 🙂 In real ghost life, they probably have much better things to be doing. A lot of the dreams I’ve been having, I’ve been channelling into poems. The dreams I’ve been having are about the only thing that makes sense right now, which is even more confusing because they aren’t real. As far as I know, anyway. Except for maybe a couple about…well, I’ll keep that a mystery to the general public. My dreams have got me thinking a lot about reincarnation, though I’m still the skeptical science type in some ways.
But, on the real life side, I got my manuscript back from the individual who was editing it (brave soul!). So, I have to get on rewrites. Which I’m excited about, yet also dreading. It’s a mystery/suspense revolving around the issue of human trafficking.
So that’s it in my chaotic world. Hope your Sunday is a lot less scrambled!
Anybody else feeling the lure of the fae this week?
Gail, Lizzie: What are you two talking about?
Spud, Tommy: Football! What are you talking about?
Gail, Lizzie: Shopping!
It’s been a very strange, dreamy week in the Chaos Realm. A fellow blogger is going to see The Cure in concert, and it’s been bringing up a lot of memories (bloody nostalgia LOL) from my experiences when I saw The Cure (hope your experience is just as magical and wonderful, This Nerd’s Life).
Maybe I’ve just been exploring too many alternate dimensions while I sleep…having very intense dreams. Or something else is afoot.
So, another shortcut blog after I skipped a few.
I’ve been watching (European) football while I (pretend to) write. It’s been exciting so far! Can’t wait until it resumes on Saturday.
I stumbled across this article on the UEFA website while trying to come up with an idea for this week’s food blog.
Somebody told me recently that they didn’t attach too much importance to dreams. As in, sleeping, REM dreams. I felt foolish, at first, admitting that yes, I do believe dreams serve a purpose. I still believe that. The dreams that have proved problematic, or heart-breaking, even, are the ones that I dream while I’m awake. There, they end up just screwing with your head–like mistakenly believing in the appearance of real-life love, or false concepts of one’s one worth, for example, or other bitter, cynical conclusions I’ve begun to accept/adopt. Those are the real illusions that the human mind creates for itself, not dreams. For in dreams, you know you are dreaming, you already know that you are moving and living in an impossible realm, so there is no disappointment. Even nightmares hold a certain dramatic fascination.
They take my mind on wonderful journeys to otherworldly realms–allowing me to escape this prosaic, drab reality when it becomes too wearing.
My dreams are so fantastical and vivid that I often channel them into writing–they’ve inspired stories, and poetry, and make me wish I was a visual artist so I could capture the landscapes and images.
They often provide clarity to an issue I’m struggling with, or sometimes even provide messages/insight that my conscious thinking mind blocks.
Sometimes even the simple wish-fulfillment dreams are a comfort…a place where I could be respected, valued, even loved (I’m pretty damn unlikable, apparently.).
At the risk of sounding out-there, new-agey, I’ve even had a couple of precognitive dreams. I’ve dreamed of people I haven’t met yet, or situations I had yet to go through–sometimes even getting a warning about dangerous situations. I’m pretty sure there’s a scientific explanation out there for those type of dreams, like you are subconsciously picking up on clues that, when your filtering brain is turned off, come to the fore.
But who knows…
I just know that I love dreaming, I dream in colour, and I remember my dreams every night…and they provide an outlet for my vivid, highly visual imagination that reality fails to encourage…