Wrote a poem about an hour or so ago to submit to a contest, titled Bonfire. It was the day of bonfires earlier this week, which probably inspired it.
But, I’m a water person, usually. Water, coolness, rain, overcast skies. Yet, a fire elemental has been making its presence known. Hence the other part of the inspiration. In dreams. In random thoughts. In my poetry. In waking life. Then I signed back online to enter the poem. And encountered more fire synchronicity to wrap up the week. I feel a little haunted and eerie, even though I largely accept Neil DeGrasse Tyson’s practical/scientific view(s) on such mental/emotional phenomenon.
So I used the poem I wrote for the contest to siphon off some of the feelings towards the fire element I’ve been having lately. A short story for another contest is going to hold some more. And the leftover I…
“Quantum Singularity is a voyage through time and space. This poetic journey crosses oceans, traverses other realms, gets lost in the past, and disappears into the future. Choose the right path; the path that leads to the corner of Cosmos and Infinity, and the way will never be lost.”
You are welcome to join me on my voyage through time and space.
As some of you know, I recently lost my tabby cat, Cricket. She was the last of a whole passel of critters I adopted back in about 2001. Except for my cat Sid…he was with me even longer than that.
Around the time Cricket had died, another tabby cat showed up on my porch. At first, I thought he was part of the TNR cat group I’d been seeing around. He was clearly not feral, and soon became a regular visitor. A very noisy, talkative visitor, who settled into my porch area from time to time, sleeping on my chair, and tolerating my petting him and playing with him. After he warmed up to me, I noticed that he was (unfortunately) un-neutered.
Santa Fe Animal Control said they didn’t really come out on cat calls, so I was at a loss at what to do for Piglet. Especially since I was already head-over-heels for the little guy. It was hard for me not to feel that it was fate–given that he was a tabby, and he’d shown up just when I’d lost Cricket (one year after I lost my other senior kitty, Lettuce). I wanted to take him in, instantly, but I knew I didn’t have the funds to take care of another animal. I knew how much pets cost, having just cared for 13 animals all the way through their end-of-life care. But I didn’t want him running around, unneutered and making more babies. Nobody seemed to know whose cat he was, either.
Finally, I reached out a local cat organization, Felines & Friends, who oversees a pool of fosters for cats. I felt so guilty and selfish when I told them I couldn’t foster sweet Piglet, because I didn’t have the money, and also if I did foster him, given my current emotional state and still grieving and vulnerable, I knew wouldn’t be able to let him go when and if someone wanted to adopt him. In spite of that, Felines & Friends still offered to take the little guy and get him neutered and move him into their adoption pool.
He was easy to catch and transport to Felines & Friends main center. But I cried the whole way there, and then cried in the car, sitting next to him in the trap. He’d only been coming around a couple of weeks, but I had already gotten so attached. I wanted more than anything to be his forever home. But the responsible long-time animal rescue volunteer/shelter side of me knew I couldn’t manage it, and it would be so irresponsible to take him in, when I couldn’t afford to provide him with the care he would need throughout his life–at least until I would be able to get out of student loan debt and off food stamps, etc.
And now, I owed a whole other kind of debt to the amazing Felines & Friends for not only helping out the wonderful Piglet with a second chance, giving him safety and security, and a chance at a forever home, but also helping me out, with my big heart but empty wallet. Someone who just wanted the best life for sweet Piglet.
So, this blog is a big thank you to Felines & Friends for all their support and caring. Please, if you’re local to New Mexico, you can find Piglet and lots of other amazing cats available for adoption at their Petfinder web page: https://www.petfinder.com/pet-search?shelter_id=NM38. They also need fosters, so if you have the room, please consider joining their foster program. In addition to adult cats needing a foster home, it’s kitten season, so short-term fosters are also needed for a plethora of kittens and even mom cats nursing kittens. They can provide some supplies and other items needed to foster the cats, but donations of cash and cat supplies are always welcome!
Remember, ADOPT DON’T SHOP! And have your pet spayed or neutered to reduce pet overpopulation in shelters.
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.
Sunday is my least favourite day. It just seems worse than Mondays, because Mondays, at least, are a fresh start. A do-over. Poor Sunday. It just seems to epitomize that droning-meeting-white-noise bored feeling.
But the real issue is that I’m sick. Allergy sick. I got allergy tested (Thank you, Medicaid), and discovered that not only am I allergic to the grasses that make up those dumb turf lawns that are so popular back in my home state, but also a fair bit of trees, certain kinds of mold, hay, dust, and feathers, of all things. Guess I won’t be going out and hugging any more trees anytime soon. *laugh*
So, when I was cleaning out the art supply closet at work, I got sick. Like almost instantly sick. Within in a few hours, I started to get a sore throat. It wasn’t until a few days later that I found out there was mold growing on some stuff in the closet. By then I was really sick. Lost my voice and everything, but at least it supported the results of the allergy test. But, do you know how BLOODY hard it is to supervise a whole passel of overly excited little munchkins when you can’t even talk? Luckily, the kids are some of the most amazingly sweet kids I’ve ever met, so I was spared a Lord of the Flies reenactment. *laugh*
This morning, I even dreamed I was cleaning out and organizing an artist’s studio. Which would have been really annoying in that I was dreaming about something I’d been doing all week. Except that the studio was an open air one, surrounded by a low stone wall, and real green grass growing everywhere. And it was warm, but not too hot, the sky was a soft blue with clouds, and there was that wonderful kind of breeze that comes off the ocean–playful and mysterious and reminding you that nature is a conscious, vibrant entity.
And then I got a sense of my muse being present. Not really in person, just a feeling they were watching me (from afar) enjoy the wind blowing all my bad feelings away and tangling my hair. It was too poignant, and too simple to even exploit for a poem, but I just wanted to acknowledge them in some way, in case they are out there reading this blog from an alternate dimension. Even though I know perfectly well they are just my creative mind speaking to me, I haven’t been able to make that connection to the part of my brain/soul that’s epitomized by said muse. But, still, I’ve been missing you, my Muse/figment of my imagination.
And now I have to go clean my own house on this prosaic, ordinary Sunday. While dreaming of an ideal day that was shared over at a blog called “Scotland with the Wee White Dug”. Rain, a quirky museum, and scotch? Honestly, what could be more fabulous?