Last Day of June Saturday Sky

Embrace the unexpected! It keeps life interesting.

Thursday Thirteen #4

Thirteen Things About My First Schoolgirl Crush:

1. At twelve years old, I was very tall and very awkward, very silly, very giggly, very dyslexic; reading and talking was emotionally, very painful.

2. I had just started Jr. High school at James Madison Jr. High in Tampa, Florida. My birthdays always came a month after school started, so I wasn't twelve like the rest of my classmates at the beginning of the school year.

3. I had had several crushes on boys that school year, 1955/56, but I'm only telling about my first one.

4. His name was Johnny—something. He was a cute, curly headed kid, brown hair, I think, and he must have been taller than me, because I shied away from short boys.

5. He's the only boyfriend in my life that I still have a picture of. In the picture, he sat forward, his hand laced together, while silly old me, leaned against the porch post and had another giggle attack.

6. That year I got to have a large birthday party. And I got to send an invitation to Johnny. (In those days, we didn't call on the phone or just ask someone to a birthday party, without sending a written invitation.)

7. We played games, of course, had cake and ice cream and opened presents. We played spin the bottle I got to kiss him. That I remember well, a circle of kids on the grass, (this was at night) and when I spun the Coke bottle it pointed to Johnny. I'm sure I giggled my way over to him and planted a quick kiss somewhere on his face. I don't think it was the lips. My mom, and probably one or two other moms supervised the party.

8. Just being around a boy gave me a severe case of the giggles. He must have thought I had a few screws loose, or the cool-ade had been spiked.

9. At some point I wrote him a love letter. I have kept it all these years. Somewhat faded now, it was written in pencil and it had lipstick kisses all over the paper with red penciled hearts and arrows all across the top.

10. It said: The Way Love Begins and Ends. The first day of school I met Johnny and he didn't like me at first; he liked my girlfriend Joyce and I invited him to my birthday party and he gave me a pearl necklace. Something I had never had before and, of course, I thought 12 was growing old enough to go on dates and so I kissed him and he liked me more as he stayed and he followed [me around] the place that night. And I know he doesn't love me anymore, he is going around with Donna Ray Berg and I'm going to like Dickie, but love Johnny better than anyone else I know. In fact if he or I ever left I would never forget him. He probably won't even save me a seat on the bus or a place in line. He'll probably save Donna a seat on the bus and a place in line and he promised me at my birthday party to save me a place in line and a seat on the bus all the time.

11. I must have gotten over Johnny quickly though, because I went to my first formal dance that year with Dickie. That I remember well.

12. I'll describe the photo of my first formal—I'm not about to post it. Standing in the kitchen I stood with feet close together in low-heeled black pumps—I was already too tall and hated wearing anything but flats. I stood looking away from the camera—eyes looking upward focused on some distant spot, with red lips pursed together in a goofy smile. Hands daintily clasped together in a lady like fashion at the waist; fingernails painted red, of course, and my reddish-brown hair was short and tightly curled. The best, or worst, in my opinion, was the strapless, pale green taffeta, with green tulle overlay, cocktail length gown. The photograph is a bit faded now, but I had on sparkly earrings and a bracelet that must have matched.

13. Actually the dress was beautiful and pale green has always remained my favorite. The worst thing was that I had a figure that would not allow me to wear sweaters and get the attention of the guys the way my girlfriends did. I had to wear falsies!

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

Wordless Wednesday

Cats on Tuesdays: Neighborhood Nightlife

While you're sleeping, snug and comfy in your beds, dreams floating round in your head, do you know what your cat is doing at that wee hour, when moon has risen high, wind has stilled, leaving the air thickly perfumed with night flowers?

Apartment life is daunting at best. Small, cramped corners of life often limited to only one or two indoor cats per unit. This tale is about Necco and her feline neighbors. There are eight apartment units in Necco's building, seven occupied by cats, and one with a dog. Small, rat-like dog, but a dog none the less. No one ever spoke directly to the dog, only about it.

Necco, a pretty pale tortie with sparkling green eyes, spent many lonely nights during the winter, sitting on one windowsill or another, staring out into the starry, cold, darkness. All throughout the silent winter, Necco savored every thought, stored every idea, so that as soon as the warm summer nights came, and the windows were left open, she could have something to talk about with her neighbors.

Summer came late this year; one cold snap after another kept the nighttime windows closed all through June. Frustrated she paced, flew to each window in haste at every shadowy movement on the apartment grounds. Finally, finally, the weather mellowed out and the windows were left open. Necco sat on the wide bedroom windowsill, eagerly taking in great gulps air: scents of sweet, damp, earth, mingled with other scents floating in on the midnight air. Her guardians were asleep in their beds, their breaths slow and even, the soft whirl of the refrigerator could be heard in the kitchen, the low, slow, click, click, click, as the seconds ticked by on the living room wall clock. Her ears twitched quickly in every direction identifying each tiny sound.

"Necco, are you there?" a whisper floated down from the apartment above, barely audible above her own beating heart. Necco twitched her tail, perked her ears and leaned into the screen, hoping it would hold her weight. Markus, a black and white, lived above her. He too had waited seemingly endless nights for the windows to be left open to the outside air. "It's me, Markus," he called in a low whisper. His guardian was a woman who lived alone and rarely left her windows open all night. "Has Thorny come by yet?"

Thorny was a large, charcoal gray and thick black striped, roaming tom that lived somewhere out there in the darkness. There was no single home he permanently called his own. He was a roamer, a charmer, too, there were many homes in the neighborhood with willing humans that claimed him, fed him, caressed him, and talked to him as if he were human, too. Thorny knew everyone and everything in the neighborhood, and he was the apartment cat's only source of news.

Another voice whispered into the warm, fragrant air, "Necco? Markus?" it croaked. Frog was duly named because he had once been strangled on the Venetian blinds cord when he was a little guy. The little orange tabby was only eight weeks old at the time. He'd been bouncing in and out of the windows with glee, pawing the dangling cord until his hind legs slipped out from underneath him, he floundered in midair by the neck, gargling and gasping for breath. His guardian had heard him choking and rushed into the room, untangling him just in the nick of time. Life number one was nearly over by the time she revived him. No one remembered what his real name was. Just Frog is all anyone new him by. His vocal cords had been damaged and he would forever croak instead of mew.

"Frog!" Necco and Markus greeted him in unison. "Have you seen Thorny, yet?"
Frog pushed his head into the screen, sidling into it to get the maximum view of the parking lot. "Nope, not yet, I'll go look out the living room window."
"Let's all go to the other side," Necco suggested, "we can talk better in there, less chance of waking our guardians."

Each cat silently dropped from the bedroom window, sped down the hall and leaped stealthily into the front room windows. Thorny had just come into view, the full moonlight shimmering off his shiny, stripped coat, prancing heavily through the dew covered grass.

More heads pressed against window screens as he came within talking distance. Fluffy Girl, a pleasant Himalayan lived upstairs across the hall from the dog, which lived above Frog. Downstairs under Fluffy Girl was Kattie Kat, a broad tailed tan and cream Maine coon with deeply lined blue eyes. Prissy, a tiny, orange powder puff, of unknown origin lived across the hall from Markus, and above TBC (Troublesome Black Cat). An elderly widowed man was his guardian.

All of the humans living there were fifty-five an older; the apartment complex purported to be a Senior Village. Necco was the only one who still had two guardians; all the others in the village were single.

By the time Thorny reached the main patio and comforted himself under the golden glow of the round patio light, seven dark figures were perched upon window sills, ears trained towards the tom, waiting for the news. Stories flew from the windows to Thorny, from Thorny to windows. Necco and her friends lived in building four. Building three, set at an odd angle to building four, gained some new tenants over the winter months. Necco had seen a catly shadow in a window or two on occasion. Now Thorny was telling the cats in building four about the cats in building three, building two, and even building one. Nanny, an old momma cat in building one, had to go to the vet; she had a cough and never came back. The human, Mrs. Wassel, in building two, had fallen and broken her leg. Her children were moving her into an assisted living home and she would not be able to keep her cat, Freckles. In building three, Mrs. Korn's husband died and the management was forcing her to move into a single, one bedroom unit. Something about a couple needing her handicapped apartment was the reason. The news of that move had all the humans in a stir. Would anyone else who lived alone, and in a two-bedroom unit, be safe? It was a puzzle because every apartment in building three and four were two bedrooms and Necco's apartment was the only one now occupied by a couple. A new manager had come in during the winter and made so many new rules and changes that some of the older tenants had gotten sick over the shakeup and had to go to the hospital. Necco reflected about how disturbed her guardians had been by some of the things going on in the Village over the winter. But just last month, the new manager was fired. The newer, new manager, however, wasn't all that much better. There was still no rhyme or reason for the constant turmoil management kept the elderly tenants in.

Soon the moon had begun to set, the stars were fading in the dark-turquoise sky; Thorny had rounds to make, territory to claim and protect. "Too bad," he shook his massive shoulders and licked the fur on his spine back into place, "about Freckles, I mean. Nice old tom, doesn't have too much longer to live, himself. He's got to be near ninety-two by now (nearly 19 in human years). To have to find new guardians in his late years…" Thorny scratched a flea behind his left ear and shook his head, "just too bad…he'll probably end up getting…the you know what," he pressed his lips together and tried to talk out of the side of his mouth in a way that young Prissy couldn't hear him, "get the needle…" Six of the cats shuddered; they knew what the needle meant. They'd all visited the vet and heard the stories. Prissy was clueless.

Thorny bid them all a goodnight, or good morning if you chose to look at the hour. The cats sat in their windowsills for a few more moments, trying to talk to each other without seeing each other. Not one of them had ever seen what the other looked like. Only what they sounded like, or sometimes when the breeze was just right, what their scents said about them. Things were changing in their little neighborhood.

Now that the windows were open at night, Necco looked forward to Thorny's, and maybe one or two of his friends, visits around three o'clock in the wee hours of the morning and give them tidbits of neighborhood life.

The names and places have been changed to protect the felines and their guardians. What is your cat doing at three AM…do you know?

Tagged: Birthday Meme

My daughter, Paula, has tagged me with this Birthday Wikipedia the website Meme!

Here are the rules: You go to http://www.wikipedia.org/ and type in your birthday (only month & day). Then you write down 3 events, 2 births, 1 holiday, and then you tag 5 friends.

My Birthday is October 3rd. Right in the middle of WWII

3 Events:
1942 - Spaceflight: First successful launch of a V-2/A4-rocket from the Test Stand VII at Peeneunde, Germany: The first man-made object to reach space.

1955 -Catpian Kangaroo debuts on CBS

1955 - The Mickey Mouse Club debuts on ABC

2 Births:
1806 - Oliver Cowdery, American religious leader
1941 - Chubby Checker, American Musician

1 Holiday:
Day of German Unity

I tag: Thomma Lyn, Me'lange, Kuanyn, SuzzaneR, Mom Unplugged.

Early Morning Saturday Sky

Facing East at 6:30 AM

Three days the sun's setting and rising will be the same.

As if the earth standing still, takes a long breath

Before marching forward into long winter nights.

Thursday Thirteen #3

Thirteen things I like to write about . . .

1. Cats: The cats that I've had over the years, and the one I have presently, have given, and contine to give me, a lifetime of tales to tell. I never realized how much I really loved and cared about these furry creatures until I started writing stories about them.

2. Faeries: My interests in the wee folk have been there since childhood. Only in old age it has taken on a new meaning. I have no hang-ups now, about talking to the faerie folk that live among my plants, in my little abode—after six-plus decades, I've earned the right to talk to them unabashedly.

3. Memories: My childhood has taken place in many parts of the country. After I was born, and mostly raised, in Texas, I became an Oklahoman, Alaskan, Texan again, Californian, Floridian, Georgian, Texan again, Hawaiian, Floridian again, Ohioan, Floridian again, Hawaiian again, Alaskan again, Floridian again, Georgian again, Californian again, Illinoisan, Californian again, Illinoisan again, Montanan, and finally, Oregonian. So there is no absence of writing material there. Plus, I've traveled and visited many other parts of the country and a tiny bit of Canada.

4. Wild animals: I love to be the voice for all kinds of animals that live in the woods and so forth. There is so much to learn from them and teach others by writing about them.

5. Heavenly Things: My faith has given me a perspective on who I am and where I came from and I use my imagination to fill in the rest.

6. Mystical: Magical beings and far away places intermingled with everyday people and everyday life.

7. History: My personal and family history.

8. The 50's: That pretty much tells you what decade I'm most familiar with.

9. Drama: Love and life never follow a perfect path.

10. Tragedy: But with a happy ending.

11. People: Six-plus decades living amongst people haven given me much to tell, however, there is still much to learn. Each day is a new chapter.

12. Mysteries: That's a challenge, mostly because the plots have to go just right and I'm still learning that skill.

13. Fiction: Fiction is the genre I love the best. Everything ends the way I want it to. To write fiction is to be a liar, as a writing instructor once told me. I knew all those little white lies I told as a child had to be good for something, someday.

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

Wordless Wednesday: Beware

Cats on Tuesday: About Scrungy

Small brave carnivores

Kill pine cones and mosquitoes

Fear vacuum cleaner

haiku author unknown

Since Gretchen has her own site now, I said that I would explain why I named my site Scrungy's Creator.

I'm going back a few years to around 1987: I had been halfway through my first novella and had lost a precious orange and white cat that I had taken in since birth. He was born under a utility shed next to our modular home in a great oak wood late in May. He was the tiniest of the litter of three. I believe it was his mother's first litter. She was a popular visitor among all the residences of the woods. Over the years she must have had two litters a year and each time under some ones shed. She got to be known as Momma cat. A very small, mottled brown and tan tabby. We brought the little orange and white kitten into the house because it was so much weaker than its siblings and it had been a late, cold spring. Pumpkin was the cat that I had completely declawed at six months old. It was the most pitiful sight to see him with all four paws stitched up. That's when I vowed never to do that to a cat again (pitifully, I broke my vow when it came to Gretchen). He was also the cat that no one, not even the vet knew that he was not a she, until he operated on her and found out she was actually a he.

Another season went by and we moved from within the woods to the top of a hill, overlooking the wood, pond and stream. A place that will always remain in my dreams and is the kind of place I've been hoping to move to someday. If it had not have been for the job that went with the house and property, I would still be there to this day. Because Pumpkin was completely declawed he was never an outside cat. He was very happy in his new, roomier home at the top of the hill, but one day he went out and disappeared. Three days later we thought he had returned. In the tall grasses at the edge of the lawn was an identical cat, male, but the only difference was that he was fully clawed. We never saw our Pumpkin again, but the new cat hung around. He belonged to no one but the vast wood. I now believe he was the father of all Momma Cat's kittens. Every one of her litters had a few orange kittens. He could have even been Pumpkin's father.

The cat that showed up at our door, the one who looked identical to Pumpkin, I named Scrungy. At the time of his appearance he was very scrungy. Dirty, un-kept, and a little sickly looking. He also had a huge gash across the side of his neck that was trying to heal. Obviously from a fight with another tom or a raccoon. Raccoons were plentiful in our woods, and we even raised one from a baby, once. We fed the new tom; he fattened, and hung around on his terms. The wood was his home; we were just a convenience; his food and sometimes shelter.

In my little white house on the hill, overlooking a barren field, the wood; I began to write about an abandoned cat named Scrungy. Because of my real job, I worked upwards of sixty to eighty hours a week alongside my husband, writing was an occasionally thing. It wasn't until we were deep into the winter season that I completed the first draft of Scrungy: Abandoned. Complications from a back injury kept me from working and then I began writing in earnest. Eventually, we moved to Montana for a couple of years where I re-wrote Scrungy several times before being satisfied with it. When we moved to Oregon, I wrote the sequel to the first Scrungy book, Scrungy:Rescue. In the meantime I've been working on other novels. When I am finished with the current novel, Bubba and Bean, I will begin the third book in the Scrungy series. Scrungy is not on the market yet. It is still making its journey through agents and publishers hands. Because of a lot of illness in the past ten years, I've not pushed to publish Scrungy as hard as I probably should have. My family and friends are after me to publish. And yes, I would not be truthful if I said I didn't want to be published, also. I just like to write. But I do want it published, and that is why, when my daughter edged me into the blogsphere, I took the name Scrungy's Creator as my blog name, perhaps as a part good luck charm and part inspiration for me to continue. I hope to have several more books in the Scrungy series before I've exhausted the ideas and the plots for this little kitten that was dumped along a deserted road in the middle of a vast wood, where he learns to survive, find love, companionship, and a life for himself. The white cat that I had for six months before Gretchen came into my life was named Preylor, after Prelyor, the king of the abandoned cats in this series…a massive white tom with odd colored eyes. There are many, many cats that come and go from my little catdom and hope that there will be many more.

Belonging to Gattina's Cats on Tuesday group is the best thing that could happen to me. It gives me inspiration. Challenges me to use my imaginings and write weekly stories about cats. It has also deepened my love for cats, and all things living. Thank you Paula. Thank you Gattina. And thank you, Thomma Lyn, for opening me up to the Cat Blogosphe

There are no pictures to post for this story. A few years ago I sent all of the pictures of the real Scrungy and Pumpkin to daughter#4. She's also an illustrator and wanted to work on the Scrungy series with me. I didn't realize I hadn't kept any pictures for myself until after a frantic search through all my files and boxes of pictures last night, for a picture to post today. The picture that I use for my logo is a close likeness of what Scrungy would have looked like as a kitten, after being cleaned up, of course.

Poetry Monday

I was going to post another Poe poem today, but after reading them over I decided they were a bit too depressing for this beautiful blue-sky day. So I found a haiku instead. About cats, of course.

Wanna go outside.

Oh, no! Help! I got outside!

Let me back inside!

haiku author unknown

Sudden Sun Break in Bleak Saturday Sky

They say...Dreaming is never a waste of time.

I say...Neither is gazing into the heavens.

This sudden break in an otherwise, cloudy, dreary day, appeared around noon. In moments the clouds had closed back in and it rained. How lucky I felt to have seen the moment when the clouds parted to let a little sunshine in.

I've been busy putting my cat's site together and reading her messages for the past few days. It's been a bit scary, but finally I'm beginning to get it. My daughter set Scrungy's Creator up for me several months ago and now it was my turn to solo. She was away from the phones for the weekend and she wasn't there to answer my cries for help. But I stuck with it and I must say I'm beginning to enjoy the experience.

To all the daddy's among my family and friends....Happy Daddy's Day!

Announcing Gretchen's New Site

Gretchen now has her very own site. Gretchen's Paw Prattle. She's very happy with it. I think she'll be busy all day answering all the welcome comments she's received already. I told you she hires others to do her bidding, no pay of course, but I've been directed to take her dictation. Hmmm, I wonder if I'll get Employee of the Month. Mike still loves his badge and wears it everywhere. He even climbed up on Gretchen's new place of honor, the back of the recliner, on the doily, for his portrait. Gretchen's not one to share the limelight, but she's patient with Mike, for a while at least. He sure loves his goofy sweater and cap and won't take it off.
Now that Gretchen has taken off to new worlds unknown, I'll be able to turn my attention to other things, get back to my writing, and tell somethings about Scrungy. Good luck, Gretchen. Thank you to the Cat Blogsphere for her warm welcomes.

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen things about Gretchen

My Thirteen is going to be about my cat, Gretchen. She came to us 3 years ago today. She was born on May 1, 2004 but we took her into our hearts and home on June 13, 2004.

1. Gretchen was an answered prayer cat. See the whole story

here.

2. Gretchen is a soft as silk cat with pale tortoise markings, bib and booties. I wanted to name her Peaches because of her patches of peach fur, but it just didn't seem right. My husband insisted that we call her Gretchen and for some reason I gave in. I've never allowed him to name any of our cats before. I've usually named them, or the girls when they were home, and he'd approve because he was outnumbered. But when he said her name should be Gretchen, it just seemed like that had always been her name. It fit her.

3. Sometimes I call her Princes Gretchen because she's so picky about what she eats, where she eats, and when she eats. She has two feeding stations and prefers the toilet for her water bowl, even though I keep a clean bowl of fresh water on her place mat at all times.

4. Gretchen is an inside (apartment) only cat. When she was six months old we took her to the vet for the first time. She had all her shots, was spayed and had the front claws removed. I had that done to another one of my cats once (on all four paws), and swore I'd never do that again. Removing Gretchen's claws was a difficult decision. My husband is a Brittle Diabetic, that's the worst kind, and he can't afford to have scratches from the cat. I had just had a bilateral mastectomy and have no lymph nodes under my arms, so scratches were also bad for me. Plus, the apartment lease stated that all cats had to be de-clawed. I don't think that's necessarily true now, but when I first got her, it was stipulated that I comply. I had taken her to another town, all the towns pretty much run together around here, at the recommendation of a friend who had three cats and that's the only vet she liked. It was an awful experience for both Gretchen, my husband and I. She had to be taken in a cat box for a thirty-minute ride, she cried all the way. She had to be left overnight, that was horrible also, and she came home heavily infested with fleas. When the vet first examined her before they admitted her, she was clean as a whistle, and the vet even remarked on how clean she was. They denied the fact that she got the fleas from their clinic. I had to clean the house, wash all the bedding, clean the carpet, while we treated her with that Advantage? (I can't remember what the name for the cat stuff is, but it worked and we've never been infested with fleas since.)

5. To top it all off, within five months, the middle claw and dewclaw on her right paw grew back. At first the vet told me that they wouldn't fix it for free, but after I had given them a few well-placed words, not bad ones, mind you…just well placed, the vet relented and said they wouldn't charge me again. But then, my husband and I just couldn't put Gretchen through that awful experience again, and would never take her, or recommend any cat we knew of, to that clinic again. We decided that Gretchen wasn't bothered by the dewclaw. She was quite happy to have a tiny tool to rip things to shreds with, and the middle claw never stays long. It grows in soft and comes off regularly. We talked many times about having it removed by a vet here in town, but always talk ourselves out of it. We've decided that if it ever becomes a problem for her we'll have it removed. She's happy and we're happy, so all is well on that front.

6. Life for an apartment cat is not all that much fun sometimes. Gretchen has a great imagination and invents friends. The Sofa Bear Club are, or rather were, among her favorite friends. They have been removed now, put in the storage closet, at least for the summer. When the stuffed bears sat around since Christmas without their clothes, I said it was time for a change. They have sat on the back of the sofa for nearly ten years. (Six craft bears had a set of clothes that I changed regularly for years. Their place was on the back of the sofa. Gretchen often spent time with them there, blending in.)

7. Gretchen divides her time between her furry, stuffed mice, her pink, plastic golf balls, bird watching—sometimes visiting with a cat or two through the window screen, catloafing and sleeping. She loves to chase after bubbles. And will do anything for string. Getting the backscratcher out means we're going mouse hunting. Her furry little mice often disappear under the fridge, dresser and other tight places.

8. Eating, sleeping, and bathing occupy a good portion of the day. She has my husband and I well trained and uses us each in a different way. She sleeps with me, actually she sleeps on my hip (I'm a side sleeper). I find when she's actually standing on my shoulder staring at me that she wants me to lift the covers so she can climb under them. As soon as I depart the bed in the morning she is in my spot. She often sleeps until noon there. When hubby comes home, her routine changes and after a bit of attention from him, and a quick romp through the apartment, they both settle down for an afternoon nap, leaving me to myself, to write, garden, to blog.

9. When evening comes, dishes are done, she know it's time, whether I 'm ready or not, to sit in my lap. If I'm not sitting when she wants me to, she will whine and wind her way through my legs until I get the message. There are some days that she thinks I should be sitting in the afternoon and will follow me around demanding me to stop what I'm doing and sit. She's not at all happy when I'm at the computer a lot. Lately, she forces her way between the keyboard and my body, trying to get comfortable on my lap. I've finally figured out that this means time for a break.

10. Gretchen, like most cats seem to do, comes alive at night. After she's insisted that I'm tucked in bed and have fallen asleep; she starts me getting ready for bed around eleven o'clock at night. If I don't start shutting things down at eleven she starts her whining, sitting on the floor in front of me and staring routine. She'll follow me from room to room, and makes sure I've done everything right. Once I'm in bed and covers in place, she'll come and lay on my side until I fall asleep. After that she's does a series of window-to-window sorties. Especially when it's warm enough to have the windows open at night.

11. Gretchen's other favorite pastimes are tearing up Kleenex boxes, rustling around in tissue paper—she loves to shred it, trying to chew on plastic which I have to be very careful of, flopping on the floor in the middle of my path for an instant belly rub, and just being your ordinary, soft as a peach, cute as bug, loving, adorable cat.

12. Gretchen has participated in stories for Cat's on Tuesday with the pitiful, stuffed black cat we named Mike. Mike has strange eyes and sends us strange brainwaves. There are three other stuffed cats in the apartment, Beanie Kitty, Zoo Kitty, and White Kitten. They all lay in their places quietly like stuffed animals are supposed to do, however, you can never count on what Mike is going to do. In March of this year an aunt of mine died and I inherited some of her things, a white stuffed toy cat and a black one, whose fur melted in the dryer after I washed him. Gretchen and I have a lot of fun with the black lump of melted fur…we've now dubbed him Mike the Mysterious. To see Mike Stories click on the Mike the Mysterious button on the sidebar.

13. Lastly, I've written these thirteen things about Gretchen because of our anniversary, but also to tell you that she's going to have her own site. Hopefully it will be ready by this time next week and I will announce it. My daughter #3, the one who set up Scrungy's Creator for me and still does maintenance on it because I haven't learned yet quite how to do it, is letting me set up Gretchen's site all by myself. If I'm not successful, she'll fix it for me…wish me luck.

Gretchen on June 13, 2007

Get the Thursday Thirteen code here!


The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

View More Thursday Thirteen Participants

Wordless Wednesday

Cats on Tuesday: Mike's Made it Big Time

Mike's life changed again when I moved the sofa from its winter position to its summer position beneath the windows. Which happens to be Gretchen's very favorite place to do her window gazing from, and be comfortable at the same time. Last time we talked, Mike had come out of his dark little corner between the sofa and the wall, and had entered Gretchen's world. The top of the sofa. Shortly thereafter, I moved the sofa and offered Mike a new bed. He chose a wicker basket that had just been lying about as a catchall, and I lined it with a little, blue fleece baby blanket that I had gotten at Walgreen's for a buck for Gretchen, one that she's never placed a paw on.

So, "Hey, Mike!" I said, "how about this blanket to line your basket?" He was so excited about his new niche that I swear he squeezed his eyes together like a normal cat and purred. I put his new basket on the floor in front of the TV. He seemed a little teary eyed that I had given him such a place of prominence, but I couldn't be sure. It's not something I really want to admit, you know, that I carry on this imaginary conversation with a stuffed, toy cat. Well, I left the room to do some gardening; Gretchen had already taken up residence at the end of the sofa on her purple and green quilt. Mike was happily dozing in his basket.

Then it happened, I had fallen in the garden and smashed my face and glasses against the sidewalk. My right arm and hand took a good twisting, not to mention every muscle in my body. This new twist in my life made it hard for me to do the ordinary chores around the apartment for a while. Happily everything has healed nicely now, but I owe it all to Mike.

Gretchen is a sweet, princess of a cat, and I love her dearly, but she is becoming more spoiled as the days go by. She felt sorry for my woes and gave me a look of sympathy, a look of "don't worry, I'm there for you." I couldn't quite make out her cat talk, but it sounded like she said that White Kitten, Zoo Kitty, Beanie Kitty, and Mike, all of them together, would keep the place nice and tidy. Before we go any further, no, the pain pills did not pack that much of a wallop. Of course, I let Gretchen be in charge of the toy cleanup. But you have to remember, she's the one who's game it is to "watch-me-throw-the ball/mouse-pick-it-up-and-throw-it-again." Okay, so I was a little woozy by now and went to bed.

For several days later, when I got up in the morning and stumbled my way into the living room on the way to the kitchen, there was not a thing out of place. No yarn twisted around the dining room chair legs, no crumpled wads of paper strewn about, no furry, fake mice, not even one of the new batch of pink plastic golf balls left out to step on. I mean the room was actually in better shape than when I'd left it the night before.
Okay, I was only on pain pills for a couple of days, it has now been weeks and today I finally sat down and asked Gretchen what's been going on. Her royal highness just yawned in my face and mumbled something that sounded like, "The hired help took care of everything," then she rolled over, closed her eyes, and wouldn't comment any further. Out of curiosity I turned to Mike. "Okay, Mike," I said, "Spill it. What's been going on?" I heard White Kitten chuckle. Mind you White Kitten has nothing but fiberfill in her head. But, then I heard Zoo Kitty, and even Beanie Kitty chuckle, too. Or at least I thought I did.

Mike could see I was getting a little spooked, so he did that thing with his eyes, squeezed them shut, then transmitted his thoughts to my mind. I'm not sure if I'm just getting used to him doing that or if it freaks me out even more, but he told me that Gretchen had hired the "Cat Crew" to keep the place tidy. On account of my hurt hand and all. Only Gretchen didn't do anything; she was always off Catloafing somewhere. White Kitten, Zoo Kitty, and Beanie Kitty never left their beds, so Mike was left all to himself to help me out. Incredible as it was, I had to ask, "What did Gretchen promise you if you did all the work?"

Mike blushed, looked around the room, seeing that he was alone, replied to my mind, "Employee of the Month!"

"That's it!" I stammered, "You did all the work, and all you get is a title?"

Mike squeezed his eyes together again, "Oh, no," he cried with happiness, "I got a sweater and cap to wear, a certificate from the Queen of Domesticity, and a neat little ribbon to pin on my sweater for a whole month."

I could barely believe what I had just heard, or thought I heard, no one hears Mike talking to me, but me. "Uh, where'd you get the sweater and cap?" I thought I'd better ask.

"Gretchen told me that since you put all the sofa bears away in a big black plastic bag, in the storage unit, for the summer, that I could choose one of their sweaters, whichever one I liked best, for my hard work."

"Really," I said, however, I wanted to ask how they got the sweater out of the craft drawer to begin with, but decided I didn't want to know anymore details. Then Mike climbed out of his basket, revealing the orange and yellow, stripped sweater and matching cap he had hidden underneath. "I liked this color the best," he beamed. "I thought it would show up best against my black fur in the picture. "What picture?" I smiled, already knowing where he was going with this. "Why, the one you're going to take and post on the web, of course," he smiled, there was no mistaken the twinkle in his glassy eyes now. "But I need you to put the sweater on me," he continued, "that's kind of hard for me to do."

By now Gretchen was at my feet, dancing her little "love me" jig, winding her furry little body between my legs, purring loudly. I didn't know if I wanted to throttle her for using her little friends the way she did, or pick her up and squeeze her for having the thought to hire the help I needed when I was hurting. So here it is folks. The Queen of Domesticity, aka, Gretchen, and her only right hand man…er…cat…stuffed toy…whatever, Mike the Mysterious, needing my help to complete there little game.

It amazes me sometimes at how much they know about me. How much is real to me, and how far to take my imagination. Whoever they are, they have good hearts, even if one of them has a heart filled with fluff.

Mike sent one last thought my way, but I turned on him and scolded him, "Mike, I do not want to start hearing thoughts from White Kitten, Zoo Kitty, and Beanie Kitty…that's just too much for me to handle." DBB

Poetry Monday: More of Poe

Evening Star

'T was noontide of summer,
And mid-time of nights;
And stars, in their orbits,
Shone pale thro' the light
Of the brighter, cold moon,
'Mid planets her slaves,
Herself in the Heavens,
Her beam on the waves,
I gazed awhile
On her cold smile;
Too cold—too cold for me—
There pass'd, as a shroud,
A fleecy cloud,
And I turn'd away to thee,
Proud Evening Star,
In thy glory afar,
And dearer thy beam shall be;
For joy to my heart
Is the proud part
Thou bearest in Heaven at night,
And more I admire
Thy distant fire,
Than that colder, lowly light.
-Edgar Allan Poe

Of all the missed opportunities I've had to take pictures like this at night, I've had to go to the web and borrow a photograph.

Saturday Sky in Oregon Retold

Today's sky, Satuday, June 9, 2007

Last Saturday I posted a picture of a nearly all blue sky accept for one little wisp of cloud. I commented that "Our summer skies will mostly just be blue and featureless until the rains return in the fall."

Humph! I couldn't have been more wrong. Our little, first of the summer, heat wave ended on Tuesday, June 5th, with a powerful coldfront that swept in from the North Pacific ocean, bringing us heavy rain and hail.

Tuesday's sky, June 5, 2007 about 9:30 AM

Our weather has turned back to the winter/spring pattern bringing waves of Pacific storms, colder, sometimes windy and rainy weather. And of course, dull gray skies most of the time. There have been some beautiful cloud formations during the rain events this past week, and now I wished I had chronicled the days of the week with the camera.

Hailing on my little garden spot outside my apartment...






Today we weren't supposed to get rain until this evening. I woke up at four-thirty this morning and glanced up out into the twilight of morning. The moon was just above my widow, barely shrouded in a thin mist of fast moving clouds. I had the thought to run right out and take that picture but didn't. About half an hour later I got up to fix the Man's breakfast, and thought again of taking the moon shot in the early morning light. Well, I should always go with my first impressions, shouldn't I. When I looked out the window for the moon, thick gray clouds had covered it completely and it was raining. At about eleven-thirty the rain was momentarily reduced to light sprinkles so I went out to get my mail and look for interesing spots in the gray mass above to take a picture for todays post. So, now . . .

I
Will go
Eat some crow,
Have some tea with
Sugar and milk, with cookies,
Two Chocolate Chip, maybe three.
I'll spend the afternoon adding chapters
To Bubba and Bean's story of young love
I must not hold back their dreams, fate awaits,
Their story is in my hands, author of their plans.

I was trying my hand at a form of poety called Etheree. I was intrigued by Marilyn MonROEW's attempt at it. I don't quite know if I have the syllable count right.

Thursday Thirteen

Thirteen Things about me,because I'm new to Thursday Thirteen 1. I'm a purple person. That's why I chose this code color. I'm also a green person. Meaning I love the color green. Dark green, moss green, just about every color of green. 2. I am a new blogger since . . . April 10, 2007. I'm still learning how to put my site together. My daughter as been helping but she lives in the Midwest and I live in the Pacific Northwest. 3. I am a writer. I've completed 3 novels and 1 novella and currently making the rounds of publishers with two of them. Since I've started blogging I've not been working on my 4th novel as much as I should. I haven't learned yet how to balance things in the blogsphere with my real life. 4. I started Scrungyscreator because of daughter #3's pleadings. She told me it would be a good way to meet other writers. I'm looking forward to that. 5. I'm a cat person. I have very vivid imaginings of what a cat thinks. Two of my novels are about cats, a third is planned to continue the story. Scrungy is a real cat who crossed my path some seventeen years, or so, ago. His likeness as a kitten is what I chose for my banner. But Gretchen, the one I write a lot about, is my real cat. Or rather, should I say, I'm her real person . . . human . . . being? I've spoiled her rotten and she knows it. She turned three May 1st, but we didn't adopt her until June 13, 2004. 6. I wanted to a be an illustrator of children's books when I grew up. When my children were grown, and I thought life had settled down some, I was ready to start, but then I found myself liking the writing process better than illustrating. I'm older now but still not grown up, so there's still a chance I could do that . . . starting with my own books, of course. 7. A writing instructor I once had told me not to be shy about saying I was a writer just because I hadn't been published. I've always held to those words, especially when non-writers look at me kind of strange when I say that, after having asked what books I'd had published. I still hear him say, "You write--you're a writer," or something like that. He also told me to remember RUE. "Resist the urge to explain." Which I have a hard time trying not to do. 8. I love writing. I love the process, the thought pattern, the planning, the research. I just haven't figured out how to keep "life stuff" from getting in the way. But then I remember that without all that "life stuff" I'm sure there really wouldn't be for much writing material. 9. I'm basically a very shy, behind the scenes person, and frankly, I find that putting myself out there a bit hard to do. It's really a chore sometimes. But each time I prepare a package for a publisher or pitch a book, I find it a little less daunting. But I've also not pushed that hard. I like writing for the sake of writing, or for my posterity. My family and friends seem to want me to be published. Yeah, I'll admit, that does kind of sound nice, too. 10. You might as well know right off the bat that I'm a two time breast cancer survivor. That's some of the "life stuff" that's slowed me down lately. But I'm three years out from my bilateral mastectomy and I'm feeling pretty good. If I hadn't have lived through all that nonsense I wouldn't have discovered the blogsphere, now would I? I love it. It's quite challenging, but at least I've found something to keep me from playing computer games when I'm in a lot of pain or can't sleep because of it. One thing chemo-therapy does, besides making one brain dead is making one an insomniac. Thank goodness for Ambien and a doctor who has finally seen the light. 11. I love the blue sky, the clouds, the wind, the rain, the storms. I love the beach, the salt air, the misty fog over the Pacific coastline. I love trees. I love birds, flowers, gardens, and all of nature. I'm a kid at heart with tons of imagination. I see things in pictures and that could explain my wanting to be an illustrator for so long. Now I'm trying to use words as my palette now instead of paint. 12. I love reading and listening to classical and good music. I'm an artist, an organist, or was. I haven't played much or as well since the boobs got cut off. For a while there I couldn't type, or write, or draw, or do anything that required fingers. Only in the last eight or nine months have I started getting my fine motor skills back in my hands. That's one of the reasons I played a lot of computer games, all that was required of my right hand was hold a mouse and push down with one finger, over and over, and over. 13. I'm a wife (nearly 40 years with this man), a mother of four daughters, all with lives and families of their own (five grandchildren) and in July I will become a great grandmother for the first time. P.S. . . in a whisper. . .writing without spell check is down right scary! I got my information about TT from Thomma Lyn and I signed up on the main page earlier but as yet I haven't heard back from them, so I hope it's okay to proceed with this post. It may take a bit more for me to get the link for this sight on my sidebar. That's an area I haven't been yet. Like I said my daughter had helped me get started and put a lot of stuff on it without me knowing how she did it. So bear with me.

The purpose of the meme is to get to know everyone who participates a little bit better every Thursday. Visiting fellow Thirteeners is encouraged! If you participate, leave the link to your Thirteen in others comments. It’s easy, and fun! Be sure to update your Thirteen with links that are left for you, as well! I will link to everyone who participates and leaves a link to their 13 things. Trackbacks, pings, comment links accepted!

Wordless Wednesday: Gretchen's Peace Banner 2007

Cats on Tuesday: Catty and Mousey Games

Since Gretchen was little, by that I mean about two and half years ago, I found these little stuffed, furry mice in the local grocery/department store in our town. Back then they were sold individually for sixty-nine cents each. They were so like the real little gray mice that inhabit a kitchen cabinet full of dry stuff, beans or noodles and such. I particularly liked the individual ones over the package of three or more mice in different colors, and it was so easy to pick up just one and throw it the shopping bag every time I went to the store. Gretchen got so excited when we came home with shopping bags, that she anxiously snooped through each one until she found her new mouse, flipped it out of the sack and headed off to play with it until she was tired or had lost it.

She was fun to watch and finally ended up with about four-dozen mice altogether, before the store quit selling them in the bulk bin and started carrying only the packaged mice. That's when Gretchen's fun ended. The excitement and the smell of a new rabbit fur mouse hidden somewhere amongst the groceries was something Gretchen expected; looked forward to. For a while I bought the packages of colored mice and took them out of their wrappings before I got home and threw them into the bag, but it was not the same. The smell of the plastic wrapped mice did not have whatever smell the other ones had that alerted her mousing instincts; even being born in human surroundings cats are supposedly born with a natural instinct to hunt furry critters. There may be some exceptions to this rule because I've had a few house-born cats that hadn't the foggiest notion of what to do with a live, furry critter scurrying across the kitchen floor.

It has taken a good year, at least, to find a substitute for the gray bit of fluff she so loved to hunt. Gretchen would get thoroughly annoyed with us once the mice stopped showing up in the shopping bags. She'd wait for moments of revenge, hide behind the door, or jump out of the closet and bite my ankles as I passed by. She only does that when she's expecting something of me that I can't deliver, or have forgotten to deliver.

From furry mice we went to treats. She loves the Temptations Salmon treats in the bright blue foil pack over any other kind. She learned to identify the color of the bag in the grocery sack by our making a huge deal over it hoping to take her mind of the nonexistent mice. We let her pull the foil package out of the sacks and play with it until she tried to bite her way into it, then we'd open it and give her a snack.

Okay, I forgot sometimes, I mean she had a dozen bags already stockpiled and buying her another treat bag every time I went shopping was senseless. I tried other types of toys to give her reason to go through the sacks, but she never took to them. The plastic balls with the bells in them, they had her attention for about a minute, no surprise there anymore; the catnip toys, or balls filled with catnip, even catnip bubbles. No surprise there either.
Now I know it's entirely my fault. I've spoiled her rotten. Because of the furry mice hunts in her kitten days, she expects, no…demands something, to this day, of every shopping trip.

Well, I have found one thing that peaks her interest for about three minutes and that's the pink, practice golf balls. There's a dozen in a bag, and she now recognizes the bag and gets ready for me to open it and throw them one at a time, as soon as she spots them.

Sorry, I've drifted away from my reason for writing about the little furry mice made of gray rabbit fur in the first place. Back to the tale.

With about four-dozen mice accumulated, Gretchen played and played and played with the mice. When she'd finally lost the last of the lot under the fridge, between the sofa cushions, under the dresser, where a mouse could fall in a crack and hide, Gretchen would start her following me about routine, mewing in a distressed way. I learned to recognize this mew from that of treat, a spoonful of wet food, or dry. Once I realized what she was after, I, or rather, we—she and I—went on these mice hunts. I pulled out the furniture, looked under the bed, took the back scratcher to sweep them from under the sofa, the dresser or the fridge, all the while Gretchen crouched with frenzied anticipation for each mouse found and then placed in a pile in the middle of the living room floor for her to disperse at her leisure throughout the house again. This often took several days before all the mice had to be found again. Thank goodness!

The mouse find that I love the most is when we had a thirty-gallon aquarium. My husband and I often would turn off the TV at night before retiring for bed and just sit and enjoy the illuminated tank full of fish. I'm the one who cleaned the tank, so one would think I'd noticed it sooner than I did. Our Plecotomus, algae eater, usually took good care of the green furry things growing in the tank, but he didn't seem to be taking care of this dark gray fuzzy thing in the back corner by the filter tubes and it seemed to be growing. Next I noticed the flow of the filter wasn't the same. These, to me at least, were obvious signs of it needing cleaning. After a few more days of putting off the inevitable, I finally began to break down the tank for a good cleaning. The gray furry thing turned out to be one of Gretchen's brood. Somehow, she had managed to slip one through the small opening by the filter, into the tank. It had completely disintegrated by the time I had gotten to it. The now floating rabbit fur had clogged the filter and all that was left of it was this slimy, hairless piece of hide and the hard plastic form that made it look like a mouse in the first place.

Gretchen's down to about a dozen, well chewed, little gray mice now, and a few of the more expensive, longer furred critters that she really doesn't give a hoot about. We play our "you-throw-I-watch-you-pick-up" game with the few mice that are left only occasionally now (that's been replaced with the pink plastic golf balls). I think she's accepted the fact there probably aren't going to be anymore of them. I've sucked them up in the vacuum, she's dropped them in the waste baskets, a few she's dismantled entirely and a few she's chewed the tails off of, and of course, one went swimming. Often I'd find them under my pillow or buried in the blankets, or dropped in a shoe.

We still get that expectant look, and accompanying mew, upon entering the apartment with any grocery sack or shopping bag, but the excitement of the hunt is gone. I'm sure pet shops have furry gray mice piled in open bins like we once had here locally, but we live in a small community with only a few choices. I've thought of a dozen different ways to get them like that again, but I think it wouldn't work. I believe part of the excitement of finding the mouse, loose in the sack, had to be coupled with other smells that intrigued her and enticed her to play with them so vigorously…smells from the store, the clerk who touched them as she scanned and bagged them, smells from other people's hands perhaps, that had picked them up and put them back, long before I got to the store. Perhaps all those smells filled her imagination with a variety of things I'll never be aware of—because of her acute sense of smell.

One consolation: I'm sure in her little cat dreams, she's finding her favorite, little furry mice in grocery bag after grocery bag.

Tomorrow Gretchen will be flying her Cats on Tuesday Peace Banner for Wordless Wednesday, please stop by and have a look at it.

Poetry Monday

The Blue Moon at midnight, in Northwestern Oregon skies,

taken May 31, 2007. A view from my bedroom window.

First Saturday Sky in June

No wonder I love the color blue. Our summer skies will mostly just be blue and featureless until the rains return in the fall. It is going to be interesting to see how I can make a plain blue sky interesting. There were high thin clouds here and there this afternoon. This little swirl was my favorite. As a kid growing up in a very different world in which we live today, I laid on my back upon the grass, arms folded behind my head, and watched the clouds float by. To this day I love to watch the clouds form and dissipate, and often wish I could lay once again as I did in my youth, under a tall shade tree, upon cool, thick blades of grass, a gentle caressing breeze, and dream away the afternoon.

In a meadow, upon a hill, a tall oak spreads its arms and shields me from the sun.

(It is hot, four days of the first heat wave of the year.)

The bright blue sky spreads before my gaze, the cloud formations stir my imaginings.

(Let's see, I've paid the bills, taken several phone calls, washed and dried five loads of laundry.)

The delicate breeze bends the tall grass on distant hill, the scent of wild flowers perfumes the air.

(It's cotton wood season, pollen floats thick on a hot, dry wind, and weekend fumes from gas engines choke the air.)

On lofty branches above my head, birds sing love songs to one another. Butterflies flit out o'er the quiet field. All is peaceful and beautiful here.

(The drone of tires, rattle of ancient lawnmowers, hum of air conditioners, a barking dog or two, banging screen doors as children race in and out; radios, stereos, television and the white nose from fans, an old air plane with the engine noise of two Harley's, circles, and circles and circles above.)

Ahh, thirteen is great. Peaceful afternoons on that quiet, shaded hill, a good book in hand, or just lay back and dream dreams and make plans.

(Sixty-three, aches and pains, small apartment, manicured grounds full of fertilizer, moss killer, weed killer; dog pee and dog poop; two more shade trees have given up the ghost and they will not be replaced.)

The sun is descending, the sky deepens, a faint call is heard off in the distance, time to go in, it says, time for dinner.

(Dinner? It's time for dinner already! I forgot to thaw something out from the freezer. Forgot to get bread from the store. Will hot dogs do? We've got hot dog buns in the freezer, too? How about I open a can of pork and beans, again, dear?)

The stars appear, the moon is high, full this time in a cloudless sky.

(Thank goodness this day is over. I'm tired, my feet ache, dishes still soaking in the sink, Mama's Family is coming on in less than five.)

Thank God for another perfect day, for this blessed earth where beauty and peace abound.

(Amen. And thanks for giving me another chance to start over and watch my tongue--tomorrow.)

P.S. Thanks for my neighbors roses whose pink blossoms, prompted by the heat, filled my senses with columns of sweet scented air as I passed back and forth to the laundry room; reminding me there's always room for summer afternoon dreams under cloudless skies.