You can find out what I was looking forward to over at
Vision and Verb where I am a guest blogger today.
Thank you so much to all the wonderful ladies there
for inviting me to join them!
This was supposed to be called terms of endearment, but who could resist with that photo?
As it turns out, there are two kittens. The second showed up two days after Brett, half-crazed with hunger and fear and loneliness. I can’t help but wonder how they got separated, where they came from, and what to do with them now that they are here. But that part will work itself out… For now they are happy outside the back door, warm beds at night, all the food they can eat, and apparently, chipmunks for dessert. (Sorry.)
My husband named the first one Brett, and when his brother arrived, he became Sporty. But here’s the thing: I never call our animals by their actual names. Instead, there is an ever-changing litany of nicknames and endearments, and some others for when they are naughty.
Brett had already, before Sporty arrived, become My Puddin’ Pie. And then, his brother, well he became George McFly (he’s a bit of a dork and looks a little like Crispin Glover).
So now, together, they are Georgie Porgie, Puddin’ and Pie.
Our dog’s name is Jake. First there was Shaky Jakey (because he actually shakes when we take him in the car), which turned into Shaky Pants, and then John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt which led to Jingle Jimer, Jimer Timer, and most of the time now, just Jingler.
I never said this was going to make sense. And yes, I’m a little crazy.
Our oldest cat is Shihan (my son was in karate class at the time), but she became Fatty, and then Fatika Blush, and Tiki, and Tiko, Queen Elizabeth, and Fatty Jo Jones. These days, she is often Old Lady. (Right now she is next to me, snoring).
Cinder, who was never a cinder, is Missy and Baby and Crazy Nut and Naughty Tee Tie and Missy Nue. She stayed tiny, the size of a six month old kitten. Twice a day she puffs up her tail, runs around, and roars like a lion. Seriously, she is not meowing, she is roaring. I have seen many cats in my life, but never one that does this. Apparently she is practicing for when we take her to the jungle and release her into the wild.
Charley, whom you met here before, is Charlie Chan, Chin Chan Man, Chin Channy O’Manny, Charlie in Charge, and Kitten Cat.
And last but not least, my Pepe, the cat love of my life, is mostly known as My Handsome Man, which occasionally becomes just Hansa. Pepe has his own story and, yes, I am madly in love with him, and one day I will tell you his story, but this is already quite long, so not today. But it’s not just the animals…
When my son was young he was Moonbeam and Mumpy Toast and Earl’s Too Cool For Me. And then later, much later, he was a teenager and he was Poof, and then Poofie…
But the day came when we went to the cool skateboard store to buy cool skateboard clothes and I said “Hey Poofie, look at this,” and he said, through tightly-clenched teeth, “Can you please not call me Poofie in public?” At least he said please. And I promised to honor his wishes. Except one time, when he hit a home run, I forgot. And I stood up and yelled: “Go, Poofie!”
Oops.
Well at least I didn’t call him Puddin’ Pie.
there is rain, but also daffodils
brett, but also, apparently, a brother
time, but never enough of it
so much to do that never gets done
this picture that makes me dizzy
this life that makes me crazy
full of flowers and cats and
never enough
i can’t be satisfied
i am satisfied
i can’t be mollified
i can’t sit still
i can’t remember
yet still, there is rain
and daffodils
First, let me say, Happy Easter:
Then let me say, What the?…
If the Easter Bunny was here, apparently he forgot his tail. Now I am not really trying to be funny. When I went to get my mail yesterday, I saw that (whatever it is), “growing” in the center of a clump of daffodils.
What the? I went to get my camera, took a picture as it was, and then pulled it out (with tweezers) to investigate further, fully expecting to be well, grossed out by what must be on the other end. Only nothing. Just a perfect egg-shaped ball of fur that has no indication, anywhere, that it was ever attached to anything. Nothing, just fur. Did the Easter Bunny lay an egg? Should I call National Enquirer?
My son thinks it is part of a squirrel’s tail. I’m not so sure. If so, then how was it attached? We will probably never know…
But oh, Mr. Easter Bunny, he wasn’t through with me yet… sometime during the night he also thought it would be nice to
drop this off:
Oh wait, that wasn’t the Easter Bunny, that was some jerk who (well, let’s not go into that, it is Easter, after all…). And since I was sleeping with the window open for the first time this year, I was awakened to the sound of a kitten’s frantic crying right beneath my bedroom window.
Now, I have mentioned a few times that I am a crazy cat lady. Because we already have four. It’s not my fault, really. They just keep showing up. Kind of like this one. We didn’t go looking for them, they chose us.
But if four makes you a crazy cat lady, what does a fifth make you? A stark raving lunatic?
Only here’s the thing: he is oh my gosh so cute, and my husband has already named him Brett (Favre) and I can see already see what is coming next…
Number five.
Only because of his name, of course we’ll have to call him:
Number Four.
But I don’t think anybody is going to be fooled by that.
Yesterday, I was grouchy, crabby, melancholy, in a funk.
I kind of felt like this:
So, I decided to take my own advice and run it out. I hadn’t been in a while and I figured that was probably the main cause of my problem.
On my way out the door, I looked again at the tall grasses in my garden that really, really, really need to be cut down… but I always put that off as long as possible because I hate doing it I always get a blister it is such a pain but I can’t clean anything else in my garden until I do that because if there is any wind at all it will just be another total mess and (pause for breath) okay. I went running.
Well, I tried, but my allergies are terrible right now so I couldn’t breathe and then I was grumpier grouchier and mad and frustrated but hey wait the sun it is shining it is 80 degrees 80! in April and I just passed this guy walking along the same trail as me and reading a book. Reading a book! while he walked (pause for breath).
And then I smiled.
I passed him on the way up and the way back, which meant he covered about two miles, book held up in front of him, paying no attention whatsoever to people passing him, the beautiful day, the sunshine. Paying no attention to anything at all, except his book.
And the sun was out and the frogs in the pond I was passing were peeping louder than the Counting Crows song I had playing in my ear. At first I thought it was part of the song I had never noticed. But then I stopped and turned the music off. And listened. It was frogs, peeping their little hearts out. And that made me smile, again.
So I went home and I tackled that grass, yes, tackled it, and there was cursing, and there was a blister and there was mud up to my ankles when I was done. And I was sweaty and the sun was shining and it was 80 degrees, 80! and all of a sudden, I felt like this:
Then I took a shower and I realized that for the first time since last October I was walking around the house barefoot, and I went outside and had a glass of wine in my garden. Aaahhhh.
And the moral of the story is:
Ranunculus.
Isn’t that the best word, ever?
