VANISHED
On a lonely trail you vanished
Leaving not a clue
Like mist at sunrise evanesced
There was no trace of you
Boots on ground! Birds in air!
Leave no stone unturned!
High and low through night and day
This search will not adjourn
Godspeed your safe return my friend
The quest has just begun
Lest not your story e’er be told
By Missing 411
She stares at me, blinks once
Then turns away to spy
That which might just occupy her time
More interestingly than I
But if I venture from her keep as she feigns sleep
Seeming not to care where I am
She follows me, inconspicuously
From room to room
When I turn around and step
There she’ll be
In all her predictability
Under-foot, constantly!
I have to laugh when she turns up
Where she ought not be
With a coy little coo, as if to say
Who….me??
On Night Watch at foot of bed
Her ears, like radar scopes, turn
But her head stays still
Chasing shadows and things I cannot see
Though I know must be, else she is quite the actress!
Is she curious or merely foolish?
She sits so still and quietly
Trying ever so diligently
To keep up her facade
But the twitch of her mischievous tail gives away
Her secrets as she stalks her prey
Quite mysterious and somehow sensuous
Is that rumbling, rapturous purr
And touching my heart like her velvety paws
Are her whimsical ways and endearing flaws
She looks at me with those intelligent eyes
Stares..as if to hypnotize
Then turns away and runs
She chooses none
My enchanting feline, Little One
Wish I could know you now
So many questions I would ask for your wisdom.
I talk to you often – can you hear me?
Your replies are echoes of your voice in my mind.
I read somewhere that before we are born we choose our parents.
There is no one I would choose wiser, stronger, kinder or more loving.
In my mind you could do anything.
Are you proud of me? Disappointed? I could be so much more, I know.
When you had to go, I was beyond grief…Only God knows how deep.
What still feels like yesterday was so long ago and I miss you every day.
I love you. Always.
12/14/2024
Been away from my site for a long while but it’s a new year, the world is changing with mind blowing speed and I feel excited and compelled to start writing again.
Oh, and most importantly, the Dog….one of the most wonderful, life-changing experiences I’ve had in my life!
Warning: this post contains images some may find disturbing (but don’t worry — it has a happy ending).
There is something about a rescued cat (or other animal) in that they seem to know they are saved. You can see it in their eyes–the gratitude and relief, and feel it in the way they behave when you take them in–so careful not to disturb, gentle in their steps, cautious and sometimes clingy. They seem to know that you care and an incredible bond is formed. It is a most humbling and overwhelming feeling to love and be loved by a rescued pet.
For a few years I’ve been feeding a feral cat I named Ginger. Ginger’s ear is tipped so I know someone before me had taken the care and time to TNR, (Trap, Neuter, Return) a humane solution for reducing and protecting the feral cat population.
Seemingly content with his outdoor life, Ginger visits twice a day where he dines in his custom made cooler-turned-feeding station.
Though I’ve not yet gained his trust enough to come inside, he hangs out on my window sill, watching and taunting my jealous indoor cats who don’t know the trials of the life of their feral outdoor cousin.
One hot night last Summer, Ginger brought a friend; a scrawny and beat-up black cat. Each night for a few days, this cat showed up with Ginger who would share his dish of food. I could see it was in rough shape. Missing fur and scrapes, matted and dirty, I thought maybe it had been hit by a car. After a thorough search on local websites for lost and found animals and knowing it likely didn’t belong to any neighbor close by, I decided it was probably a feral cat and began to plan for TNR. 
I borrowed a live trap and set up for his capture. But I would soon discover this was not a feral cat. It came right to me, allowing me to pick it up and be placed gently into a carrier. So with no need for the trap, it was off to the spay and neuter clinic.
For identification purposes I called him Casey, a gender-neutral name. It was only after his return, that I would learn Casey was a “he” and discover the extent of his severe injuries and wounds. Casey’s head and right eye were seeping from infected bite wounds. His ears were filthy from mites and his eyes nearly sealed shut from the pressure and swelling of his head wounds. He had been the victim of an animal attack and had likely been out fending for himself for a long time, scrounging for shelter and slowly deteriorating from lack of food and the infection in his malnourished body. The low-cost spay/neuter clinic staff were wonderful, but they were not set up for the extensive and long-term care this poor creature would need.
I felt torn. I wanted to keep him but I already had three cats who would not be very welcoming to a fourth. I called some contacts and friends for fostering to no avail. The Humane Society would likely consider this guy a lost cause and put him down and only other option was to “return” him to his outdoor life. There was no way I could turn Casey back out to fend for himself. So the decision was made for me. I set up the spare bathroom in my basement preparing for cat hospice and made Casey an appointment with my regular vet.
The prognosis was grim. Although tests for rabies and other common diseases came back negative, Casey’s injuries were extreme and he was not responding to the long-lasting antibiotics given to him at the clinic. My heart ached for this little guy. How long had he been out there on his own? Was he going to live? I couldn’t imagine why God would send him to me only to have him die. I could hardly bear the thought and I was determined to do whatever it took to help him survive.
After several long weeks of praying, more than a half a dozen trips to the vet to drain and clean his wounds, four more rounds of antibiotics, pills and ointments and the grace of God, Casey began responding to the treatments. His infected wounds began to heal. His appetite and digestion began to stabilize and he gained four pounds. Casey was going to make it!
Over the next couple of months, his patchy coat was filling in and his wounds started to scar over. His eyes began to clear and his fear to subside. His energy level rose and soon he was healthy enough for me to begin the introduction process to the three other cats that would become his new family.
Unphased or startled by house noises like the toilet flushing or the rumble of the air conditioner and fridge; litter box savvy and very much a lap cat, I am quite certain Casey was never feral, but I don’t know his story or from where he came. Was he lost? Abandoned? Worse? My stomach sinks at the thought of how he came to be so battered and neglected. I’m not sure I want to know. All I do know is that for over a year now, Casey has made his new home in my house and in my heart for the rest of our lives.
Oh….and I changed his name.
Meet Ezekiel (Zeke for short) whose name means Strengthened by God.
So this is blogging. Oh what confusion for my distracted brain! I have to admit I am impatient. It’s not that I don’t want to learn or love a challenge. I suppose it’s that I am more of a visual learner. I would rather be shown (just get to the point please!) than to have to read and then analyze what I have read and how to apply it to do what I want to do. You would think that for an overthinker, figuring out all this configuring would be right up my alley but, alas.
So thank you for your patience as I tweek and re-tweek my pages and posts and hope to make a point when it’s all said and done.
Elusive chin hair
Too short to pluck with tweezers
I feel you mock me
I was contemplating the length of the crew sock and how they irritate me. I wondered if I was the only one who felt this way about them. I mean, I don’t even understand the point of socks that go half way up your calf. They’re like an incomplete thought or sentence, the crew sock. I get that you want a sock that is long enough your bare leg won’t show when your trousers hike up when you sit and cross your legs or whatever, but it’s not a true committment. Not only does it not go all the way up the leg to the knee, it can’t even stay put half way up the leg. And if it does, it digs in and cuts off circulation. They even make sock garters for the purpose of holding them up. Why on earth would you invest in such a sock that you have to further invest in a gadget to hold them in place? Why not just be bold, jump in with both feet (or legs) and buy knee-highs? Even anklets are committed to a joint location on the leg. Same with Peds–they have a purpose–to not show at all yet allow comfort inside a shoe. And a knee-high is just that–knee high. It reaches the knee-joint and has staying power. But the crew? The crew can’t even commit one way or the other. It’s a fence-sitter. A non-committal, fence-sitting sock that won’t stay up and looks ridiculous to boot. (No pun intended.)
So I was thinking about this crew sock business and this is when I remembered what a therapist once told me long ago. He told me that I think too much. Now, there’s a lot one could say about this, isn’t there? Of course, I obsessively thought about what he said for days after. Even though it was true, why in the world would a therapist tell a border-line OCD person that they think too much?? It’s absurdly ironic and maybe even a bit cruel. Also, what does one hope to accomplish by telling someone that? Wouldn’t the bearer of such enlightenment then expect the recipient to take it into consideration that they do, in fact, think too much? And then if that is the expectation, aren’t you hoping they will do something you just told them they do too much? I mean–think about it!!
Thus began my frustration and desire to seek out others who might want to share similar thoughts and feelings…or at least to know they–we–are not alone in the world.
Merry Christmas and to all a good night!
Cats & Dragonflies 