I leave at the same time as a fellow in the old Bartlett house. About 6:10am. This morning, he was passing just as I got to the bottom of my driveway. He took the first left up Minnetonka. I usually always go straight to Cherokee (the third left) without thinking. This morning I considered taking Minnetonka and considered taking Sequonia (the second left), but said forget it, I prefer Cherokee because it isn't freaking vertical. I rarely give it much thought but this morning it was a deliberate decision.
I turned onto Cherokee, which is a street about two houses long. I quickly saw a cat walking slowly up the street. It didn't run even as my car approached. I beeped gently. The cat stopped and turned its head vaguely in the directly of my headlights and then kept walking. Highly unusual because typically the neighborhood cats run. I rarely see stray cats.
I inched forward behind the cat. I started noticed that it was walking unsteadily. Oh boy, I said. I put the car in park, pulled the emergency brake and got out. The cat was walking slowly enough that I was able to catch up to it. I called out and it stopped. I very gently approached (her) and she voluntarily rubbed her head on my hand. I was able to stroke her back. Very thin, skin and bones, rough coat, soaked. Then I lifted her up and put her onto the grass. She immediately got back into the road and came back over to me.
I petted her some more. Then my heart melted. I picked her up and brought her to the car and put her in the back seat. She was unhappy about that and tried to get out immediately. So, I picked up her again and brought her to a different patch of grass and stepped away. She got off the grass and came back to me. Very unsteady on her feet. I picked her up again and put her into the car more firmly. I shut the door and drove home.
I set up her on the ground floor. Brought a litter box and food/water for her downstairs. While she was eating, I took one of mom's new jersey dresses that I won't ever wear and laid it on the floor for her to sleep on. Then I went off to work.
I called Dad and warned him about the creature downstairs. I made a vet appointment for Saturday morning.
Dad later reported that she had followed him into the back of the basement and when he started making noise, she promptly left the back of the basement and went and settled down on the dress I'd laid out for her.
Stopped at the grocery store on the way home to get supplies. When I got home, I was happy to see that she was still alive. I underestimated how weak she was and put stuff too far apart. She used the litter box but also had accidents. I saw that with Wooby who was too weak to make it to the litter box. I threw out the soiled dress and laid out a new dress for her to sleep on. I set out the new and lower-to-the-floor litter box and she got in it and laid down. I set out food and she got out of the box and ate. While she was eating, I washed the floor and then arranged everything close together so that she wouldn't have to walk more than a foot in any direction.
She is drinking water. She's keeping food down. She ate both soft food and crunchies. She actively used both litter boxes. I also checked under her tail, she has no problems with me touching her (unlike Henry) and I think she's a girl.
I left her alone for about an hour and when I came back downstairs she was fast asleep. Crashed on the new dress, head face down into the cloth. I arranged a blanket around her, too. It won't be all that warm, but she'll be a lot more comfortable there than outdoors. And she'll be dry.
She's keeping her food down, which is a good sign. She appears to have some kind of hip dysplasia, but it could be weak muscle tone. She weighs no more than five or six pounds but judging by her frame she should weigh closer to twelve. She looks to be quite senior given the appearance of the claws in her back paws and the white around her muzzle. She also purrs quite loudly and is fairly vocal.
I managed to get a picture when I came home this afternoon:
I've just heard from the rescue society in Long Island. They have found someone to bring Franklin-the-cat across tomorrow. Alrighty then! This time is later - they would take the 2pm ferry and get to Clinton about 4pm. That means I need to cancel my oil change.
It also means I can't make it to Niantic tomorrow to get to the bookstore. (That'd be too much driving in one day.) The two spots - the bookstore in Niantic and the Dunkin Donuts in Clinton, are only 18 miles apart on I-95, but the off-highway trip is 40 miles because the Connecticut River must be crossed in New London and there's only one bridge and that's 95. Forget it. Google says that the entire day would be 102 miles.
I will think about it, though. It would be an adventure. The main issue is that my right knee is killing me. Plus it's swollen. It's odd. I woke up Friday. My leg feels as if it wants to go into a charley-horse, so it's not just the knee. I took two Advil about 4:30pm but it's still not pleasant.
Typically if the knee is sore, walking around cures it pretty quickly. That's not the case today. Maybe I'm low on potassium. Anyway, that's why I don't want to drive a hundred miles tomorrow.
And, Dad's here.
Been reading "We Are Not Ourselves," a new novel by a fellow named Matthew Thomas. It really is an outstanding novel, but I'm 53% in and I need to stop. One of the central characters has Alzheimer's, has clearly been sick for a while and (in the novel) has just been diagnosed. The gut punch of the initial doctor's visits hollowed out my chest last night. I have to put it aside. The story is too close to my own - Irish family, legacy of alcoholism and its resulting familial behaviors, the long slow radiating torture of dementia. Yeah, too soon. Too soon.
That said, the book is a luscious treat of a story and I'm someone who tends to prefer genre fiction instead of novels such as this. This book has had me fully ensnared since I began reading it on Thursday. (LOL I feel as if I need to say here that the book is 600+ pages, so I've spent hours with it so far.) I'll come back to it. I requested the author to be a friend on Goodreads and he accepted.
I need to take my shower and get cooking. Need to cook for my own lunches this week and I want to send Dad home with some bites to eat. I can't send much or he won't eat it. First, finish the coffee.
Didn't go anywhere this weekend other than the grocery store. No new experiences, other than watching episodes of The Blacklist and reading this book.
Friday afternoon I stumbled across this beautiful Terry Pratchett reading guide. Spent a while looking up a few books and figured out that I have read 12-15 of the books pictured. Soul Music and Small Gods are still my favorites, but I did really enjoy Going Postal and Making Money. I've read all of the Death books. I haven't read a single Rincewind novel. The Watch novels are blending in my head so the best I can figure is that I've read 3-6 of them. And I've read four of the nine books in the Witches line.
I was thinking yesterday that I'm good with expanding into a new life that I haven't lived yet, as opposed to trying to get back to a life I've already lived.
The flavor is incredible. Wow. I do hope it sets. It wasn't setting fully with the freezer plate test. We'll see. I'm not a big fan of raspberry as a flavor, but I love raspberry-lime.
1 bottle Framboise Lambic beer (raspberry beer)
3.5 cups of sugar
Pectin, I put in about 4tbsp, which I think was too little
Zest and juice of one lime.
I did reduce about a cup and a half of the lambic first, so as to intensify the flavor.
(EDIT) The finished jars:
Dad was here, doing his thing. And it was fine.
Title: "The 12-step dogma - The new science of addiction makes 12-step programmes seem like folk medicine. Is the concept of a higher power obsolete?"
It's a "long read" so I'm not going to paste it in here, especially as everyone should experience Aeon. Full text of the article is located here.
"Many mornings I check out the news as soon as I wake up, because if it turns out that the world is coming to an end that day, I am going to eat the frosting off an entire carrot cake; just for a start. Then I will move onto vats of clam dip, pots of crime brûlée, nachos, M & M's etc. Then I will max out both my credit cards.
I used to think that if the world--or I--were coming to an end, I'd start smoking again, and maybe have a cool refreshing pitcher of lime Rickeys. But that's going too far, because if the world or I was saved at the last minute, I'd be back in the old familiar nightmare. In 1986, grace swooped down like a mighty mud hen, and fished me out of that canal. I got the big prize. I can't risk losing it.
But creme brûlée, nachos, maybe the random Buche Noel? Now you're talking.
The last two weeks have been about as grim and hopeless as any of us can remember, and yet, I have not gotten out the lobster bib and fork. The drunken Russian separatists in Ukraine with their refrigerated train cars? I mean, come on. Vonnegut could not have thought this up. Dead children children on beaches, and markets, at play, in the holy land?? Stop.
The two hour execution in festive Arizona? Dear God.
And let's not bog down on the stuff that was already true, before Ukraine, Gaza, Arizona, like the heartbreaking scenes of young refugees at our border, the locals with their pitchforks. The people in ruins in our own families. Or the tiny problem that we have essentially destroyed the earth--I know, pick pick pick.
Hasn't your mind just been blown lately, even if you try not to watch the news? Does it surprise you that a pretty girl's mind turns to thoughts of entire carrot cakes, and credit cards?
My friend said recently, "It's all just too Lifey. No wonder we all love TV." Her 16 year old kid has a brain tumor. "Hey, that's just great, God. Thanks a lot. This really works for me."
My brother's brand new wife has tumors of the everything. "Fabulous, God. Loving your will, Dude."
My dog Lily's ear drum burst recently, for no apparent reason, with blood splatter on the walls on the entire house--on my sleeping grandson's pillow. Do you think I am well enough for that?
Let me go ahead and answer. I'm not. It was CSI around here; me with my bad nerves. And it burst again last night.
Did someone here get the latest updated owner's manual? Were they handed out two weeks ago when I was getting root canal, and was kind of self-obsessed and out of it? The day before my dog's ear drum first burst? If so, is there is an index, and if so, could you look up Totally Fucking Overwhelm?
I have long since weeded out people who might respond to my condition by saying cheerfully, "God's got a perfect plan." Really? Thank you! How fun.
There is no one left in my circle who would dare say, brightly, "Let Go and Let God," because they know I would come after them with a fork.
It's not that I don't trust God or grace or good orderly direction anymore. I do, more than ever. I trust in divine intelligence, in love energy, more than ever, no matter what things look like, or how long they take. It's just that right now cute little platitudes are not helpful.
I'm not depressed. I'm overwhelmed by It All. I don't think I'm a drag. I kind of know what to do. I know that if I want to have loving feelings, I need to do loving things. It begins by putting your own oxygen mask on first: I try to keep the patient comfortable. I do the next right thing: left foot, right foot, left foot, breathe. I think Jesus had a handle on times like these: get thirsty people water. Feed the hungry. Try not to kill anyone today. Pick up some litter in your neighborhood. Lie with your old dog under the bed and tell her what a good job she is doing with the ruptured ear drum.
I try to quiet the drunken Russian separatists of my own mind, with their good ideas. I pray. I meditate. I rest, as a spiritual act. I spring for organic cherries. I return phone calls.
I remember the poor. I remember an image of Koko the sign-language gorilla, with the caption, "Law of the American Jungle: remain calm. Share your bananas." I remember Hushpuppy at the end of Beasts of the Southern Wild, just trying to take some food home to her daddy Wink, finally turning to face the hideous beast on the bridge, facing it down and saying, "I take care care of my own."
I take care of my own. You are my own, and I am yours--I think this is what God is saying, or trying to, over the din. We are each other's. Thee are many forms of thirst, many kinds of water."
I want to free what waits within me
so that what no one has dared to wish for
may for once spring clear
without my contriving.
If this is arrogant, God, forgive me,
but this is what I need to say.
May what I do flow from me like a river,
no forcing and no holding back,
the way it is with children.
Then in these swelling and ebbing currents,
these deepening tides moving out, returning,
I will sing to you as no one ever has,
streaming through widening channels
into the open sea."
~ Rainer Maria Rilke ~