kittens

Pupdate – ND #1

Posted on by Lisa Weikel 4 Comments
Bigger Helpers (Tonight!) – Photo: L. Weikel

It just feels wrong not to write. At the very least, I must yield to the unspoken but palpable need I feel emanating from many of you for a pupdate.

After all, we shared the loss of Sheila. A year later, we collectively mourned the sudden loss of Spartacus. And then I disclosed the dream in which Spartacus showed up and told me – no, directed me – to get another puppy. I confessed how he placed his paw on my arm, looked into my eyes, and said, “You need me.”

I regaled you with the astonishing (and yet not) synchronicity of our Sarah finding a listing for Boston Terrier puppies and how they’d only become old enough to be adopted the very same day I was awakened by that dream. And then…well, we all know what happened next. Karl and I drove all the way across the state and became smitten with the littlest guy in the litter and his only sister.

No, they don’t always sleep, but… – Photo: L. Weikel

Love Triumphed

I think it’s fair to say you shared our heartbreak. And knowing this, perhaps weirdly, I was a little afraid to disclose welcoming these new additions into our family so soon after losing Spartacus. Although we searched our hearts and contemplated our motives, we – or more accurately I, since I’m the one with the relationship with all of you – worried our somewhat impulsive adoption might seem disloyal to Spartacus and Sheila.

I wondered if I should just keep the arrival of our new babies to ourselves.

But as all of you know, love triumphed. On some level, these puppies – Pacha and Brutus – are our collective healing balm. I trusted the internal nudging I received to write about our newest additions to our family. I decided sharing the joy was worth risking being judged.

They do 4 miles like pros now – Photo: L. Weikel

Simple Pleasures

Goodness knows, we’ve shared an exorbitant amount of collective trauma. The past three years have in many ways been like a roller coaster ride through the inside of a House of Horrors. From the personal to the national to the planetary level we’ve been dodging and catching some major body blows. And we took them as a community. Upon reflection, though, I’d say we shared some pretty cool stuff as well.

The truth is, puppies and kittens, regardless of age, make us smile. They remind us of life’s simple pleasures. If we’re lucky enough to have them in our lives, we know the indescribable feeling of being on the receiving end of unconditional love. (We know which species is usually more adept at conveying it, at least un-self-consciously.) And if we’re unable to have them in our lives at the moment, we can share the love vicariously. It’s a fact.

So here I am. Sharing the love. (And missing you.)

Check these puppies out.

Snuggling – Photo: L. Weikel

(T+1)

Kitten to the Rescue – Day 363

Posted on by Lisa Weikel Leave a comment
Chris’s Solution

Kitten to the Rescue

I have to admit, I love having something to write about. Even if it’s just something as innocuous as a mushroom or a carrot or a pig.

I was lamenting to a dear friend this evening that I had nothing to write about, and that sometimes that void is excruciating (and not easy to fill!).

She promptly texted back the photo you see above. Her accompanying comment was, “This probably won’t help, but I know it will make you smile.”

Of course, she was right. And it’s probably no big surprise that someone who’s known me since we were eight years old or so is probably pretty good at knowing my heart.

Brings Me Right Back

The look on the face of that kitten brings me back to the times Chris and I played in the fields surrounding our homes, hung out in her grandfather’s barn, and a couple times throughout our growing up years found scruffy little kittens to nurture and care for.

They’d usually have the little bit of crust in the corner of their eyes, dirty fur, and often smelled of hay and perhaps a little very old manure.

Mmm. The smell of manure is one of my favorite memories from growing up.

What an odd thing to remember fondly, I guess. But it didn’t smell like ‘shit.’ Manure has a distinctive, pungent, tangy smell all of its own – and it always reminds me of the hard work that goes into growing food.

Lesson On Riffing

This post is precisely that. Some random bits of memories from growing up as a country girl.

And the warm feeling it gave me to have my maid of honor (of 39 years ago) remind me that scruffy little kittens will always be my weak spot.

(T-748)

Guilty Pleasures – Day Forty Seven

Posted on by Lisa Weikel 2 Comments

Guilty Pleasures

We had several conversations about kitties in our house today.  Not only do we have three cats of our own (as well as two Boston Terriers who think they’re cats), but our youngest son and his fiancé have two adolescent purr-pusses as well. And they are visiting for the holidays, so we are a ‘full house,’ so to speak!

One of our cats, Tigger, has a guilty pleasure that we simply can’t abide. Not that it’s gross or disgusting. No. But it poses a danger to him if we’re not careful.

He’s into ribbons. Specifically, the thin, dangly kind that adorn festive holiday gifts and – if he’s really lucky – have little bells attached.

You have to understand. Tigger’s a really laid back cat. He rarely gets bent out of shape about anything. He’s very quiet – unflappable, even. When he first arrived in our home, he was already a grown cat (his paperwork said he was 8 or 9 years old, I believe), and he was entering a household that already had an established pecking order.

Tigger was quite clearly at the bottom of that order. Indeed, he was so far on the bottom of the pecking order that he pretty much retreated under a bed in our son Sage’s room and refused to come out.

We were concerned that he might just waste away. For at least the first week that he lived with us, we only saw his tail as he bolted back under the bed. We’d occasionally hear growling and hissing, and that was a ‘tell’ that White Satan, aka Gandalf the White (the deaf all-white terror), had cornered Tigger under the bed and was teaching him who was alpha-puss. It was hard to break those fracases up, since Gandalf was deaf. So we couldn’t even yell at him to stop.

Call Me By My Name

When I saw Tigger’s adoption paperwork and realized we’d been calling him by the wrong name, everything changed. It was astonishing and immediate. His entire demeanor shifted and it was as if he heaved a huge sigh of relief. “You finally know who I am!” he seemed to be saying.

Overnight, his personality shifted. He started coming out from under the bed. He started purring.

And then I caught him. I heard scrambling noises and the tinkling of a bell somewhere in the kitchen and I didn’t know what it was. I looked under the table and only saw Tigger, blinking up at me, all innocent.

I turned away and heard it again.

His Wild Side Comes Out

And then I saw it. The ribbon dangling from his mouth. The furtive look in his eye.

His guilty pleasure. Perhaps a self-soothing activity? Or maybe a celebratory indulgence.

Whatever it was, he clearly was still in touch with his inner kitten – and it is adorable.

We try to keep all ribbons picked up so he can’t swallow them in over-indulgence. But every now and then, I let him play with them and act all “Tigger Gone Wild.”

Tonight was one of those nights. We all need to indulge in guilty pleasures now and again. Just stay safe. ; )

(T-1064)