At long last Kent is a full time employee! Health benefits didn't start until Feb. 1, but at least he has them. Of course his pay check is 75 bucks smaller per week, but this is why I applied for my SSA benefits now instead of in 4 yrs. We need them NOW. Have to be able to afford to pay the doctor when we visit him, even with insurance, and have to be able to afford to pay for the scripts we get from the doctor. At least now we don't have to worry about 100% of ER costs coming out of our pockets.
He also has life insurance on the both of us. Enough to pay for a funeral if we go that route, but we are both pretty sure we want to be cremated. No viewing. Graveside service only. Save as much money as we can for which ever of us is left alive. Or Becky, Courtney, and Tabby if we both die at the same time.
He is entitled to 5 maroon t-shirts as a full timer, but the store is out of them. Go figure. But 5 verses 3 is an improvement. Now we'll increase his work jeans so I don't have to do laundry every other day.
He just ordered his work safety glasses, and he is thrilled with that. We popped for regular glasses back in Dec. so he will be all set up with glasses. Now I can make an appt. for me to get updated lenses for my glasses!
We just filed our federal income tax and are expecting a nice refund back this year, the best once since 2009 tax year. Still owe on state tax, but the lowest amount yet. Will use the fed refund to pay for the state, if necessary, or SSA money if we wait until Apr. 15.
Will be so nice with SSA money to be able to pay all bills on time, to catch up on all the past dues in other areas, to get the Springfield loan paid off and titles back. To get the RV fixed and usable again to save on motel costs. To have a place to live in if we have to evacuate the house, a place to have the cats with us in such an evacuation.
Monday, February 4, 2013
Little Miss Hemingway's Cat
She is laying across the room from me, right now, looking at me with drooping eyes. The Little Miss Hemingway's Cat. A petite black cat with almost enough white to be called black and white. Look at her from the front and you might call her white and black. Look at her from the side or rear, and she is a black cat with some white. She has mostly white legs, but with long black marks; her legs remind me of the markings on an orca whale. She has a white blaze on her forehead, just above eye level, that extends up to about to the top of her head. An inch of black fur, with a very few white hairs, and the white picks up and runs down the back of her head in a wide swatch. Like the markings of a skunk, only reverse.
She somehow found her way onto our property, but we don't know from where. She just turned up. She'd settled under Kent's shed for protection. He was raking leaves when he spotted her, and, being a cat person, just out and out asked her where'd she'd come from. She just looked at him with terror filled eyes and ran under the shed. I asked him who he was talking to, and he said "A Hemingway Cat". I have never seen a polydactyl cat before, and I dearly wanted to see one, so I went back to the back yard to see her. Only to have her scurry back under the shed. All I had a glimpse of was a streak of black as she disappeared. Because she was so scared I figured she had to be hungry so I went in to the house and fetched some cat food. I put it down in a trail from the shed out to where I could get a better look at her, then backed off and let her eat some food. As she came out and nibbled her food, I saw this little black cat with white markings. She didn't look to be over 4 to 5 weeks old, size wise. Not old enough to be away from her momma, really. No one around us has any cats as pets, so we had no idea where she could have come from. I put some food in a dish and some water for her, and left her alone for the day.
Next day I set out to try and win her trust. And the next. She was clearly terrified of both of us. I found out that if I lay down flat on my stomach she'd at least come out and look at me. And even talk to me. We had some great conversations, with her squeaking out answers to my questions or comments. Sometimes her squeaks sounded as if she understood what I was really saying to her. I was starting to fall in love with this scared little cat!! It was obvious that she wanted company, but she was scared to death of us. On the second full day of trying to win her trust she let me reach out and touch her head. I stroked her forehead with my fingertips, the only part of me that could reach her. She finally reached out her head and let me rub her under the chin. When I tried to slowly scoot forwards, she ran away and hid back under the shed.
On the third day I placed food and water out yet again, but this time up on the patio, with a trail leading from her hidey hole so that she had to come up and walk by me to get it. OK, slink. She had to slink by me to get it. And slink she did. There were only a few bites of food, so when those were gone I'd add few more. And at long last I made a grab for her and found myself with a squirming armful of kitten that I smashed against my chest. I crooned to her, spoke softly, and stroked her head and scratched her chin until she calmed down somewhat. Barely. But she wasn't biting me, just trying to squirm from my grip.
Now, what to do with her? She was feral, and normally feral cats are just put to sleep by the shelter. But she was cute as a button. Would they take the time to try and socialize her, or just be done with it and put her down? With all the animals which had been dumped by families forced from their homes by financial troubles had overloaded the shelter for over a year. Was she the kitten from just such a family, who turned out the mother and kittens? We'll never know. But I had a feeling that her fate would be unkind if I turned her over to the shelter. Would they notify me if no one adopted her and her time allotment was up? I was afraid they'd say yes, and then not do it. I couldn't let this precious life be snuffed out after such a hard beginning, when it was in my power to give her a good life. We already had 4 cats, and weren't in need of any more. We'd had 6 at one time, and it wasn't an easy thing to deal with. Adding her would up the tally to 5. But she was adorable, with shiny soft fur, intelligent eyes, and this squeak of a meow that just won us both over.
In the end I decided to adopt her in to the house. And so I carried her in to the house and in to the lives of 4 grown cats and 2 humans. I carried her in and showed her the litter box, letting her get a whiff of what it was used for. Then I showed her the food and water. And then I set her down, determined to let her decide to come back to me when she was ready. For a full day she ran and hid from us, but she did come in to the living room and watch us. It was hard on me watching her run away. My cats love to be in my company, love to be stroked and scratched, and love to sleep by and with me. But this little thing only ran away. The second day, as I sat in my chair, though, she came over and jumped up on the chair. I didn't move a muscle, barely breathed, and waited on her next move. She sniffed everything, the chair, my legs, my hands and arms, and at long last she was standing on me. I cautiously reached out and stroked her and she tolerated it. She then climbed up on my right shoulder and curled up in to a tight ball, and went to sleep. Yes, she was that small that she could curl up in a ball on my shoulder! She had accepted me as her human and her protector, as her pride leader. Every day, for a couple of months, she either slept on my shoulder, or wormed her way between my hip/thigh and the arm of the chair, feeling safe there as well, when we were in the living room.
We really didn't know what to name her. Normally a cat's actions or something about their physical appearance suggested a name, but she remained a mystery to us. However, to the 4 adult cats in the house, her name was Terror. Or Pestilence and Terror. She was desperate for company, feline company, and being adults, they wanted nothing to do with this upstart. She needed to play, and they were cats, and so she thought they were her playmates. She mostly ended up chasing them, with them hissing and running from her. They should have stood their ground, turned around, and put her in her place. But no, they decided to run instead. This set the stage for how she'd treat them all the time.
One day I saw her stand up on her hind legs, walk three feet across the hall up on her hind legs, with her front paws spread out wide, rather like an orangutan. But her walk was predatory. I described it to Kent, who found it very amusing. Then he saw her do it a few days later, and laughed as much as I had. I saw her do this walk a third time, and told her that she reminded me of a pterodactyl after its downed prey. Kent heard me and stated that yes, she was a pterodactyl cat. A polydactyl pterodactyl. I said that her name would now be pterodactyl, but it would be spelled Ptera Dactyl.
I never knew what hit me. This little fur ball came in and took over my life completely. She was my girl, and she made no bones about it and made certain that everyone else knew it. She was TOP CAT at whole 3 pounds. One of her funniest takeovers was in the bedroom. Normally we exclude new cats from the bedroom, but the adults have been so used to coming and going all night for several years that we couldn't close the bedroom door like we had for other newcomers. I was awakened one morning by growling from multiple cats, up near the head of the bed. I switched on the light to see what had who was all upset and there were 4 adult cats arranged on my half of the bed, from my head to my hip, facing off this tiny little black and white girl who had no idea why she was being growled at. I started laughing at the absurdity of it - the adults, all who were at least 2 to 3 times her weight and 3 to 5 times bigger than her - treed by this kitten. And so it was that Ptera joined us in the bedroom. If they weren't going to put her in her place, I wasn't going to deny her access to the bedroom.
To further emphasize that I was HERS, Ptera started coming up on the bed and laying on top of whoever was laying next to me. Sometimes they'd growl and move off, other times they'd just let her stay there. One thing was certain. Ptera had to have body contact with me when she comes to sleep with me in the bed. I was also her security "blanket".
Then there were the times she would come up to my head and drape herself over my neck in order to claim the top spot. Once in a while she would perch up on the pillow and proceed to "mix biscuits" on my shoulder, and lower...Those needle-like little claws were painful, but because she was so easily terrified, I lay still and accepted the pain. We let her get away with more than the other cats because of her skittish nature, because raising our voice to her sent her running in a panic mode. We tried not to have to raise the voice, but sometimes that was the only thing, short of literally walking up to her and removing her from the situation, to get her to stop the nondesirable behavior. It was important to provide her with a loving environment, a calm environment until she relaxed enough to feel fully secure.
One fear we have never been able to conquer is her fear of Kent wearing a hat. If she sees him with a hat or baseball cap, she runs away in terror, and hides. If he takes off the hat/cap, she may still run, especially if she's seen it on him before he removed it. No amount of sweet talking and crooning to her will keep her from running away from him with a hat on. We envision one of two scenarios on why she is so terrified of hats. The first one is that whomever her mother lived with grabbed up the kittens and tossed them out of the safety of house and home, forcing the kitten(s) to find their own way; the hat represents that terror at being ripped from mother/home/safety. The other one is that someone she encountered after being dumped took off a baseball cap and yelled at her and waved the hat. At first we leaned towards the first scenario, but we now believe that it was the second. We have a neighbor who is not an animal fan, and blames my cats for pooping in his fishing boat inside a shed. Hate to tell him that he leaves that shed open so much of the time that any cat in the neighborhood could get in there at about any time. Even when one of ours goes rogue and gets out of the yard, I've never recovered them from his shed... Our cats explore in back of his workshop because of there used to be a rabbit warren in the vicinity. Squirrels bury food in the area, and other cats check it out. Prime scent area. But I've never seen one of my cats in his boat shed. He has other things far more enticing than this shed with the boat in it. So we think it was him. And she somehow made it in to our yard, where she found a place to hide that no adult cat could attack her or human could get to her. And the dogs on either side of our property had to scare her as well. We were secure from dogs and scary people, offered a dry place to sleep and a den in which she felt safe.
She is a black cat, and as noted earlier, has a lot of white blotches on her body, some of them big, some of them just lines of individual hairs which make it look like blotches. Block off the left side of her face and she resembles the mustache mask from V is for Vendetta movie. Under her nose are just enough hairs that it looks like half a Hitler mustache. Her nose is stubby and her head is short, so she some Persian or Himilayan or something along that line. But she very long legs, normal length fur, and the most expressive tail I've ever seen on a cat. It is also longer than average. There is white on all 4 paws, but not full boots on all 4. She has a half moon marking on one side of her face, and you can see the hairs of a matching outline of another half moon on the other side of her face resides. But they are not identical images, nor even reverse images, but there is a symetry to them.
She has a multitude of nicknames. Her front legs, marked like an orca whale, earned her the nickname of Orca Legs. Her half mustache earned her Half 'Stache. She has a line of hairs, not a solid line mind you, but enough white hairs to emphasize both her rear haunches, and we adoringly refer to them as Butt Lights. Her reverse skunk markings down the back of her head and neck earned her Skunk, which was later amended to Skunkin when we called her Pumpkin. Skunk plus Pumkin equals Skunkin.. Dactyl Cat and Dactylly. And of course, Ptera and Ptera Ptera. Skunkin and Ptera earn responses. She just sort of looks at us when we use the others. Those names are just a part of our talking to her, which she loves. Never had a cat that loved to be talked to. Of course the stroking and petting and chin scratching also help, but the look on her face when we start sweet talking to her is so heart warming!
As noted, she is polydactyl. She has one extra toe pad per front paw, located just below where her dew claw is. In truth, she looks like she is wearing a pair of mittens, the extra toe being the thumb. She stands on it and makes good use of it to snatch things! It is fully functional and fully a part of her front paw.
I have had 2 other great loves in cats. The first was Zade, a beautiful black cat that had lived with me during my first marriage and then in to my life as a single woman. I never thought to love another cat the way I loved her. And then, many years and several cats later, into my life came Smudge. It didn't take long for that white tom to wrap my heart around his dew claw, and I found that I loved Smudge even more than Zade. But then came this diminuitive kitten and in a matter of weeks I knew that I loved her as much as I had Smudge, if not more. I didn't think that this would be possible, but even thinking about Ptera brings a smile to my entire being, not just my face.
With all the cats I've had, I was never able to truly watch any of them grow from being a kitten in to an adult. Being retired, I've watched Ptera grow in length and height. Watched her go from pure unadulterated kitten to young adult. She still stalks the other cats for fun and pure spite, but 2 of them will now play a game of chase with her once in a while, and sometimes they initiate it. I've heard her voice change. She still mostly squeaks, but she does have a Big Girl Voice that she'll use as necessary.
She somehow found her way onto our property, but we don't know from where. She just turned up. She'd settled under Kent's shed for protection. He was raking leaves when he spotted her, and, being a cat person, just out and out asked her where'd she'd come from. She just looked at him with terror filled eyes and ran under the shed. I asked him who he was talking to, and he said "A Hemingway Cat". I have never seen a polydactyl cat before, and I dearly wanted to see one, so I went back to the back yard to see her. Only to have her scurry back under the shed. All I had a glimpse of was a streak of black as she disappeared. Because she was so scared I figured she had to be hungry so I went in to the house and fetched some cat food. I put it down in a trail from the shed out to where I could get a better look at her, then backed off and let her eat some food. As she came out and nibbled her food, I saw this little black cat with white markings. She didn't look to be over 4 to 5 weeks old, size wise. Not old enough to be away from her momma, really. No one around us has any cats as pets, so we had no idea where she could have come from. I put some food in a dish and some water for her, and left her alone for the day.
Next day I set out to try and win her trust. And the next. She was clearly terrified of both of us. I found out that if I lay down flat on my stomach she'd at least come out and look at me. And even talk to me. We had some great conversations, with her squeaking out answers to my questions or comments. Sometimes her squeaks sounded as if she understood what I was really saying to her. I was starting to fall in love with this scared little cat!! It was obvious that she wanted company, but she was scared to death of us. On the second full day of trying to win her trust she let me reach out and touch her head. I stroked her forehead with my fingertips, the only part of me that could reach her. She finally reached out her head and let me rub her under the chin. When I tried to slowly scoot forwards, she ran away and hid back under the shed.
On the third day I placed food and water out yet again, but this time up on the patio, with a trail leading from her hidey hole so that she had to come up and walk by me to get it. OK, slink. She had to slink by me to get it. And slink she did. There were only a few bites of food, so when those were gone I'd add few more. And at long last I made a grab for her and found myself with a squirming armful of kitten that I smashed against my chest. I crooned to her, spoke softly, and stroked her head and scratched her chin until she calmed down somewhat. Barely. But she wasn't biting me, just trying to squirm from my grip.
Now, what to do with her? She was feral, and normally feral cats are just put to sleep by the shelter. But she was cute as a button. Would they take the time to try and socialize her, or just be done with it and put her down? With all the animals which had been dumped by families forced from their homes by financial troubles had overloaded the shelter for over a year. Was she the kitten from just such a family, who turned out the mother and kittens? We'll never know. But I had a feeling that her fate would be unkind if I turned her over to the shelter. Would they notify me if no one adopted her and her time allotment was up? I was afraid they'd say yes, and then not do it. I couldn't let this precious life be snuffed out after such a hard beginning, when it was in my power to give her a good life. We already had 4 cats, and weren't in need of any more. We'd had 6 at one time, and it wasn't an easy thing to deal with. Adding her would up the tally to 5. But she was adorable, with shiny soft fur, intelligent eyes, and this squeak of a meow that just won us both over.
In the end I decided to adopt her in to the house. And so I carried her in to the house and in to the lives of 4 grown cats and 2 humans. I carried her in and showed her the litter box, letting her get a whiff of what it was used for. Then I showed her the food and water. And then I set her down, determined to let her decide to come back to me when she was ready. For a full day she ran and hid from us, but she did come in to the living room and watch us. It was hard on me watching her run away. My cats love to be in my company, love to be stroked and scratched, and love to sleep by and with me. But this little thing only ran away. The second day, as I sat in my chair, though, she came over and jumped up on the chair. I didn't move a muscle, barely breathed, and waited on her next move. She sniffed everything, the chair, my legs, my hands and arms, and at long last she was standing on me. I cautiously reached out and stroked her and she tolerated it. She then climbed up on my right shoulder and curled up in to a tight ball, and went to sleep. Yes, she was that small that she could curl up in a ball on my shoulder! She had accepted me as her human and her protector, as her pride leader. Every day, for a couple of months, she either slept on my shoulder, or wormed her way between my hip/thigh and the arm of the chair, feeling safe there as well, when we were in the living room.
We really didn't know what to name her. Normally a cat's actions or something about their physical appearance suggested a name, but she remained a mystery to us. However, to the 4 adult cats in the house, her name was Terror. Or Pestilence and Terror. She was desperate for company, feline company, and being adults, they wanted nothing to do with this upstart. She needed to play, and they were cats, and so she thought they were her playmates. She mostly ended up chasing them, with them hissing and running from her. They should have stood their ground, turned around, and put her in her place. But no, they decided to run instead. This set the stage for how she'd treat them all the time.
One day I saw her stand up on her hind legs, walk three feet across the hall up on her hind legs, with her front paws spread out wide, rather like an orangutan. But her walk was predatory. I described it to Kent, who found it very amusing. Then he saw her do it a few days later, and laughed as much as I had. I saw her do this walk a third time, and told her that she reminded me of a pterodactyl after its downed prey. Kent heard me and stated that yes, she was a pterodactyl cat. A polydactyl pterodactyl. I said that her name would now be pterodactyl, but it would be spelled Ptera Dactyl.
I never knew what hit me. This little fur ball came in and took over my life completely. She was my girl, and she made no bones about it and made certain that everyone else knew it. She was TOP CAT at whole 3 pounds. One of her funniest takeovers was in the bedroom. Normally we exclude new cats from the bedroom, but the adults have been so used to coming and going all night for several years that we couldn't close the bedroom door like we had for other newcomers. I was awakened one morning by growling from multiple cats, up near the head of the bed. I switched on the light to see what had who was all upset and there were 4 adult cats arranged on my half of the bed, from my head to my hip, facing off this tiny little black and white girl who had no idea why she was being growled at. I started laughing at the absurdity of it - the adults, all who were at least 2 to 3 times her weight and 3 to 5 times bigger than her - treed by this kitten. And so it was that Ptera joined us in the bedroom. If they weren't going to put her in her place, I wasn't going to deny her access to the bedroom.
To further emphasize that I was HERS, Ptera started coming up on the bed and laying on top of whoever was laying next to me. Sometimes they'd growl and move off, other times they'd just let her stay there. One thing was certain. Ptera had to have body contact with me when she comes to sleep with me in the bed. I was also her security "blanket".
Then there were the times she would come up to my head and drape herself over my neck in order to claim the top spot. Once in a while she would perch up on the pillow and proceed to "mix biscuits" on my shoulder, and lower...Those needle-like little claws were painful, but because she was so easily terrified, I lay still and accepted the pain. We let her get away with more than the other cats because of her skittish nature, because raising our voice to her sent her running in a panic mode. We tried not to have to raise the voice, but sometimes that was the only thing, short of literally walking up to her and removing her from the situation, to get her to stop the nondesirable behavior. It was important to provide her with a loving environment, a calm environment until she relaxed enough to feel fully secure.
One fear we have never been able to conquer is her fear of Kent wearing a hat. If she sees him with a hat or baseball cap, she runs away in terror, and hides. If he takes off the hat/cap, she may still run, especially if she's seen it on him before he removed it. No amount of sweet talking and crooning to her will keep her from running away from him with a hat on. We envision one of two scenarios on why she is so terrified of hats. The first one is that whomever her mother lived with grabbed up the kittens and tossed them out of the safety of house and home, forcing the kitten(s) to find their own way; the hat represents that terror at being ripped from mother/home/safety. The other one is that someone she encountered after being dumped took off a baseball cap and yelled at her and waved the hat. At first we leaned towards the first scenario, but we now believe that it was the second. We have a neighbor who is not an animal fan, and blames my cats for pooping in his fishing boat inside a shed. Hate to tell him that he leaves that shed open so much of the time that any cat in the neighborhood could get in there at about any time. Even when one of ours goes rogue and gets out of the yard, I've never recovered them from his shed... Our cats explore in back of his workshop because of there used to be a rabbit warren in the vicinity. Squirrels bury food in the area, and other cats check it out. Prime scent area. But I've never seen one of my cats in his boat shed. He has other things far more enticing than this shed with the boat in it. So we think it was him. And she somehow made it in to our yard, where she found a place to hide that no adult cat could attack her or human could get to her. And the dogs on either side of our property had to scare her as well. We were secure from dogs and scary people, offered a dry place to sleep and a den in which she felt safe.
She is a black cat, and as noted earlier, has a lot of white blotches on her body, some of them big, some of them just lines of individual hairs which make it look like blotches. Block off the left side of her face and she resembles the mustache mask from V is for Vendetta movie. Under her nose are just enough hairs that it looks like half a Hitler mustache. Her nose is stubby and her head is short, so she some Persian or Himilayan or something along that line. But she very long legs, normal length fur, and the most expressive tail I've ever seen on a cat. It is also longer than average. There is white on all 4 paws, but not full boots on all 4. She has a half moon marking on one side of her face, and you can see the hairs of a matching outline of another half moon on the other side of her face resides. But they are not identical images, nor even reverse images, but there is a symetry to them.
She has a multitude of nicknames. Her front legs, marked like an orca whale, earned her the nickname of Orca Legs. Her half mustache earned her Half 'Stache. She has a line of hairs, not a solid line mind you, but enough white hairs to emphasize both her rear haunches, and we adoringly refer to them as Butt Lights. Her reverse skunk markings down the back of her head and neck earned her Skunk, which was later amended to Skunkin when we called her Pumpkin. Skunk plus Pumkin equals Skunkin.. Dactyl Cat and Dactylly. And of course, Ptera and Ptera Ptera. Skunkin and Ptera earn responses. She just sort of looks at us when we use the others. Those names are just a part of our talking to her, which she loves. Never had a cat that loved to be talked to. Of course the stroking and petting and chin scratching also help, but the look on her face when we start sweet talking to her is so heart warming!
As noted, she is polydactyl. She has one extra toe pad per front paw, located just below where her dew claw is. In truth, she looks like she is wearing a pair of mittens, the extra toe being the thumb. She stands on it and makes good use of it to snatch things! It is fully functional and fully a part of her front paw.
I have had 2 other great loves in cats. The first was Zade, a beautiful black cat that had lived with me during my first marriage and then in to my life as a single woman. I never thought to love another cat the way I loved her. And then, many years and several cats later, into my life came Smudge. It didn't take long for that white tom to wrap my heart around his dew claw, and I found that I loved Smudge even more than Zade. But then came this diminuitive kitten and in a matter of weeks I knew that I loved her as much as I had Smudge, if not more. I didn't think that this would be possible, but even thinking about Ptera brings a smile to my entire being, not just my face.
With all the cats I've had, I was never able to truly watch any of them grow from being a kitten in to an adult. Being retired, I've watched Ptera grow in length and height. Watched her go from pure unadulterated kitten to young adult. She still stalks the other cats for fun and pure spite, but 2 of them will now play a game of chase with her once in a while, and sometimes they initiate it. I've heard her voice change. She still mostly squeaks, but she does have a Big Girl Voice that she'll use as necessary.
Friday, December 21, 2012
All I Want For Christmas Is...
OK, what do I want for Christmas this year? Clothing? Nah. Jewelry? Nah. My OnStar installed in the truck? Maybe. Books? Possibly. Period outfit (fancy)? Could be. The Indiana State Parks Inn gift package? Maybe.
I could get 2 uses this year out of a period dress - the Ephiphany dinner and the Conference. Of course I may be attending both of those alone... Maybe I could ride with Kim and Brian to both. And each year I could use the outfit again...
OnStar would be handy, and a safety net for me, especially out on the road.
But what books? No clue.
The State Parks Inn gift package? Well, 2013 entrance fees to all state parks plus 70 buck in gift certificate? Would let me buy some souveniers at Spring Mill, such as mugs, etc., things we can't afford otherwise until this year. I may get this without regards to Christmas!
Someone to come in and clean the house weekly? Oh yeah! But first Kent would have to get it cleaned out.
A new air mattress that is more comfy than what I currently have? Sounds good to me.
To be able to sleep back in the bedroom, with my kitties in bed with me? Yes! New mattresses, better white noise.
Well, of course world peace. Jessica's Elizabeth to beat all the odds and grow up and live a normal life. Nick to never be deployed again. Our financial situation to improve.
I could get 2 uses this year out of a period dress - the Ephiphany dinner and the Conference. Of course I may be attending both of those alone... Maybe I could ride with Kim and Brian to both. And each year I could use the outfit again...
OnStar would be handy, and a safety net for me, especially out on the road.
But what books? No clue.
The State Parks Inn gift package? Well, 2013 entrance fees to all state parks plus 70 buck in gift certificate? Would let me buy some souveniers at Spring Mill, such as mugs, etc., things we can't afford otherwise until this year. I may get this without regards to Christmas!
Someone to come in and clean the house weekly? Oh yeah! But first Kent would have to get it cleaned out.
A new air mattress that is more comfy than what I currently have? Sounds good to me.
To be able to sleep back in the bedroom, with my kitties in bed with me? Yes! New mattresses, better white noise.
Well, of course world peace. Jessica's Elizabeth to beat all the odds and grow up and live a normal life. Nick to never be deployed again. Our financial situation to improve.
Sunday, December 16, 2012
On Sandy Hook Elementary School Massacre
How do you write on something that is so morally reprehensible? On Friday, Dec. 14, a 20 year old man who lived in Newtown, CT, killed his mother in their home and then went to the school where she was a teacher and shot 21 children and at least 7 adults. Seven adults were killed; I don't know how many, if any, were injured. I refuse to use the name of this killer even though I know what it is. Using it only gives him fame and calls attention to himself. He doesn't deserve this. His name should be stricken from our memories forever. His dastardly, cowardly deeds should be remembered, but not his name.
Many families now face the challenges of funerals for a child the full week before Christmas. Each of these families will no longer see their child smiling at them on Christmas Day. No longer will they be able to tuck the child in bed of an evening. These parents now face the horrors of outliving a child.
Seven other families face the trials of planning funerals as well. Most of those adults were young; all of them younger than I am, and all of them still in child bearing years. The means that their parents are probably still alive, and those parents, too, have outlived their children.
The world is focusing on the children, so I am focusing on the adults who lost their lives as well. They deserve as much attention as the children are getting. Husbands have lost a wife. Children have lost a mother. Brothers and sisters have lost a sibling. Parents lost a daughter.
Husbands no longer have a wife with which to lay down to sleep at night, their beds forever empty and cold. Husbands no longer have a helpmate in the home, to love and care for the children, no other adult with which to discuss important family matters. No longer is there an adult in the home to say "Sweet dreams" when the bedroom light is turned out and covers pulled up. No longer is their a woman to cuddle with, to say "I love you" to and have it said back at you. Husbands no longer have a wife to kiss goodbye in the morning, to kiss hello of an evening, to kiss goodnight when retiring to bed. Children no longer have a mother to fix a lunch for them, to organize activities in the home, to care for the entire family. Children no longer have a mother to rub that aching tummy or hurting head, to make special treats, to push back the dark after a bad dream, drive them to soccer or basball practice. Children no longer have a mother to confide things to, to referee family squabbles, take the dog for a walk or let the cat out. There will be empty places at the table on Christmas, and for every holiday and family gathering hereafter. Siblings have lost the companionship of their own childhood, their confidants, and in many cases, the voice of reason in the family.
These seven adults were all trying to help shelter the children in their care. Some rushed headlong at the shooter in an effort to stop him and were gunned down mercilessly. All of them are heroines, for all adults killed were women. The killer did not kill any men, only women. He was not so selective with the children, for both boys and girls were killed. But he was very selective with the adults he killed.
This blog entry is not aimed at taking away the horrors of the murder of the 20 children, but acknowledging that there were other victims in that school, adult victims whose families face the same shock and horrors of the families of the children. I've seen so many little things on Facebook honoring just the children. Well folks, 7 adults died too, most of them died as heroines, protecting the lives of the other children. Those lives need to be celebrated and remembered as well. And so I dedicate this blog entry, as poor as it is, to the women who were killed in the school, because the lives of their families have been forever altered as well. May each of you sit in glory at the side of our Saviour, Jesus Christ.
Many families now face the challenges of funerals for a child the full week before Christmas. Each of these families will no longer see their child smiling at them on Christmas Day. No longer will they be able to tuck the child in bed of an evening. These parents now face the horrors of outliving a child.
Seven other families face the trials of planning funerals as well. Most of those adults were young; all of them younger than I am, and all of them still in child bearing years. The means that their parents are probably still alive, and those parents, too, have outlived their children.
The world is focusing on the children, so I am focusing on the adults who lost their lives as well. They deserve as much attention as the children are getting. Husbands have lost a wife. Children have lost a mother. Brothers and sisters have lost a sibling. Parents lost a daughter.
Husbands no longer have a wife with which to lay down to sleep at night, their beds forever empty and cold. Husbands no longer have a helpmate in the home, to love and care for the children, no other adult with which to discuss important family matters. No longer is there an adult in the home to say "Sweet dreams" when the bedroom light is turned out and covers pulled up. No longer is their a woman to cuddle with, to say "I love you" to and have it said back at you. Husbands no longer have a wife to kiss goodbye in the morning, to kiss hello of an evening, to kiss goodnight when retiring to bed. Children no longer have a mother to fix a lunch for them, to organize activities in the home, to care for the entire family. Children no longer have a mother to rub that aching tummy or hurting head, to make special treats, to push back the dark after a bad dream, drive them to soccer or basball practice. Children no longer have a mother to confide things to, to referee family squabbles, take the dog for a walk or let the cat out. There will be empty places at the table on Christmas, and for every holiday and family gathering hereafter. Siblings have lost the companionship of their own childhood, their confidants, and in many cases, the voice of reason in the family.
These seven adults were all trying to help shelter the children in their care. Some rushed headlong at the shooter in an effort to stop him and were gunned down mercilessly. All of them are heroines, for all adults killed were women. The killer did not kill any men, only women. He was not so selective with the children, for both boys and girls were killed. But he was very selective with the adults he killed.
This blog entry is not aimed at taking away the horrors of the murder of the 20 children, but acknowledging that there were other victims in that school, adult victims whose families face the same shock and horrors of the families of the children. I've seen so many little things on Facebook honoring just the children. Well folks, 7 adults died too, most of them died as heroines, protecting the lives of the other children. Those lives need to be celebrated and remembered as well. And so I dedicate this blog entry, as poor as it is, to the women who were killed in the school, because the lives of their families have been forever altered as well. May each of you sit in glory at the side of our Saviour, Jesus Christ.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Hurricane Sandy
The East Coast was shattered by a hurricane named Sandy this week. It flooded NYC subways and left Manhattan in the dark. The New Jersey shoreline will never again be the same. A replica of the HMS Bounty was sunk off NC. Philadelphia was hit hard with winds and flooding. Storm surge was 14 feet above high tide, and Sandy hit on the day of a full moon. The ocean met the bay in many places. CT was also devastated, but not to the degree of NJ and NY. She hit land n Monday Oct. 29.
People drowned in their homes. Over a hundred homes in a NY area of the borough of Queens burned down when firemen couldn't reach the area due to flood waters, and the high winds fanned the flames from one home to another. Father drowns getting other family members to safety. A mother leaves her home too late and car drowns out and she gets out with 2 kids and goes to houses for entry and is refused. Then waves tear both kids from her and they drown. A tanker uprooted from its moorings and grounds on the paved shoulder of a highway. Jersey Shore landmarks swept away.
So few people actually evacuated, especially those in flood plains. Oh, it has never flooded here in 50 years. You know how the govt overreacts. This was at least a hundred years storm. So yeah, the evacuation warnings were not called for. I really don't feel sorry for folks who remained behind and were trapped and are now trying to survive sans power and water. They could have found rides out of the area, or at least evacuated to much higher ground. However, the federal govt has been very slow in getting assistance to these folks. Today is when they showed up. Not Wed. or Thursday, but Friday. 5 days after. Hmm, sounds like Hurricane Katrina for New Orleans...
I don't feel too sorry for a lot of the folks who lived in these fancy homes right on the shore. Who never planned for such floods when they built/bought. Rich, rich people who have 2 homes, one of them a summer home. The Hamptons on Long Island. They have just paid a high price for their elitism and privilege. No, I don't feel sorry for them. I do feel sorry for those folks who have lost everything. This one lady said they saved for 30 years for their house and the bought it and retired there (in a neighborhood where their income wasn't up to par with the neighbors, but having paid for the home they could survive) and have lost everything. She found some possessions over a mile away, but the house is long gone. Hope they had good insurance.
Why do people insist on building homes in areas where natural disaster WILL strike at some point? On mountainsides where the soil is unstable because of all the building. On beach fronts where the sand erodes with every storm. Where dunes come and go. On floodplains where rivers and lakes rise. Or live in a state that is merely a penninsula jutting out in to the ocean and which gets raked by hurricanes year after year after year. Just how stupid are they? Location location location. And the East Coast just got a huge lesson about Location. AND what is going to happen when the polar ice packs melt during this century. NYC will be completely under water, as will almost all of FL. Darrell will not be welcome here when FL gets inundated. Chris, if still in Portage, could be flooded out too by global warming, by Lake Michigan or tributary rivers to the Lake. We should be OK here, at 814 feet above sea level. But it won't be 814 feet when the ice packs are gone. Maybe 2 to 300 feet above, then. Or if Chris is in FL at that time, he won't have a place to come back to. Of course I may not be alive by that time, so HERE won't be here. But you get my point. I am not so stupid as to live on unstable mountainsides in California or along fault lines, or along oceanic shorelines. Sure, I love the ocean, but there are storms that destroy homes all the time. A nice place to visit, but NOT to live, even though I was tempted, once. But just once.
People drowned in their homes. Over a hundred homes in a NY area of the borough of Queens burned down when firemen couldn't reach the area due to flood waters, and the high winds fanned the flames from one home to another. Father drowns getting other family members to safety. A mother leaves her home too late and car drowns out and she gets out with 2 kids and goes to houses for entry and is refused. Then waves tear both kids from her and they drown. A tanker uprooted from its moorings and grounds on the paved shoulder of a highway. Jersey Shore landmarks swept away.
So few people actually evacuated, especially those in flood plains. Oh, it has never flooded here in 50 years. You know how the govt overreacts. This was at least a hundred years storm. So yeah, the evacuation warnings were not called for. I really don't feel sorry for folks who remained behind and were trapped and are now trying to survive sans power and water. They could have found rides out of the area, or at least evacuated to much higher ground. However, the federal govt has been very slow in getting assistance to these folks. Today is when they showed up. Not Wed. or Thursday, but Friday. 5 days after. Hmm, sounds like Hurricane Katrina for New Orleans...
I don't feel too sorry for a lot of the folks who lived in these fancy homes right on the shore. Who never planned for such floods when they built/bought. Rich, rich people who have 2 homes, one of them a summer home. The Hamptons on Long Island. They have just paid a high price for their elitism and privilege. No, I don't feel sorry for them. I do feel sorry for those folks who have lost everything. This one lady said they saved for 30 years for their house and the bought it and retired there (in a neighborhood where their income wasn't up to par with the neighbors, but having paid for the home they could survive) and have lost everything. She found some possessions over a mile away, but the house is long gone. Hope they had good insurance.
Why do people insist on building homes in areas where natural disaster WILL strike at some point? On mountainsides where the soil is unstable because of all the building. On beach fronts where the sand erodes with every storm. Where dunes come and go. On floodplains where rivers and lakes rise. Or live in a state that is merely a penninsula jutting out in to the ocean and which gets raked by hurricanes year after year after year. Just how stupid are they? Location location location. And the East Coast just got a huge lesson about Location. AND what is going to happen when the polar ice packs melt during this century. NYC will be completely under water, as will almost all of FL. Darrell will not be welcome here when FL gets inundated. Chris, if still in Portage, could be flooded out too by global warming, by Lake Michigan or tributary rivers to the Lake. We should be OK here, at 814 feet above sea level. But it won't be 814 feet when the ice packs are gone. Maybe 2 to 300 feet above, then. Or if Chris is in FL at that time, he won't have a place to come back to. Of course I may not be alive by that time, so HERE won't be here. But you get my point. I am not so stupid as to live on unstable mountainsides in California or along fault lines, or along oceanic shorelines. Sure, I love the ocean, but there are storms that destroy homes all the time. A nice place to visit, but NOT to live, even though I was tempted, once. But just once.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Moved out of the bedroom
Well, it is offical. 10/19/12 and I have moved in to the computer room and am sleeping on an air mattress on the floor. Not that it is such a big deal. I haven't slept in the bedroom more than 20 nights since mid-February. Can't take the snoring, the thrashing, the randoms hits/kicks (those last ones being all completely unintentional). Kent is an active sleeper and as of late, I just can't handle it any longer. His movement are completely driven by his sleep, and he'd not harm me no matter what. I've slept most nights in my chair in the living room since Feb. At least on the air mattress I can now stretch out.
I was supposed to have the futon bed in the spare bedroom, but he never got around to cleaning out that room even though he told me it was the FIRST thing he'd do when he was laid off from Brock. Layoff date was 8/30/12, and it is 10/29/12 today. Yeah, like that happened. So he spent his last free weekend cleaning out the computer room. Only fair, I guess. He spent most of the time he could have spent cleaning out the spare bedroom over at Brian's, working on a new carriage for the swivel gun. As usual, he fiddlefarted around until he suddenly had a job. That has happened for 3 years running. And this time I wasn't understanding about it, because enough was enough. I had to come first in this. Yeah, I come first in a lot of things, but this was a life threatening situation for me, and there was not getting around it this time. I know I pissed him off, but it if don't stand up for my life, who will? No one, that's who. Kent hasn't been ill like I have to truly understand what it is like for me.
He was hired 10-24-12 at a place over in Lafayette, on second shift (boo, hiss) but at least it is a job. And he was a direct hire, not hired via a temp service. Which means he gets more money. And after his 90 day probationary period he will have benefits. Yes! Benefits! Gonna cost us a bunch, but by claiming my social security check after I turn 62 we will have enough to make up the missing funds plus pay for the medications and doctors, etc. Yes! Now if only...
I don't know if I'll ever be able to sleep in the same bed with him, at least as long as he snores so badly. The snoring had been getting a little better since he was out of Brock and no long in the dust in Brian's garage. But that will probably be changing now that he's back to work. He says the plant is clean, but factory is a factory is a factory, and dust and debris accumulate... We'll see. After he gets some benefits we may look in to having his apnea diagnosed, and see if he can get the CPAP stuff so he actually sleeps deeply. Maybe I can tolerate that noise of a night. All this remains to be seen.
Maybe if we get a sleep number mattress to properly support us, he might lay more quietly. And then again, maybe not. He has not been working for nearly 2 months and the thrashing is suddenly worse...It is work related, that is for certain.
I was supposed to have the futon bed in the spare bedroom, but he never got around to cleaning out that room even though he told me it was the FIRST thing he'd do when he was laid off from Brock. Layoff date was 8/30/12, and it is 10/29/12 today. Yeah, like that happened. So he spent his last free weekend cleaning out the computer room. Only fair, I guess. He spent most of the time he could have spent cleaning out the spare bedroom over at Brian's, working on a new carriage for the swivel gun. As usual, he fiddlefarted around until he suddenly had a job. That has happened for 3 years running. And this time I wasn't understanding about it, because enough was enough. I had to come first in this. Yeah, I come first in a lot of things, but this was a life threatening situation for me, and there was not getting around it this time. I know I pissed him off, but it if don't stand up for my life, who will? No one, that's who. Kent hasn't been ill like I have to truly understand what it is like for me.
He was hired 10-24-12 at a place over in Lafayette, on second shift (boo, hiss) but at least it is a job. And he was a direct hire, not hired via a temp service. Which means he gets more money. And after his 90 day probationary period he will have benefits. Yes! Benefits! Gonna cost us a bunch, but by claiming my social security check after I turn 62 we will have enough to make up the missing funds plus pay for the medications and doctors, etc. Yes! Now if only...
I don't know if I'll ever be able to sleep in the same bed with him, at least as long as he snores so badly. The snoring had been getting a little better since he was out of Brock and no long in the dust in Brian's garage. But that will probably be changing now that he's back to work. He says the plant is clean, but factory is a factory is a factory, and dust and debris accumulate... We'll see. After he gets some benefits we may look in to having his apnea diagnosed, and see if he can get the CPAP stuff so he actually sleeps deeply. Maybe I can tolerate that noise of a night. All this remains to be seen.
Maybe if we get a sleep number mattress to properly support us, he might lay more quietly. And then again, maybe not. He has not been working for nearly 2 months and the thrashing is suddenly worse...It is work related, that is for certain.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
The Little One
We had a squirrel make her nest in the pine tree just north of our back fence line, in the last pine tree behind our property in 2011. It was entertaining to watch her gather the leaves to make the nest from our northernmost maple tree.
She was a beautiful speciman of fox squirrel, and I named her Fat N Sassy. She had a couple of babies in the spring, one of whom earned the name Young N Dumb. Don't know if the other squirrel we kept seeing was hers or was a neighbor.
This fall I noted a young squirrel behind of neighbor's property, and it was just a beautiful as its mother. At the time of discovery I didn't know if it was male or female.
Never saw this squirrel run the lines or get over in to our north maple tree, so I sort of named it Young N Younger.
Last week I noticed that this squirrel was having a hard time coming down the tree just west of the nest tree trunk. Thought it might be because the tree was dead. It seemed to spend a lot of time behind our property, on the ground. Never seemed to go very far away while I was watching it.
On Monday I discovered the reason for the climbing difficulty. It had a sore right hind leg. On Tuesday I glimpsed a second wound on the inside of the right hind leg, and could see that it wasn't putting any weight on the leg. Just before dusk I discovered, to my horror, that the left front leg ended in a stump at about the wrist. Therefore, this poor squirrel only had 2 working legs. I knew that it was doomed to either get caught by a cat or dog while on the ground, or die of infection. That appalled me, and even though I knew no one would be there, I went looking for a DNR number, only to find there wasn't one for wildlife control in the phone book. I placed a couple of walnuts at the base of the nest tree, along with an apple, so it could at least have some nourishment near safety.
On Wednesay I observed this squirrel laying in the grass in the sun, reclining back so that I had a good view of the belly. It was then that I knew it was really a she. I tossed her some peanuts and some striped sunflower seeds but she was not interested. I started calling her Little One because of her youth and my horror at her injuries. It is possible that the left front paw was a deformity, but I'll never know, not having seen her clearly before Tuesday.
I was appalled at her lack of interest in the easy food. And when I came back to look at her about an hour later, she had laid belly down on the ground and had her tail up next to her body. I immediately though that she had just died, and I started crying. That was when I went in to the house and called the Humane Society. They suggested a place which sold traps, but I asked what I was supposed to do with it after I caught it because it was, after all, a wild animal. I didn't want to say I didn't want to get in trouble for helping out a wild animal without a license to do so, but I think that the lady knew there was an ethical dilemna there. She then asked if we could catch it under a basket, and I said we could (but I didn't have a clue what we'd use at the time). She said that they didn't normally deal with squirrels, and if it was so badly injured, all they could do was put it to sleep. My heart officially broke on that, although I knew that being put to sleep would be far kinder than starvation or dying of infection or getting caught by a predator. The lady then said she'd send out a Humane Society truck to pick up the injured squirrel.
Kent and I caught her, but she figured out a way from under the plastic pond tub. We had to chase her down again, and this time she went in to an empty kitty litter pail with an attached lid. Of course I knew her time on this Earth was now limited, and it was really tearing me up. I am crying as I write this because of how terrified I knew her to be when we caught her the second time.
She is an innocent creature. What if a predator had gotten ahold of Ptera and left her in that shape before we found her in the yard? Would I have called the Humane Society on her? No, Ptera is a cat, and I'd have tried to save her life. Of course, I did save her life by adopting her into the family, but she was a healthy kitten. Nonetheless, the thought of this innocent squirrel, who only wanted to eat, sleep, play, and follow her natural instincts losing her life because of me hit me hard. I know I was doing what was best for her, doing what was kindest for her.
I sat by the pail, talking to her. As if that did anything but scare her more, I'd imagine. but I was trying to use a calm voice to help calm her down. The Humane Society guy came back and we surrendered the pail with its contents to him. We told him it was badly injured and only had 2 legs to walk/climb with, and was not eating properly. The 2 walnuts that I'd left under the tree Tuesday night were still there. Have no clue what she ate, if anything, other than a few nibbles of apple Tuesday evening and Wed. AM.
It hurts that she is now dead because I called the Humane Society. But watching her suffer was worse yet. I've heard you can judge a person by how it treats animals, and I did waht was right, what was best for her. But the loss of her presence, the fact that I'll never have seen her scampering through the trees and the yard strikes at my heart.
Rest in peace Little One. You were so young, so innocent. You lost your opportunity at a normal life when some predator caught you. You got away, but you suffered mightily for that escape. And you paid the ultimate price anyway because of the extent of that hind leg injury. But please, rest in peace. You are no longer suffering, you are no longer hungry or lonely or afraid. Rest in peace.
She was a beautiful speciman of fox squirrel, and I named her Fat N Sassy. She had a couple of babies in the spring, one of whom earned the name Young N Dumb. Don't know if the other squirrel we kept seeing was hers or was a neighbor.
This fall I noted a young squirrel behind of neighbor's property, and it was just a beautiful as its mother. At the time of discovery I didn't know if it was male or female.
Never saw this squirrel run the lines or get over in to our north maple tree, so I sort of named it Young N Younger.
Last week I noticed that this squirrel was having a hard time coming down the tree just west of the nest tree trunk. Thought it might be because the tree was dead. It seemed to spend a lot of time behind our property, on the ground. Never seemed to go very far away while I was watching it.
On Monday I discovered the reason for the climbing difficulty. It had a sore right hind leg. On Tuesday I glimpsed a second wound on the inside of the right hind leg, and could see that it wasn't putting any weight on the leg. Just before dusk I discovered, to my horror, that the left front leg ended in a stump at about the wrist. Therefore, this poor squirrel only had 2 working legs. I knew that it was doomed to either get caught by a cat or dog while on the ground, or die of infection. That appalled me, and even though I knew no one would be there, I went looking for a DNR number, only to find there wasn't one for wildlife control in the phone book. I placed a couple of walnuts at the base of the nest tree, along with an apple, so it could at least have some nourishment near safety.
On Wednesay I observed this squirrel laying in the grass in the sun, reclining back so that I had a good view of the belly. It was then that I knew it was really a she. I tossed her some peanuts and some striped sunflower seeds but she was not interested. I started calling her Little One because of her youth and my horror at her injuries. It is possible that the left front paw was a deformity, but I'll never know, not having seen her clearly before Tuesday.
I was appalled at her lack of interest in the easy food. And when I came back to look at her about an hour later, she had laid belly down on the ground and had her tail up next to her body. I immediately though that she had just died, and I started crying. That was when I went in to the house and called the Humane Society. They suggested a place which sold traps, but I asked what I was supposed to do with it after I caught it because it was, after all, a wild animal. I didn't want to say I didn't want to get in trouble for helping out a wild animal without a license to do so, but I think that the lady knew there was an ethical dilemna there. She then asked if we could catch it under a basket, and I said we could (but I didn't have a clue what we'd use at the time). She said that they didn't normally deal with squirrels, and if it was so badly injured, all they could do was put it to sleep. My heart officially broke on that, although I knew that being put to sleep would be far kinder than starvation or dying of infection or getting caught by a predator. The lady then said she'd send out a Humane Society truck to pick up the injured squirrel.
Kent and I caught her, but she figured out a way from under the plastic pond tub. We had to chase her down again, and this time she went in to an empty kitty litter pail with an attached lid. Of course I knew her time on this Earth was now limited, and it was really tearing me up. I am crying as I write this because of how terrified I knew her to be when we caught her the second time.
She is an innocent creature. What if a predator had gotten ahold of Ptera and left her in that shape before we found her in the yard? Would I have called the Humane Society on her? No, Ptera is a cat, and I'd have tried to save her life. Of course, I did save her life by adopting her into the family, but she was a healthy kitten. Nonetheless, the thought of this innocent squirrel, who only wanted to eat, sleep, play, and follow her natural instincts losing her life because of me hit me hard. I know I was doing what was best for her, doing what was kindest for her.
I sat by the pail, talking to her. As if that did anything but scare her more, I'd imagine. but I was trying to use a calm voice to help calm her down. The Humane Society guy came back and we surrendered the pail with its contents to him. We told him it was badly injured and only had 2 legs to walk/climb with, and was not eating properly. The 2 walnuts that I'd left under the tree Tuesday night were still there. Have no clue what she ate, if anything, other than a few nibbles of apple Tuesday evening and Wed. AM.
It hurts that she is now dead because I called the Humane Society. But watching her suffer was worse yet. I've heard you can judge a person by how it treats animals, and I did waht was right, what was best for her. But the loss of her presence, the fact that I'll never have seen her scampering through the trees and the yard strikes at my heart.
Rest in peace Little One. You were so young, so innocent. You lost your opportunity at a normal life when some predator caught you. You got away, but you suffered mightily for that escape. And you paid the ultimate price anyway because of the extent of that hind leg injury. But please, rest in peace. You are no longer suffering, you are no longer hungry or lonely or afraid. Rest in peace.
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