Kitty Landmines & Falling Leaves

This is Sam. He's my almost nineteen year old kitty. He leaves little landmines for me overnight. Which is one of the reasons we lock him in a spare bedroom at night. I love him anyway.

At nineteen - or about ninety-two in people years - he has a right to be a bit crotchety and forgetful. He's skinny to the point of bones and skin. His joints don't work like they used to, and neither does anything else. I also suspect that, because of his age and how things don't work properly as we get older, he's not as quick off the mark when the need arises. Or, he has trouble getting the right angle on things in a time of need.

So, I don't mind, really. He did it yesterday. He did it this morning. He may do it again tomorrow. But I know his time is short. He's old.

On the plus side of the ledger today, we got a hefty dose of rain and about a billion leaves fell off the Sycamore trees in front of our building. They're not yet dry enough or worn out enough to be soft. Walking down the street a little while ago, I felt like a kid again. No matter how I lifted my feet, unless I wanted to look like Peter Robin from the Pooh stories, I scuffled and shuffled and made a lot of noise. It was fun. Just like I was a kid. Is this second childhood?

Other things are playing out around me. The weather is key because I do like rain. I like the way it sounds and smells, the feel of the soft air and the crispness of the season.

At work I've tossed my hat into a ring and now I'm waiting to see if it gets tossed back. Initial signs are favorable, but the final decision won't be made for a few months and much can happen between now and then.

I also tossed two of my hats into the ring of a potential publisher for two of my stories. One got tossed back posthaste with a very nice 'thanks but no thanks' note. I haven't heard on the other one so, who knows. Another case of time will tell and I have the time, so I'll keep plugging away and plan on a different course for the one rejected.

That's part and parcel of writing to be published, though. You work your tail off creating the best story you can create but if it's not what the market is looking for just then, forget it. The one that got tossed back isn't what's 'hot' at this time. It may be again, but it's not now.

The other is an erotic romance story with humor and hot scenes and all sorts of stuff to make it interesting. This is what's 'hot' - in more ways than one - right now, so perhaps this will garner interest. At least it hasn't been rejected and, if it is, I'll shop it to a couple of other houses. If it gets tossed out there, I'll self-publish it.

I read through it again last night - all of it - and found only a few things to fix and tweak to fill in a couple of holes. A few punctuation misses. A couple of minor details and one straggler of a detail that needed removing (a scene that's no longer in the story has a passing reference that might be confusing). More details to be added - how did the men pursuing my heroine know where she was? Oh! A miniature GPS transceiver - available from many sources for cheap and only about the size of a quarter. Easily concealable in an item of clothing.

The biggest thing for me on this story though is getting the sequel going again. I've got one started. I'm about a third of the way through it and don't even have a title for it yet, but I know how it ends (I think, unless something changes). I'd like to have that completed before the first book is out so that it can follow in a timely manner and be of equal quality.

Would you think I'm weird if I say that I almost hope this publisher does send another 'thanks but no thanks' letter?

I don't think he will, though. I think, maybe, I got through round one and am in the running to go before the editorial board for consideration. If that's the case, I'll get a note asking for a sample of the story. Or maybe they'll ask for a synopsis. Which is the second bane of a writer's existence.

It's both harder and easier than the back-of-the-book blurb because it's longer, but without telling the story you have to provide the arc.

How does the story start? What's its middle and end? Usually in less than a few hundred words. They can, however, be extremely helpful in identifying problems in a plot.

When I first wrote a synopsis for 'Genevieve's Piano', I realized I had a Grand Canyon of a hole in the plot. Jean's husband wasn't developed enough to be integral to the plot - yet he was supposed to be. It led me back to draw him in 3D, to make him live and breathe as much as Jean and Win. What was his motivation? Why did he do the things he did? Like beat her into a coma that nearly killed her in the opening paragraphs.

So there is good and there is not so good and then there are landmines. And not all of those are left by kitties.

Tomorrow I "get" to spend a few hours doing crafty stuff. Taking glue and glitter and putting them together on Christmas ornaments for our company's Holiday party.

Digging ditches? I like doing that better than crafty things.
Fixing fences? I like doing that better than crafty things.
Scrubbing floors? I like doing that better than I like crafty things.

There are all sorts of stuff that I like doing - but not crafty things. They're too 'fiddly' and don't permit for large movements - like swinging a pick-axe or wielding a shovel or spade or hammer. Even scrubbing floors allows large movements - sweeping movements as you swish the brush across the floor.

But, I volunteered. Not for this, not specifically, but for the party in general and this is part of the party in general that I roped myself into. Stupid. I should know better. Oh well. This too shall pass as all things do and something else will come along.

In the meantime there are my stories and my hope that someone will like something I've written and will pick it up and read it and suggest it to friends and around it will go. Which means that right now, I should get back to writing.

Have a lovely day - enjoy the leaves and watch out for landmines!

Best~
Philippa

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories

Exploding Cats & Other "Pleasures"

Yeahhh... Well my week got off to a fine start.

First, I ate too much last night - treated to steak and French fries which is a rare event in our household. So, I overindulged, even though I knew I should stop.

In my defense, I also had grilled sweet onions and bell pepper, so I got some veggies.

No matter, though, what can I say? I know better but I’m human and a glutton (sometimes). End result, I was too full and didn’t get as much sleep as I would have liked. Which leaves me wondering: why on Earth do I do that to myself? I do know better. I’ve done it often enough to know better. So, why? All I can come up with is the Homer Simpson ‘DOH’!

The end result is that I woke up at three-thirty and that was it. Tried this and that until four-fifteen, a whole thirty minutes before the first alarm when I gave it up as a lost cause. I laid there for a while, playing games on my iPad, going to my writer’s websites and messing around. Finally, at five-forty-five I gave in and got up.

I still had an hour before I had to leave, so plenty of time since I had set up the coffee and my mother-in-law’s pills last night. My only obligations were to get myself ready, which I did, then set up the coffee for hubby, which I did, then get Sam taken care of.

Oh, my poor baby! What a night he had! When I opened the door to his room, I discovered that he had "exploded" from both ends, leaving little bomblets all over the floor, the table, the bookcase under the window, behind the chair and in the catch-tray in front of his box. Miraculously, nothing was left in the cat box - the one place intended for that material. Thirty minutes later... the floor is cleaned up, the catch tray has been hosed off and left in the backyard to dry, and I’m ready to leave - except he’s thirsty.

Since he exploded, and since he was probably more dehydrated than usual because of it, I couldn’t just leave. For ten minutes I stood at the sink while he drank from my palm. When he lost interest and began to spend more time watching the water than drinking it, I turned off the tap, put him back in the bedroom and then my way was clear. All I can hope is that he didn’t have more trouble - under or on my bed or anywhere.

For an eighteen-year old cat, he’s really pretty good. In all the time we’ve been buds, he’s never once done anything unfortunate on my bed or pillows. He’s had cause, believe me. After all, there were the trips away, weekends up to Lake Tahoe, visits to Oregon to see my parents, leaving him behind in the care and keeping of people Not Me, but he’s never once taken out his ire on my bedding.

He’s a sweet boy and I love him so I just shake my head, commiserate with him when he has troubles and get to cleaning. Thank goodness for plastic gloves, though!

Well, the good news is that I got here “only” thirty minutes late. The next bit of Joy in my life is hearing, repeatedly as I drove in, what a “beautiful” day it will be. Sorry. Some people may like 100+ degree temps, but I don’t. I’m very much a seventies kind of girl. So the top I wore, not knowing what the day would bring when I got dressed, is going to be ‘warm’. Rats. At least I’m inside, with the A/C, and I won’t cook until this afternoon, when I get in my car to drive home.

C’est la vie, right? This too shall pass and it will be something else. Now, after a start like that, my week has got to get better, right? We’ll see. I’ll keep you posted (whiner that I am).

I hope your week is lovely - as cool and comfy as you may like it with no exploding cats in sight!

Best~

Philippa

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories

Cosmic Convergences and Other Pains

You have mornings like this, right? You wake up. Maybe you lay there for a couple of minutes, gathering yourself. Eventually you throw the blankets off and get out of bed. It all seems okay.

You start your day. If you do as I suspect most people do, you hit the loo and take care of that. Maybe you make the bed, next, or you get in the shower, next. Whatever. You do what you do in the order in which you do it.

Then, along the way WHAM! The wheels fall off, things go sideways and suddenly what seemed like a normal, ordinary, comforting morning becomes anything but. Then you scramble to try and get it back upright and on track.

Yeah, well good luck with that.

That’s how my morning was yesterday. It’s what I call a Cosmic Convergence where everything – good or bad – seems to come together in some way that it all hits at once.

We keep Sam, our eighteen year old cat, in what we call The Cat Room at night. It’s the spare bedroom. It’s our way of ensuring that he doesn’t maraud through the house while we’re trying to sleep.

Once, we did try to let the cats out at night. This was when we had Sam and Oscar, probably about twelve years ago now, right after we moved into the house we’re still living in. We let them roam the house at night once and only once because while we were trying to sleep, they insisted they had to race from one window to the other – across our bed – to check on the goings-on outside. After that, they were kept locked up. It was easier on everyone.

So, now that Oscar is no longer with us, it’s just Sam and we still keep him locked up at night. Which, given the result of yesterday morning, is a very good thing.

He's old. When critters - cats, dogs, people - you know, critters, get old, things don't work as they once did. Muscles relax and cause alarm. That's why people buy things like Tena and Poise pads and so on. Well, cats don't do well if you try to put a Tena on them. They get upset. So the things that don't work the way they're supposed to get out of control.

Back to yesterday. I got up. All seemed right with the world. I did my thing, wandered downstairs, got my coffee, sat down and posted yesterday’s blog. I glanced at the clock, not quite six. Okay I think to myself, I’ve got a few more minutes.

I spend another few minutes and glance up again – oh, CRAP! Where did the time go? It’s like Fate or Chronos or someone hit the hands on the clock, knocking it fast forward. It’s suddenly almost 6:20 – I’m five minutes late.

I leap up, put my computer away, glug some coffee (which is only tepid at this point, so at least I don’t burn myself!). Race around getting my mother-in-law’s nutritional drink, setting up hubby’s coffee, throw my lunch together (basically grab and go so it doesn’t take more than a minute).

Then it’s six-thirty. Okay, that’s do-able. I’ll have to hurry, but I can make it.

Except for Sam. Sam had other ideas. Probably, since he’s a cat, they weren’t long drawn-out deliberate ideas, but they were effective.

I open the door to his room and… He had trouble during the night. Something he ate seriously did not agree with him and it’s here, there and everywhere around the room. Poor thing! I can’t be mad at him. It’s not like he planned it. It’s just bad timing and my being behind that makes it a problem. In the meantime, he’s looking at me like, ‘I’m sorry, Mom.’

Well, there goes my morning.

I need gloves because I am not going to deal with that bare-hand. Crap! No gloves in the drawer where I keep them. Downstairs for a box of gloves, back upstairs and get to work. There are seven places, plus the tray in front of the box which is supposed to catch the litter. Well, it’s caught some other stuff too, and the box needs to be changed.

Finish the carpet, take the tray into the backyard and hose it off, change the box. This is more fun than any one human being should be allowed to have… Get it done. It’s not quite seven o’clock and Sam is standing on the counter in the bathroom. He needs water.

He has a waterer in his room. It’s not a bowl. It’s a basin with a recirculating pump, but he refuses to drink from it. Instead, he insists that he must drink from the tap. Crap! I set up the bowls to catch the water, turn the tap to low and get my shower going. It’s seven o’clock. I should be well on my way to work by then, but I’m not. I’m naked and wet and I am decidedly not happy with the way my morning has gone.

Out of the shower, into my clothes and out of the house at almost 7:20, I’m thirty-five minutes late and, given the time of day, seriously screwed. There’s going to be traffic on the highway. Everyone else is trying to get to where they want or need to be and I’m at the back of the line.

Flying at a low altitude I make it – “only” thirty minutes late. Whew! I took the back roads and drove faster than I should, but didn’t meet up with John Law. I didn’t run over any nuns or into a school bus full of children. No cyclists or dog walkers went under my wheels so, yeah, it is a good morning after all.

Given all of that, if that’s the worst thing that happens on any particular day, I’m be grateful. I took a short lunch, made up the time, and all was right with the world.

Hope you have a lovely, Cosmic Convergence free day!

Best~

Philippa

Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories

Cat Sneezes, Dust Bunnies and Spiders - Normal Stuff

Where has my discipline gone? I can’t seem to find it anywhere and it’s making things harder than they need to be.

I have a long list of things to do this weekend. They’re not the want to dos to which I was looking forward. These are the must dos, the commandments.

Dust bunnies rest on the top of the grandfather clock in the hall, the one below the stairs from which I thought I’d got all of them last weekend. Either I missed some and they’ve replicated as only bunnies can do, or they’re new. In either case, they’re back with a vengeance. I need to vacuum all of the high surfaces, to see if I can catch the parents of these bunnies.

Festoons of cobwebs drape across the downstairs hall and in corners at the tops of walls all through the house. Those are due to the time of year – summer and spiders.

Our house is a haven for spiders. I think they’ve talked amongst themselves, “that house over there, you see it? Yeah, that’s the one. She doesn’t kill spiders, unless you’re a black widow. If you’re not a black widow, she’ll catch you and put you outside. I’ve been in and out of there four times already.”

I like spiders. I don’t necessarily like looking at them, although some are pretty cool if you get past the creepy factor. Some are actually aesthetically pleasing (I had to do that because I had already used ‘pretty’ and didn’t want to be redundant), if you take a minute to examine them. You don’t have to get close, just close enough so you can see what they’re doing and what they look like – no hands-on required.

A couple of years ago we had a big garden spider hanging between two bushes that frame one of our downstairs windows. Banded greenish yellow and black, with black tips on his legs, he lived there for several weeks.

Every morning I would get up and peek out. Nyx, the goddess of the night had passed by, leaving her tears behind. The web that stretched across four feet of front garden was heavy with them, shining diamonds that sparkled in the morning sun. The strands of filament were deformed by their weight and, in the middle, sat Fred. Just hanging around, gathering the warming rays from the sun, and waiting for breakfast.

All spiders in my house are called Fred. I don’t know why. They just are. Part of it is because having one name for all of them makes identification unnecessary. If it’s a spider, it’s Fred. I don’t have to look too closely to determine if it is really Fred or just a Fred lookalike. Unless it’s a black widow. Those are easy to identify, named or not. Then it’s dead and the name doesn’t matter.

I also have to wash my walls. Sam (our cat) had a period of several months where he had terrible sneezing fits involving bloody noses (think spray). As a result, we have cat-height ‘decoration’ along some of our walls and across the formerly un-patterned carpet.

Of course we took him to the vet who did a partial exam and said, ‘I’m sorry. It’s a tumor and there’s nothing we can do. He’s only got a few months.’

Between March and August, not much changed except the size, duration and velocity of the sneezing. We have cat height blood splatter in sufficient quantity that a forensic technician would drool.

Since containing and controlling wasn’t realistic, and no one was willing to just put him down, we let it happen. Walls can be repainted, the carpet was already a disaster (living with an ill elderly person brings its own challenges) so we chose not to worry. Eventually I took to putting him inside the shower stall when he started. At least that was easy to clean up when he was done. But the walls and carpets were already lost causes.

Still, he continued to eat and do all the normal cat things and, except for the sneezing, wasn’t showing any signs of being seriously ill. In September we took him back to the vet.

She put him out and stuck a tube up his nose so she could look at his sinuses. Happily it wasn’t a tumor but she also didn’t see anything that was causing it.

He had his last fit in March and even though he still sometimes sneezes, it’s not prolonged and doesn’t involve blood. Personally, I’ve concluded that he had something up there – a bit of food or something else that was irritating his sinuses. He used to shake his head a lot for days before, and then wham sneeze-fest.  The head shaking is gone as are the bloody noses so I get to try to clean up the walls. He's still here and doing fine at eighteen+.

It’s time for an oil change. I have things to do in the garden. There’s the grocery shopping and other outside errands.

A long list of stuff and my discipline to get them done has deserted me just when I need it most. May I borrow yours? Please? I’ll return it, mildly used.

Best~

Philippa

Follow me on Twitter:https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories

Monday Meanderings

Five thirty in the morning and I haven't got a clue what I'm going to write.

Work today, obviously. Have to hit the shower in thirty minutes. Coffee is sitting here, down about a third and Sam is still asleep. Or at least he's not meowing at the door.

He's on his way out, I'm afraid. Eighteen years plus a few months is pretty good for a cat, so I won't fret too much when the day comes, but it's getting close, I can tell.

Lately, in the past month or so, he's started having trouble with his balance, falling over when he tries to get up after lying down, or stumbling when he walks. He never was graceful, the way people think of cats. He's always been just a tiny bit clumsy, running into things, etc.

All the signs of age are there.

He's lost his hearing in the past few months. He's gotten so finicky about his food he won't eat most of what I put down but I can't just opening can after can, hoping to find one he'll eat. Watering is together time since he won't drink out of his water bowl. It has a pump and a flow of water but he isn't interested. I keep it up - washed and filled - in his room at night in case he gets thirsty.

This morning, though, and tonight after I get home, and again before he goes to bed I'll stand at the bathroom basin and run a small stream of water into the palm of my hand. It's the surest way to get him to drink. If it's a good morning, I'll fill the bowl in which I catch the runoff more than once (yes, we save this, adding it to the drought buckets we keep in the bathtub).

It's hard, but it's part of life and he's a member of the family so I will do for him everything I can until it's obviously time. Perhaps another couple of months... I hope it's that long. Maybe longer but maybe not. We'll see. What I won't do is keep him going for me. If he's in pain, obvious pain, I will call the vet and not make him suffer because I can't bear to let go. That wouldn't be fair or right for him.

He's the last of my kitty-babies and he's my lap warmer so it's going to be hard, but we've had a great run together and he's still here, still hanging in (he's crying at the door, now - 'Mom! Mom, where are you? I'm hungry!')

There's so much else going on, I feel as if I'm flailing against a running tide. This will pass - it always does, but for the moment, just now, I feel a little overwhelmed with stuff. Family and work and writing and trying to balance and juggle it all so I feel fulfilled without going insane. Keeping up, keeping at it and managing, but once the tide turns slack again, I'll be happier.

I did get a lot done this weekend, so there's that. I made another batch of stir fry - without the chow mein. I made rice, instead. I also remembered the carrots and bamboo shoots, this time. The rice will be better for me - higher fiber. I used a whole grain wild and brown rice mix. Now, I won't have to scramble to figure out lunches this week. A side benefit of the mess I made is that the kitchen is clean. Really clean. Cleaner than I expected, actually, since I spilled oil on the floor in front of the stove...

I also spent some time editing one of my stories on Saturday, and am debating whether to serialize one of my books for this blog.

Thinking of it now, I could do 'Matters of Friendship'.

The chapters are fairly short. It's not 'distasteful' - no erotic or explicit anything. It's just a story about a recently divorced woman attracted to a married man. They're friends and...

Something to ponder since it would involve reading and editing each chapter before posting, but I'm doing that anyway as I get it ready for self-publishing (next year, probably). So, we'll see.

Whoops! Later than I should be so gotta run... Take care and have a lovely day!

Best~
Philippa

Follow me at Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories