Mistakes were made

That should be on my headstone if I ever kick off - 

Mistakes were made

but it has rarely been illustrated so clearly as this morning. 
It began last night, actually, because I didn't get up to go to the bathroom one last time before sleep. I couldn't, there was a cat on my lap sleeping

and when Rags is comfy I don't want to move him.

But, when I woke up this morning, as a result I had to go. Now anyone who knows me knows I have to take meds or my leg doesn't work very well, and it's a battle to see if my need to pee can wait until my meds work, and that's every damn morning. It's just part of my life I accept. Since I didn't want to do way more laundry than intended, I forced myself to go before my leg was really working well, and then to take Geo out because he, too, was doing the go wriggles.

Apparently I did not click the door shut behind me in my struggle to get to the chair before my leg totally gave out. So I was waiting for meds, whining to Katie about it, and she was telling me a sordid tale of underwear and dryer living, so I was not paying attention when the door opened and this guy came out to join us.

Brat immediately headed for the site of Pee Wars (wherein he and Geo take turns marking the spot to wipe out each other' scent, an amusing - until now - little game they play) but he, too, was not paying attention. Nor was Geo. 

I looked up just in time to see Geo pee on Brat's tail and Brat swatting Geo's bits in retaliation.

Hissy fit and barkyness ensues, Mom intervenes despite not having a functional leg yet, and hurt feelings all around.

Mistakes were made.

Ground DAWG day

I've just lost too many, lately.

My friend's husband sent me some of her cremains, and I want to keep her with me but damn!

Go to amazon and search: cremains/women/jewelry.

I double cat dare you.

109 pages.

So anyway today is Imbolc, groundhog day, Candlemas,  I survived all 900 days of January, whatever. 

But "February is a monster."

Ground DAWG Day!

Funeral Giggles

Here's more horrible news. Another dear long-time friend has died. This one was by no means natural. Entirely unnatural, to be honest. She was on her motorcycle and was hit by someone in an SUV. I'm told as she lay bleeding in the gutter before help could arrive she heard the SUV driver sobbing and she said, "Stop crying, it will be alright."

Hurt enough yet?

I'm just getting started.

It wasn't even her first time being hit by a cager. She was still recovering from the last time 5 years ago. And from battling cancer and winning.

I first met my friend on a motorcycle riders' forum. She called riding, "wind dancing," and I was enchanted. In fact I don't think I recall her ever saying, "riding," only, " 'dancing' " for short.

She was funny, intelligent, witty, well-read, compassionate, loving, always always always thinking of others first. She was such a surprise. She was retired Navy, used to repair submarines! Those of us who were lucky to know her never doubted, she was an angel. And she loved animals. I couldn't even begin to name all of her rescue kitties, but I knew some. The current pair, AB & BB are lost without her. So is her husband of 33 years, whom she always referred to as, "my sweetheart."

No surprise to anyone who knows me, but she also wrote. Vignettes of travel, of course, her 'dancing diary, but also stories of her childhood, particularly her mom. I kept meaning to make her a butterscotch pie like her mom made, but life got away from me. From her.

My favorite thing to do was make her laugh. It hasn't been easy the past 8 days to laugh, but I have always had what she called, "funeral giggles." I see the bizarre, funny, obscure in almost everything, and my stars but we laughed!

Huh. That's a first for me. I was going to end this with something to laugh at for my sweet wind-dancing friend, but I have nothing. Nada. Empty on the humor tank. Wait. BratCat just pooped so badly his own eyes are watering and THAT is funny!

I love you, Carol.

I DIDN'T KNOW!!

I don't normally talk about my cats because this isn't a cat blog, and there are so many talented cat bloggers out there it would be a pale imitation at best.
I'm breaking that self-imposed edict to warn all animal carers about this - cherry stems.

It's not a choking thing, it's cyanide toxicity, and as much as I'm a supercatmom, I nearly killed my baby by accident.

I had found some of these huge fresh gorgeous cherries at my favorite local market, since the a/c was out almost a week I hadn't been sleeping well, so I was exhausted. I didn't make sure all my stems made it into the garbage. 

My Rags had been playing and batting around a single stem, chewing on it...but I thought nothing of it. Cat.

I went to lunch, returned about an hour later, and noticed immediately something was wrong. He wouldn't purr. No matter what. I saw him weakening by the minute, so I did what any mom does - I scooped him up and hauled ass to the vet, thinking, Screw the bill, I'll figure it out!

Immediate diagnosis of acute onset anemia was misleading, but based on low temp and pcv, it was all we had to go on. They whisked my baby to the back before I could even tell him how much I loved him. 

That part hurt.

But they needed to begin transfusion, and fluids, run labs, all the things a freaking out mom impedes, and I didn't want to slow them down if it meant he would be better sooner. I returned home without him, rambled incoherently to my friends, some of whom chipped in on his vet bill, and waited.

The next afternoon he was stabilized enough to come home, because our Dr Stabby Guy felt he would do better with me, less stressful, but cautioned me that we still didn't have a cause, and certain labs wouldn't be back for a few days.

 So we came home, with all instructions, and settled him in. I even went and bought calf liver for him to try to prop up his rbc, which he and my other cat and dog also enjoyed, but he was still dwindling, and heart knew it. Result after result came in, and nothing. 

"Just from looking at all these other numbers, I'd think this was the healthiest damn cat I'd ever seen," our vet told me on the zillionth call.

Then the last one, the one that explained what was happening, and what we had to do. 

SCOOP and back to the vet, on Saturday afternoon. My Rags had cyanotic toxicity from the damn cherry stem. 

I'm not a vet, and can't explain all the terms and numbers, I can't express the sheer terror, the guilt, the horrible hours waiting to see if my baby would respond to a treatment of methylene blue (although when a friend looked up a price range for treatment I nearly fainted), and all I could think was, "I didn't know, why didn't I know? Does anyone else know?"

And that's why I'm writing this. Because I don't want anyone else to see any of their babies go through this. Cherries are not on most of the lists we all see of things that can be harmful to our furbabies. 

My big strong 8yrs old mancat of 14lbs of love and muscle turned into a tiny 11.5 lb kitten struggling to survive because I didn't know. 

It's been a weekend from hell, with almost no sleep, but this afternoon, finally, he is resting, with a smile, not just passing out from exhaustion, but I think we've turned the corner now, and tests tomorrow (that I still have no idea how I'll pay for) will show, but a mom knows. It will be a long road back but now, there is this, my baby.

I might sleep tonight.

  

Kale no!

I'm trying to get in my daily vegetables and now that I have to eat so much beef for health reasons, without just being constantly chewing (I know me, if I have to be eating so much I'll quit altogether, I've done it before and it only leads to further problems) so I turned to blended drinks. 

Bai 5 is pretty good, Naked Juice Green is the best so far, but I thought I'd try another one since it was $1 less, and I'm always trying to save a buck.

I won't say the name but it rhymes with Holthouse Harms and let me tell you something - I used to work in a restaurant that used kale as its completely inedible greenery around the hot food bar. By the end of the night the heat would have scorched what was already inedible into a dry burnt dirt mess. So naturally, hipsters and yuccies decided it is the perfect food, although I knew it to be foul before they were born.
But being cheap and needing the nutrients, after checking the ingredient list and noting the kale but seeing the other juices I tried it. 

If you were to combine the flat Arizona dust, the rich black soil of Alabama, and some lawn clippings from an overly fertilized Connecticut lawn, then pour tropical fruit juice over it and let it all meld together in the afternoon sun, the result would be this foul brew-do. And I'm no stranger to lawn clippings, I take kratom powder, ffs. I don't mind wheatgrass. This...

I can't get the taste out of my mouth but not for lack of trying.

Folks, those of us with sensitive or even barely functional palates are not meant to eat kale, and I don't care what nutrients it has or what fruity goodness you try to use to disguise the stench and automatic reaction to the taste of kale. That reaction is yark. I had just tasted the rich elixer of what may be the best gravy I've ever made, now this pollution of toxic waste has undone me. I try not to say something is purely awful, but I don't care what recipe you use to mask it, kale NO.

Primary South - Staying The Course

I voted today, in Alabama's primary elections.
"Big whoop," you say.
Damned right it is.
99 Years ago yesterday, the 19th Amendment passed, allowing women the right to vote, because of women like these:

And 2 years ago I earned back the right to vote after years of struggling to overcome errors from my past.

So, yeah, it's a big whoop. It's a giant honking whoop to be allowed a say in the way the world we live in is governed. 

Think it's just the primaries? 

🎵Wrong🎵

Primaries determine which candidates are running for key positions of state government, and that determines the direction your state representation in Congress, and Governor's office go. 

But I'm a Democrat in the South. So voting is...different.

I pulled up to the National Guard Armory and the first thing I saw was 2 signs:

NO SMOKING WITHIN 50 FT OF DOOR

NO CAMPAIGNING WITHIN 3 FT OF DOOR

What?? Have you people not noticed that some of the elected officials are a gozillion times more dangerous to a large group of people than a whiff of secondhand smoke in the open air? But, whatever, I wasn't going to smoke there anyway, so I hobble on in through the giant sliding doors left open with a few fans going as allegedly adequate air conditioning. South Alabama in June, people. A few fans is not adequate for anyone who actually has a little bit of circulation, but as I was the only one there under the age of 80, and many of them were wearing sweaters and shivering, okay, again, whatever. 

Then I went up to the table to sign in. 

"Name and Party?"

I hand over my ID. 

"Democrat." 

You would have thought I said "Fuck" in church.

A pin dropping would have been a sonic boom in that silence. I think the fans even quit.

Grandma Moses handed me the sign-in sheet where I see I'm the 3rd person to sign in as Democrat, maybe for the whole county, hell, maybe the state. But I proudly picked my candidates, including one who has the nickname, "New Blue," and went to insert my ballot in the reader, with 70 pairs of ancient eyes disapproving of me the entire time. Grandpa ZekeJimBob grudgingly handed me a sticker, and as I hobbled my way out, head held high, I met the guy from last year's elections when we tossed Roy Moore to the curb - the one in standard overalls, hog shit caked on boots older than I am, but the minute he opens his mouth... he's one of my tribe. He walked straight up to me, we high-fived, and he loudly commanded,"Stay the course!"

I will, sir. I will.

She was the best of us all

I love her. 
That's easy to say. And I can't even believe how hard it is to express what I know/think/feel about her. 

I don't do eulogies. 

Usually.

Not for my many relatives, friends, acquaintances, father, brother, a few husbands (pause for Cary's gigglesnortwhee)
but this one... yeah.

I'm a recipient. 

Of her excessive kindness, love, concern, commiseration, sacrifice, care.

Those things are not equal.

Nor were her physical lungs equal to her heart. She needed a lung transplant but wasn't even on the damn list yet, in spite of being a non-drinker/non-smoker but because of her weight. Big FUCK YOU to the ones who decide, on high, who is or is not qualified to receive life. This is body shaming fucking illustrated.

My late brother gave every bit he had that qualified to others.
Nothing of me qualifies, but I would give it now or after.

Cary was in my age range. And we used to laugh, as she talked me through an abusive marriage, a heart surgery, 2 brain surgeries, and fleeing with a dog & 2 cats cross country.

She was an active proponent of animal's rights; one of the first Panther Pals. 

Our last, 4 hour conversation, a few weeks ago, she laughed, that, "we'll be old wicked women terrorizing young orderlies in some tropical senior bitches' facility' laugh.

Some part of me knew it was our last. 
But she was and will always be, part of my heart.