Share a story about someone who had a positive impact on your life.
Tiny Baby and Mommy
Once upon a time, in a land about thirty miles away from where your author sits at this very moment, a tiny baby was born. She was born five weeks early because her mother chased around a cat with a baby chicken in its mouth and as a result, broke her waters. The baby’s father was away at sea, working hard as a ship’s captain and unable to return in time for the imminent premature birth of the tiny baby.
The tiny baby’s mother had to go to the hospital because the tiny baby insisted on being born, regardless of where her daddy was. The tiny baby didn’t care about that, she was ready to enter the world of the oxygen breathers. The tiny baby’s big sister took their mother to the hospital and waited in the father’s waiting room with a room full of expectant dads (this is how it was back in the day – dads waited in a room). After some time, the tiny baby was born. The tiny baby’s mother and big sister rejoiced.
The tiny baby grew as babies do, and eventually became a grown-up. Many people helped the tiny baby along the way, but there were only two at the start of the tiny baby’s life as an oxygen breather: her mommy and her big sister.
I found this video of Bubba and his brother Rafa in my phone today. Bubba had the softest belly – his fur was like velvet, but his belly was like a fluffy cloud. Bubba was a laid-back cat and liked his belly rubbed. Rafa was ticklish on his belly and didn’t like it pet. Rafa was sassy and would always backtalk. The sound he makes in this video is his backtalk. Volume up for best purring listening experience. I miss them every day, especially Bubba, my cat soulmate. 🩶🖤
Although I do have many favorite quotes from Zora Neale Hurston, I’m going to try to follow the rules for this prompt. I know, you’re probably thinking, “Why start now?” It’s because I have a favorite quote that I really don’t think of that often but for this prompt, I thought of it.
Years ago, I bought this book:
Filled with requited and unrequited varieties
I don’t recall why I purchased the book, but if I had to venture a guess, it would be because the book is pink, has a heart on it (your girl is obsessed with hearts and collects them – not anatomical hearts, dear reader), and it also has a pink bookmark built right in.
The book contains different chapters, which delve into the many different types of love – requited, unrequited, grief, love for pets, etc. I’m not much of a romantic, but I am sentimental. So I tend towards more eccentric quotes about not just love, but everything.
I nudged this book off my shelf for this prompt and opened it up to the page with the pink bookmark. I never take this bookmark out of this page because this is my favorite quote in the whole book, and that’s not an easy feat to accomplish.
Without further adieu, Let me introduce you to my favorite quote:
When I read this the first time, I wasn’t quite sure how to interpret it. Then I realized there were many ways to interpret it. In fact, I have a new interpretation as I write this.
What is a superstition? (We all know, because we all remember the daily prompt from not that long ago.) Examples of superstitions include walking under a ladder is considered bad luck, opening an umbrella in the house is bad luck, breaking a mirror will give you seven years of bad luck, black cats are bad luck, knocking on wood so whatever you’ve just said comes true or stays safe (depends on the situation), and many more. Superstitions are misunderstood, mysterious, used as protection. In my mind, I always think about superstitions as hovering in the air in a cloud. Superstitions are not part of reality, but they are still given deference and respect. They are very real to the person who believes.
Having said that, I believe Monsieur Baudelaire is speaking here of unrequited love, a love that to him is so precious, he keeps it in the clouds just out of reach. The image of his love stays in his mind, and in his heart is where the cherishing blooms, but his love is so much more than that. He seems to be under a spell. To say you are more than an image I dream about and cherish, you are my superstition, means to me, that you are the very thing that I believe in, the idea of which makes no sense, but I love you more than I could ever love anyone else. And yet, there is a mystery about you. Are you bad for me? If my love were requited, would it be a mistake? Would it ruin everything? Superstition has to stay in the clouds, just out of reach, and so does the love. Dream of it, cherish it, hold it in the highest regard. Be also aware of its mystery and respect the unknowingness of it.
Monsieur Baudelaire was a controversial poet in Paris in the 19th century. He was part of the Decadent era. Knowing a bit about poets myself, I’ve been thinking: is the superstition the muse? Oui.
It isn’t possible for me to answer this question with just one book, so I’m going to list them all. There may be a few that I have forgotten, but these are the ones I have in my bookcase.
Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston. This is my favorite novel. Ever. It was required reading in American literature class, and I’m so pleased to have been introduced to this amazing wordsmith Ms. Hurston.
The Outlander series by Diana Gabaldon.
Any and all titles by Bill Bryson.
The Buenos Aires Broken Hearts Club by Jessica Morrison. This is a fantastic novel. I’m not sure if it’s still in print, and I don’t believe the author ever published another novel, which upsets me to this day.
The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon.
I, Elizabeth by Rosalind Miles.
The General’s Mistress by Jo Graham.
The next three novels are a series by author Diana Norman. Sadly, she has passed away and there will be no more novels in the series. The first book is A Catch of Consequence, followed by Taking Liberties, and last but not least is The Sparks Fly Upward. This author also wrote under the pen name Ariana Franklin. I was today years old when I found that out, so I am excited and will try to get my hands on the novels she wrote under that name.
The next one is the first book in the “Undead” series by Mary Janice Davidson. I thought the first book was the best: “Undead and Unwed.”
Next up is author Katie McAllister (a pen name), with Men in Kilts and Improper English being my favorite titles from her.
Jane Austen – the whole catalogue.
Tess of the d’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy.
Villette by Charlotte Brontë.
Sons and Lovers by DH Lawrence.
Mary Queen of Scotland and the Isles by Margaret George.
Forever Amber, by Kathleen Winsor (this is a particular favorite of mine, though it is rather sordid, especially for the time period in which it was written.)
And the last one is Absalom! Absalom! by William Faulkner. Just kidding. I despise this book. I had to write a paper on it and I hated every second of it. I don’t particularly like Faulkner nor his writing style, and that’s being polite. Faulkner perfected the run-on sentence, and that’s being polite.
That’s my list. What are some novels that you can’t get enough of and read over and over again? Let me know in the comments!
A young deer collided with my mom’s car this morning. We were driving back from the grocery store, trunk full of food, discussing something mundane about the week; something I can’t recall now. We saw one deer dart across the left lane of traffic and we gasped. My mom applied her brakes. We momentarily believed we had escaped what could have been a horrific situation, and then, just as suddenly, two more young deer darted from the brush.
My mom did what she could to slow down, but there was no way to avoid what was to come. The third deer ran head first into the driver’s side of the car. A loud thunk was felt and we pulled over. Already I was sobbing. I did not look back. I COULD NOT look back. My mom was shaking and sobbing. People began to pull over, maybe wondering if they could help us, maybe wondering if we were ok. Some did come up to the car and talk to us, making sure we were all right.
Physically, we were fine. The car was not damaged. Emotionally we were not fine. I am still not fine. That young deer didn’t die right away, it lingered for maybe 10 minutes before dying. Someone – I don’t know who – came and took the deer away. I don’t know if it was the County or a person who was planning on utilizing the meat. I don’t care. A deer died a traumatic death in the middle of the road because of a man-made vehicle that could not stop in time. The people inside that car do not agree with killing of animals for sport, and one of them (me) is adamant against such activities. So, to accidentally kill a deer – or any animal – is, for me, excruciating.
To unintentionally kill a beautiful animal that has every right to live is a horrible, horrible feeling. I took my mother’s hand and held it. And we cried. I cried not only for that young deer in the road, but for all the other deer who meet similar fates, and for others who are cruelly killed for sport.
Finally, the police arrived and said they do not file police reports for deer collisions, and since there was no damage to the car, my mom would not have to fix anything, so need to contact the insurance company.
Deer hair lingers on the driver’s side window, though, and I can’t bear to go over to that side to see the small dent I have been told is there now.
So that’s it. Nothing can be done. We just go on about our day? What about the two other deer? Where did they go? Do they wonder what happened to the young doe?
Are they waiting for her on the other side of the road, off in the distance?
Sorry, I just can’t finish this. I can’t stop crying.
Please, whatever you do today, hug your dogs, your cats, your ferrets, whatever pet you know and love. And hug your people, too. We are all fragile in this life.
I’m not sure why, other than the name of the song, but when I was composing this poem, and looking at this photo of my wooden cross, I thought of the song Take Me To Church by Hozier. The title is a metaphor, which you can probably glean from the lyrics. This is a great song. The official video is worth a watch, but I’m not posting it here, as it tells a story within itself. I posted below a video that displays the lyrics.
Take Me to Church
Song by Hozier
My lover’s got humor She’s the giggle at a funeral Knows everybody’s disapproval I should’ve worshiped her sooner If the Heavens ever did speak She’s the last true mouthpiece Every Sunday’s getting more bleak A fresh poison each week “We were born sick”, you heard them say it My church offers no absolutes She tells me, “Worship in the bedroom” The only Heaven I’ll be sent to Is when I’m alone with you I was born sick, but I love it Command me to be well A-, Amen, Amen, Amen
Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life
If I’m a pagan of the good times My lover’s the sunlight To keep the Goddess on my side She demands a sacrifice Drain the whole sea Get something shiny Something meaty for the main course That’s a fine looking high horse What you got in the stable? We’ve a lot of starving faithful That looks tasty That looks plenty This is hungry work
Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife Offer me my deathless death Good God, let me give you my life Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife Offer me my deathless death Good God, let me give you my life
No masters or kings when the ritual begins There is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin In the madness and soil of that sad earthly scene Only then I am human Only then I am clean Oh, oh, Amen, Amen, Amen
Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life Take me to church I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife Offer me that deathless death Good God, let me give you my life
Mama Kitty: she was already an adult when she arrived but the vet guessed her age to be around one. So not a very distinguished adult, but an adult. Mama Kitty enjoyed watching her kids grow up. Susie was her constant companion and this annoyed Mama Kitty, but she never let on – except for a warning bite on Susie’s neck. Then she would go back to grooming her. She enjoyed life inside playing games with her kids, and hiding when anyone entered the house. “They’re gone, Mama Kitty, you can come out now,” was something we said often. She enjoyed spending time with me and my mom. She wasn’t a lap cat, but she was lap adjacent. She was sweet and pretty and a good girl. She came to us in 2008 as you remember, and she did well until the fall of 2016. Over the course of a few weeks, she regressed to a state of anxiety and wouldn’t come out of the guestroom. We weren’t sure what was going on, but we put the litter box in there with some food. Bubba brought toys to the doorway in case his mother wanted to play. But she didn’t. She recognized me and my mom, and Susie. But she didn’t remember her boys. We’re not sure what happened to her, the guess was that she was suffering from thyroid problems, possibly cancer. In November 2016 my mom took Mama Kitty to the vet to be euthanized. I could not go. I have never been able to handle watching my pets euthanized and I have had many pets. My mother always took care of it. It was a tremendous loss for all of us. Susie missed her terribly, and we thought she would die. She was bonded to her mother, and that bond was very strong. The weeks were hard for all of us. The dynamic among the cats changed. Susie became more reclusive. She hid from her brothers. But Bubba was her protector from Rafa, just as much as he was an annoyance to Susie. As time went on, the new normal became just that, but with a hole where Mama Kitty used to fit.
Mama Kitty, Fall 2016Nana Kitty and Susie, BFFsMama Kitty watching over us
Bubba:
If a person can have a soulmate in an animal, my soulmate is/was Bubba. The big headed kitten who caused his mother hours of labor stole my heart. I still haven’t gotten it back. He grew from a tiny bean into a fat gray cat. His belly fur was a soft as velvet. Bubba’s hobbies included: teasing his sister, playing with his brother, trying to nurse off his mother for nine years 🙄, watching TV (wildlife shows and tennis matches were his favorite), getting belly rubs, being a pain in the ass in general terms, assisting repairman as if he were a tiny apprentice. Bubba was afraid of no one, and everyone was his friend. When he grew up, he wanted to be a trashman, a UPS man, or any other type of truck driver. The problem with him wanting to succeed in an industry is that he was too lazy to work. There was a dichotomy there, and it was not going to be traversed. Bubba started losing weight gradually. In 2019 we had some tests done and it showed a thyroid condition. Hyperthyroidism is common in cats. There is a medication given to cats as well as humans for this condition. Unfortunately, Bubba was allergic to it. There was nothing else we could do except a total thyroidectomy. The surgeons warned us that cats with hyperthyroidism often have cancer of the thyroid and it could’ve already spread. So we didn’t go through with the surgery. I was devastated, but my holistic nutrition training had me studying for ways to treat his thyroid naturally. I found an online veterinary supply site that sold L-Carnitine. It was a liquid and we mixed it in his food. It wasn’t a miraculous cure. It was biting time. On December 4, 2019 in the early morning. My mom woke me very upset. “Bubba is in the bathroom and he’s dizzy and he doesn’t know what’s going on and we need to take him to the vet right now.” It was 2 AM, I think it was a Wednesday. We got him in the car. He was wailing; terrified. Bubba has sat with me often when I had vertigo spells. He would be right by my side the whole time. And I felt like I was failing him because I couldn’t fix it. He was too young to die. We walked in and they assessed him. His heart rate was well above what it should be. They said he would have a heart attack if they didn’t get his heart rate under control. There was nothing they could do. They came in and gave him some sedatives and the euthanasia dose. I pet, cried, and told him I loved him until he died. Then my world fell apart. It was not the first loss, and it wouldn’t be the last, but it was so hard. And as I write this, I’m crying. I love that cat, and I always will.
BubbaUnder thereBest buds.You may hold up my head. 🩶Bubbie.
Rafa:
Rafa was all black. We had a black cat before, a long time ago. Almost in another life. Rafa was gentle, clumsy, and he was a lap cat. Next to Susie, he was my mom’s favorite cat. He was easy-going and played with his brother. He did not like Susie. When they were little they got along fine, but as they got older, their relationship became strained. When Mama Kitty became ill, Rafa wanted to attack her. After she died, Bubba became Susie’s protector. He would sleep at the top of the stairs just outside of the guest room where Susie would be sleeping and he would guard her. He would stop Rafa from being able to come up the stairs to get Susie. The boys got along fine otherwise. After my mom died, it was just me, Rafa and Suz. You can imagine the situation I was put in. I was in the middle of two fighting siblings. They never did warm up to each other. In early 2021, I noticed Rafa was losing weight. I kept an eye on him for a few months. He started to develop bumps under his skin. I suspected he had lymphoma, but I wasn’t sure. I just knew that he was 13 years old and was declining in health. I was not going to put him through what Bubba went through, so I found a vet practice who would come out to the home and euthanize in a place of comfort for the cat. By September I realized his time was soon. So on September 11, 2021, I held Rafa as they administered a sedative. I told him I loved him and that he was a good boy and that he would go see his brother and his mommy and his Grammy (my mom). I cried so much. And I left the room before they could euthanize him because I didn’t want to see him that way. And so it went.
Silly vampurrPrecious guy The purrfect portrait
Now it is me and Susie. For now. She will turn 16 in April. I cherish each day that I have with her. I could not have imagined back in 2008 when they were born how much things would have changed by now. Everyone gone. When it is her time, she will go be reunited with her Mama Kitty. And they all will wait for me there.
“It's Amy,” I said. 