This is a story I wrote this week about my cat, Link, who is the most bashful of cats and rarely seeks attention from either my husband or me. The prompt I was using asked me to get inside the head of an animal, and I thought, “Whose head would I rather be in than Link’s? It’s so mysterious!” Those of you who have met Link know exactly what I mean.
Mom says I have an incredible pink nose. Actually, I have the only pink nose in the house, so I’m not sure why she considers it to be special in any way. On a quest to find out exactly what incredible means, and to surprise Mom, I decided to saunter into the bedroom one morning while she was still asleep. I sat right next to the bed, waiting to see if she would awaken. After a couple of long minutes, I decided that she might need some help waking up. After all, she was still breathing rather deeply. Slowly I reached up to the edge of the bed with my front paws, sniffing the air beside her. She still didn’t stir. This is going to be epic I thought as I pondered pouncing her feet. With my paws still grasping the edge of the bed, I craned my neck a little further, still working my pink nose to sniff the air. Just as my nose made it over the edge of the bed, I saw one eye open briefly. I ducked my head back down quickly. She must not see me plotting. I raised my head once again. Phew! Her eyes were both closed. I waited for a bit longer, hoping she would go back to sleep before using my front paws to hoist myself up all the way onto the bed, landing with no audible sound. I love being a cat for that reason. Cats are like ninjas and one never knows when we might strike. Just then her left arm moved, fingers reaching right for me. No! This could not be! I was invisible and inaudible, just like a ninja! But her fingers grazed down my body, grasping the crook at the tip of my tail as I tried to leap away. Only the best of my ninja moves could save me now. I hopped back down to the floor, jogging down the hall. I just knew she was smiling at my retreating form. Ugh! She’d succeeded—I’d been petted! I knew I had to lick it off immediately. I can’t be petted; it hurts my machismo too much. I am no longer a kitten that needs constant cuddling. I’m my own cat now, and big boys don’t need cuddles! I slunk underneath the futon in the living room, bathing my battle wounds. I really thought I had her that time. I should’ve left when her eye opened. Ugh! Petting is awful! What I really hate is that involuntary vibration my vocal cords make that she calls a purr. She thinks it means I love her and love the petting, but I have no control over it. Purring just sort of happens sometimes when she pets me. I can’t explain it. Suddenly, I heard her footsteps plodding down the carpeted hallway. Silly humans! They should learn it is impossible to sneak up on a cat. Our senses are too keen to miss their stumbling shenanigans. I maintained my position under the furniture. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. Two pettings in one morning? My skin shuddered like that of a flea-infected animal at the mere thought of it. Why does she always pet and hug me anyway? She has to know I don’t like it. I don’t need my mommy anymore. I can stand on my own four feet! Just as I straightened my spine a bit at the thought of how independent I could be, I saw her shadow next to the futon. Her knees creaked as she squatted down onto the floor, reaching for me again. Her hand flailed around helplessly, trying to feel for my orange swirled fur, which I had just licked clean. She ducked her head down underneath the frame and eyed my shadowed form against the wall. How much love did she think I needed? I gathered my senses, waited for the right moment and darted out from underneath the futon. I ran down the hall and regrouped under the bed. It was much harder for her to reach me under there. I was safe for the time being at least.
Link learned not to disturb my sleep eventually. Does your pet have a routine for waking you up in the morning? Feel free to tell your story in the comments section!
Kitty Capers
I thought it was high time to write a little story about one of my fabulous felines. Some of you will recognize this story, but it may be new to others. Read on to find out more.
The room was plunged into complete darkness other than the street lamp outside which was tucked behind the curtain, eeking a small amount of light into the room. My husband and I were nearly asleep when we heard a strange sound like scrabbling claws on the wall. Was a cat actually bouncing off the walls? We always noted that they wanted to play when we wanted to fall asleep. I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes, ready for sleep to overtake me. I heard the sound again as light from the hallway flooded through the open door of the bedroom. A scrambling pitter-pat, then nothing. I sat up slowly, allowing my eyes to adjust to the sudden light. I stood, ambled to the doorway, and peered into the silent hall. I couldn’t find a single cat, not even one displaying the innocence of a toddler next to a puddle of spilt milk. Who had turned on the light? I knew it wasn’t my husband as he was still in bed and knew better than to interfere with my sleep.
It didn’t happen every night. It was, in fact, just as sporadic as other can behaviors because cats never want to be accused of being predictable. Whichever cat it was always waited until all the rooms were dark and I couldn’t figure out why a cat would want to turn on a light, particularly since they are considered nocturnal. Once again, cats don’t want us to presume anything about them, and this was just one of the many ways one of them was telling us this. Then one day, the cat either got sloppy or decided to reveal itself. Anyone who has ever owned a cat knows they always try to convince humans that they know exactly what they are doing. It was a cloudy day in late February and the light slipping through the windows was minimal at best. The darkness was already beginning to set in that afternoon as the days weren’t longer quite yet. I was on the phone with my mother, passing time until my husband returned from a meeting 1 ½ hours away. I heard the sound again: a light thud with scrabbling claws on painted drywall. It was coming from the hallway. I glanced to my left and from my position on the couch I saw the kitchen light come on as a small, light grey blur tore down the hall, hoping I hadn’t seen her. The sound of stampeding paws stopped as she got to the end of the hall, more than likely slipping under the bed.
Iris is a slip of a cat and barely weighed 6 pounds or so at the time of this incident. She was barely 9 months old and we had just gotten her the previous July. I had no idea she could even jump that high. I couldn’t believe she’d been the culprit the whole time. Mom was trying to figure out why I had suddenly burst into laughter in the middle of our conversation. In between giggles, I relayed what I had just seen. I’m not sure she believed it either, truth be told.
When I had Iris in for her annual checkup (she now weighs 8 pounds and still looks like a kitten), I told Dr. Kim about her little capers. She, too, thought it was humorous, not to mention unusual. She said most cats that turn on lights do so from a table or other horizontal surface, but what really challenged the vet’s knowledge of felines was this: Iris later figured out how to also turn the lights off. I would be working in the kitchen and suddenly be left in darkness with only those scrabbling claws as proof of Iris’s hand in it. But then, just seconds later, the lights would come back on and I would hear her stampeding down the hallway. Dr. Kim said she’d never heard of a cat jumping for the light switch, let alone one that could turn them on and off. Iris got so good at it she could hit the switch on the first try.
Now Iris jumps for them, but doesn’t switch them on or off as if to say, “I could still do it if I wanted to.” I don’t take my chances, though. I still work in the kitchen with the range hood light on just in case she ever decides to plunge me into darkness again. The threat still lingers each time we hear those scrabbling claws. As I mentioned earlier, cats don’t like to be predictable and I sometimes wonder if she is just waiting for the right moment, waiting for a time when I forget to turn on another light. But I’m not taking my chances.
Has something your pet does ever caught you off guard? Is there a hilarious story about your pet you would like to share? Please leave a comment below!
The Dough is Risen!
This was my first creative free write in nearly 10 years and I wrote it last fall. The topic was touch—the squish of kneading dough between your fingers, the smooth texture of it when you pat it and roll it out.
There was nothing like making bread dough to satisfy her. While most people longed for the toasty smell of it baking in the oven, she longed to relieve her stress and take all of her frustration out on the risen dough. Unlike many forms of stress relief, using risen dough requires a certain amount of patience and time since it takes over an hour to make the dough and allow it to rise. Having already done these things, she was at long last able to punish the dough before her. First, she thrust her fist heavily into the bowl, feeling the dough collapse around her hand and hearing the satisfying hiss of air rushing out. But that was just the beginning. As she took in the scent of risen yeast, she mercilessly punched and punched to release every air pocket and every ounce of anger she could find. She dipped her hand into the silky flour and sprinkled it onto the table in a wide circle. Next, she forced the dough out of the bowl and into the snowy surface. She worked and worked, turning the dough and putting her soul into its kneading, adding flour when it became too sticky until finally she could run her hand over it, feeling its smooth elasticity. She viciously tore a chunk off, grabbed her rolling pin and began working the dough into an oblong shape. Placing the dough onto a pizza pan, she tugged at its stubborn edges, willing it into shape. The corners were always the trickiest part. She tore holes in the dough as she tugged in frustration, having to repair them by squishing the edges of each hole together into one piece. She carefully popped any remaining air bubbles taking in the floury scent. She could breathe again. She felt like herself again. She took the remaining chunk, this time less viciously, and began to roll it gently in the flour. This piece was not as challenging. This piece was more lovable and pliable. There were no holes torn in frustration as she worked the dough into the corners of the pan. Once finished, she slowly ran her hands under the faucet, watching the drops leave patterns on her pasty white skin as she worked to rid her hands of tenacious dough remnants.
This entry made me think of my experiences baking pizzas. I’ve sort of gotten out of baking, but my mom still loves to make pizza and bread. I don’t know if she vents to the dough as much as I used to, but it really felt great to beat the living daylights out of some dough once in a while. Perhaps, I need to make some pizza again. Are there any activities that allow you to vent frustration in unusual ways? What are they? How do you get rid of that heavy anger we all experience at times? Please leave a comment down below and tell me your stories.
Never Empty
Rather than use a prompt, I used part of a verse from scripture to write this after church one Sunday. It is more of a devotional than a story, but it is based on the story of Elijah asking a widow for food. She and her son are desperately poor and she was planning to take the last of her oil and flour, make a final meal, lie down and die. Elijah speaks to her and gives her the following assurance. Read on.
The jar will never be empty; the jug will never fail.
We seemed to be destined to live on hard times. We were at poverty level according to state guidelines due to the fact that I couldn’t work and Allen was in a low paying job. It was not payday yet, and the cupboards were getting bare. I was desperate for ingredients to fix a meal. I opened the pantry, scanning its contents carefully. Was there more flour in my container than there was yesterday? I couldn’t remember, but it seemed like there was. I looked for other ingredients and found I could at least make pancakes, which was about all I had the energy for anyway. Wait a minute—here are some canned vegetables. I don’t remember having those in here. Where did they come from? Were they expired? Nope. They were still perfectly good. That gave me a start for the next meal and then at long last it would be payday. I wasn’t sure how my pantry still had these things in it. I scratched my head, wondering if this was the work of my in-laws. Then I remembered an Old Testament lesson: The jar will never be empty; the jug will never fail.
This lesson always speaks to me. There have been several other times in my life when I have sworn my cupboard only had food in it due to a miracle on God’s part. He always makes sure I have enough. I know that fearing to lose something earthly is like tempting God to take it, but if he does, it is returned tenfold. This doesn’t just apply to food in our cupboards. It applies to everything he gives us. Even the greatest loss of a life dear to you leaves something or someone in its wake. But I digress. Allen and I suffered a significant financial loss in October that had us pinching pennies for two months. Though I was more worried before the loss than after, this lesson was a comfort. Even if all I had to cook was pancakes, it was food and it was more than some others have. But I don’t just have to have faith. I remember that my jar has never been empty and my jug has never failed. I have had evidence that this is true in my life.
God gave me a wonderful partner to get through these times with. I used to live in terror of losing him, able to visualize the whole thing. I would spend afternoons in tears over the loss I felt sure was coming. I know that day may still come, but I am comforted by Elijah’s words to this widow. I just need to continue to believe that the same will always be true no matter what. God always gets me out of places where I feel I will make my last meal, lay down and die. But I am reminded by this passage that I will always have plenty, whether I see it as plenty or not.
Have you ever wondered how you were going to get your next meal or make ends meet? Has God rescued you in these times with a full jar and jug? Talk about your story in the comments section.
In Search of Ilithor
The Free Write
This post is based on a free write I did earlier this month. A free write is a writing exercise where you use a pre-written prompt or personal experience and write about it for at least 10-15 minutes. This is a great way to unlock your brain if you feel creatively blocked or just to help generate ideas for whatever you might be writing. There are many websites and blogs and provide such prompts. This writing, however, was taken from a personal experience I will explain further at the end of the post. Enjoy!
The Story
Aaron had the monster in his sights as he breezed through time and space, overcoming every obstacle. He steered the ship easily around stacks of cans and small boxes. He was going to succeed this time. The endgame boss, Ilithor, slipped around the corner, dodging each missile Aaron fired from the control panel. He wasn’t going to be an easy catch. Aaron tried to steer his ship quickly around an asteroid, but the left wing clipped the giant rock. -4,000 hit points=fail. Aaron restarted his ship, again in pursuit of the scaled green, slimy Ilithor, determined this time to reduce him to mere particles among the stars. Carefully yet swiftly, he maneuvered the ship around obstacles with Ilithor locked in his sights. He fired the first missile—success! Ilithor was -1,000 hit points. Only 4,000 left to go and he still had 5 missiles. That left a little room for error but not much. Aaron locked Ilithor in his sights once again and fired. Ilithor slipped around the side of an asteroid. Epic fail! Now he only had 4 missiles. He sped his ship forward, gaining on Ilithor. He fired again. Boom! Ilithor lost another 1,000 hit points. Aaron was getting tired of messing around with this boss. He pulled out his super missile, the SP1000. He was trying to take aim, but Ilithor was moving quickly, veering from left to right and back again at a rapid pace. He whipped around the side of another asteroid and Aaron followed, setting the SP1000’s sights on Ilithor. Aaron saw his moment as the target locked and fired. The missile soared through space and blew Ilithor into millions of tiny particles. Achievement unlocked: Slimer—defeat Ilithor. Suddenly, Aaron felt a tap on his shoulder. He looked up at his mother. “Time to go, hon.” He steered the cart out to the parking lot, knowing he’d be back next week.
The Experience
While I was doing my regular grocery shopping once I saw a young man in the store who made shopping with his mother at age 10 or 11 (a ghastly thing to many boys that age) into a game. The mother would instruct him to put something in the cart and he would do so, giving himself achievement points quietly. At one point he took a corner too fast and bruised his leg, which was a loss of hit points in his words. I was so amused since I have a gamer hubby that I just had to share this story. I hope you enjoyed it! Have you ever overheard anything interesting that inspired you to write something or document the story in a journal or scrapbook? It could be your children at play or a conversation you heard in a public place. Please tell me about it in the comments section.
One Proud Auntie
Happy New Year all! My humblest apologies for not posting last week, but between the holidays and the stomach flu, the odds were against me. Here is my first post of the New Year. Enjoy!
The eldest of my niece and nephews, Garrett, is six years old and enrolled in a parochial kindergarten. As part of their Christmas program, the kids did the Christmas song from Alvin and the Chipmunks. You know the one—Christmas, Christmas time is here; Time for joy and time for cheer–in those cute little high pitched voices. My nephew got to be Alvin, the lead chipmunk, and what a darling little chipmunk he is! He had 2 speaking lines and 2 solo singing lines. Living 1 ½ hours away, I was unable to attend, but shortly after the program, I got word from my brother that it was a success. A few days later, I was finally able to see the video of his performance at our family Christmas. The house was noisy and I was watching this on a phone, so I missed quite a bit of it, but I have heard him sing the Johnny Appleseed prayer for God and family when we have family gatherings. I was curious as to how he did in front of a crowd since he’s always a willing little singer for just us. It was rather difficult to hear since the recording was made with the phone I was using to view it. It was also a distance from the performers, not to mention there were 20 or so of us gathered for Christmas and the kids were running around. Still through all that, loud, proud, and very much on pitch, I heard a voice sing, “And I still want a hula hoop!” He wasn’t quiet or bashful in the least. In fact, he was all smiles each time it was his turn to speak or sing. All I could think was, Someone inherited my genes! There may be another little performer in our midst! Excitedly, I said to my brother, “He gets it from his Auntie Marsha.” My brother lightly scoffed and then replied, “I don’t know where else it would have come from.” Greg and Amanda are not performers and I still love to do solos and duets with my husband in church. I love the accolades from an audience as much now as I did when I was young. Sometimes I feel guilty for loving it the way I do when the praise is supposed to be for God, not me. I developed a love of performing at a fairly young age and once I had more opportunities to try out for choirs and plays, I did so and often obtained a role of some sort. I thought the love of singing and performing would die with me since I don’t have children of my own. I got my interest in the arts from my Grannie. I have never particularly nudged Garrett or encouraged him to sing, but I am proud nonetheless. I was so filled with joy and told him what a great job he did. Not many kids his age are brave enough to do that, much less able to do it well and on pitch. They picked the right kid for the job and I was told that several of the parents there said Garrett stole the show. I think so, too, not that I am biased or anything.
Have any of the kids in your life done something that just made you burst with pride? Please share in the comments section. It can be anything, even their first word or first step. Just share what the kids you love do to make you proud and happy to be a part of their lives.
It Works!
This past Sunday, my family had their Christmas party, a time of food, gifts, and fun watching the kids, commenting on how much they’ve grown just since Thanksgiving. We met at my aunt and uncle’s and they have a large, open floor plan and a huge yard for the kids to run around in. I got some great footage of the kids racing from one end of the lawn to the other. After they had worn themselves out a bit, we opened presents. Adelyn and Garrett vied for packages to hand out to family members so, of course, the opening of gifts was mass chaos as the kids ran back and forth. Grant sat in his Daddy’s lap and my brother helped him open his gifts. He is 2 ½, just one month younger than Adelyn. At first, the gift he was most excited about was a set of board books in a collector’s box that was similar to a lunchbox. He said, “I’m going to take this to my work.” “You’re work?” “Yes!” We didn’t even know he held down a job, but we are assuming he meant daycare. He carried them around proudly for quite some time with the latch loosening occasionally and spilling the books onto the floor. He would carefully pick them all up and put them in backwards as kids do.
My brother decided to open the remote control police car I had gotten Grant for Christmas, just to see what he would do with it. He wanted to teach him how to use a remote control. I got out the batteries, handing them to my brother. Once he flipped the switch on the car, lights and sirens sounded. Grant was intrigued, but it wasn’t until the car began to move that hilarity ensued. My brother had the controller and raced the car down the hall. Grant shrieked, “It works!” and took off after it. He caught it, carried it back to the leather couch and with total delight on his face, watched as it moved back and forth. Then he put it down on the carpet where movement speed is impeded, but once it got off the carpet and onto the tile floor, it sped down the hall again. Sometimes he would crawl, and sometimes he would run, but every time Grant would shriek, “It works!” with total delight in that gravelly voice of his. The process of bringing it to the couch, putting it on the carpet, and then chasing it down the hall was repeated several times. Then my brother said, “Come here, Grant-Grant. I’ll show you how it works. Bring your car over.” Grant dutifully carried his car over, but as soon as Greg would hit the button to make it go, off Grant would run, chasing it. Greg even tried to steer it back between Grant’s legs, but Grant was pretty quick and would catch it, holding it up proudly.
Grant didn’t want to know how it worked. As far as he was concerned, that car was magical and would race away from him for no apparent reason other than for him to catch it. Every time my brother tried to show him how it worked, he refused to listen. He just wanted to chase it. We all laughed and laughed repeatedly as he would tear off after it. What did I learn? Christmas is a magical time of year. For some it is more difficult than others. I do acknowledge that. But there are magical things happening all around us whether you see it with charities raising unexpected funds, people recovering from tragedy, or the Christ child in Bethlehem. It is the time of year to believe in magic and allow ourselves to be mystified by the glory of it. What is your magical Christmas experience, whether from this year or years past? Please share in the comments section. Refuse to see the remote control this year and just believe in magic!
Adelyn’s Request
Adelyn is, for now at least, my favorite niece. I can say that fairly because she is my only niece unless my sister-in-law has a girl in May. Adelyn is my sister and brother-in-law’s only child and, therefore, extraordinarily special. A month ago today on Veteran’s Day, Brenda and Adelyn came to visit me and spend the day shopping and playing. I wish I could show you a picture of her, but for understandable reasons, Brenda and Brett do not wish for their daughter’s image to be made available on the internet and I respect that wish. I will tell you a little about her before I tell you the story I want you to hear. On command, Adelyn will make one of two faces—the cute face and the mad face. The cute face consists of her folding her hands under her chin, tilting her head to one side like a puppy and smiling really big while opening her brown eyes as wide as they will go. The mad or mean face is where she puckers her lips into a mean looking frown, squints her eyes, and crosses her arms across her chest, much like her mother used to do when she was mad at that age. She talks quite a bit and is quite eloquent for a 2 ½-year-old. She smiles and laughs a lot and is usually talked out of a rage fairly easily. She is quite a sweet and thoughtful girl, too, as you will soon find out.
As soon as the knock came at the door, the cats scattered. They do not like strangers. And as soon as they heard a small child’s voice, the boys dove under the bed, for they do not like small children in the least. Iris is the only one who will play with a child. I don’t know if it is out of sheer curiosity or if she really doesn’t mind children that badly. Adelyn, as far as I know, had never gotten to play with a kitty before. We showed her the “fishing pole” and unlike other children, she didn’t wave the stick end in Iris’s face. She actually waved the “boa” with the feathers on the end around, and much to her delight, after a few shy moments, Iris played with her. I had gotten out some crayons and paper and I asked her to color some pictures for me. My favorite is the one where she was trying to trace her hand and Mommy helped. Mommy helped her sing her Sunday school songs as well so I could hear what she had learned. She colored for quite a while and then played with Iris some more before we went shopping. She was fairly quiet in the stores and even fell asleep long enough for Brenda to show me what Adelyn wanted most fervently for Christmas (the wish has been fulfilled and I will be giving it to her on Sunday). Upon coming back to the apartment, she played with Iris, colored one more picture, and then left.
When she arrived home, her daddy, Brett, inquired as to what she did that day. She said she played with a kitty and had a birthday party. Apparently she had been longing for another birthday party for quite some time (her birthday isn’t until May) and I gave it to her! I have no idea what I did to make her day so special as to tell her daddy she had a party, but apparently it left an impression on her.
Ever since then, on some nights as she is saying her prayers, she will pray for me. My sister will get her started with “God bless Mommy, Daddy, and Adelyn” and she throws in “and Aunt Marsha!” Sometimes she will list off some of her day care friends, but include me at the end. It isn’t every night, but it has occurred several times. I sent her a card thanking her for her prayers and gave her a picture of herself at my house. I told her I pray for her, too, that she’ll eat more food and be healthy and strong (she’s a picky eater). When she got my card, she recounted an event from her visit here of how a kitty (Iris) tried to drink her milk. She remembers every detail.
So what did I learn from this 2 ½ -year-old girl? I learned that intercessions with God can come from anyone anywhere, even those you don’t expect. I’ve been having some problems of my own and I am convinced that God whispered in her ear and told her I needed her prayers. Nothing inspires you like having someone that young who barely even knows who God is, yet believes in him wholeheartedly, pray for you. I learned that God sends his answers in small packages like Adelyn. Her request did not fall on deaf ears. If God doesn’t hear the simple prayers of a 2 ½-year-old, then who does he hear? If Adelyn believes in God when she barely knows anything about him, then certainly I can believe. I have been raised since the cradle to believe and it was so much easier as a child. Now I get to relive that childlike belief through her and my nephews. I am inspired by Adelyn’s request that God watch over me and now I know I will get through these tribulations of mine with God’s help. I, too, must ask God to help me, for I have trouble praying for myself. But if Adelyn can remember to pray for me, I can remember to pray for me, too. Thanks be to God!
A Lady's Tales 