Musing.

My art muse is riding my ass lately. I think I've been a disappointment to both her and to myself the past few months. Very little art has been created back there in the twilight zone that has become my studio. I don't blame her for being pissed. I'm certainly not happy about it either. In fact, I'm down right cranky.

I want to paint. I really do. I get a bazillion ideas flying around my head while I'm busy trying to do other things that require my attention. There is so much to do I'm having trouble balancing it all. My house doesn't clean itself, nor will the laundry jump up and take itself to the washing machine. These new kittens, while unlike a puppy that is freakishly needy and has to be attended to like a small child, still need care and attention. The store takes up a huge amount of time and I expected it to be that way for the first few months of being open. Family and friends can't be put on a back-burner either. All of it has taken priority over being able work on creating art.

Something's got to give a little or I'm going to hurt somebody. Art is my outlet, my creative, meditative, introspective, hermitish way of getting along in this life. I may not be a Rembrandt but that isn't the point. Doing the work for the way it feels is the reason I do it. I can't imagine my life if I'm not creating, not painting. I simply can't. There is almost a "Why bother?" feeling at the thought of not being able to mush watercolors around on some paper. If you are an artist, you'll understand that feeling. Same would go for anyone else who has a deep love of doing something meaningful whether it is painting, making music, or whatever. Just try to imagine never doing that thing for the rest of your life. Kinda' scary, isn't it?

So, okay, life has temporarily sidelined my art. It's happened before and I'm sure it will happen again sometime down the road - hopefully way, way, way far down the road! For now, I feel that the sidelining has got to stop and I need to get busy mushing paint. Question is, what to paint? Aarg! It's a dilemma. A conundrum. A thorn in my side frustration that my bazillion ideas got lost somewhere. Damn.

Well, maybe that's not completely true. I have an idea floating around. I'm just really stuck on how to accomplish it. I've been looking at the work of other artists, mulling things around in my head. There are a number of artists I admire. You've got the golden oldies: Michelangelo, Dali, Mucha, Rackham, Rockwell, Wyeth, Klimt, Waterhouse and a host of others. You've got current artists: Helena Nelson Reed, Stephanie Law, Brom, Daniel Merriam, Linda Ravenscroft, Maxine Gadd, A. Andrew Gonzalez, Brian Froud, Kasey H. Moran, Linda Joyce Franks, Johanna Pieterman and a slew of others. Then there are literally hundreds in between. I could create pages upon pages of the names of artists whose work I admire right down to my toes and back again. And I've been cruising the internet checking them out.

It's both intimidating and inspiring. Then again, spending time looking at other artist's work is also keeping me from being in the studio creating my own.

Thing is, I'm still looking for that "personal style" my art is missing. Take any one of the aforementioned artists and you'd be able to readily identify a painting as theirs without even seeing their signature on the image. The frustrating thing for me is I know what I want to do, I just don't know how to do it. Ain't that a lovely thing? One of my big self-imposed problems is that I have a hard time just 'testing the waters' and 'giving it a whirl' when it comes to painting. I always seem to need a plan of action, a layout of what's going to go on that paper or canvas. It's very hard for me to be spontaneous when it comes to creating much of my work. Abstracts are the exception. Everything else gets hours and hours of thinking and planning. I spend so much time getting reference material, figuring the overall scheme, and other stuff before I ever put brush to paint.

My best buddy and compadre artist, Kasey H. Moran, whose work I'm a huge fan of, just kills me sometimes. She can doodle some ideas in a sketchbook, pick one to start from, draw it off on canvas with a stick of charcoal, and then starts slingin' paint. She works very intuitively, letting the work tell her what to do and she just goes with the flow. If it isn't working for whatever reason, she'll just whip out the gesso, cover it up and start again. She doesn't get wound up over whether or not the proportion is exact, whether or not the highlighting or shadowing is exact, or even if she paints a woman blue instead of natural flesh tones. And her work is amazing to me. I have one of her paintings hanging in my living room and I can stare at it, awed, for hours.

Her work is so expressive, so very much her own, and has a wonderful "Kasey" style. Yes, I envy her, but in a good way. Let me show you an example of her work ....

Blanket Girls
Acrylic on canvas, 36"x36"

Key Lady
Acrylic on canvas, don't remember the size - something like 36"x48"

These web photos don't do the originals justice. Not by a long shot. I think they are wonderfully vibrant, interesting, exciting, beautiful pieces of art. I wish I owned them both. Hell, I wish I owned all of her originals. Of course, if I did I wouldn't get anything done for sitting around staring at them.

Speaking of sitting around ... sitting here is also a deterrent to being in the studio. Maybe I should just shut up and go paint ......

Namaste, y'all ...

Mondays ...

My sentiments exactly.

Tuck Tail and Run

It's been a rough week here at the House Of Vermin. The veterinarian appointment on Tuesday went well, all things considered. Tuck was given a clean bill of health and his first round of shots. Tesah, on the other hand, had a nasty case of ear mites, a head cold, and was deemed still too young for her shots. Gotta' be eight weeks of age. She's barely pushing six, seven at best. And even if she was old enough, she was just too sick to get them because they may have made her worse. Poor kid.

She did at least get a treatment for the ear mites. As small as the wee vermin is the vet's assistant still had to take her to the back and get another assistant to help her hold Tesah while she did her ears. My God, that kitten screamed like she was being skinned alive. I sat in the exam room with Tuck and cried like a baby. When the vet and the assistant came back in they were quite surprised to see me sitting in the chair, boo-hooing up a storm. All I could say was, "'scuse me y'all, I'm a bit emotional right now." I briefly told them about Creepy's passing. They both just nodded their heads in sympathy and understanding. Tesah looked about as soggy from the ear mite treatment as I'm sure I did from crying. They also give her medicine, liquid stuff with an eye dropper, for me to force down her throat twice a day. Not fun. Tesah is little, yeah, but she's a squirmer with needle sharp claws.

Since Tesah was sick and obviously felt like a deflated party balloon (spent the first three days here sleeping) and because head colds & ear mites are contagious, I decided to keep her secluded in the master bathroom/bedroom for the rest of the week. Just like when I first brought Tuck home. Bathroom at night, bedroom & bath during the day. I figured the peace and quiet would be good for her. Tuck had been driving her nuts, attacking her, making her holler at the top of her lungs, giving her no rest. He thought she was the best toy in the world. Tuck, naturally didn't like the new arrangement at all. Whenever I went into the bedroom to check on Tesah he would fret, meowing and poking his paws under the door until I came back out.

Of course, every time I opened the bedroom door ... ZING! WIGGLE! DASH! ZOOM! ... Tuck made a greased-lightening fast break past me into the room. I'd have to snatch him and take him back out with me. It got to be a real pain in the ass because I'd go check on her every 30 minutes to an hour. I knew, even if she was just sleeping, I needed to give her attention, let her get used to me, and take her to her food and water bowls or the little box. Until her felt well enough to ramble around on her own she needed extra care. Doing nothing but sleeping for three days had kept her from exploring and discovering the lay-of-the-land.

After a couple more days of rest, lots of food and water, and her medicine twice a day, Tesah started perking up. She began wandering around and playing with some of the toys. I started spending a little more time with her each time I went in the room, trying to judge her health, strength and agility. I knew it wouldn't be long before she would have to be re-introduced to Tuck. He's a lot bigger, stronger, and operating at full tilt kitty boogie. I wanted Tesah as healthy and strong as possible.

While Tesah needed extra care, I still had to pay attention to Tuck. He's a love muffin and very snuggly. He doesn't like being alone. He's okay as long as I'm at least in the same room, even if I'm working on the computer, and he can come over during his breaks between killing all the cat toys and generally flinging himself around the house in a spastic kitten frenzy. I look forward to his naps, believe me. So, between the two, it's like have a couple of toddlers.

There has also been the emotional roller-coaster of dealing with Creepy's passing. For a couple of days during this past week it was all I could do to take care of myself, like taking a shower, much less two needy kittens. Creepy's absence is really starting to sink in. She doesn't greet me when I come home. She's not there, snuggling close to me at night. The little routines we had have been abruptly terminated. My life feels like it's been turned upside down. Everything has changed. I can't tell you how many times I caught myself staring off into space, tears in my eyes, missing my girl. It's probably not something a lot of people understand, but I feel about my "pets" like some people feel about their kids. They get the full dose of any maternal instincts I have because I don't have human children. Losing Creepy, for me, is very much like losing a real child. It hurts like Hell and there is an emptiness, a loneliness and deep sense of loss I feel every minute of the day. It will be this way for a long time to come. But, I have to keep going and doing. I can't sit and nurse my grief no matter how much I want to. I have two new kittens who need me. I have the store. I have artwork to do. I have my husband. I have a life I have to live. That's the way it goes, and it goes on, one day at a time.

So the day finally came that I decided Tesah and Tuck needed to start their time together. The day before yesterday I let them play for awhile, watching closely, making sure it was really play and not Tuck beating the snort out of Tesah. She's so small and delicate compared to him. When they wrestle, he hardly makes a sound. She, on the other hand, wails, growls, and screeches like she's being skinned alive. Honestly, it made me a nervous wreck, afraid she was going to get seriously hurt. After a couple of hours I had all I could stand and put Tesah back in the bedroom. They proceeded to harass each other under the door.

Yesterday, after I got home from work, I let them play again. And again, I kept a close eye on how they behaved. Much to my surprise, and relief, she gave back as good as she got. Tesah chased Tuck, stalked and pounced on him, generally smacked him around a good bit. He loved every minute of it ... until he decided it was nap time and tried to relax on the rug at the front door beside my chair. I think Tesah is a can of worms Tuck's not so sure he's totally happy to have opened .......

Meh! Nothing interesting about this ...

Hey now, this thing moves!

Attack!

I'm sure I saw it go up here ...

Yessssss!

A tasty little nibble ...

And a nice big bite!

Hey wait, I was chewin' on that!

Holy crap! I barely got out alive! I better keep my tail tucked!

Namaste, y'all ....

Wee vermin in the house.

Creepy's passing has left a void in not only my life, but Tuck's a well. They were just beginning to connect. Had a couple of nose-touching moments which were so sweet it almost brought me to tears. Creepy was actually learning to play with him and a couple of happy cat chases occurred in the days before she died. While I'd always had at least two cats together, Creepy has always been alone. It was difficult enough to accept her in my life after Medford and Scooter disappeared. The thought of getting Creepy a playmate when she was little seemed like a mountain I just couldn't climb. Thus, technically speaking, it was my fault she hated cats. She was raised solitary, had "Mom" all too herself for almost eight years.

Last year I thought about getting another kitten. Truthfully, I was too afraid Creepy would never learn to accept one, and quite possibly, seriously hurt it. I decided against it. Then, as the Fates would have it, three weeks ago Tuck came into our life. Yes, Creepy freaked over him in the beginning, but as I said, amazing things were developing. God, it made me so proud of my girl when she tried to play with Tuck! Then Creepy died, leaving me, and leaving Tuck.

Saturday we both, Tuck and I, wandered around the house in a daze. The rest of that day after she died he wouldn't play. Several times I found him laying in the spots Creepy used to lay to nap. He ate out of his own food bowl. Y'all, from the very first day of being loose in the house, ignoring his and eating out of hers seemed to be a great thing. Yet in that strange, inexplicable way of animals, and as young as he is, he knew something was seriously wrong in our world ...


At one point in the afternoon, when the husband was inside taking a short water break from digging Creepy's grave (I had him dig it in one of her favorite spots behind the house where there are trees - lots of roots and hard red clay dirt to have to dig through) he looked at me and said, "I don't mean to add salt to the wound but maybe you need to hurry up and get another kitten for Tuck's sake." As bad as I felt, as much as my heart squeezed up at the thought of another new kitten being in the house, I knew he was right. I told him about how I'd had a dream nearly a week ago that Tuck was playing with a little buff colored kitten and Creepy was sitting off to the side, barely within the range of my peripheral vision, quietly watching them. I was thinking it meant I was going to end up with three cats ...... not that Creepy would die. Guess being psychic didn't help me with that one at all. Oh yeah, you don't have to tell me knowing in advance wouldn't have made her death any easier. Trust me, I know.

All day Sunday I tossed the idea around in my head that maybe I should do the opposite. Maybe I should consider finding a new home for Tuck? After stewing on it for awhile I started to mention it to the husband, but before I could, he made the comment that I shouldn't wait to look for a kitten, that Tuck was already lonely and that he, the husband, considered Tuck a part of the family and loves him. Obviously, I kept my mouth shut. Instead, I promised on Monday I would start looking for a kitten for Tuck.

Again, the Fates stepped in.

My dear friend, Sue, called. The first words out of her mouth were, "How about a little gray tabby kitty?" Y'all, I am a complete and total goob for gray kitties. My Medford was gray. Anyway, I asked her how old it was and she said somewhere around Tuck's size. Sue was at the Animal Outreach booth they set up in front of Lowe's Hardware sometimes on the weekends. I asked her how much and how late they would be there. She said, "If you want it, it's on it's way to you." My Sue. She's amazing. What would I do without her?

Half an hour later she's at the door with this tiny speck of dust bunny fluff .....




The husband immediately fell in love. Head over heels. Wanted to stay home from work and play with the pretty new kitty kind of love. I'll admit, if I were going to pick a new kitty, I would have picked her. She's delicate and too sweet for words. From the way she reacted to the food bowl, growling like a beast and clamping her tiny paws protectively over it, it's sadly obvious she's had a rough start to life. Her ears are filthy and she's got a bit of a runny right eye. Tuck thinks she's the best new toy in the world. But he is a little bigger and I have to watch out, jumping to her rescue if he starts to rough her up too much.

We've got a 10:30 am appointment for the vet today. Everybody is getting a good once-over, shots and baths and all kind of vet inflicted indignities on little kitty persons. I think it's sort of like the cat version of a women's gynecological appointment. We women really hate it, but ya' gotta' do whatcha' gotta' do. Wish us luck.

I'm still reeling from Creepy's death. I'm torn between wanting to take care of these two babies and push them away because my heart misses my orange fluff ball so much. I'm sure, given time, my grief will lessen. I'll become attached to the new kittens. I am, after all, a cat person. And for now, I most certainly won't deny them love and attention just because it's really Creepy I'd rather be holding in my arms instead of a new kitten I don't really even know yet. The bond with these two will develop and grow in time. Life isn't always fair, isn't always easy, but maybe the Divine brought these two into my life to ease the loss of Creepy's passing. Maybe caring for their immediate needs will help keep me occupied enough to not dwell overmuch on how badly I miss her. This is what I tell myself. While it's not the happiest of times to come in, I have to say "Welcome to the family, Tesah."

Namaste, y'all ...

My girl ...

I think this is the hardest thing I've had to write about in a very long time. Early Saturday afternoon, July 5th, my darling baby girl, Creature (aka Creepy) unexpectedly passed away.

My orange fluff ball is gone.

I can't believe I just typed that sentence.

I confess, I'm still in a state of shock. One minute she was fine and the next she was gone. I believe she died of a stroke or an aneurysm. I'm indescribably grateful that when it happened she was in my arms and it was very quickly over. Two minutes. In two short minutes my life has changed completely. Intellectually I realize she isn't with me anymore on this physical plane ... emotionally, I'm scared that if I really let myself start crying I won't be able to stop. My heart feels like a rock in my chest.

Eight years ago the husband and I were living in a rental place, in the process of buying our first home together. I had two cats (though I wasn't supposed to) at the time. I really wanted to keep them inside until we moved but both of them loved being outside too much. They always had and they only stayed inside for a couple of weeks to acclimate whenever I have moved from place to place over the years. Medford, a beautiful and unbelievably sweet gray tabby, had been with me for 11 years. Scooter, a silly white guy, had been with me for about five years. Long story short, in June of that year they both disappeared. Poof! Vanished into thin air. To this day I have no idea, though I have suspicions I hate to even contemplate, as to what happened to them. I was horribly upset and swore I would never have anymore cats. Losing Scooter was bad, but losing Medford, well, I still grieve and miss her terribly. I can hardly think about her without crying.

One Sunday evening 'round about August or September, the husband and I were at home, in the kitchen cleaning up the breakfast dishes, when we heard a neighbors' dog in the front yard barking. I looked out the kitchen window and saw him standing there, barking at the front porch. Just then I heard a tiny meow. I mashed my face to the window, looked toward the porch, and saw a little orange fuzz ball between the railings. I told the husband to go to the back door and call the dog around to the back of the house so that I could open the front door and get the kitten.

As fast as I opened the door this little bitty, scared shitless, kitty came flying in and climbed straight up my leg and into my arms. Shaking and squeaking like a mouse, it snuggled under my chin and clung to me for dear life. From it's size I guessed it to be about 7-8 weeks old at best. All I could think of was, "Well, damn, what do I do with this?" Honestly, I didn't want her. I was still too emotionally raw from losing Medford. But I figured the least I could do was give it some food and water, keep it safe until I could call the Human Society the next day. All the remainder of that afternoon and evening the kitten stayed glued to my lap if I was sitting down, or scrambled around under my feet if I got up for anything.

I spent some time that day looking around for more kittens but never found any, nor any sign of how the kitty came to be on my porch. We didn't have close neighbors, lived on a main road but still 10 miles from town, and all I could figure was someone had set out kittens somewhere near our house. When I checked the kitty over I discovered it was a she, was sort of skinny and undernourished, and her claws were shredded and bloody. She was also scared of everything and particularly horrified of being under a blanket or put in a box. Which, of course, made me assume she must have clawed her way out of something, box or bag. I felt bad for her, cleaned her up and doctored her paws, but wasn't going to get attached.

On Monday I tried calling the pound to find out their hours so I could take her to them. No one answered the phone. All day, calling every 30 minutes, I got no answer. The next day I even drove the 20 miles to see if they were there, to check the hours they were open. No one was there. The door sign said they were supposed to be open 7:30 am to 4:00 pm. I went home frustrated. I kept calling every hour or so. I called, every day, for a week. Never got anyone on the phone. If I went to town and drove over to check no one would be there.

By this time the kitten was starting to grow on me. She was my shadow. Hated to let me out of her sight. Screeched like a banshee if I went out of the room and she couldn't see me. She snuggled beside me, as close as she could get herself, in bed at night. One day near the end of that week I was kicked back on the sofa reading a book. She was snooping around the living room and checking things out. When she got brave and tried to kill the curtain I called her a creature she came running over to me, climbed up on the sofa, nudged my book out of the way and curled herself into a ball next to my heart. She reached her little paw up and touched my chin. She started purring for the first time.

I was hooked and cooked.

She got named, as you can guess, Creature.

I stopped trying to call the Human Society and took her to the vet for her shots, etc. Spent money at the store for toys, scratching post, cat litter and all the stuff a kitty should have. Since Scooter and Medford had preferred to be outside there were things I didn't have in the house. And since I wasn't really supposed to have pets, I didn't want a repeat of the vanishing act. I knew I had to keep Creature inside, hidden, until we got moved into our new house.

Creature, who's monikur eventually became "Creepy", was, without doubt, a "Momma's girl". Whatever happened to her in her first few weeks of life left an impression. She would hide from anybody except me. She barely tolerated the husband's presence when he was home. If anyone came over they didn't realize I even had a cat unless they saw the toys. But with me, she was loving and sweet. She was in my lap if I was sitting down, playing at my feet if I was standing up, tagging along behind me if I was walking through the house, snuggling close if I was in bed sleeping. If I talked to her, she talked back.

Over the years she gradually lost some of her skittishness and would stay in the same room if people came over. She began to like the husband, playing with him or sometimes sitting next to him on the sofa if he was watching a movie. At some point, maybe two or three years ago she began to sleep next to him on the bed sometimes, laying just at the perfect distance from him for him to be able to reach her and scratch her shoulders the way she liked. As more time passed she became friends with some of my friends. She really liked Sue and Paul became her "boyfriend". She trained him to get her pounce treats whenever he came over and rewarded him with a show of flirtation ... rolling over, showing him her tummy and batting her eyes.

I'm not sure when exactly it happened, but the most dramatic change in her behavior was to become one of the most precious to me ... sofa napping under the blanket with me. I have an afghan I keep folded over one arm of the sofa for taking naps or if I get cold while watching a movie or reading. I don't care where she was in the house, she had an incredible cat-sense when I got on the sofa and covered up with that afghan. She was johnny-on-the-spot to climb under it with me. I had to lay on my side, with my back pressed again the back of the sofa, knees drawn up to form a little snuggle spot next to my stomach for her. She would get under the blanket, circle around a couple of times then tuck up close to me and start purring so loud you could hear her across the room. I also had to put my hand on her side, letting it just rest there, or she would keep wiggling around until I did. We had some awesome "cat naps" and movie watching/reading afternoons curled up together under that afghan.

I could sit here for hours, telling you story after story about my girl, my Creepy. I could spend the rest of my life telling you how special she was, about how much she came to mean to me over the past eight years. Instead, I will fill the rest of this post with pictures to show how incredibly beautiful she was. Sadly, there is no way these images can express the deep love I felt in my heart for her, nor the infinite joy she brought to my life for having chosen me to be her Mom. The time was too short, but it was a living definition of a true blessing.