#NameYourCarDay

PETUNIA

Today, I celebrate another “pet.” My Petunia. She is a 1991 Volvo 240DL - and presently ailing. Nothing gets me more frazzled than when this darling has a seizure. I love her; built like a tank. (What do they say about owners resembling their pets—it better not be true about cars). It is also a good thing I am no longer young and foolish. She is the only fire-engine red Volvo in town. Everyone knows her; hence they always know where I am (no dilly-dallying for me).

Monday night, I parked in my garage as usual, then got up bright and early Tuesday morning, ready to drive to the gym—to walk. Couldn’t shift out of “park.” None of the “Googled” solutions worked. Good thing my mechanic makes house calls—even though, in Arkansas, “right away” means “not quite right away - but soon.” (If you are lucky.) He finally got it so that I could drive it to his shop, parking it in “neutral.” (Yes, guys, I did set the handbrake.) I am now marooned for a few days awaiting a new shift lever.

Of course, I could always WALK the two miles to the gym to go and walk my usual two miles there...

Never EVER Say “Never”

     Why? Because you’ll be eating crow; or, in my case, fur.

     A while back, I posted just such an article (slightly snooty about my friends caving in by adopting another Corgy after they had said “enough, no more”).   Well, this time, the joke’s on me – but what a lovely thing having to admit.

     After Pasha passed so suddenly Over The Rainbow Bridge, I did indeed say “After Lilliput goes, that’s it. No more cats.”
      But former neighbors of mine didn't put too much creed into my protestations. And so, one day when I invited them for a glass of wine, they brought - and left - their 8-year old cat with me. They knew he would be loved - and free to roam the house (once Lilliput allowed him to), without having to contend with a gaggle of dogs.
      So, there he was: TINKER. What a Face! They had rescued the kitten back in Texas as a stray and, of course, took it to the vet, having named it "Tinkerbell."
     When they requested the vet to spay her, he shook his head. "Can't do. However, I can neuter him." Hence, not only was this cuddly kitten ignobly snipped where prescribed, but so was its name.

INTRODUCING TINKER

    I think he might have a little Maine Coon in his checkered DNA; perhaps also Ragdoll. (The Coon-part is my opinion and I am sticking to it). Another mysterious part may just be "Howler-Monkey." 
    On the dot, every night at 3:00 AM, he emits very loud and demanding yowls. Some nights, I resists - for an hour. But it's no use. I have to get up and give him a scoop of "crunchies." 

     The side-effect for Lilliput is not good. She has already gained at least two pounds through these additional feedings. 

 Snoozing all day without much exercise also keeps the pounds on

While they are not bosom-buddies yet, 

at least they are comfortable with synchronized sleeping.

 And there you have it: "Never say Never." 

I did, failed miserably - and am glad of it.

  

R.I.P. Sweet Pasha

Thursday, October 27, 2016 - 4:25 PM

Best Ever Cuddler,

Joy-Giver,

Kitten-Sitter,

Big Brother to Lilliput.

Out of the blue, Pasha cried as if in great in distress. I found him lying on the floor spread-eagle, panting frantically, his pupils dilated. When I picked him up he hung in my arms limp. When I put him down gently, he could not stand. I immediately called my vet and tore down the winding hill at top speed.

The vet took one look at him, then at me; she said that I needed to sit down. Pasha had developed a fatal blood clot and was in great pain as his blood was pooling in his hind quarters (Saddle Thrombus).

I sat with him as he went to sleep.

Thank you, sweetest of cats,

for the years of pure joy you brought me
(except, of course, when you bit me - but we know whose fault that was).

Lilliput already misses him - it's no fun having the pillow all to herself.

A Pirate and A Pony

What does a pirate have in common with a pony? 
They both inhabit Author Helen Hollick's newest Sea Witch adventure,
though only one of them lives on her Devon farm.
Alas, it isn't Jesamiah Acorne. That may be a good thing since this Exmoor Pony is described as "rather stubborn."

(Well, those of us who have made Jesamiah's acquaintance perhaps deducted the same thing about him - only in times of stress, of course.)

 You can read more about Helen's horses, ducks and Wonky Donk here:

https://leaningonthegate.blogspot.co.uk/

Helen's fifth book in the Sea Witch Series is available for Pre-Order now.

ON THE ACCOUNT
will set sail for purchase on July 7th

US:  http://tinyurl.com/z4vnt64    $5.99

UK: http://tinyurl.com/zff2reo £3.99

Read my Interview with Jesamiah Acorne on my other blog:

http://devilwinds.blogspot.com/

Meet a Jaguar

  This big cat is as deceptive and dangerous

 as the man who sits behind the wheel.

Read on my other blog, 
how Edward,
my oh so charming bad boy,
fits into the

Legends of the Winged Scarab series

http://devilwinds.blogspot.com/

(Of course, he does not appear in KHAMSIN -
that would make him way too old to still be charming the ladies the way he does with elan and impunity)

You can Download

Edward, Con Extraordinaire,

from Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B009BQZ1JY

Never Say Never

 ...because at the end of the rainbow bridge, there could be another little soul waiting just for you.

When I volunteered at the shelter, how often did I hear, "When this one is gone, that's it. No more pets."

When my friends told me about losing their beloved Corgi Tessa (right after having lost two of their other aged dogs), I couldn't blame them for feeling just that.

Well, yesterday, I heard that "Charlie" had come all the way from Texas up to North Central Arkansas via a couple of volunteer animal transporters.

"We found him on the Internet through a Corgi Rescue Group," my friends beamed. Hm, how come they were sniffing around on the Internet for corgies?

It turned out they had spied Charlie just in the nick of time, as the young dog had been scheduled to be "sent over the Rainbow Bridge" (via lethal injection) the very next day.

Cardigan Corgi Charlie, 

ready to be catered to and spoiled 

with home-cooking from his 

new daddy's own Recipes

(available from Amazon -
the recipe book, not Charlie. No way!).

               

         Dog Food Recipes by Rupert C. Robertson III

                                                                   Never say Never!









And don't fret. 
There is one for you Fussy Felines too:








http://www.amazon.com/Food-Recipes-Cats-Health-Problems

They Waited for Spring

This week, three friends had to tell me they lost their four-legged, much loved pets. Why suddenly now, I wondered. Then I realized: They all had waited for spring for them to cross over the Rainbow Bridge.

Squeaky, born and raised in Egypt before moving to the US, surely is an

"Old Soul."

I know they will always be fondly remembered, just as I often think of my first Himalayan, Bombo (who flew all alone from Denver to Boston at eight weeks old--and then joined me via American Airlines six months after I had moved to San Diego. At that time, he was nine years old and lived in all that sunshine until he was eighteen).

One day, I scooped a little starving tuxedo urchin off the rocks at the Redondo Beach Pier while visiting a friend.

I named her "Samantha (Sammy for short),"

because her fur was like black velvet ("Samt" in German).

My San Diego Himalayan, Tiffany, was seemingly glad to get a friend after Bombo had passed away.

Lastly, after driving with an already ailing seventeen-year old Tiffany all the way to Arkansas, rescued Turkish Van "NickNack" eased Tiffy's loss the very day after I played "It's Time to Say Goodbye" to Tiffy (bad idea actually, just prior to the final appointment with the vet - because it'll make you late due to a severe crying fit).

And so, as they pass through our lives, they stay in our hearts.

My poem, excerpted from "Memories of the Heart," is to remember all these loyal companions:

                A Last Wish

Spring, you joyous youthful knave,

touch me, smile at me, lend me your strength

to brace myself, and to be brave

against the icy winter’s length.

Spring, don’t waste the time, come quick, I pray.

I want to greet you just once more

before my breaking spirit goes its way

to pass eternity’s awaiting door.

Spring, I waited. Hoped so much to catch,

through my slowly closing, tired lid,

your first triumphant thawing patch

to tell me that you’d come.

            And Spring just did ...

Death by Toilet Tank

 When you get to a certain age – and live alone – invariably you ponder 'how will they find me one day.’ While I certainly hope it won’t be half-eaten by my two cats (being a writing hermit, nobody might miss me for weeks), the following scenario had not entered even my inventive mind.

Every couple of years, I look into my toilet tanks. Not just for something better to do, mind you, but to check on the bolts. Even though they are made of brass, they seem to disintegrate into mushy blobs after a while. It was time to change them.

Trip #1 to the hardware store. It may have been my accent, or the clerk’s perception...but I came home with bolts that (I found out after the tank leaked like a sieve) anchor the toilet to the floor! No wing-nuts, no rubber washers.                     

Wrong

Trip #2: Getting the right bolts – and while I was at it, also the big new seal between the tank and the toilet.

So, where does death come into all this, you ask?

Getting the old disintegrated bolts off, I forgot the nut between the tank and the toilet top – and used pliers on the bolt thread, naturally flattening it. Then, once I discovered the nut, no matter how I tried, I couldn’t get it off over the mangled threads.

Hacksaw! After thirty years of use, it took a while. I straddled the closed toilet seat, sawing away until my tongue hung out of my mouth.

Not only was the toilet seat slick, so was the seat of my pants. As I slid backwards, I didn’t want to rip the tank off by holding on to it. Within a split second, I was ignobly deposited onto my tailbone. As if that wasn’t embarrassing enough, my head whipped back and hit the tile floor rather hard.


Damn, I thought, that’s all I need. Being found on the bathroom floor with an old hacksaw in my hand ...

gnawed over by Pasha and Lilliput.
Not the scenario I had envisioned which often included lying in bed, a blissful smile on my lips, sexy nightgown on a recently-toned body (darn, I missed gym again this morning).

To add insult to injury, it took days of on-and-off tweaking the leak from the intake valve (that had never leaked before), and the flapper that also had not leaked before.

Trip #3: Bought new flapper – didn’t fit; leaked.

Trip #4: Another flapper. It fit, but still leaks, just less.

Apparently, Oprah has fixed a leaky toilet or two in her time.

Still, I think, I’ll wait a while before I tackle the perfectly functioning toilet in my guest bathroom...

Or, I might just call the plumber.



PS - The kitchen faucet has been dripping for a while - and I just happen to have a little repair kit handy...don't worry, I'll be standing up for that one.

New Year’s Resolution

Apart from the ever recurring resolution of “I’ll lose some weight this year”

and
“I’ll read more and eat less,”

my goal for 2016 (other than not falling off the ladder when I clean out my gutters) is to write at least one new novel:

Perhaps a stand-alone sequel (or prequel) to my Egyptian series that will grow to five books on January 6th.

Why else -- in Book 5, The Nile Conspiracy, would I have left several clues about the Khepri, a people long preceding my First Dynasty Egyptians? Why else indeed?

Now then, it’s time to conjure up new characters, sketch an outline, wonder how to start - and how to keep going. Nora Roberts was once credited for having this one fast and simple rule for writing a novel:

“Ass in Chair.”

Easier said than done when said chair is frequently ocupado.

Bah! Humbug!

Here we are once again, glowing with the warmth of eggnog, 

getting all tearful and cuddly for a day or two wishing everybody and their brother a ‘Happy One.’ A day or two? Really? Yup. Then all those smooshy sentiments are trashed in favor of year-end deals, exchanges, and ripping down the kilowatt-sucking ornaments in front of the house (unless you are Gretchen Wilson or a semblance of her “Red Neck Woman’ who proudly keeps those dreadful icicle lights up all year ‘round).

Why am I such a scrooge?

Because this is the very time when newly-purchased kittens and puppies are popped under the tree like a new pair of shoes—fit in, don’t pinch, and for heaven’s sake, don’t piddle.

Just like department stores having to cram unwanted gifts back into their year-end inventory, Animal Shelters all around the country are overwhelmed with Fido and Fluffy who didn’t quite fit the bill.

It’s so sad—yet so preventable. Every year, I hauled out my excerpt from Pasha’s book to post here – you can read last November's post yourself why not to bring a very confused and often frightened new four-legged member of the family into the throes of these festivities.

Rant over.

Why? Because right now, I have all my lamps on (no more burning candles in this house ever since Pasha stuck his bushy tail into one!), “Christmas in the Alps” is playing my favorite holiday songs from my long-lost youth, and I am getting all smooshy (though not on eggnog, mind you) - just the memories of simpler times. Tromping an hour through deep snow to go to midnight mass, a tree lit with real candles (I never had a pet then), and one or two gifts underneath. One was always, ALWAYS, a much-prized book.
Come to think of it, it is lovely to have a special time of the year to reflect, to be kind, and to be thankful for what we have.

I feel lucky to have my two sweet little rescued souls right here with me; are they really ten years old already? Time does fly; hence, we better make good use of it.
Oh, and by the way, 

Pasha and Lilliput 

do wish all of you a very Merry Christmas!

And so do I.
Bah! Humbug, my Paw!