When my son was a toddler, he would stand up and say, "Once atawna pine, " and continue his fairy tale.  It was about this time that an acquaintance at work rescued a part-Siamese kitty from a home where the disabled owner had died...leaving a litter of kitties to fend for themselves...until the owner's body was discovered.  Even then, the workers ignored the kittens until rescue day.  The ironic part is that besides the kittens, my acquaintance needed rescuing something bad.  She was part crazy, part wonderfully kind-hearted, and part perfect victim--always gravitating towards bizarre situations...and ultimately a bizarre marriage to a guy I worked with who seemed perfectly normal (but wasn't).  Anyway, that's how I got my very snuggly cat, Atawna 12 years ago.  She might have been a year old, perhaps younger.  Though I had an older cat (Cuddles--who was NOT cuddly, mind you), it was Tawny who became the "mother" of cats in our household.  A few years later we took on a brother and sister cat (2002, when the Angels played the Giants for the World Series and won) and named them Angel and Giant.  Tawny was certainly their "mother".  And then, when Cuddles (15 years old) left a few months ago and didn't come back, it was Tawny who suffered--suddenly becoming diabetic, and losing control of some of her bodily functions.  This morning, the day after Thanksgiving, while preparing to cook a large turkey dinner for just four people, it was apparent that the right thing to do was to put Tawny "to sleep".  So...I called around, got the best price (sounds disgustingly cold, doesn't it?), and took her in.  It was the right thing--at least that's what I'm telling myself.  My precious 3-year old wanted to go "watch her die"--not morbid like it seems, but sweet, because this little girl has a direct line to the BIG GUY up there, and I'm sure she would have offered her prayers...

And so now I am cooking The Big Dinner, and if there is a silver lining on this sad day, it is that I am taking solace in preparing this meal.  I feel no stress, just thankfulness to have something to do that requires little brain power, much love, and repetitive tasks (chopping onions, apples, celery and the like).  Perhaps I will finally become a good cook, and I can dedicate my first cookbook to "Tawny".  May you rest in peace sweet kitty.  Happy Thanksgiving...thanks for all the love and snuggles.

I think it's funny...and astoundingly beautiful how life simultaneously laughs at and supports me.  Kids ensure the "laughs at" part--because no matter how long I parent, there are still aspects of this marvelously daunting job that baffle and confuse me--and ultimately make me laugh at myself for thinking I'm anything other than regular.  The "supports me" part is when I think there is no time for my latent passions (like learning to draw/paint), and then I accidentally discover that my new friend and his wife are art teachers. 

"Knock knock," life says confidently. 

"Not now.  I'm busy." I reply as sweetly as possible.

"Let me in!" life hollers.  "Now!"

Sheepishly and chagrined I answer the door, "Come in?"

"Wipe that question mark off your face and get busy girl!" life says with a jaunty smile.

That's how it is.  And come to think of it, that's how it's always been with me.  I keep waiting to get a handle on my chaotic, busy life; thinking that if I could somehow get perfectly on top of things, expertly organized, infinitely patient, I would then be offered membership into the Superwoman Club.  You know it--it's the club for all the "other" moms you know who are perfectly on top of things, expertly organized, and infinitely patient.  So what if I learned a LONG time ago that the club only exists in the vapors of my mind, and so what if I know that other moms aren't really pulling EVERYTHING off effortlessly.  I still covet membership.  It's my birthright.  Right?  I'm a woman...I should be capable of absolutely everything. 

And then...when I become so serious that not even my mirror recognizes me, I hear the gentle laughter of God, as he enjoys the folly of the girl who sometimes just chooses not to answer the door. 

"Come in," I respond, "please do come in."

Speaking of sketchy:

Rat & Snake all snuggled up (not!)