Never give up! it is wiser and better Always to hope, than once to despair. ~ Martin Farquhar Tupper ~

And Hope is her name. A 4 week old, stumbling, manic kitten who loves her ostrich meat and sleeps a lot. It's been a while since I had new life in my world, the unicorn meat eating cats are 11, and I love it. She is Hope itself. A friend who is 18 spent the night to play with kitten self, and she is hope as well. As ancient as I am at 47, I barely remember being that young. Although I imagine Grandma Moses would think the same about me.

And there is something worse than lying in the dark, listening to the cat heave, and knowing you can't get there in time...having the cat become frantic and seek to outrun it's nausea.

Chicken and collards and cornbread for dinner and scored some squash and cukes when I took the friend home. How Southern can ya get?

Hope

Did you know that a group of Jewish librarians hold the largest collection of anti-Semitic works in the world?  Freedom of Speech is only secondary to Freedom of Thought.

Meanwhile, I am moving on and fostering a 4 week old kitten I have named Hope, for the SPCA. The dog loves the kitten, the unicorn meat-eating cats hate her. After all, they think unicorn meat is hard to come by. I am breaking her into the world of catness easy, by starting her off on ostrich meat. Unicorn meat is an acquired taste. But she should start by knowing the privileged rank she is born to.

Unicorns are Territorial

The unicorn meat eating cats have finally adopted the new dog. He's a corgi mix, and very territorial; at first, everyone had conflicting interests. But he stuck his nose in Echo's butt and that did it. The orphans are just too used to having a dog raise them to reject that kind of advance.

I was kissing Eddie's nose one time, and my mother said, "Don't do that, dogs lick their butts." I replied, "Eddie's too fat to lick his butt." And he promptly leaned over and licked the cat's butt. O, the irony of animals...

The new dog's name is Maxwell, Max for short. Although he is called, depending on the circumstances, Maxi-pad, Maximum, Max-a-Million, etc. I thought about Peanut Butter for a name, he's that color, but rejected it as frivolous. He doesn't have too much more dignity than that, but he has some. The funny thing about corgi's is, they have full sized beagle bodies and the legs of a dachshund. I think Maximum is mixed with beagle, so he missed out on having all that hair, thank God. What he does have, he is quite willing to shed.

Stinkbugs

There is a plague overwhelming the South. The South USA, I mean. We call them Stinkbugs, and they really reek. It makes skunk smell seem friendly somehow. At least one can get rid of it by lighting a match. Sulfur really doesn't smell that bad compared to stinkbugs.

I have been reading David Sedaris, any David Sedaris, and know that all of his stories of Raleigh, North Carolina, are true. No matter what he says, they are all true. My relatives on my mother's side live in Raleigh, and I can believe any story put out. I had a great-Uncle in Raleigh we called "Uncle Frogface." That is the epitome of life in Raleigh.

I remember walking into Aunt Ella's house on a summer afternoon and hearing nothing but a ticking clock. I remember my Grandfather sinking a watermelon in the local spring and pulling it out, cold and dewy, for dinner. I remember Mr. Honeycutt's peacocks and trying to pull plums off of a tree, whilst dodging bulls and our great-uncle Mortimer. And the chickens. And the donkeys. And the horses...

Wobble in the Orbit*

of the planet is my mother spinning in her grave, as Douglas Adams so succinctly pointed out. I now have a tattoo, gentle readers. It is the size of a Border Collie print on the inside of my right forearm, as jet black as Eddie was. As solid as the memory of his first jumping up on me in delight, paws distended and dancing. As joyful as his laughing mouth at the thought of being released from his 'run' at the League for Animal Protection. As joyful as any dog can be at the thought of running with the pack.

The unicorn meat-eating cats are able to escape me every morning now, although Minkins must come in by 10 am. Otherwise he is gone all day...man thing that he is. Romania has joined my list of hits. I love the Iron Curtain countries, literature and culture, and am glad I am making some kind of impression there. 

I am glad to see the Arab Spring persist in Syria. It's much harder to do without any physical support and shows true dedication.

Short But Sweet

My dog craves a fenced in yard and cat food. Unlike Edward, Max is not overweight. Yet. Cat food does tend to put the pounds on.

Back to regular NPR on weekday mornings. I love NPR, just not the weekend shows, besides "Car Talk." As a Southern woman, I am addicted to everyone else's car problems.

A Facebook friend wrote about a passenger on his airline that thought Hawaii was an international destination and wanted to know where she could change her currency. If you are in a car with this woman, you don't yell, "Navigator" at her and take off across country.

I am still painting my walls a creamy white. The final product is  so nice, who cares about the carcinogenic fumes my cats and I are sleeping in every night? Echo has started to glow in the dark, but I am sure they have planned some way to take it out on me. I HAVE to keep track of my checkbook. The little buggers can use my bank card.

I am planning for Maxwell to go to Field of Dreams in the nearby town of Vinton for some training. They have doggie day care, complete with naptime...who can beat that?

Speaking of dogs, a small black and tan mix was found wandering the streets of Dublin, Ohio with a small note attached, "My name is Chessy. I am 1 1/2 years old and I am a good dog. I need a good home. Sorry." How sad is that? Short but sweet, and it didn't help him in the end. I happen to know the person who found him will find him a good home if she can, but in this time of America's recession and full shelters, this story is not uncommon, except for the note.

Please help. Donate something to your local shelter. Anything. Any shelter. As great as no-kill shelters are, there just 'aren't enough homes for them all.'  And I think it takes some guts to volunteer at a kill shelter, knowing they aren't all going to make it and wanting to make a difference in their lives all the same.

I Love Ralph Lauren

I love my coffee, my dog, my unicorn meat eating cats, and a sheet set by Ralph Lauren. They don't have the plastic stuff on them that cheap sheets do. Now, this is of no interest to anyone but me, but I think sheets should smell like my Grandfather's cedar chest, if they are to function properly, like putting me to sleep. They should have a somewhat iron smell that cedar and my Grandfather's hair oil did. They should be crisp and cool when one slides into them, and the blanket should be handmade by Great-grandmother, or Martha Stewart.

Many evils are committed for hunger's sake, but it all really boils down to sheets. I have been hungry, poor, discouraged and lonely, but nothing makes up for it like a really nice set of sheets. And if you think I am just tired, think again. I am. My dog loves his bone, my cats have a passing fancy for catnip and I love Ralph Lauren. Is he dead or what?