Broken Jaw

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The Halloween Kitten. That’s the cut she has over her eye, healing up now. I don’t know how she got so hurt. Or how she survived coyotes and owls on her own. Three pounds of determined kitty.

Howdy. So a stray kitten showed up the day before Halloween. She is about a month and a half old, a tabby-calico-ginger short coat and the sweetest personality. Just purrs! Very clingy and needy, wants to be held. She seems more like a puppy than a kitten. 

So. She has a gash that’s mostly healed atop her little head. And there seems to be something truly funky about her mouth. Her lower jaw seems split. A birth defect? Or it’s, gulp, broken. She also has diarrhea.  I mean DIARRHEA. There’s a bit of pus or matter about her nose and at times seem in her mouth, so I rinsed her mouth out with a mild saline solution– warm water and salt. 

Long story short, with gory details left out about constant kitten watery glops of liquid poo…took her to the vet today as the diarrhea is not clearing up. I’ve had her on rice and watered down wet cat food for days, no milk, lots of water to keep her hydrated. 

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Here you can see her coloring a bit as well as the big healing gash by her ear and the cut over her eye, also healing up.

The vet takes one look at her, announces broken jaw. We can perform surgery, wire her jaw shut, or you can have her put down. As just leaving her to sink or swim would mean she’d have trouble eating the rest of her life, as well as other major problems. The kitten, just called Kitty as I’ve had her maybe four days, looks up at me, freaked out a bit about being in a new place but otherwise wanting to explore the exam room. See things and sniff and find out what’s what. She’s lively, eyes clear, exuding energy and will.

This is not a terminally ill kitten that’s suffering…except for the diarrhea. Her little bottom is quite sore. I put salve on it. 

Do I coldly have the vet end her life or…deplete my tiny store of cash? 

Yeah, I opt for the surgery. 

So, I set up a GoFundMe. It’s set at 300 bucks or so. I expect nothing to come of it but people over on FB did ask if I was taking donations. I am, frankly. For that little three pound bag of gingery bones, you bet your bottom I’ll pass the hat. 

gofundme.com/f/crystal039s-broken-jaw

 

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An actual cat nap. That’s the stuffed bunny I got from a local thrift store.

 

note– this is hard for me to do. But. I can ask for help for a cat. She’s worth it. Thank you all even for reading this. 

note 2– so, Crystal, possibly Lola [name? neither seems quite right…] is back home and miserable. Might need a cone.  Ever tried to get meds in a cat that’s had jaw surgery? Fun! But hey, I have a cat now. 

 

Human Clay Pot

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Brigit and Jake enjoying the newly shorn corn field

HUMAN CLAY POT

I want someone to tell me the truth.
That judgment that I should give up
and turn back from this road.
That the sky holds no wonders or joys
for my consumption,
that grace will not better me
into some sort of badly mended
maniacally grinning
human pot of perfect clay.
That the wind does not know my name,
that the birds get eaten
by stray cats
indifferent to hope and struggle.
That nothing good will arrive
like a warm pie from
the oven of the heavens.
Tell me the truth so I can rest.
So I can stop hoping.
Goddamn it, hope
cut me into a thousand pieces.
And I have nothing remaining
but a bitter cup of dust
to sustain me now.

 

note– written last year or maybe this year. All the days seem the same day anymore. 

Land of Wheat and Whale Clouds

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Eastern Oregon wheat field and cloudy day

LAND OF WHEAT AND WHALE CLOUDS

Soon that fence will crumble
and let me walk
into that land of wheat and whale clouds
where I can pretend how free
I am.
My lips form patient words
for the silly dying
of weeds and dreams and illusions
that make my eyes fill with salt.
Gratitude that I know
I’ll never get to walk there
and I’ll never have to be brave
and never have to be honest.
Because I have words
that will get lost in those whale clouds
that sink below the blunt little hills.
Such a relief
that I kept them inside
where no one has to make polite faces
over the ordinary agony
expressed.

 

 

note– found this tucked away, as you do. It was one of several versions. 

Something About Mist

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from HGTV

 

SOMETHING ABOUT MIST

Something about mist and time and pumpkins
in a patch.
Something about children and candy
and costumes.
Something about the turning of the old year
into the new.
Something about snow and angels
and trees dressed up
in decorations not yet broken or lost.
Something about love and apple cider
and chilly nights.
Something about beauty and peace
and how fast time is.
Something about hope and death
and leaves recycled.
Something already said
many times in dull ways
that we look forward to like
a handful of candy corn
still left from last Halloween.

 

note: I wrote this for the monthly poetry contest last year or the year before that. Time seems oddly fluid anymore. 

I’m Supposed to Be a Poet

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Storm and corn field, Eastern Oregon

I’m supposed to be a poet, I said.
Well, be one, she replied. Be one.
Rip the flesh away, use a figurative spoon,
everyone has figurative spoons, use one,
and walk around in your ridiculous bones.
What sort of advice is that?
It’s my advice, she said.
What does it mean?
It means eat a lot of grapes.
Are you sure?

If you can’t glean meaning from a moldy bit of advice,
then yes, it means to eat grapes.
You can’t eat grapes if you’re dressed only in your bones.
Sure you can, she said.
You can mash those grapes against your ribs,
smear them on your cranium,
tuck them into your eye cavities
and pretend you have eyes.
I find I am out of whimsy these days.
I know, she said.
Maybe you should try being a poet.
I hear that helps.

 

Something I found tucked away in a file. 

Death Rattle Cat Rant

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Death Rattle, Nampa, Idaho Oct 4-6, 2019

October. Halloween. We’re approaching my favorite holiday. My pumpkins were eaten alive by bugs. It’s cold here.

And I will be mingling with other humans this weekend. Dread is my main emotion, frankly. I have pretty much turned into cat lady practically sealed inside a dwelling with her stacks of TV Guides from the 80’s. Remember those???

You could read, ahead, what was gonna be on TV! Do the crossword puzzle. I don’t know, it’s been a while. Remember magazines? Ah! The only reason I actually go to a doctor is to sit and read Sunset or Reader’s Digest. What are they wearing in Aspen for the 2002 Fall season? Laughter really is the best medicine. So why am I here when I can cure whatever’s wrong with my heart rate by just laughing at it?? I’d save myself getting weighed, then having to wait for whatever pills big Pharma…Anyhoo!

Oh, cat lady attempted joke. Then distracted by TV Guide nostalgia. Then dad jokes about magazines in general. I am so woke. 

Dread in dealing with others.

I will have to do small talk, maybe. If I talk to anyone. I might not. But I am manning a booth. [Womanning?] I’m selling, I’m a salesperson for a few hours this Caturday.

I don’t have a cat, I should not make cat jokes.

I haven’t even seen any cats about, we used to have them all over. There used to be cats that lived with us. I remember a cat of ours that got trapped by the hammock. That was one mad cat once we got it cut out of the strings.

Another cat from way back adopted my mother at a sale barn where she was buying pigs. It brought my mother her kittens. People were glaring at her cause this calico kitty was VERY LOUD AND INSISTENT that my mother was its goddess and reason for being. Alice lived with us for many a year, the best mouser ever. She lived outside. I don’t remember if she got spayed, she probably did. Our animals did not go about having loads of babies when I was little or when I got older.

Spay and neuter. I worked in animal shelters. SPAY AND NEUTER YOUR GODDAMN PETS. PSA over.

Well, as this post will get maybe just me ticking it as a ‘like’, thank you for reading.

I think I am actually ready for this coming event hawking my wares to the truly indifferent public. I looked up how to get there—it’s just a street over from where I was last year, so that’s good and nice and good. Same exit and everything. Score! My anxiety level will creep high and higher yet as the week winds down. But it will be over by next Monday and then the anticipation and dread of the Mountain Home reading.

I will be in Nampa, Idaho this weekend!!! Road trip! 

I will be shilling my books and some art, and then reading a flash fiction piece on Sunday about a naughty computer program called the Fish Whisperer. Naughty in the PG sense, not X. Sorry.

The Death Rattle Writer’s Festival starts this Friday, runs through Sunday. Okay. Bye!

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from Flickr. Downtown Nampa, Idaho. This is where I will be. Looks like a movie set, almost. Almost. 

 

 

Death Rattle Writer’s Festival

I will be attending the Death Rattle Writer’s Festival in Nampa, Idaho, this first weekend in October. I will be reading a flash fiction piece and manning a booth. I am attempting to SELL STUFF and this time, plan to offer some painted objects as well as my books. I plan to get the bank app on my phone as no one carries cash anymore. Except, um, me. And some business cards! I tell ya, I’m almost a competent adult this time around. 

So plan on my writing about that experience and how it goes.

If you happen to be in Western Idaho and wish to attend:

https://www.deathrattlewritersfest.org/

Nampa is next door to Boise, by the way. Idaho is right next to Oregon. [Some might not automatically know where Idaho is. I get fuzzy on the what states are what back east and geography in general. I am so very American.] 

Some pics of my wares and of course, my two novels are available for e-readers and your real life bookshelves. Cheers, all! And thanks for reading, as always. 

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Salt clay ornaments.
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Close up of salt clay star ornament. 
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It was windy when I was trying to take ‘artistic’ shots of a few of these. 
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I tried to keep them simple, elegant and sparkly. 
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Some painted rocks.