I still remember that fateful afternoon. I was 8-years-old, walking home from school with my 10-year-old sister, when I learned there was no Easter bunny. She divulged it as if 
simply commenting on the weather.
In disbelief, I ran crying all the way home, anxious for my mother to dispel that awful lie. She tried, but to no avail. Once I allowed myself to reason, doubt crept in. Continue reading
Let’s just say my dream isn’t the usual, like winning an obscene amount of lottery money or being awarded a Nobel Peace Prize. And, sadly, it doesn’t compare to Martin Luther King’s noble human rights dream. No, mine is much less life-altering and electrifying.
This is it: I hope one day to get arrested. In fact, it’s #12 on my bucket list, right after Visit Australia and just before Bike Tour in Maine (neither of which I’ve accomplished yet).
Now don’t get me wrong. I’m not actually trying to land in Marin County jail for just any crime. I’m not planning to rob a bank, as I don’t own a gun. Besides, it’s not in my nature to hurt anyone, so murder is out. I won’t even burgle a home to steal its contents and here’s why:
Continue readingIt’s been a while since I held my annual Christmas tree decorating and dinner party with my oldest, dearest friends. Sadly, the pandemic altered those plans for 2 years. But not this year…
Last Sunday, in anticipation of tonight’s party, I hauled out half of my Christmas decorations from my shed. Yep, I used to go overboard. I’m guessing my massively illuminated yard was even visible to passengers on jetliners cruising by at 30,000 feet.
After I removed decorations from Rubbermaid totes to fill them with house decor, I lugged them out to the Tough Shed, followed by Fat Jack who always wants in on the action.
I have many adventures in feral cat rescue and meeting interesting people is part of the adventure. Now don’t get me wrong; interesting isn’t always so great. Take, for instance, two bozos I’ve had the displeasure of dealing with who work at a local college.
Slinky, an elderly feral our nonprofit has been feeding for 10 years, lives under a bridge at the college. But the head honchos (the bozos) have always prohibited us from offering him shelter. Why, you ask? Because they have their heads up their butts. I’m talkin’ way, way up there.
Slinky
I believe I have an overactive compassion gene. Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying that’s a particularly bad trait, depending on how you look at it. For one thing, it means I’m not a psychopath since they tend not to have an ounce of compassion, let alone a conscience. So yay for me!
The reason I even brought this up is because I’m in animal rescue, specifically cats. Not that I don’t rescue other creatures. I’m what you would call an equal opportunity savior. Wait. That sounds pompous. Let me rephrase that. How about equal opportunity rescuer? Yeah, that’s better.
Now you’re going to think I’m a bit looney. And you wouldn’t be far off, especially when I tell you what I did the other day…So I’m having lunch at home when I reach for my glass of water and notice a fly inside, swimming frantically in circles. I’m not entirely certain flies swim but whatever it was doing, it looked frantic.
Now Don't Get Me Wrong 