But it didn't take long for my new found inspiration to turn sour as I became lost among a plethora of never ending recipes, crafts, organizational tips, nuclear family romanticism, and an overwhelming use of the word "mommy". That's right, I was water logged in a sea of mommy bloggers.

Before I go further into my mommy blog angst, I feel that I should clarify the following points for the purpose of self defense:

1. Some of my favorite blogs are parenting blogs, or at least blogs written by people who are parents and regularly write about their children and child rearing in general.

2. I know that child rearing is extremely important, not only in regards to the development of children, but also in regards to the overall health of a society.

3. I perceive parenting as an extremely challenging, yet rewarding commitment and I empathize with the compromises that parents make.

4. I have full respect for stay at home parents and see great value in what they do and perceive them as equally as purposeful as people who work in the public sphere. When/if I have children, I intend to stay at home with them when they're young if at all possible.

5. I am no hater of stereotypically feminine hobbies. I watch HGTV. I talk to cats in a voice that makes me sound like I am a midget high on Ecstasy. Sometimes I even like to talk about my feelings and then cry afterward and blame it on my hormones. Although I will admit that I do not like cleaning. Did you know that a bar of soap that sits unused on the edge of your bath tub can go moldy? It can. Fascinating, really.

That being said. . .

This challenge opened my eyes to a wide demographic of mommy bloggers, and I got to the point where every time I was designated a blog to visit and comment on, I would hope to God it wouldn't be another mommy blog. And it always would be. At two and a half weeks into the challenge, I found myself wanting to wrap my lips around the barrel of a gun in hopes that the misery would end.

I do understand that blogging has given stay-at-home parents, particularly moms, an outlet to express themselves, socialize, and develop an easily accessible community. Totally surpasses Tupperware parties and is way healthier than abusing Lithium. And as a result, mommy blogging has given stay-at-home moms a sense of purpose that extends beyond the private sphere, which can be perceived as progressive and empowering. But for me the blogosphere's saturation of mommy bloggers quickly became stifling as I struggled to find my footing within this demographic.

My breaking point came when I stumbled across a number of particularly aggravating blog posts. One was written by a stay at home Wiccan mother of six children.

Her blog post was an attack on those who perceive staying at home with children as being a luxury (mother's of course, not father's, because according to another mommy blogger, although women would be better suited than men to run the country (US), it wouldn't work because no one would be around to raise the kids to become good people). Her argument was that staying at home with children is the furthest thing from a luxury. BECAUSE HER FAMILY IS POOR AND LIVES ON A TIGHT BUDGET. HOW IS THAT LUXURIOUS?! IT WAS A COMPROMISE SHE MADE FOR THE BETTERMENT OF HER KIDS, OKAY? SHE ACTUALLY CARES ABOUT HER KIDS.

Cough. Not that she'd make enough money to surpass the cost of child care for six kids, anyway. Cough.

I, of course, wanted to respond with two, passionate and meaningful words:

Fuck off.

But I maintained an aura of class and refrained. Not for the sake of my own mother, because my own mother is probably thinking the same thing. And my mother's mother would have actually responded with "fuck off" if she had ever used that kind of crude language. No, I refrained because some stay-at-home moms write letters and form campaigns against popular musical artists for wrecking their children's minds. Because they enforce things like ineffectual gun control regulations that cost Canadian people millions of dollars. Because they scare me.

And then there was the woman who believes that gay marriage should be segregated from the church and religion altogether, because Jesus Christ our Savior only acknowledges heterosexual marriage. In fact, those who want to marry outside of the church aren't really even getting married, as true marriage is defined by religious devotion, so these people are free to officially unite, but should be using a different term altogether, like maybe love buddies? Special friends? It would be a simple solution to the gay marriage debate in the States.

And then there was the comment to that post from another mommy blogger who believes that divorce should be outlawed. In case you missed that, THAT DIVORCE SHOULD BE OUTLAWED. 

THAT DIVORCE SHOULD BE OUTLAWED.

Because that, of course, would remedy things like domestic abuse and spousal murder. And of course children being raised in households with parents who hate each other but cannot escape each other and are perpetually filled with rage and lose all will to live is a great environment for children to be raised. And suddenly I found myself gripping my computer monitor. Violently. And overwhelmed with the urge to douche my vagina, again and again (and again) for no other reason but to cleanse myself of the shame I felt in that particular moment for being a female blogger.

Instead, I closed the window and walked away from my computer. And I officially became emotionally detached from the Sits Girls 31 Day Better Blogger Challenge. So while I still finished the e-book on my own time, I stopped posting on the forum and participating in the community.

I dropped out.

I deeply debated writing this. Discussing topics related to female domestication are things I have learned to steer away from-- the "don't go there" topics. Because I haven't endured labour, and because I don't want to  march myself to my own stake burning. I am all for people sharing their views, but when conflicting view points seem to be perceived as anti-social and the only responses to these posts, which I will now refer to as "bubble posts", seeing as how many of these women seem to live in bubbles, are complacent ones, and agreeable ones, and fully supportive ones that offer no further discussion or deeper dialogue, I start to feel like my soul is being smothered by a pillow. That is adorned in a home-made, floral pillow case.

So I soon came to the realization that for many women participating in this challenge, blogging was more about celebrating motherhood as a bourgeoisie, middle class idealism than anything else--  mass masturbating to a mid-century celebration of a time when a woman's identity was revolved around cooking, cleaning, child rearing, and other stereotypically feminine interests like fashion, trinkets, keeping house, consumerism, and ignoring the negative social attributes historically bred from that one-dimensional role.

And while these women pow-wowed in celebration (and defense) of their choice to stay at home with their children, I was disturbed at how they had unknowingly created a limited paradigm (that I believe they originally intended to avoid) by reinforcing narrow notions of what it means to assume the role of stay-at-home mom, like arguing that they are not trying to adhere to a house wife ideal by weighing their worth on things like house keeping, then boasting about how awesome they are at house keeping in a 1000 word blog post. And then posting a ten point list post about house keeping strategies the day after. And then 65 other women leave comments about how the post was so insightful. Ironically, while celebrating their own life choices, which, more often than not, seemed to be made possible by the financial stability of the men in their lives, they seemed to overlook the fact that their boisterous pow-wowing was alienating women who had made other choices, or women who have no choices at all.

According to many of the mommy blogs I visited (and don't get me wrong, maybe I just had really bad luck at which mommy blogs I was designated to hit), poverty doesn't exist beyond budgeting within a one income household. Women who have to work to keep themselves and their babies fed? Apparently they don't exist. Single mothers? What are those? Domestic abuse? What's that? Undependable, unsupportive husbands? Huh? The fact that so many of these women seemed ignorant to what's going on outside of their own rosey suburbanism demonstrated that they do experience luxuries that many women don't. And that's great, except for the fact that many of them are oblivious to their blessings. And that makes me want to hold a Tupperware burning.

And I would if Tupperware wasn't so practical.

And expensive.

And if lighting it on fire wouldn't release toxins into the atmosphere.

Obviously I don't fit in within this niche.

In fact, I don't fit in with a lot of women. During this challenge I started having my recurring nightmares about my best friends from high school, and I have finally realized why I have those dreams.

I have women issues.

It's taken years to make this correlation, but now I know that my nightmares about my old best friends aren't actually about my old best friends. They're about my feelings of alienation from some of the women is my life. Now. Currently. Like Mommy Bloggers. And in a way, that's a relief, because I was starting to wonder if I had marinated into some sort of woman-baby who was unable to get over her ex-girl friends. No. I just have women issues. Obviously my old best friends symbolize female rejection to my subconscious.  And ostracization.  And because I don't feel like I fit in with a lot of women, and then endure this fucked up, inner tug-of-war between frustration, guilt, and a repressed wish that I could just belong, I end up feeling really shitty. And dream about torture. I mean my last year of high school.

I've been at this fork in the road before, where one path leads me to fakin' it and fitting in, and one path leads me to staying true to myself even if it means being lonely sometimes, or at a disadvantage at promoting my blog in the women's corner of the blogosphere. Inevitably I always choose to stay true to myself because deep down I know that throwing myself in with a bunch of women who make me feel frustrated will inevitably just make me feel more frustrated. So, I made the decision to follow the churning in my gut, and accept the fact some women may be offended that I am challenging what I perceive as the revival of the cult of domesticity, and may not want to read my blog or be my friend.

I write critical blog posts like this in honor of the people in my own life whose voices tend to get lost among the buzz of the bandwagon: my mother, who also shares critical views about cookie-cutter, mommy culture; for my home girl Laura, a separated mother of three young kids who works night shift with me and who I have seen so exhausted that her eyes don't properly align;  for my best friend who is a lively and successful career woman who craves life partnership and worries that she will never find it; for my boyfriend who lives in camp three weeks out of the month and stresses that if he becomes a father he will be a stranger to his child; and for myself and my own clumsy struggle to get where I so desperately want to go. I salute all the people out there who have tripped and fallen and forged ahead on bloodied knees, and despite uncomfortable disappointments, still laugh, joke, share, speak honestly, and find pleasure in the simple things, and even though we may bitch, and moan, and lose our shit and cry sometimes, we still appreciate our blessings, although diverse and sometimes unequal, and we realize that there are so many people out there who have is so, so, so much worse.

In my next post titled, Part III: Life After Rehab, I will discuss some of my own blessings and struggles, and how they relate to my experience participating in this challenge. I will also go into further detail about trying to find my place within the blogosphere, or if finding a place to fit is even necessary, and the difficult road ahead in my attempt to transform my aspirations into something more than just a hobby.

In the meantime, I will overcome the urge to douche my vagina.

This is my pride and joy and the object of my deepest affection, Sophie Bear, sucking on her hind foot. Prior to this photo being taken, she used those pants as a kitty slip n' slide, which made me respond with, "dude, you have no idea how much I love you."

KUMBAYA, MY LORD, KUMBAYA.

Kidding.

Here is the video.

I congratulate him.

Unlike some of my superiors in the past, I respected Stoneface. Unlike the others, he was enthusiastic about getting my crew matching fanny packs. With our names written on them. With a Bedazzler. I also respected some of his stealthy tactics, like creating a horrible, soul piercing play list on Grooveshark (Britney Spears! Boy George! Britney Spears! Spice Girls! Spice Girls! Boy George!) that he played in the presence of the Day Associates, presumably to ignite suicidal thoughts. I, too, used this torture tactic in 2008 with the help of my crew mate and comrade, Mikel Jordan Nielson. Although our weapon of choice was three hours straight of uninhibited, commercial-free blue grass. Most of all, I will miss Stoneface's caustic jadedness because it is the thing that bonds me most with people in the work place-- the mutual feeling of, oh my god, where exactly did we go wrong in life?!

Before he left, Stoneface and I had our last meeting together to tie up any loose ends. He told me that I had some reviews to write for The Wolf Pack; The Wolf Pack is the night crew I work on, but please refer to them as The Wolf Pack.

"About those reviews," I said, ". . . could I give Laura extra points for wearing a wolf shirt?"

.      .      .

Later on, Stoneface pulled me into the general manager's office.

"Have you seen the Mountain Three Wolf Moon Shirt on Amazon?!"

"No," I responded.

Honestly, I hadn't.

Photo courtesy of Amazon

He motion me to huddle around the computer as he pulled it up on the internet and enthusiastically showed me the inspirational comments left by Amazon customers.  Sometime during the wolf celebration, he pulled out a bullshit button from underneath the desk and began tapping it-- for those who don't know, the bullshit button looks like a Staples Easy button, but instead recites comments about bullshit.

SMELLS LIKE BULLSHIT SMELL LIKE BULLSHIT SMELLS LIKE BULLSHIT

Then the Day Girl showed up at the office door. "Ummm. . ."

"Oh my god, you have to see the comment about wolves making panties drop."

SMELLS LIKE BULLSHIT

"Ummm. . . , can I go home now?"

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Stoneface responded without taking his eyes off of the Mountain Three Wolf Moon shirt.

.      .      .

"So I asked Stoneface if I could give you extra points on your review for wearing a wolf shirt, and he said I could as long as I prove that it supports the company from a business perspective."

That's when Laura spat a mouthful of coffee all over the floor. "That's great, Linds. . . that's really great."

.      .      .

At the end of the meeting, Stoneface shook my hand before heading out the door.

"It's been a pleasure," he said.

"A pleasure."

"No, really."

"For sure."

"Well, sort of."

"Not really."

Side thought.

While pulling up the photo and link to Amazon's Mountain Three Wolf Moon shirt, I also stumbled upon these gems:

 Photo courtesy of Amazon

Photo courtesy of Amazon

Christmas can't come soon enough.

Favorites:

• Animal - "Cat's"
• Food - "ha burger's"
• Book - "Cat's book's"
• TV Show - "Full House"
• Actor - "Arnold Schwarnzenagger"
• Favorite Singer - "Vnela Ice!"
• Song - "ice ice baby!"
• Saying - Cool Rad
• Silly things we've done together - "spra fome all over us"
  • Proper English translation - spray foam all over us.

Not much has changed, really.

No, I am not losing my shit.

That was supposed to be saved as a draft for my own use after experiencing the horrors of Nightmare Week 2010.

But my web host, Squarespace, automatically sets posts to "published", so if I want to save something mid completion, I have to unclick the "published" box so half posts or rough drafts don't get published to the internet. Kind of annoying, Squarespace. . . KIND OF ANNOYING.

Obviously I forgot to do that.

And then the link got fed to my Twitter.

First Nightmare: The Hotel

Nightmare Week started with a dream where my mom and I were lured into a hotel by one of my many emotionally unstable, former co-workers. We then realized that the rest of the hotel was empty and we were being monitored via surveillance by a group of psychopaths who intended to kill us.

Like in that horrifically, creepy movie, The Strangers.

And I was about four months pregnant. . . you know, just to make things a little more interesting.

Symbolism according to the hippies at dreammoods.com

Hotel - To see a hotel in your dream signifies a new state of mind or shift in personal identity. You are undergoing some sort of transition and need to move away from your old habits and old way of thinking. You need to temporarily escape from your daily life.

Mother - To see your mother in your dream represents the nurturing aspect of your own character. Some people may have problems freeing themselves from their mothers and are thus seeking their own individuality and development.

Pregnant - To dream that you are pregnant symbolizes an aspect of yourself or some aspect of your personal life that is growing and developing. You may not be ready to talk about it or act on it. Being pregnant in your dream may also represent the birth of a new idea, direction, project, or goal.

Second Nightmare: The Uncool Zombie Dream

The next dream I had was about the zombie apocalypse. I know, I know. I am always complaining that I don't have enough kick-ass zombie dreams. But what's the one thing that would wreck a good zombie dream?

That's right.

I wasn't kicking ass.

:(

Instead, I was barricaded in a house, trying to herd my childhood cats, Chub Chub and Dudes into a cat carrier so I could load them into my vehicle and potentially seek safer refuge. Of course, I couldn't find the cats.

And I didn't even have a weapon.

WHAT KIND OF A ZOMBIE HUNTER DOESN'T CARRY A WEAPON?!?!

This is a regressive dream for me. I used to have kitty and baby saving dreams about once a week. Since Bear came into my life with his Nobody Better Ever F!ck With You Because I Don't Want To Have To Go To Prison attitude, my subconscious has been alleviated of the weight it once carried when I felt like I constantly had to take care of everyone. I blame this dream on the Saskatoon SPCA.

Third Nightmare: The Anime Dream from Hell

This dream placed me in a huge mansion with ponds and luscious greenery and staircases that went up and then down for no particular reason. Again, I was barricaded inside the house, although this time it was surrounded by military figures. Assassins were storming the building and I was on the run, even though I had nowhere to go and no place to hide. I was with some unknown, albeit friendly figure who was ultimately assassinated in front of me, but before he went down from the bullet, he shot the female assassin in the head and a chunk of her brain landed at my feet.

Welcome to Lojo's Dream World, kids.

At this point the dream became lucid. I ran through the corridors of the mansion with my eyes closed, repeatedly punching myself in the face while yelling, "WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!" Usually that does it for me, but this time my subconscious was having way too much fun. And, like the zombie dream, I never even contemplated picking up the dead assassin's gun so I could actually shoot back. Apparently I ain't no holla back girl.

Like both my previous dreams, I spent my energy trying to strategize a way out-- a way out that didn't involve violence-- which I wholeheartedly blame on reading too many Mommy Blogs via the Sits Girls 31 Day Blogger Challenge.

Eventually I gave up and handed myself over to the military figures and waited to die.

Symbolism according to the hippies at dreammoods.com

House - To see a house in your dream represents your own soul and self. To see a new house in your dream indicates that you are entering into a new phase or new area in your life.

Pond - To see a pond represents tranquility.

Plants - To see plants in your dreams indicates fertility, spiritual development, potential, and growth. To see indoor plants suggests that your growth is being hindered or slowed in some way. You are experiencing a lack of independence.

Water - To see what in your dream symbolizes your unconscious and your emotional state of mind. Water is symbolic of spirituality, knowledge, healing, and refreshment.

Stairs - To dream that you are walking up a flight of stairs indicates that you are achieving a higher level of understanding. You are making progress in your journey.

Soldier - To see a soldier signifies discipline, structure, and rigidity.

Common themes throughout Nightmare Week 2010 :

• Being barricaded inside a living space
• Deadly forces outside of said living space intending to kill me

Conclusion to Analysis

My sense of self is changing, transitioning, and growing. I am developing new goals. Although I am flourishing in some ways, I also feel boxed in and constrained by the rigidity of my life circumstances. I have been putting an incredible amount of energy into strategizing as to how I can open up doors and continue to move ahead in life. According to my dreams, I need to get aggressive and start blowing doors down.

I need to stock up on guns and ammunition. 

And I did some research on your winged werewolf dream, Lt. Suz. Supposedly the werewolf represents fear, anger, and uncontrollable violence, and the wings represent a freer way of life.  I am not sure about the dream where you have three kids. I only hope that they are not all boys, and not all ginger kids.

You should probably stock up on guns and ammo, too.

What do you think? Do you ever have recurring dreams? What are your thoughts on those recurring dreams?

Yesterday I received a disturbing email from my friend Twitch, who recently adopted-out a litter of five kittens, the offspring of her two cats, Meezer and Minnie.

The Family: photo courtesy of Twitch

Although Twitch was relieved to no longer have a five cat household, she seemed to have mixed emotions about sending them off to their new homes. She did, however, keep Bearface, one of the five kittens who my boyfriend proudly shares a name with.

Bearface: photo courtesy of Twitch

Yesterday Jacquie was on the Saskatoon SPCA's website and thought she recognized a kitten from her litter, Fat Kink, in the photos of cats for adoption. She called the SPCA and asked them to check if the kitten had a kink in it's tail. She was told that it didn't. She was sure this kitten was Fat Kink so she decided to go down to the SPCA herself with the intent to bring the kitten home if it were a positive ID.

When she arrived at the SPCA, she was told that the kitten has been euthanized on July 24th due to an upper respiratory infection.

The more we talked to this woman about the time line, it became clear that the kitten developed the URI more than 12 days after she had been picked up by animal control, which means she contracted that infection INSIDE the SPCA. Then, after 2 days of sniffles and sneezing, they KILLED her. Bearface took at least 3 days to get to her worst point and turn around. Any vet worth their weight in kitten fur should've known that it would take at least that long to see what was going to happen. Let me repeat: It wasn't even bad enough to need MEDICATION yet. They picked up a kitten, let it rot in their disgusting pound and then just f!cking killed this cat because they couldn't be bothered.

Fat Kink: photo courtesy of Twitch

Rest in peace, little Fat Kink.

You were little

But you had a fat kink

You were a buddy

But a human was a dink

Now you're in a better place

Now you're up there

Up there

Yes, kitty, way up there

So fly, Fat Kink, fly free

"The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated." - Mahatma Gandhi

My anger towards Kitty Auschwitz

This scenario of kittens being euthanized at the Saskatoon SPCA due to an "upper respiratory infection" is nothing new to me, and I mentioned my own personal experience in the email I just sent to the Saskatoon SPCA's Director and Adoptions department.

Right click on the screen print below and click "view image".

I understand that the SPCA isn't necessarily the big bad wolf here. They serve their purpose. They intervene when animals are being abused. And, of course, dropping animals off at an SPCA is a much better alternative than some other methods of disposal, like dropping animals off at the dump. The real issue is irresponsible pet ownership, and if irresponsible pet ownership wasn't such a commonality, then SPCAs such as the Saskatoon SPCA would probably not euthanize at all. However, I still believe something is terribly wrong with trigger happy "kill shelters", like the Saskatoon SPCA referring to themselves as a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

Sure, these animals might survive long enough for someone to bust them out, but if the Animal Jew corrals become overpopulated, or if they have an ailment, or get sick within the concentration camp, which they most likely will, they will be taken to the kill room and euthanized.

Ironically, this is the place where the majority of people feel "morally at peace" dropping off animals they no longer want. However, there are a number of astronomically more positive alternatives to "kill SPCAs".

How to be mindful when dealing with unwanted animals

1) Find out if your local SPCA is a "kill" SPCA or a "no-kill" SPCA. The Fort McMurray SPCA is one example of a bitchin' "no kill" shelter. Our local SPCA here in Red Deer does euthanize, albeit minimally, and it seems as though they have made great strides over the years, which you can read about here. However, there are other shelters out there that are seemingly horrific, like the Toronto Humane Society. Bottom line, know your local SPCA: know who they are and the realities behind the services you are utilizing.

2) Is it possible to take initiative and find a good home for the animal yourself? Do you personally know someone who would be interested in offering the animal a good home? Do you know of a farm that would take the animal? What about advertising and seeing if someone would be interested in adopting?

• I know that Twitch is experiencing pangs of regret about the woman who took Fat Kink from her, so if you do decide to advertise to the public, have your spidey senses up in regards to those showing interest in adopting the animal and follow your gut. I don't think there is anything wrong with asking some basic questions regarding their lifestyle and sense of character. As someone who has gone through certified breeders, I know first hand this is something that reputable breeders always do with potential customers, and only because they care about their animals and don't want them to suffer unnecessarily. As an animal lover, this kind of care is something that I look for in breeders, as well. Just because an animal isn't a purebred or doesn't cost a ridiculous amount of money doesn't mean that it is not equally as valuable. It is a living being. If your gut tells you to turn someone away, do it.

Also, will the original owner or the breeder take the animal back to find a more suitable home? Many will, like Twitch. Most certified breeders urge people to do this if the adoption doesn't work out and will offer full monetary refunds.

3) Most importantly, there are a number of really great, "no kill", grassroots organizations run by people who sincerely care about healing animals and finding them "forever homes". For the love of God, please at least attempt to utilize these services, and if animals are important to you, support these organizations through word of mouth, donations, or volunteer efforts.

Since I've been discussing the Saskatoon SPCA, a few "no kill" alternatives in Saskatoon are: 

• Street Cat Rescue 
• New Hope Dog Rescue

Central Alberta has a number of great organizations that are fighting for the well being of domestic animals:

• Paws and Claws Animal Rescue
• Whisker Rescue

And one of my personal favorites,

• Rescue for Life

Things to consider before adopting a pet (to avoid being a douche bag):

1) A dog or cat should be perceived as an unexpendable member of the family. If you perceive animals to be solely a source of entertainment, something to make you feel yummy inside,  or a cute accessory to have around the house, do not adopt a pet. Pets, especially young pets, will sometimes wreck your things, will demand attention when you're tired, and will require you to clean up their shit and barf. They also cost money and will need things like training, medical care, patience, and human affection.

"If having a soul means being able to feel love and loyalty and gratitude, then animals are better off than a lot of humans." - James Herriot

2) Dogs and cats do have minds and hearts and it is possible to permanently damage those minds and hearts. They are not just empty shells willing to please. I have known many domestic animals that developed "issues" due to human mistreatment. The most common issue I've seen in animals is abandonment issues. If it seems funny to you that an animal could develop abandonment issues, then don't get a pet.

"The dog represents all that is best in man." - Etienne Charlet

3) It is not necessarily true that animals will love you unconditionally. What people really mean by that statement is that animals don't have the mental capacity to judge you for being a douche bag. They will, however, give you what you give them. If you ignore, deny, disregard, mistreat, or abuse a pet, they will treat you as a source of their survival, not someone they love and adore, and may ultimately fear and avoid you. The bond will simply not develop.

"The greatest pleasure of a dog is that you may make a fool of yourself with him and not only will he not scold you, but he will make a fool of himself, too." - Samuel Butler

4) Lastly, do you have the financial resources or the time to maintain the well being of an animal? Do you live in an animal friendly home? If you had to move into a rental, would you put the effort into finding a place that allows pets, or would you choose a nice place over a pet and dispose of it?

Unfortunately it is incredibly difficult to find rentals that are pet friendly and this seems to be a reason why many people surrender their animals to shelters. For the sake of the animal, please consider this before adopting. 

"Until one has loved an animal,  a part of one's soul remains unawakened." - Anatole France

The love of a cat or dog can be immeasurably fulfilling. If you show a cat or dog affection, care, and patience; if you treat an animal as a being with a soul, personality, and heart; if you talk to an animal, encourage it, and guide it, you will receive an invaluable amount of love in return. They will be your laughter on mundane days, they will communicate back with their chatter, eyes, and expressions, they will watch over you as you recover from the flu and may even stick their nose in your neck while you cry, like my much beloved childhood kitty, Chub Chub. They will teach you humility, patience, and the value of a connection based on nothing but pure soul. Their well being depends on our care and respect, and I think we owe them that much.

People who care

When I adopted my kitten, Gloria, who ended up staying with me at my parents acreage in 2005 and has since become a permanent member of their household, I bought her from a lady who lived down the street from me in Saskatoon. When I was at her house looking at the kittens, another woman was there looking at the kittens, as well, and as she situated Gloria in different positions on the rug to see how she "looked" among the furnishings, my heart sank and I could feel the owner's heart sink, too. "That one," I said, "I want that one." At that moment, Gloria had become my kitty.

Cat Decor woman was visibly disappointed.

The owner was extremely sad to see Gloria go. She gave her hugs and kisses and I promised to give her a good life. I told the lady to give me her email address so I could touch base with her in the future and let her know how the kitten was doing. It wasn't until a few years later while I did some spring cleaning when I came across her email address and sent an update. I told her about Gloria's personality, the type of life she was living, and her relationship with the other cats in the house. I included some photos of her, too.

Not long after, she emailed me back and thanked me with much gratitude for letting her know how Gloria was doing. What touched me the most was what she told me her thirteen year old son had said when he read the email, which was that it "renewed his faith in the human race."

A thirteen year old kid.

There are good hearted and deeply caring people out there. There are. Sometimes they're just hard to see through the haze. Hang in there, Twitch.

Responsibility. Respect. Care. Mindfulness.

"No heaven will not ever Heaven be;
Unless my cats are there to welcome me." - Anonymous

I haven't been drawing much lately, but I did rock out this doodle a few weeks ago with my new Bic markers (permanent, do not bleed, totally snazzy). It was therapeutic. Especially since I colored it while watching hours and hours of HGTV.

But I do miss him when he's gone. I miss our driving songs, and calling each other derogatory names, and sharing snuggles, and conversation, and ideas, and laughter. I miss the way Snort momentarily forgets how to rape meow because he is there to distract her with upside down bum hugs. And when I tell him that a wasp is inhabiting the inside of the patio door, he sits outside with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and waits until the wasp comes back, and when it does, he glares at it and murders it, like pphhfftt, whatever. Then he seals the holes in the door, and he's all like, "what?", and I am all like, "where have you been all my life?"

Last Friday we got the call that Bear's vintage F-150 was fixed, so I spent most of the weekend sitting barefoot beside him as we drove around Central Alberta. I sang along to the radio in a munchkin voice. I squealed when I saw a miniature pony. I ate copious amounts of drive-through lard. No, I didn't feel bad about it. Yes, I sort of do now.

On Monday morning we headed to Sylvan Lake to meet Bear's friend, Doug, for an early morning fish off of the wharf.

Not Worf.

W-H-A-R-F.

Doug is in my top three favorite friends of Bear's. He is up there with Bear's foreman, a stellar man who is preoccupied with the notion of Bear and I procreating and is known for getting on the radio at Bear's work and asking him if he's thinking about babies.

Every man's worst nightmare.

But not quite as extreme as the last time I saw him, which was around this time, when he walked up to me with a huge smile on his face and said, "so I hear you two are having a baby." I looked over at Bear, whose face and body writhed in man-horror and, perplexed, he blurted, "OH MY GOD, MAN!?". I let him down gently and told him that no baby was cooking in the oven. "Babies are a good thing," he reminded us in his gruff, matter-of-fact man voice, ". . . a good thing."

And then there is Bear's cook, AKA "Mom", who regularly sends me bags of goodies. BAGS. Obviously she knows the way to win an undomesticated girl's heart. And obviously she feels that my love handles need to be bigger. A lot bigger.

Bless her heart, sweet woman.

Sylvan Lake is a little resort town that is about ten minutes West of Red Deer. Bear and I aren't huge fans of Sylvan, mostly because it is crawling with party-happy douche bags during the summer season and it takes away from any sort of feelings of serenity normally attributed to being at the lake. But at 6:00 am on a Monday morning, it was dead. And cold, may I add. Which, of course, I overlooked, and, once again, wore inappropriate footwear. An hour into it, Bear passed me his hoodie. Two hours in he offered his socks. "You're sure you don't want my socks?! You're SURE?"

"F!cking city girls," he muttered under his breath. "F!cking. . . city. . .  girls. . . "

Doug brought his eldest son with him. That kid is the shit. Meaning I love him. Not a bone of attitude in his body, except when he's being beaked by Bear and he tells Bear to shut up. And that's the kind of attitude that every kid needs to properly navigate through life. That's a life skill.

Later on, Doug's wife dropped off the younger two before heading to work. The middle boy is about eight or nine years old and has a quick wit that I really admire in a child. Like when he referred to  something being contaminated and commented that it was contaminated because it "saw his brother's face." Sibling love. Nothing is better. Especially when it's done well.

The youngest of the three is a petite, six year old girl with long, apricot hair and a sunshine giggle and a determination that she will sure as hell do anything and everything her older brothers do. "I can do it myself! I CAN DO IT MYSELF!" She doesn't hesitate to wind up her fist and punch Bear in the torso as hard as her little body can muster, either. Then she does her sunshine giggle. Again, life skills.

Apricot Sunshine refers to Bear as "Bob". "Bob" refers to her as "George".

"Bob."

"Bob!"

"Look what I got, Bob."

"Bob! Look what I got!"

"BOB?!"

"BOB!!!"

"Yessss, George?"

The last time we went fishing with them, she showed "Bob" some rocks she had found.

"If you rub them together long enough, you'll get a diamond."

"NOOO! That's not true," she said and sprayed her sunshine giggle all over the place. She wandered away, rubbing the two rocks together, and came back a few minutes later looking discouraged.

"Show me the right way to do it, Bob!"

"Bear showed her the appropriate technique. "It'll take awhile, he assured her, "so be patient."

She took the rocks from his hands and rubbed them together as she walked away, her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth in great concentration.

Her dad sighed. "I am so ashamed right now."