JUST WHEN I THOUGHT I COULDN'T STOP CRYING...

...over my lost little girl Ollie, as I was making my bed this morning, I felt a crinkly lump at the foot and said to myself, "What the hell...?" A quick flip of the sheet revealed this...Mister Froggy, my little Quincy's first (and favorite) toy. How and when she managed to do this is beyond my ken, having just gone through two emotionally exhausting days, I was in a dead sleep and practically comatose.

Quincy (named for one of my musical gods, Quincy Jones) arrived in my life last September 2012. Someone had just left her in the 3rd floor hallway of the building in which I reside, something I suspect was an act of kindness with the hope that somebody would adopt a 6-week old calico kitten with almond-shaped, golden eyes and the sweetest disposition this side of Domino's.

I was initially annoyed by the knock on my door ~ 10:00pm on a hot, muggy night is NOT the time to startle a person ~ but I grudgingly went downstairs to see her. One look at this tiny creature and my heart melted. Against my better judgment (I have literally bankrupted myself because I was born with a heart at least 100 times larger than my brain) I decided to adopt her.

God surely does work in mysterious ways, for how was I to know that I would be losing my only other cat in less than a year's time?

Quincy was a financial struggle, but oh, so worth it. She is beautiful, smart as a whip, and hilarious to live with. She also has a typical NY attitude that I can only guess came from me, since we communicate on the same exact level: be nice to me...or risk the consequences. She's sweet, loving, tough and feisty, all at the same time. I always give my cats nicknames, and because she is such a screwball, her very appropriate nickster is Q-Ball.

Quincy will be one year old some time this August. She has brightened my life immeasurably, and I adore and love her beyond all reason. (She even has her own page on facebook ~ "Quincy the Quintessential Cat" ~ and has hundreds of friends!)

And so, here is my little Quincy, for all the world to meet...

6 week-old Quincy

Q-Ball and her Froggie pose

Making herself quite at home!

Pure unconditional love.....!

GOOD-BYE, MY LITTLE GIRL...

Today, May 22nd, 2013, I had to say good-bye to my little girl Ollie. Her kidneys were deteriorating and I just could not afford all the expensive tests to ascertain the medical reason, only to find out that she could not be saved anyway. And I've had enough cats by now to know better. Once the kidneys start going, it's all downhill.

Poor little Ollie was already six years old when she came to me. Ironically, it was September 3rd, 2007...also her birthday. A former 'family' member (of the mutated evil/stupid gene branch) had adopted ~ and declawed ~ her, and when he had enough, he dumped her into a wooded area to fend for herself. She made her way to his mother's home a little up the road where she was allowed to reside on the outside deck, sometimes fed but never allowed inside, and so she suffered through many a stormy and frigid night, doubtless wondering what she had done to deserve such shabby treatment.

Because I already had several cats, it was with great trepidation (but even greater love) when I agreed to take her into my home. I have never had a declawed cat in my life, and it broke my heart every time I saw her "walk" on what are essentially amputated stumps. I soon came to the conclusion that Ollie was permanently angry about that mutilation, her spirit broken, and, combined with the unforgivable betrayal of her trust, it left her borderline feral. 

The early months were not easy. She bit me several times, once so severe, my hand blew up like a baseball catcher's mitt. People asked if I was "still going to keep her." I am not the kind of person who can hurt an animal, nor can I betray their trust, so my answer was "If this cat is burned one more time, she'll have to be put down." In other words, she wasn't going anywhere. 

She wasn't a cuddly cat, would never sit close to watch TV or sleep with me. I was told "Oh, she was never allowed on furniture!" so that could account for her hesitation in those areas. But, in spite of years of nothing but love and kindness, she never could overcome the terror of what had been so cavalierly inflicted upon her, and that early memory of inhuman duplicity kept her aloof and always afraid.

I should not have titled this "good-bye" but rather "so long, my little girl." It comforts me to believe that there is such a place as the Rainbow Bridge, where she is young and whole again, playing, and only waiting to look up and see the one person who truly loved her in this harsh and hateful world.

After so many good-byes to beloved and cherished pets, dating back to 1958, my heart can't take much more. I almost wished I could have asked the vet to inject me with the same solution given to Ollie, so I could have accompanied her on her journey.

So it's so long, my little girl, not good-bye. Until we meet again in a far, far better place than this one, I will love you with all my heart, and miss you every single day...

TRAPPED: COUNTRY HEART IN CITY GIRL

New Hampshire, 1971

I was born and raised in what many people consider the "greatest city in the world" ~ New York ~ and honestly can't remember a time when I agreed with that assessment. Concrete canyons never appealed much to me, nor did subways, noise, congestion, crowds, dirt and all the unpleasantness of city life. UGH...the very antithesis of what my heart requires for serenity.

In the early 1950s, a dear aunt took me and my cousins to the Radio City Music Hall Christmas show. I remember the relief I felt to get away from the noise of the train, and then walking up dank, smelly subway stairs that made me hold my breath, my nose wrinkled in distaste. As we reached sidewalk level, I gazed up at those impossibly tall buildings and remember feeling terrified. I could not wait to get home to the relative calm of my old neighborhood in the still-sane Bronx of that era.

But prior to that, when I was still a baby, my paternal aunt and uncle (and childless godparents) purchased a weekend home in rural upstate New York, surrounded by nothing but woods...and that is when I lost my heart to the 'country.'

I spent countless hours in those wooded areas with their Beagle, Teddy, exploring, finding 'secret trails' that led to wide-open meadows filled with wildflowers, and peace. Teddy and I would sit or lie in the sunlight, just soaking in the fragrance of sun-warmed grass, and sometimes disappear for hours.

Upon our return, I'd often hear "PAULA!! PAULA, WHERE ARE YOU?? PLEASE ANSWER US!!" and I'd emerge from the woods smiling and thinking how silly they were to worry. I was an EXPLORER and I had Teddy the Beagle with me, what's with all the hysteria??

Uncle always planted a huge garden out front, and he'd take me with him on those narrow paths, explaining how he knew when a carrot was ready for plucking, or point out the flowers and explain that they'd turn into zucchini (squash) soon.  He also made a swing for me on the gnarled old tree out front, where I'd just swing back and forth, always in a daydream, enchanted by the beauty that surrounded me.

I loved sleeping in the attic bedroom, all by myself! Right beside my bed was a window where I'd look out and sometimes, in the early morning, I'd see Midnight, a beautiful black Retriever who lived about a mile or two up the road. I'd jump out of bed and race downstairs and outside in my pajamas, yelling "MIDNIGHT!! You came to see me!!!"

My aunt would get all flustered and yell, "Don't! The dew's still on the grass, you'll get all wet!" I didn't even know what dew WAS, nor did I care. My friend Midnight was waiting for me!

I dreaded Sundays, when we had to go back home. Leaving that all behind brought a sadness to my heart that no child should ever feel. I loved it that much.

As I grew older, my friends became more important than a weekend in the country, and so I reluctantly became a city kid again. Fortunately, we lived a couple blocks from the NY Botanical Garden, which became a refuge and a haven for my teenage and adult self.

And all these decades later, I continue to find comfort and serenity only when I am embraced by Mother Nature...

"RAINY DAYS AND MONDAYS ALWAYS GET ME DOWN..." NO THEY DON'T!

"Talking to myself and feeling low..."

No I'm not!

Another exquisite song by Paul Williams whose words perfectly capture what many people feel about rainy days. I agree about Mondays, but rainy days? I love them.

First of all, without rainy days, we'd all drop dead. Rain cleanses and nourishes the very land that sustains us (Dust Bowl anyone?) and provides a necessary respite from sunny days, which really get me down...especially now that I'm not the sun-worshipping beach lizard I was in my youth.

Second, when it rains in NYC, it's QUIET...just like when it snows. Because most people don't like being out in the rain, they tend to stay indoors which provides yet another necessary respite (for me anyway.) And I love hearing the whooshing sound of car tires going by on wet roads, especially as I'm drifting off to sleep. So soothing...

Third, if I ever lived in a one or two-climate area where it rains about an inch of water a year, I'd go stark raving mad. I remember the brief time I lived in California. I was so starved for rain that when the skies did manage to open a bit, I ran outside, did a rain happy dance and reveled in the feeling. But when I looked outside the kitchen window one night and saw a MOUNTAIN on fire just across the road, that's when I packed my bags and made a fast return to the east coast. Thanks but no thanks.

I even loved rainy days as a kid. I used to think that the rain would hide my tears when I was sad, which was most of the time. But that's another story. I remember one rather cool rainy day, the summer of 1957, when my mother made me wear a flannel shirt over my summer top and dungarees. To this day, I love flannel shirts because of that memory. Lingering in the background of that memory is also "Bye bye love, bye bye happiness..." by the brand-new Everly Brothers. Biggest hit of that summer. (Music is truly the soundtrack of our lives.)

So, my dear Paul Williams, I have to disagree with you about rainy days. When I wake up to a rainy day, there's no "hanging around, nothing to do but frown" for this kid. I'm happy for Mother Earth, grateful for the quiet, and absolutely love the temporary peace it brings.

But you are right about Mondays! 

The Carpenters are best known for this most beautiful song, but again I present to you, the song's father...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xpWg6sibsdU