I’m Not A Witch! I’m Your Wife!

imnotawitchimyourwife

I’ve called my belief system “The Orthodoxy of Christie” – a play on my name and my Christian roots – for decades. I didn’t realize until my thirties that I really do believe in magic and energy. I’m a witch! A little red-haired witch with a black cat, no less!
eclecticHappy Halloween!

Here I am with my friend, heading to an early-evening outdoor festy in our ‘hood. I’m a Mormon. Didn’t you know we have horns?renae-and-me
Later, Jax and I sorta made our couple’s announcement by playing matchy, matchy. We hit 2 friends’ houses and closed the party-crawl like we did last year, at The Guthrie, a funky arthouse in downtown Salt Lake where several of our friends have studios.

hahahalloweenHahaHalloween! Love, Silver Fox and Brown Bear

Sick Cat

I can’t handle the anxiety of injured pets!

A couple of weeks ago, my roommate’s messy cat got egg on his face that would not wash off, so I trimmed his fur. He didn’t wince one bit, but apparently I nicked his skin just a little. I didn’t notice until a couple of days later, when I found a tiny dry spot that looked like it could be an old scab. It was tiny.

Today, I got home and his poor head was just oozing. I cleaned him up, but it’s positively running down his face. I can’t keep up with it. I’m sick! I’ve never felt so guilty!

I feel like bawling.

I sold my ticket to a weekend desert party and made an emergency appointment for tomorrow morning. I’m so glad I was running late! If I’d left when I meant to, I would have missed it altogether.

I can’t say how awful I feel. I’m so upset. None of my previous cat misadventures prepared me for this. Cricket’s health has been the source of so much worry and heartache, but I never caused her pain. I just feel terrible.

I Am Worthy

Someone shares my mantra! And my style. The artwork is so me!
worthy
Color color color, and a flower 🙂
loriportka.compen and crick
My bed: Color color color, and cats…

My dresser:pink tulips

In fact, fresh flowers were Cricket’s suggestion, via the pet psychic. They match her gentleness, energetically. I thank her for them every day.

“You have such good ideas!” I tell her.

Call Danielle Tremblay at Insight With Animals for your own reading. She’s wonderful!
red tulips.JPG

Pet Psychic

What a wonderful experience! I’m so glad I did it.

Yes, Penny rules the house. She considers herself the Keeper of the Grounds. She walks the entirety of the place a couple of times each day to sweep the energy – except for my roommate’s bathroom. (Danielle accurately saw that she surveys almost every room.) It’s her job to “keep the floors clean energetically.”

I’ve felt Penny’s magic from the start. One of her first nicknames was Magicat. I’ve referred to her as The Queen (and myself as Serving Wench). She was always in charge.

Cricket was the Court Jester. She was such a silly kitten. Now she is a Lady. I met her regal nature on Friday!

I asked the psychic to check in with her, because I can’t hear her like I can Penny. I almost cried when Danielle tapped into her gentleness, her beautiful softness. I felt her sweetness. My heart has burned in my chest with love for her many times, but to finally feel an energetic connection with her was so rewarding and so intimate.

Cricket told Danielle I was a good mom. She calls me Mother. 🙂

I invested in the session to work out Penny’s territorial issues with Oliver and his litter box, but the most gratifying connection was with Cricket’s sensitivity. She asked for fresh flowers in our bedroom.

She’s very happy with the space, which I sensed and asked about. Danielle accurately described our room(s) as spacious and filled with light. Cricket even showed her an old apartment for comparison. I called that poky hall The Rail Car, and Danielle rightly saw it as narrow and dark. All but one of my plants died there.

Now I have 17 thriving green things throughout the sunroom and house, and a daffodil from our yard on the dresser in my Cricket’s room, which houses “everything her heart desires,” including her food. My Little Fatty showed the psychic FOOD!CRICKAs for Penny using Ollie’s box, I had a feeling… I sorta knew… No, I knew… I gave her permission to tell on me, and she did. Penny told Danielle that it wasn’t about disrespecting Ollie but about a clean box. He usually goes outside, so why not use his? It’s always empty.

I feel so guilty! I feel like a schmuck even feeling guilty. It didn’t motivate me to properly honor them with a clean box. I would go days sometimes without scooping! For eleven years, I have made the empty promise every time I started over with fresh litter, “I swear I’ll clean it every day from now on! You deserve better than this!” And I never did it.

Now I clean 2 boxes every single day. Witness. (I added a box for Pen in the spare room.)

****

I was delighted when Ollie asked Danielle to call him Oliver, preferring the formal since he doesn’t know her. I find that so charming.

I laughed and laughed and laughed when Danielle revealed that Penny owns me. We were talking with Cricket about the possibility of spending more time in the greater house. She revealed her belief that she’s not welcome. “Penny doesn’t want me out there.” Cricket’s fine with that, but Danielle checked in with Penny at that point to ask how she would feel about Cricket coming out more often. She said, “She’s nice but, see, I own mom.”

It’s true! Whenever I sweet-talk Cricket or brush her, wherever Penny is in the house she comes running. “Right one cue! Can’t have a minute with someone other than you!”

Of course, I thought it was the sweetest thing in the world to belong to her – she has my heart – but Danielle revealed that whenever an animal tells her that, it’s more like a dog owning a bone. Now we have an opportunity to develop a deeper spiritual connection. I’ve been asking Penny since Friday to please consider seeing me as her partner and equal. I believe that we can love each other even better when she lets herself respect me as a being and not an object.

That being said, she did show Danielle how affectionate she is and said she was a “very good friend to [me].” She is.

Thank you, Danielle! What an honor to connect so deeply with my beloved girls.
Insight With Animals

Solutions

Karel at Peace With My Life posted “Finding Solutions” yesterday. I read it after I’d already ranted over here. She helped me remember that I’m perfectly fine being perfectly human, and that solutions will present themselves whether I want to wallow in awful or not.

In her blog, Karel has written much about animal communication sessions she does with Danielle Tremblay at Insight With Animals. I’ve always wanted to do it, but couldn’t justify such an expense. She recommended it to me, though, and today it just felt like the right thing to do. Odd, since I’m still having security anxiety, which always reduces to money (even though I don’t really think that’s what it’s about).

So I did it! I’ve signed up for a 15 minute session over the phone on Friday!

When I’m feeling down like I was yesterday, my beliefs –  angels, repeating numbers, psychic phenomena – become laughable and I’m just stupid, but even if this woman can’t help the cats in our home, it worked because I feel better. I’m so excited!

And whadya know? Instantly, I came up with a solution I couldn’t see yesterday. I’m adding a litter box to the spare room. Perhaps Penny will feel like she gets to “break the rules” by using a box other than her own, and she won’t have to share with Stinky Cricket, bless her, who doesn’t cover her contributions.

This will make a difference, I know it, and so will our session on Friday.

Downswing

I feel icky. And then I feel bratty. And then I feel like I can’t get safe enough. I need money.

It started yesterday. My cat has long-since established dominance in my new place. My roommate’s cat holds his own just enough that she doesn’t attack him (much), but there is the odd chase here and there. Penny is obsessed with Oliver, and his room is her favorite place in the house.

Several weeks ago, my roommate caught on that she was using his litter box. I was horrified, of course. That’s complete alpha ownership behavior, and poor Ollie must feel so violated and insecure.

Recently, my roommate changed litter brands and Penny didn’t approve. She pooped outside the box and he stepped in it. He, my roommate; not he, the picked-on cat. His slippers were ruined and he ground shit into the carpet all over his office.

I fell apart.

As far as I was concerned, it’s all over. There’s no coming back from that. I felt like an idiot. She’s been at it forever, and we just got wise. It’s not going to get better. Ollie’s not going to hold his ground any more than he does, but she’ll keep getting bolder.

The only solution I could immediately find was to keep my girls captive in the bedroom while I’m at work, and I wanted to cry. That’s fine for Fat Cricket, my little Shadow Cat. She never leaves our room, never has. But Penny basks in the sunlight of living room windows, or on a recliner and blankets in the spare room, and on Ollie’s bed while he cowers underneath it.

She can scarcely stand our door being closed overnight. She wakes me up with the most pathetic (hilarious) chorus of mews, begging to wander in the dark. Every night. Her vocabulary of varied pitch, vowels, and syllables is staggering, and utterly delightful. “Oh! You tell a good sad story,” I tease her, and readjust to fall quickly back to sleep.

I can’t bear it. I can’t imprison her.

My mind leaps. “It’s over. I have to move.”

I tried to keep myself in check. No need to “awfulize,” or borrow trouble. Let it play out. There might be an option you can’t see in this state of mind. If not, you face what comes next when it comes. Today, you just clean the carpet.

I couldn’t! I was pouty, angry, sullen. The mood of the entire house changed, and I felt that old shame for using my energy to hold everyone hostage. Negativity was palpable. Jax kept reassuring me and I wanted to scream, “Shut up!”

Even my cats looked at me with that searching anxiety. That’s the worst. I felt awful. I was mad, at a cat! Who has no ulterior motive, who’s being perfectly feline. She’s alpha, because she is. That’s all. And I was mad at her!

I was mad at myself, for thinking her dominance was cute. For thinking I was some kind of cat whisperer who’d negotiated a sort of peace between the 2 of them. For thinking it was getting better. For blurring the lines with my roommate, and spending most nights in his bed and not mine. Why shouldn’t she?

I was mad that I can’t afford to live in Salt Lake without a roommate, mad that I’ll never be able to buy a house. I was mad at all the stupid decisions I made in my 30s that cost me so much. I was mad at all I’ve lost and given up, and can’t get back. I was mad that I’m getting older and running out of time to do anything I once dreamed I might. I was mad to know that my life will never be anything more than scraping by. I was mad that my roommate thinks his yard is xeriscaped, when really it’s just overgrown and ugly. I was mad that I’ll never have a haven of my own. I was mad that I’ll always be alone.

I’m mad that that’s exactly what I want, and I’m still not satisfied. I’m mad that I’m losing my looks. I’m mad that I failed, and now I’ve lost my bloom. It’s all over.

You know, perfectly reasonable stuff like that. Meow >^..^<

My Cat Needs Surgery and I Have Cancer

Well, it’s a grabby headline, anyway.

My poor kitty. Her ear has swollen even more since yesterday. Any more, and it will pop on its own. Maybe that would be cheaper. I feel so sad for her. It’s been one thing or another with her since she was 4 weeks old, from the innocuous to the terrifying. I’m always amazed at the next new thing. “Seriously? It never ends for you!”

I’ve decided she has a compromised immune system that makes her vulnerable to attacks of this, that, and everything. “Well, it’s obvious you’re my children,” I tell them. “One of you never stops talking and the other has auto-immune disease. We’re family!”

How I love them. =^..^=pen and crick

And the medical information I had to worry about all night? Well, I didn’t worry. I felt comforted, by my mom and my cheerleaders on high. I spoke with the nurse first thing this morning, and my biopsy came back positive for squamous cell skin cancer. No biggie. I’ll wait for the site to finish healing, and in a month I go back in to start freezing it to death.

When I mapped my genome 2 years ago, it revealed a higher than average risk of squamous and basal cell carcinomas. Both are relatively harmless and very common among fair-skinned people. I’m a redhead in the desert, and I’m a cyclist. Though my hands didn’t burn in the last decade, I confess I didn’t always wear sunscreen. Sheer bike gloves afforded some protection, but I knew better. It’s begun. (I was comforted to learn that I have only average risk for melanoma, the more deadly skin cancer.)

Yesterday, mom told me she got a cream from her dermy to put on her face for a couple of weeks to seek out the bad patches and burn them. She said she looks like she has acne on every square inch of skin. “Poor mom!” I laughed. “I’m sorry you’re ugly!”

Hopefully, it’s like a chemical peel and takes age spots, too, because ALL of my freckles have morphed these days and I, no doubt, will be getting that treatment myself one day.

Mid-life was never supposed to happen to me!