End of an Era...

 Years ago, sometime around 2000, a group of fans of the tv show "Remington Steele" got together online to chat about the show. We called ourselves "SteeleWatchers", and over time had several designated chatrooms set up to use. 

Over time, the number of fans dwindled until it was just myself and one other. We were unlikely friends, me from and living in E. Texas, her from the midwest, living in Wisconsin/Illinois. We agreed not to discuss politics, since we tended to be at opposite ends of that spectrum, and it's worked perfectly. 

 Even without the others, we still met on Wednesday evenings at 9 pm, usually to just catch on what was going on in our lives. Last year, I asked us to move the chat to Tuesdays, since it was a better night for me. She agreed, but slowly seemed to not show up, sometimes with an explanation, sometimes without. A few months ago, so had a bad fall, and I'm convinced that it affected her more than she wanted to admit, because even though I was sending her a reminder on Tuesday afternoon, she either didn't see the email or saw it and then forgot that it was chat night, which left me waiting all alone in the chatroom. 

 I wish I knew what the problem is. Is it her health? She said it wasn't. So that leaves me to think that it's a political thing - that she simply can't handle my politics even though we never discussed them. 

 So I've sent her a email that she needs to let me know when/if she wants to chat and I'll try to be there to meet her.

 Pray for my friend. And for me.

 

Goodbyes

 

It's been a little over a week since we had to say goodbye to Kiki.

We found her (or rather, Frank found her) when we were at my cousin's house for Thanksgiving back in 2010. We'd been without a cat for awhile, and our landlord at the time wasn't big on inside pets. 

Frank came into the house with a grin on his face, and I knew he was up to something, then I noticed a suspicious bulge in his jacket. It was moving. So I asked what he had in there. He opened the jacket and showed me a little yellow and white kitten, probably around 8 to 10 weeks old, and said that we were taking her with us. 

I said no, that we didn't need another cat, that we didn't have food or a litter box at the house. I kept saying no until it was time to leave. 

Guess what I did that evening? I went to Walmart and bought cat food and a litter box. 

She was Frank's cat, always loving on him, sleeping on his side of the bed. As she grew, her fur got longer, and she had little tufts on her feet. I think she was part Maine Coon, and she was so cute, because when she ate wet food or drank water, she would use her paw like a raccoon, dipping it into the food or water, licking it off, then flinging the residue everywhere. 

 Fun.

After Frank passed, she adopted me, but I always felt like she was just tolerating me. We had routines that she learned early. She liked Temptations treats, and every night just before I went to bed, I'd give her a few. No matter where she was in the house, when she heard me getting them out, she would join me to get her treats. 

I began taking a few extra treats into my bedroom, and after reading my Bible lesson, I would brush her, then give her the extra treats. It got to where she would stand there, meowing at me, wanting me to hurry up with my prayers so she could get those treats.

After Frank passed, I rescued another kitten, this one from under our porch. Jaggy had been abandoned by his mother, and I wasn't going to bring him inside - Kiki was clearly not happy with him being on the porch, much less inside. But I brought him in, and she hissed and snarled and growled. She wasn't happy, and refused to snuggle with the interloper. 

After awhile, they would wrestle, with Kiki always being the one to end it. She learned to tolerate him, but Jaggy would sit there, staring and watching her, ready to start again. 

Frank had taken her to the vet to be spayed years ago, and because of that experience, she hated enclosed spaces. Getting her into a carrier was traumatic for her, and for me. I managed to do it twice, and I have the scars to prove it.

So when she started going downhill a couple of weeks ago, I was frantic. I didn't want to maybe hurt her worse by forcing her into the carrier. She was eating, but spending 99% of the day on my bed. She was incontinent, urinating a lot. So I put pads on the bed for her to sleep on, covering them with some old towels that I kept for the cats to lay on. 

Finally, she stopped eating, and was barely drinking water. I knew it was time, but I couldn't afford the huge bill that mobile vets wanted to put her to sleep here. My son came down to help. I was really worried about getting her into the carrier, but I wrapped the towel she was laying on around her, and got her in with no problem. 

I was with her while the sedation was working, and I hope, even with her cataracts, the last thing she saw and heard was my telling her that I loved her and would miss her. My son went with her for the final shot - I simply couldn't do it. 

Ever since Frank's death, watching someone or something die is just beyond me. 

I know it was for the best - Kiki was suffering. But I've never been a fan of euthanasia. There's a slippery slope there that somehow terrifies me. I kept praying that God would take her in her sleep so that I wouldn't have to take her someplace and basically feel like I killed her or just stood there while someone else did it. 

 

Goodbye, Kiki girl. I do miss you. It was a good 15 years.

 

 

 

Murder and Apathy/Charlie Kirk

 I'm back! Today's events forced me back to my keyboard - and to my blog. I know, I know, no one reads these, but it helps me to keep from screaming into my pillow at night.

 This really started back when a confused young man decided to shoot into a Catholic Church during mass - a mass at which children were the majority of the congregation. Right after the event, most (sane) people were asking for prayers for the victims' families - and for the shooter and his family. Almost immediately, a group of people began objecting to that - saying that 'obviously' prayers didn't help, since these children had been in church and praying when they were murdered. 

Then, not very long after, a young Ukrainian female refugee was riding on public transit in Charlotte - and was stabbed to death by a man who had been arrested 14 previous times - and had spent time in jail. And while she was being stabbed and dying - none of the others on that train car moved to help her or attempted to subdue her killer. They just sat there, not looking, staring into their phones, until the train started coming into the next stop, when they went to the door where the killer wasn't. The killer was quickly caught, but I find it incredible that those people were so apathetic or possibly immune to seeing someone stabbed to death - or just plain scared to try to capture the man because maybe they might end up under arrest the way Daniel Penny had been arrested for trying to keep others safe.

Then there's today. 

Christian American conservative commentator Charlie Kirk was shot and killed - murdered by person or persons unknown during an appearance on a college campus in Utah. Charlie was popular with young people, made them proud to be Americans, and brought many to Christ. Only 31, he left behind a wife and children. From what I've been seeing, the shooter was likely on a rooftop with a clear view of the stage (stop me if this sounds familiar). The shooter, as of the time of my writing this, is still on the loose.

Immediately, the liberal left began to blame Charlie's rhetoric as the reason for his demise.  

Next, they'll blame it on the gun. Well, I've had a gun for most of my life, and it's never shot anyone. It takes a person's finger on the trigger to make that happen. 

As we learned in Charlotte, a gun isn't always necessary to kill. Knives are a more personal way,  you have to get closer than with a rifle, but both are deadly, and both need a human hand to do the work. 

 We must stop this insanity. Treat mental illness instead of celebrating it. Keep criminals locked up - and reform our justice system so that criminals are punished for their crimes. And do it quickly. People who speak to the press must stop suggesting that maybe things would be better if so and so weren't around to cause a problem, inciting violence against that person- and if that violence does happen, charge the person who instigated it.

 I pray that God will raise up more young men who will pick up Charlie Kirk's Bible and continue what he began. 

"if my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land." ---2 Chronicles 7:14 

Tomorrow is the 24th anniversary of the terrorist attacks of 9-11. The government calls it "Patriot Day", but to me, that's on April 19. I call it "9-11 Remembrance Day". 

 Later. I need to go find a pillow...

  

I keep forgetting --

 that I'm supposed to be coming here to write blogs. 

 

But since no one's reading them - just like my fiction - I tend to forget about it. 

 I did create a post earlier, but I deleted it because it was a 'pity me' post, and I try not to post those.

But I'm going to go back to writing fanfiction for awhile - at least there's a built-in audience there. 

 Anyway, I guess that means I really *do* want people to read my stuff, therefore I'm not just writing for 'me'. 

 Later - 

I'm Ba-ack! (Again)

I'm terrible at this blogging thing. Too busy writing to - well -- write, I guess. 

If I hadn't posted a new Episode of Beginnings, I probably wouldn't have remembered today. Oh, well. 

I was originally going to use this blog to talk about politics, but I don't want to offend anyone. I *will* talk about my God here, though, so be warned. 

Back to my writing. I've gotten the Donagers to what will become the New Mexico Territory eventually, but the story doesn't stop there. Establishing a ranch, building a town - building a dream, takes awhile. And lots of things happened between their arrival in the valley and the birth of the twins. That's a lot of story fodder, I think. 

I just hope others do, as well.

Link to Episode 4: His Shadow on the Land:

http://nancyeddy.com/donagerbeginnings.html 

 Enjoy!

 

 Well, that didn't last long, did it? 

I said I was going to start blogging again. So let's get this show on the road. 

 I have been writing fiction. Part 3 of The Donager Saga: Beginnings is going swimmingly. Or maybe that should be slowly. Not sure. I need to find a way to start writing without distractions. Right now, the TV is on and Stacy's in here. Once she goes to bed, I turn the TV down, but I've usually stopped writing by then. 

I don't know. I've been thinking about taking my laptop into the bedroom and writing before bed. I don't get email on it (I don't have it set to download email), so that wouldn't be a distraction. But it would mean that I would get to bed later than I do now, and then I'd sleep too late the next morning. 

 Sigh. 

 I'll figure it out, I'm sure. 

 Eventually. 

 Until next time,

God Bless you all.

Update

 It's been awhile. Six years, I believe. My last post was that I was going to start writing again. I didn't. Not then, at least. I have been writing for the last year or so - even re-published my novel, "Blairview" at Amazon, in both Kindle e-book and paperback formats. 

But I've discovered that - while I sold a handful of copies - people aren't reading what I write. Not even when I post it for free to my website. I publish there, and the counter doesn't record anyone rushing over to read it. 

Sigh. But, as I've stated before, I don't really write for other people. I write because if I don't, I go a little crazy. Okay, maybe more than a little. 

I recently retired from my job after almost 30 years, and once I get a routine going, I hope to be able to write more than just the hour I've had slotted for that activity for the last year. 

 No one reads these blog posts, either, but here I am, writing one. 

 God Bless,

Nancy 

#Retired #writing #publishing