Kittens! And Other Second Chances

My neighbor fosters dogs and cats until she finds them homes.  I have her to thank for my cat Harley (as if I needed help finding cats!)  Several other neighbors have dogs from her, and she didn't even have to twist arms; she's good at finding the right people for the right pet.  This was her most recent success story a few days ago:

Chewy was a four year old head-strong, rambunctious dog rejected by the shelter because they couldn't handle him.  That means he was headed straight for euthanasia.  But my neighbor took him and had him evaluated by a trainer who snatched him up, saying he had the perfect disposition and abilities he looks for when training  tracking dogs.  Chewy will soon be a search dog for missing people, the dogs often used to find Alzheimer patients who wander off and get lost.  A close call and a happy ending because someone bothered to look for an alternative.


This is Whitney, the latest stray cat.  She arrived with perfect house manners and a loving disposition.  Unfortunately, she'd been a little too free with her love, and she was pregnant.  (A lot of romance novels start this way!)  Sunday she delivered these five kittens.  They will all be adopted into good homes by eight weeks, but for now I get to enjoy watching them grow.  And because kittens are an automatic dose of feel-good, I'll share with you here.

Five days old, and looking more like rats than cats.  One will be like mom, long-haired and black.  A couple are tuxedo patterned, one is all gray, and the little tiger on the right is a black tabby who, we think, will be a big handsome hunk.

One of the tuxedoes.  Stay tuned - more unbearable cuteness to come!

RITA® Awards

This morning I dutifully sat down to write and got halfway through my first sentence when the phone rang.  There was possibly a moment of cursing.  Then a civil, if strained, "Hello."  Then the shock of my professional life when I was told I was a finalist for the RITA®  Award.

Since then I've received a lot of congratulations.  Also, a lot of "Huh?  What's that?" queries.  So I will explain.

The Romance Writers of America® (RWA) sponsors a contest for published authors named after their co-founder, Rita Clay Estrada.  About 1,200 authors enter their romance books in the RITA® each year, in one of 12 categories.  Books are judged by our fellow romance authors, which is what makes this contest so important.  It's the Academy Awards for romance writers, with an awards ceremony attended by a couple thousand romance writers that strongly resembles the Oscar ceremonies you watch on TV.  Yes, we know how to do it right!  And just as the Oscar nominees say, it is truly an honor just to be nominated.  Because - with all apologies to my lovely readers - there is something special about your fellow published authors saying, "This is a great book!"

So that's why I had a completely giddy, unproductive day today that was all about feeling proud of my book, SILVER SPARKS.  Tomorrow I will get back to writing.  Or maybe dress shopping, because that awards ceremony is impressive, and if I wear my simple black wrap dress again my daughters and friends will disown me.  I've already been warned.

I think we need to get in touch with those Big Name dress designers and jewelers who make the Oscar nominees look so great.   I'd like to be Halle Berry, please.

Coming Around

I warned you all about this back in November ( here ) when I began writing my next book.  I said my brain would be a dysfuntional mess until April.  I wasn't kidding. 

I count it an amazing achievement that here in March I can blink at the blue sky, focus on objects, and murmur with wonder, "Look, I have a blog!  I could probably write something for it if I tried. . ."  Then I sink back into the bubbling muck and plot more problems for my heroine.

But I'm awake, and I have found you, internet.  I'll be back soon.

And Then There Were Three

I lost one of my four hens today, a leghorn. 

She was seven years old, as are the other three.  I bought them as chicks, shipped from factory farms at one day old.  It's one of the signs of spring around here, when the back room of the post office  is alive with peeping baby chicks.

Chickens can have long lifespans, like dogs or cats, living 15-20 years.  Those are mostly the specialty or "heritage" breeds.  The factory-bred birds that were developed for egg-laying capabilities produce early and often, and typically die at far younger ages, usually by 4 years.

In 2005 I bought ten hens - five leghorns and five Aricaunas (the ones that lay green eggs.)  Three are left - one leghorn and two Aricaunas.  When they're gone, that's it.  We don't use enough eggs to make it worth the trouble of cleaning the coop and buying grain. 

I laid my little hen's body in the tangled growth in the tree line behind our property, as I have with dozens of others.  Tomorrow she will be gone, not a feather left.  I don't know what takes them, but suspect it's usually raccoons.  Sometimes I prefer to let Nature work without knowing the details.

Now Hiring: Barn Cat

Experience preferred, but not necessary.  Must be able to work independently.  Pay commensurate with skill at catching rodents.  Base pay is kibbles.  No vacation days.  Male cat preferred, neutered status a plus.  We are looking for an individual who can work all shifts in all weather.  Must be able to get along with two resident female (spayed) cats. Apply within, Sophie's decison final.

Applications are still coming in!  For the past two days the mysterious black cat has been absent, and a long haired white cat with a dark raccoon tail has been slinking around.  Both were absent today, and I believe Sophie is still interviewing.  And both, I am sure, are male cats because Sophie has not tangled with either, but TC has.  He came home a few days ago with a pierced ear from a bite that went clean through it.  Maybe I shouldn't have let it heal - it's a good spot for an earing.

Is This Weird?

Honestly, I don't know.  You'd think drinking from a water dish would be a simple thing, with one way to do it.  But I have two cats who have developed their own style, using one paw as a spoon.  It's hard to imagine if you haven't seen it, so here's a video (below) of Ella practicing her elegant, prissy style of drinking.

Is this normal?  Does anyone know a cat who does this, or do I own two weird ones?

But Did It Have To Be Black?

About six weeks ago (as I wrote here ) one of our barn cats, Gray, disappeared.  I predicted that it wouldn't be long before another cat showed up to fill the vacancy.  It's a balance that seems to work for our little farm - two female barn cats, Sophie and Zoe, and one male.  The male cats have come and gone (or in TC's case, moved into the house and annointed himself king.)  It's possible the next barn cat has arrived.

This evening as I did barn chores I walked out of the stalls in time to see a cat scuttle away from Sophie's food dish to hide under the Murder Car.  A black cat.  There are two solid black cats that could possibly be in the barn - Zoe, who I'd just tucked in with the chickens for the night, and Nicky, a big indoor-outdoor cat who would probably run from me because he knows I don't want him in the barn.  Except he was currently in the house.  And this cat looked smaller, about the size of Penny, an exclusively indoor black cat.

Sounds like a lot of black cats, doesn't it?  We seem to specialize in them.  For instance, this was the scene in our family room this evening, where the cats bask in front of the fireplace:

That's Nicky at the left, keeping a suspicious eye on Harley.  Penny and Ella (sisters) are behind them.

All nice cats.  But come on, what are the odds that the next stray to show up here would be solid black? 

Updates as they happen.

Dirt Road Blues

I'd like to have a talk with my mother here.  The Big one - Mother Nature. 

Listen, Mom, Spring's nice and all, but there's a reason we don't want it in February.  This is Michigan; dirt roads should be frozen and covered with snow.  I'm resigned to skipping the car wash every April and May, since I can't get back home without turning into a rolling wall of mud.  But come on, how long do I have to have a brown truck?  Yes, I did buy the model with a tan stripe along the bottom, but it's not supposed to be THAT big.

Writing and Depression

 Another scientific list is out, and I'm in the Loser group - The Depressed People.  Not depressing - so far science hasn't been able to hang that one on me.  But I can't deny the depressed part.

In a list of the top 10 professions prone to depression, writers come in 5th, along with artists and entertainers.  Depression is also a leading cause of suicide, which is rather, you know, depressing.  But more on that later.

True to my profession, I am depressed, or so my doctor says.  (My symptoms were insomnia and an inability to concentrate, which makes sense when you only get 4 hours of sleep.)  And for the record, I know a TON of writers who take anti-depressants.  There's something to those statistics.

What I found surprising is that numbers 1-4 on the Depressed list are all helping professions:
1. nursing home/child care workers
2. food service
3. social workers
4. health care workers
For that matter, number 6 is teachers, which is also another selfless, helping profession.  So how in the heck did we self-absorbed writers get in this group?

And let's dispell a big myth - depression doesn't mean you're moping around thinking bleak thoughts.  It probably means you feel overwhelmed by tasks you used to do easily.  And they have pills for that!  So depressed people who seek help aren't actually depressed.  Got it?
 
So who are those depressed people committing suicide?  Experts can't seem to narrow it down to particular professions.   Here's what they can say - women attempt suicide three to four times more often than men.  That wouldn't look good for me, EXCEPT... men succeed at it four times as often. 

I'm a competitive person, so I don't generally like to be second best at anything.  But guys, you can have this one.  And take a pill, why don't ya?  Or read a romance novel!  Dynamic characters, falling in love, and a guaranteed happy ending - how could that not make you feel better?

Horse Update

Remi was better by Sunday and out of his stall Tuesday morning, after giving his hoof time to toughen up again.

Then slight bouts with colds for the humans, but otherwise no excitement.  (When a slight cold is classified as excitement, you know how truly dull we are.)  Dull is good - there are no distractions to keep me from writing.  Writing my novel, that is.  Poor neglected blog.