When Cats Glower


“If you tell the truth, you don’t have to remember anything.” ~ Mark Twain

“When dealing with the insane, the best method is to pretend to be sane.” ~ Herman Hesse

Our opening photo was taken by my friend Sigrid. Those crazy serene cats came from the animal shelter where I work. I led Sigrid to Walter, the smaller of the two animals, and a bond occurred immediately. Call this a disjunction, this sentence. Rosie the cat just came in from a visit to her litter box. She meowed in an odd way and I turned to look at her. Her face – it was a cat glower, and those can be quite compelling. I knew right away what was wrong. The litter box was full of it’s designated purpose. I cleaned it and added fresh litter. That’s the trouble with cats – it’s all about them. Some humans are like that too. Is it a character trait in humans? Let’s hope not.

There’s an ongoing situation at work that I fail to understand. I’m not sure I can understand. But the beauty of casual mindfulness is that it provides a boulevard through situations and that helps me to find a transverse into and beyond misunderstanding with little or no harm. A boulevard is often  lined with trees. The trees inspire dreams, and dreams are the way through troubles of all sorts. I realize, maybe too late, that I ought not write about inner politics at my workplace, so I will stop right now. We had enough of that when the good staff veterinarian took fire and retreated. It is with deep sadness, close to to tears, that I contemplate his departure. Brighter days are coming. Let’s move forward. Forget the past.

It was -4º when I first woke up. The sky was crystal clear and the stars smiled down upon me as I hightailed it back into my room. The second time I went outside I remembered to wear a coat. Clouds had moved in and the stars were gone from view, but the temperature had risen to a balmy 14º. Finding 14º to be comfortable is a good sign of daftness. “Daftness” is a sweet word. I love it!

Now about me. My ears are ringing with a vengeance. What, are they trying to shield me from something, drowning out some troublesome thing? I’ve never thought about it in that way. Medical science has no way of treating or correcting ringing in the ears. I was told that by the stunningly beautiful Marti, a PA who used to be my GP. She called me honey on occasion. That was fun. Today’s ringing is bothering me a tad. As are my sore eyes.

“Doctor, my eyes have seen the years
And the slow parade of fears without crying
Now I want to understand
I have done all that I could
To see the evil and the good without hiding
You must help me if you can?

Doctor, my eyes, tell me what is wrong
Was I unwise to leave them open for so long”  Jackson Browne

Well, that’s ,me this morning. I’m in a weird mood because yesterday was a weird day. It makes total sense to me. And since I’m being sensible I’ll do the sensible thing an get ready to go to work.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.


Waiting For the Foghorn to Blow

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“I believe in everything until it’s disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it’s in your mind. Who’s to say that dreams and nightmares aren’t as real as the here and now?”  ~ John Lennon

This fine fellow is Clinton, a success story, to be sure, yet he remains in the animal shelter. He would make a good home a happier home. Please note that his left ear has been cropped at the top. This is a way of providing service to Animal Control. The crop represents the fact that the animal has been neutered, so when the officer sees the cat with a cropped ear they know that it will not reproduce.  The animal is out there running free because of the feral release program. The officer can let the animal be. But Clinton became more socialized before he was released. His growing good nature kept him available for adoption. He became transformed and awaits going home. He is skittish but he is affectionate if you approach him slowly.

It’s another cold morning, -6º. It would be so easy to go back to bed and await a warmer moment. Responsibility makes that unlikely. Sigh. This down cycle on my bipolar spectrum is no less incorrigible than any other low. It is laced with fear, and is persistent at nothing in particular. What is the purpose of depression? Does it have a purpose at all? I don’t rightly know, but I do remember the most prominent stressor in the recent past. and stressors will almost always take me down. I watched a man nearly lose his career because of finely crafted words and ideas that were then let loose into the world. Turned out that proof may not be necessary where words alone can bring a man down. I’m dancing around the point here. Call it prudence. I don’t want to put my own well-being on the line by aggravating the forces that took my friend down. It’s a form of censorship, or at least it seems that way to me.  It’s for the best to say no more.

I’m in a fog this morning. I’m waiting for the foghorn to blow. In the meantime Ill stop writing and see if I can muster some momentum or something like it. There are parts of the coming day that I just plain don’t want to have to face. Poor me. Ob la di ob la da. Let’s do the right thing. Thanks, yer a pal.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.


There Is No Cage

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Here we have the lovely Milky Way. She’s a beauty, eh? I think she is the most beautiful cat in the cattery. So why is she behind bars? This is a philosophical question. Answer it and you are no further along from where you started . Which is kinda sorta where I am at this morning. It is wicked cold outside, -4º, and that alone brings challenge to a Sunday morning. High desert, high mountains, Sangre de Cristo range, it’s only natural. New Year’s Day is only days away. It’s cold this time of years. It’s not so much a matter of inconvenience, it’s a matter of having no choice. Questions of free will and inevitability are fun on a day like this. The cats have no such problem to solve. They are there, they are happy, for the most part, and they are only one step away from feral existence. Give them that, let them go wild, and you give them less than standard care. Which means, maybe, that you don’t care? We ain’t goin’ there this morning. You do care. Let’s leave it at that, k? The cats live within the parameters of society. There is no justice involved. There is no cage.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Large Coyote on a Snow-Packed Road

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“It’s hard to fight when the fight ain’t fair.” ~ Taylor Swift

Right turn from US 64 onto Camino de la Placitas, about 200 yards down, and there stands a large coyote, in the middle of the snow-packed road, and he turns to gaze at me, and I at him, then the timelessness of the moment sweeps in to subsume our chance meeting, taking the mundane and tossing it right out the front door. I  gasp then smile and he trots away, to the right, seemingly unconcerned. Maybe I was wrong about him, maybe he was concerned. I couldn’t really tell. It’s always that way with others. You can see, you can feel, but you cannot tell for sure that your senses had it right. But I am empathic, not psychic. It was a coyote on a frigid snow-packed backroad. That’s all I know. That oughtta be enough. It was for me. The archetypal realm was not really a choice at that point, the driving conditions were too wretched. In my earlier days I might well have looked for the totem connection which, I might note, operates with or without my consent.

But that was yesterday. Today it is less than two hours before dawn. The cock has been crowing since I woke up at 4 AM, maybe before. The air temperature is -4º F and I am befuddled, once again, by my desire to call in to work, to take the day off, and to do . . .what? Never mind. I actually want to go to work. And I actually have enjoyed my two brief sojourns  out into the really really cold outdoors. Coffee? Check. Strong? Check. It’s all pretty routine as of yet. What else? No, really! What else? So, I steel myself against the outside world, knowing full well that it is going to be there, nefarious and skeevy folks and all. And tailgaters! Were my blood actually able to boil it would be tailgaters that did it. Newton’s three laws of motion should be on every DMV exam. I mean, don’t get me going because when I do I will not stop. It’s preordained. What this all boils down to is this – get off my ass! Literally and figuratively. Do it metaphorically as well, if you are up to it. Dude I know that I am being like all unsociable and stuff but it’s just the way it is bro. I mean, does sociability trump my right to sentience? Usually not. Most of social interactions are really quite nice and fulfilling. But some of it just basically tells you to shut the fuck up and get out of the way or you will pay the price. As far as tailgaters go this means that they commandeer your rear-view mirror and make it portray only unseemly things. That dude is a high price to pay. And as far as folks who are on a quest for vengeance that would be justice I just don’t friggin know. Dude really? Someone could get hurt. Be careful, you might put your eye out with that thing.

Wow, am I obscure today or what. It’s my end of year review. Honestly, in the coming year, if I could manage to leave town for good and reset my life in a new location I would do so with all due alacrity and dispatch. That’s my tantrum of the day. Don’t let it worry ya none, it don’t mean a thang. Yeh.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Shake It Off

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“Ooh – my hands were tired
Jokers and fools on either side
But still I kept on till the worst had gone
Now  see the hole I was in” ~ the Traveling Wilburys, Heading For the Light

What is it with cats? Today’s opening photo is of my dear Rosie as a teenager. Thank god she didn’t have wings, she did enough flying as it is. The first time I let her out of the apartment she hightailed it, with zero hesitation, all the way to the top of a fifty foot Chinese Elm. I talked her down, only after saying holy shit. It took a while. Do cats know how to live it up or what! Rhetorical question so let’s move on, shall we?

French blue-gray above the rise that leads to the mesa proper, which is covered with snow, the effect is striking, even awe-inspiring, bringing my sleepy mind up a notch toward waking. It is beautiful, it brings with it encouragement to go on. Which brings me to today’s theme – -oh wait! I didn’t have a theme. My bad. Let’s move on, k?

After the last paragraph I stepped outside to hunker against the wall, as I am wont to do. Fresh snow out there. More throughout the day, they say. Bring it on. A pack of coyotes were at it, quite nearby, and their musical cries reminded me of Taylor Swift for some reason. That sweetie is clever, as are coyotes. If you can appreciate good pop music have a look at the video of her hit “Shake it Off”. The message in the lyrics makes me smile. Be yourself. Come on now, man. You’re old enough to be her grandfather! Shake it off, dude. Sorry, I don’t usually allow my superego out to run loose, but I also keep him penned up at my own peril. It’s a paradox. Rock on, Taylor. Swing by Stray Hearts Animal Shelter in Taos and we’ll do lunch. A burger, maybe a beer. And you can, if you would be so generous, make a healthy donation to the shelter. It’s be good PR and goddess knows we need all the help we can get.

Vast sweeping dreams carried me through the night. I sleep well most every night. It’s the meds, 1200-1500 mg gabapentin does the trick. I can’t remember anything from last night’s dreams, nothing but the feelings. Grandeur I tell you. It wasn’t like doing lunch with Taylor, it was way larger than that. Actually it seems like I went deeper into the Dreamtime than I usually do, out yonder where depth entwines with spaciousness so profound as to rival infinity. That’s big. I saw big things, felt big feelings. As I am at a juncture in my life where the old has finally withered on the stick and the new has not yet shown its shiny face I find myself scratching my head a lot. Itchy is as itchy does. That’s what I say. Do you believe me? Thanks, yer a pal.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.





In The Field of Opportunity

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“But there is a fatality, a feeling so irresistible and inevitable that it has the force of doom, which almost invariably compels human beings to linger around and haunt, ghost-like, the spot where some great and marked event has given the colour to their lifetime; and, still the more irresistibly, the darker the tinge that saddens it.” ~ Nathaniel Hawthorne

Christmas Day has me feeling wistful. So I look up ‘wistful’ and find that it is an accurate word to describe my feelings today. It’s my first Christmas alone in memory. There’s double meaning in that last sentence and both meanings are accurate. I’m working today, I volunteered to do so. I’ll tend to cats all day long then come back home in my accustomed manner. That’s actually not bad at all. I know it is a feast day for many people, and I know that I will have a frozen dinner, but my feelings don’t arise from that. I miss my mother, it’s been eight years since her death, and come to think of it that year was the last time I spent Christmas alone. I did have my not yet ex over for tea that afternoon. She, as a home care and hospice nurse, was out on the road that day, on call for the holiday. At the time I didn’t know that the relationship would become a live-in relationship, one that would last for seven years before it would crash and burn, largely due to my mental illness, which was undiagnosed until the relationship ended.  That end was last year, during the holiday season. I’ve been licking my wounds for the past year. There’s more of that to come. I feel sad to have lost it after all those years, and even though I understand now that much of the behavior that broke us apart was a direct effect from the illness I still feel anger toward myself for letting it happen. But how could I have stopped it? As I have written before, from within the illness hard life experiences look like destiny. You’ve no idea that things could happen differently, except in retrospect, and even then life becomes a series of WTFs, and then . . . what? I doubt that there is even a remote chance of reconciliation and reunion, even though, in many ways, I would truly like that. There is no love lost, we are still friends. But how would I know? The illness is still here, regardless of meds that keep me mostly balanced. There is no cure. When I try to peer beyond the metaphorical wall that the illness casts across my perception I find that wall becomes an old mirror, more often than not. What you see is what you get. Right? Shit, I hope she doesn’t read this post. Neither one of us is getting any younger. What good would honesty do at this point? Alas, says me, tis a tizzy which I care not to encounter. My meds are supposed to quash tizzies, but sometimes some of it seeps through.

There goes the rooster. I was awake for a while around 1:30 AM and he was going at it then as well. What, does he think that he’s friggin Paul Revere or something? It’s six, I work at eight. My sinuses are packed tight, headache included, and I just now remembered that I haven’t taken my meds yet, so I will do that thing, then step outside into the friggin frigid air, then come back in to wrap up this post.

“In the field of opportunity
It’s plowin’ time again.
There ain’t no way of telling
Where these seeds
Will rise or when
I’ll just wait
Around ’til springtime
And then, I’ll find a friend
In the field of opportunity
It’s plowin’ time again.” ~ Neil Young

Rosie the cat lays at my side, making full use of the bed. That’s her in the opening photo, at a tender young age, back when she and I had our first run-in with boundary-setting. She was chomping on computer cables and I reckoned I could convince her of the folly involved in doing so. The confrontation escalated quickly, then she laid into me good. Ouch! I’d reckoned I could change her mind. I did, but I paid the price by witnessing the sensation of fangs up to the gum line sunk into unwilling flesh. My bad.

Dude I’m like all wistful and stuff. That’s where I started, today, on Christmas Day. What goes around comes around. Who am I to have it otherwise. Come on now, who am I to fight such a thing as karma. I’m not a big proponent of the notion of karma. I prefer the usage of Newton’s Third Law of Motion as a metaphor. To me karma seems to insinuate judgement. I am well aware of the potential arguments against that stance but I am responsible for setting my own parameters when it comes to self-attenuation. Is it so bad that mythic analgesic is my drug of choice? The Hero’s Quest done gone and made itself gone. Is that an exercise in choice? Danged if I know. At this point I’d be soothed by a glass of wine and a sick call. But I want to work today. In the presence of some 40 cats I find solace. Today’s coworker has offered to have me over for to her place for Christmas, but I shall decline the invitation. I want to be alone. It’s been a long time and I want to see how it feels to do so by choice.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously. Merry Christmas.


Cat Burrito

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“And nobody, nobody knows
Let the yoke fall from our shoulders
Don’t carry it all don’t carry it all
We are all our hands in holders
Beneath this bold and brilliant sun” ~ the Decemberists

Christmas Eve. 3º, 6:42 AM. Coffee? Good. Cat asking for kibble. I’m waiting to go to the agent at the hospital, and she will help me hook up, to renew my Medicaid for one more year. Wish me luck. Oh! Did I tell you they use Starbuck;s coffee at the concession stand at the hospital? Yes they do. A cup of good ol’ joe will be like a dog biscuit for me. The Medicaid will be like a wise man’s reward for living in poverty. It has it’s perks. Yes.

I’ve written recently about a situation in my life that has my WTF meter cranked up high. In the short time I’ve had to contemplate the situation I’ve come to realize that I haven’t got a clue, nor a choice. No clue, no choice, no vision, no sanctuary, no burrito. No wait – I have had a burrito. They sell cheap ones at the Shell station/Giant convenience store on the south side. But we at work call it a burrito when we have to bind a crazy cat up in a towel to give it it’s meds. It’s never fun. But no towel no guarantee of safety. Pissed off cats can deliver a gash before you can say ouch, but who can blame them when you are squirting candy-flavored antibiotics down their throats. I’d be pissed off too. Wouldn’t you? I mean candy!? How about tuna? Wouldn’t that make more sense? What’s this world coming to? I don’t know.

Yes, it’s deeply cold sunrise that is upon us here in Taos, NM. I’m down with that. Since it is my day off I will likely do the hermit thingy. Maybe rent a movie. The third part of the Hunger Games franchise is at the local theater, but I haven’t seen the second yet. How in the ever-lovin’ heck have I passed up the opportunity to see Jennifer Lawrence? I must be daft. Maybe my more sensible fantasies have trumped my actual sensibilities. I’m like “Boy, I say boy, now don’t get me riled”. That quote was from the great Foghorn Leghorn. What a guy. As luck would have it the real live rooster out in the chicken coup just crowed. It is sunrise and I, as my duty requires, have not opened the door to the coup yet. Nor has Oscar the turkey fluttered boldly down from the roof of the coup. Oscar doesn’t mind the deep cold at all, while I take it into careful consideration. My moustache might get frosted.

I’ve entertained fantasies besides Jennifer lately. You can get a kind of cabin fever by staying in Taos too long without getting out of town for a day or three. And I have also been queued by incidental things to go on a train ride, an Amtrak adventure. I used to ride Amtrak a lot. I’ve got notably more than 10,000 miles on Amtrak. I like trains. Don’t you? But I’ll not be getting out of town any time soon, unless, maybe, I drive up to Questa to have a burger and a beer. That might quench me a tad.Regardless, it’s a beautiful day, coming up out of the darkness, and I really must shower, really must go to the hospital, and I really must push back my profusion-ridden  anxiety while I navigate town on the day before Christmas. Son of a sea biscuit I do not want to go into town, I want to take a nap then hitVideo Casa, which is just north of town, then I will be able to view sweet Jennifer while sipping wine and kicking back. Can ya blame me, for Christ-sake!?

Goof gloriously, and peace on Earth, k?


When The Turkey Flutters Boldly Down

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“As soon as you start talking about mystique, you have none.” ~ Neil Young

“I come down from the misty mountain
I got lost on the human highway
Take my hand refreshing fountain
Take my eyes from what they’ve seen” ~ Neil Young, Human Highway

So . . . . . . I’m an avid Neil Young fan, He’s been a huge influence for my writing. Go figure. It’s not that Neil is strongly on my mind this morning. He’s just there, part of the background because of his  affect on me through the years. What’s upfront and important this morning is the weather. How’s 12º sound to you? And windy, and humid. I’m finding it to be refreshing, regardless of the knowledge that I will tire of it quickly if it stays around. My coffee-making skills hit full bore today, in this dark hour of a beautiful morning. I know it’s become politically incorrect to drink Starbucks because of their opposition to regulations that would require  labeling that reveals content containing GMOs. Heaven forbid that we should know what we are consuming, right? I find that policy to be appalling. But I like their coffee.

Lately I’ve been contemplating sociopolitical power plays, and power shifts, and the whacky places they can lead, without conscious awareness, and the effects that ooze from such thoughtlessness. And, and, and. I just don’t know what to make of it  all. And what about the guy, or gal, that ends up in the the wrong place or position, in a potentially dangerous place. The news is full of such situations. They take the hit because the show must go on. We must leave the past behind us. I’m pretty sure that leaving the past behind us is a fairly universal thing, unless you consider quantum physics, but it isn’t usually on the table in boardrooms or on the streets for that matter. But we must also move forward, be a team player, put our best foot forward and all that happy horseshit. The powers that be aren’t gonna let humor into the equation. This is serious stuff, however silly it may seem. I don’t know why this has been bugging me unless it has something to do with smokescreens, and maybe even silkscreens. Slogans are often laid upon the fabric of tee shirt, and so it goes.

The rooster just crowed. He’s late. He usually starts at 5 AM. Is this tardiness an omen? Not really, but I could be wrong. My anxiety is running pretty high these days but I’m not going to go so far as to let some cock set the tone of my day. I might let the turkey do that, when he flutters boldly down from the roof of the chicken coup, but he is friggin trustworthy, and I like how he looks like a dinosaur. It’s humorous. You don’t see many of those these days. They got left behind when the world moved forward. C’est la vie. C’est domage, regardless of which translation of the French word you use.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.

Mr. Bojangles and Willy Wonka

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“With sixty staring me in the face, I have developed inflammation of the sentence structure and definite hardening of the paragraphs.”  ~ James Thurber

Now here’s a quote that can only be addressed effectively by writing OMG. I don’t mind doing that but what has become of such pleasantries as facts and details? Mr. Thurber has not given us any idea of what exactly he is talking about, yet I know exactly what he means. That’s one of the reasons I write a blog post nearly every day, in fact it is why I have a blog at all. Things need to be stretched or they become rigid. Deny that fact at your own peril. Mark Twain called statements that were not quite lies and not quite truths stretchers. Stephan Colbert calls this method of communication truthiness. Take your pick. One is alive and one long dead. I’m going with the dead guy, k? Don’t get me wrong, I loves ya Stephan but I need to stretch!

The fine fella in today’s opening photograph is Willy Wonka. Did ya ever see a cat with an orange goatee before? It’s the darnedest thing. As for the name, I named the friggin cat. Our crew gets to name the cats when they come in, unless they are owner surrenders that are already named, in which case we have to keep the cat’s given name. The name Willy Wonka came to me in a brilliant flash of whimsy, a flash which is now long gone, and I miss it sorely. But back to names and cats. Most people rename the cats when they adopt, so we cat caregivers just have fun with the names. Willy was that last cat I named. I am the only man in a crew of seven caregivers. Choice is not something I see too often. That, of course, is a joke, a witticism, a remark that may have been better left unsaid. My bad. Working with six women is, of course, pure pleasure. You may quote me.

“He looked to me to be the eyes of age
as he spoke right out
He talked of life, talked of life, he laughed
clicked his heels and stepped” ~ Jerry Jeff Walker

My brother just sent me an iPhone video of Jerry Jeff Walker, performing live at a posh party, singing Mr. Bojangles. My brother’s going to posh Christmas parties down yonder in Austin and I’m naming formerly stray cats. There’s a certain poetry to that. I must savor the fact without analyzing it. Should I ever get a chance to name another cat it’s going to be Bojangles. And just an afterthought on the idea of one man and six women – do ya think it’s all easy and stuff, or do ya think I am one lucky man? Dude it’s like all smiley and stuff. I do my grumping in private. Sometimes it’s easy, sometimes it’s friggin hard, and sometimes I feel lucky. Luckiness prevails. Luck is more reliable than faith anyway. Says me. Faith is one sketchy provider. Luck gives its all when it comes to call. Faith whispers while luck speaks out loud. Ob la di ob la da. Lucky me.

Today’s whimsy is brought to you by the Winter Solstice. It was kinda odd, running into a psycho therapist that I worked with for a long time, and that meeting was at the laundromat. What? I thought. How can she not have a washing machine at home?! Of course I found out the reason she was there and not at home doing laundry. It was a valid reason, and yes she does have a washing machine of her very own. Another thing was that she and I were the only Anglos in a room full of Indians. Some were even speaking their native language, so the whole scene was kind of surreal for me. My therapist and I chatted for a few minutes and it was like getting a mini session for free. As I was ready to leave she hugged me and said “Happy Solstice”. Still in embrace she glanced up at the clock on the wall then remarking that the Solstice would be exact in one hour and forty minutes. They still have a clock on the wall in that laundromat. It’s a good thing because who in their right mind would break a warm embrace by reaching for their cell phone to get the time? Not me, not she. Embraces need to be timeless, k? Trust me, I know.

So, where does that leave me now? This morning is Monday. I really don’t feel like leaving the house. I am still tired. And yet there are cats! I’m guessing it’s about 40 or so. I don’t know who I will be working with today. It will be two women, that’s all I know. No, I don’t have to work with all six at one time. Just two, and that’s a lot easier than one. In closing I’d like to note that this is the longest post I have written in weeks.. I’ve just been too tired, too hazy, too ragged, too rudderless, too down. Too far. Winter Solstice is the time when the light returns. The dark god dies and the god of light returns. You can’t beat a deal like that.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.



A Post in Which I Wish


“Formerly, when I would feel a desire to understand someone, or myself, I would take into consideration not actions, in which everything is relative, but wishes. Tell me what you want and I’ll tell you who you are.” ~ Anton Chekov

I posted a photo of this cat a few days ago on Facebook. Here she is again, the lovely Petra. I got scratched on the job yesterday, but it wasn’t Petra, it was Kanga, and she did it inadvertently after two of us held her down and squirted antibiotic fluid into her mouth. We do that when we have orders from the veterinarian, who is only in a few times a week, all day only on Fridays.  The scratch turned out to be not so bad, but it looked to be bad at first. I got the guy who used to be the former, full time, vet’s assistant to bandage it up for me and he did a lovely and thorough job of it. A good day’s work ensued. The animal shelter is where I do the majority of what I do these days. I’m pretty much of a hermit. I don’t mind. Life’s been pretty stressful these past eight years. I’m tired. Taking care of cats make me feel better. That I walked into the job at a time of intense controversy still doesn’t feel so good. To this day I still feel an injustice was done when our former vet was run out of town on a rail. But that’s just me. I delineate the sad event as self-standing because I still must remain true to the operations of the shelter, because I believe that personal integrity is important, and because I don’t want any trouble. Trouble is too easy to find without goin’ out and making more. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – I miss the vet. I feel sad because he is gone. Like the opening photo, things get blurry around the edges when it comes to human politics. I mean you’ve got to take a stance or get out of the way. I took a stance, what turned out to be a wrong one, but I remain true to myself regardless. I’d be rightly appalled if I had to pay for my stance somewhere down the line. Over is over unless it’s not. That ‘over’ is in reference to my own inner truth. There ain’t a hootin’ chance in hell of me having to pay for it in the outside world, now that all the hootin’ and hollerin’ is over. I am reduced to considering the whole sad affair on a philosophical and sociological level. I feel sad, that’s all. I wish it had turned out otherwise. A fella can wish can’t he? Before I sign off please note that I am so friggin tired that I cannot even manage a second paragraph!

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.