The Rainbow and the Stress-related Seizures


“I think the mystery of art lies in this, that artists’ relationship is essentially with their work — not with power, not with profit, not with themselves, not even with their audience.”  ~  Ursula K. Le Guin

I just had to close the window against the shrill and bold crows of that friggin rooster, Ken Winslow. That’s actually pretty much his job, so I can’t fault him for it, and that kind of boldness is not uncommon among the males of many species, so closing the window is about all I can do. Having done so I will now sip my coffee, at a rate which can not be called moderate, and wonder what will come as I write this post. I never have an outline for these things, these posts. Sometimes I have some direction or some issue du jour, but planning ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. I suppose I can start with the rainbow. I went down to Kit Carson Park last evening, to attend a rally for the animal shelter where I used to work. Heard tell, while I was there, that I might be offered my job back. Cool. Nobody made mention of that outside of rumors, nobody in an official capacity said anything about it. There is a high probability that I would accept an offer to return, and if so I would hope my chances of being chosen in this manner would not be influenced by what I write here. If so, who could fault them, but I would serve them well, as an organization requires. It is quite an emotional issue, all said. I don’t want to lose what is so dear to me. One woman, one of the shelter’s dog volunteers, said that I have a magical way with the cats. High compliment that. I neglected to say that I find that magic is about the only effective way to get through to those friggin adversarial beasts. Try sweeping out a communal cage with a tabby or a tuxedo cat leaning into your broom and you will see what I mean. No really, go try it. They need the help, since all of us gainfully employed crew members have gone elsewhere, and for good reason. The shelter needs the help and the cats are lonely. Now, back to the rainbow. No wait, not yet. There was one point at which the preponderance of the audience, who were scattered loosely in front of the amphitheater stage, standing on grass green from ample rain, moved up close to the stage, many even hopping up onto the stage. It was raining, light and pretty, and they apparently did not want to get wet. I was standing with a friend and neither of us moved. T’were but but a sprinkle. So my friend and I remained as the only ones out on the open green. The mist felt good. Now, my friend has been and is a vocal advocate for shelter animals, and she has a rather harsh reputation for her approach to the issues at hand. The animals need such passionate advocates. Granted, she can be very hard to work with. I only had one serious run-in with her, one time when she pushed my anxiety level smack into the red line. The then Director took the role of peacemaker and smoothed the tension, then she, the Director, went into the cat intake area and helped me to finish up cleaning the messy shitty kennels. I was impressed, and she was pleasant company for me and the cats. A calm sincere demeanor makes all the difference when working with cats. Like dude they know when you are all tense and gnarly from displaced attention and they are pretty much fuck you dude. Cats deserve better, especially when incarcerated. Anyway, I am certain that my proximity with my friend, as the only folks out in the field, will make for some serious gossip. Whatever. She is my friend, I love her, we have much in common, and I am idealistic in my belief that a person should be evaluated for their own merits, not those of  .  .  .  oh, never mind. I just hope I don’t get judged by the company I keep. Or for what I express in a blog with a sparse audience. C’est la vie, non?

Hmmm, I bet you are wondering when I am going to get to the rainbow, right? I left the rally before it was over. There was no reason other than it was gettin’ on toward sunset and I hate driving in the dark. On my way home I stopped at the new convenience store and purchased two pints of Torpedo ale. I needed a drink after the rally. I had tried to keep a positive attitude but my emotions got the better of me. The rainbow fixed that some, that rainbow which had unfolded from the rain while I was in buying ale. But I wanted my job back and that had colored my attitude regardless of my efforts. Yup, it was bitterness. And, somewhat, also fear at the prospect of having been in the presence of a controversial friend, and that said presence would irrevocably harm my chances at getting it back, if the shelter should decide to return the crew to it’s former status. And to that issue I can only say hey, peeps, she’s just a friend. Get over it.  On that note we will wrap-up this post. Maybe the town and county and animal shelter will all come together and repair the damage before it goes too far, which it very well might. Go too far, that is. They struggle at the brink as it is. That ain’t gonna do a fucking bit of good. Seventeen of us took the first shot in the battle. I resent that, but it doesn’t make me a bad person to say so. Dude like chill dude before them kitty cats get all riled. Oh, oh, oh  .  .  .  the cat in the opening photo is Lucas the Great. I call him “the great”. Lucas is a special needs cat. He has seizure issues. Doc Heather says they are stress-related seizures, if you catch my drift. Please do.

Peace out, y’all. Goof gloriously.


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