Good thing she loves me

February 2, 2018

Close-up of my cat Rani's face staring straight at the camera and glaring

How to feel like the worst cat mom EVER in one short story.

Rani gets fed once a day now, and she tends to go through her food in about 20 hours. Right now it’s more like 18. So the time of day she gets fed varies. Sometimes wildly. I try to keep to roughly the same time, but if she’s eaten every speck of her food in about 18 hours, I’m going to feed her early and not make her wait another 6 hours.

A few weeks ago we were snuggled in bed. I was watching figure skating and reading and she was cuddled up to me sleeping. The skating ended and I was tired so about midnight I shut off my lamp and went to sleep.


Around 3:00 am she wakes me up with pitiful meows and gentle taps with her paw. Seriously. She just gently pets my arm. I don’t yet realize I forgot to feed her, so we go back and forth with me trying to get her settled down.

I finally realize the problem, so I get up and feed her and go back to bed.

A few minutes later.

*pat pat pat* Meoooooowwww?

Me, groggily: I fed you!

*pat pat pat* Meoooooowwww?

Go eat!

*pat pat pat* Meoooooowwww?

Now I’m ticked. It’s cold in the house and I don’t want to get out of bed again, and I FED HER. Why is she still bugging me?! And there she is, staring at me like I’ve betrayed her. FINE! I’ll get up and take her to her food! I’ll show her and then maybe JUST MAYBE I can get back to sleep. And standing there, on the cold tile in my bare feet, staring at her empty food bowl, the light finally dawns in my fuzzy, annoyed, and oh so very tired brain.

I hadn’t actually fed her. I dreamed it.

Oops. Don’t I feel like the cruelest cat mom ever.

This is almost, but not quite, as bad as that time mom and I never fed her one morning.

Lynda the Guppy
aka The Fish With Sticks
aka Meanest Cat Mom Ever 

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Adventures in cranberry sauce

December 1, 2016

When it comes to cranberry sauce, I love the made from scratch kind. The one I make has a lot of orange in it, and it’s sweet and tart and amazing. It’s super easy to make, so buying the icky canned stuff seems wrong. The kind I make can be used with turkey, mixed with some mayo on a sandwich, as ice cream toppings. Or–if it was a particularly good batch and I’m living by myself and not sharing–straight out of the jar with a spoon.

My mother, however, loved the canned kind. She loved the sound it made when it came out of the can; she loved the lines in the sides; she loved that she could slice it with a knife.

Mom was weird.

When mom was first admitted to the hospital, and they finally found the cancer and started treatment, she was there for over a week. Her blood pressure was naturally very low, and other than the cancer riddling her body, she was pretty damn healthy, so she wasn’t on a restricted diet. The food was pretty bland, so on the first day she was able to keep food down, instead of bringing her flowers I brought her a baggie with salt. She always said that was the best gift I ever gave her.

One day she decided she’d take a chance and ordered the “Turkey Dinner.” It came with turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, veggies and “a side of cranberry sauce.”

She gets served a plate with the turkey and all the other stuff, and a “bowl” of cranberry sauce.

A bowl approximately the size of a cereal bowl and in it is a small square packet of Cranberry Sauce in a packet like jelly in a restaurant.

You know when you go to a restaurant and ask for jelly and you get those little packets you have to open? That’s what this was. Maybe a little thicker, but not by much. If it was more than a teaspoon, I’d be surprised.

We always wondered WHY they served it in a BOWL? Was mom supposed to open it up and dish it up into the bowl? Or did they think it looked more festive? Either way, it was ridiculous. Especially as the bowl was about the size of a cereal bowl, so that should give you a better sense of scale.

Whatever their thinking, we laughed until our sides ached. The nurses came and checked on her because her vitals were going haywire and we were making a racket. All we could do was point and laugh even more.

I have very few good memories of that week, but that was one of them. And it still makes me laugh.

Lynda the Guppy
aka No Ridges For Me
aka The Fish With Sticks

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They Know

November 22, 2016

Rani laying on a comforter that surrounds her on three sides with all the sides higher than she is.

A few years ago I was working an election and it was one of the local ones, so that meant we had about 58 voters all day. To give you an idea, the same precinct had nearly 800 voters for this recent presidential election.

Anyway, so I was talking to a couple other poll workers, and we were talking about our pets, and I said something about Rani talking to me. This one woman, turns to me and sneers, “Pets don’t TALK to people. They’re ANIMALS.” My reply was something along the lines of “They hell they don’t! My cat talks ALL THE TIME.” And she does! She’s a Tortie, so she’s very vocal.

Not only do I know Rani talks to me, I think she understands WAY more than she should. Take this morning for example.

I went to bed late, as I like to do, but not too late. Probably around 1:00 a.m. I was a little restless so she went in the other room. That sometimes happens if I’m disturbing her royal highness, but at some point I usually wake up and she’s on my lap or next to me. I woke up around 6:00 a.m. and realized she wasn’t there. And hadn’t been there all night. I used the bathroom and when I came out I could see she was on her favorite spot on the back of one of the couches.

Me: You didn’t come to bed last night? What? You don’t love me anymore?

Hey, I live alone and work from home. I talk to my cat. Don’t judge.

I went back to bed to get a little more sleep, and I hear her jump down from the sofa. (Small house. Quiet neighborhood.) She saunters into the bedroom, gets up on the end of the bed, stares at me for a minute, sighs heavily, and climbs on my lap. Then sighs again as she lies down.

And I laughed because if that wasn’t her saying “FINE. If you’re gonna whine about me not coming to bed, then here I am. But it’s under protest.”

Cat*, a fellow knitter I recently met, has a theory about cats. Dogs won’t let you be uninvolved in their lives. They force you to deal with them. But cats can be independent and indifferent. She thinks cats size up their person and give back what they get. The person thinks cats are aloof and standoffish, then that’s the attitude the cats give them. Like “Fine. You want that? Whatever. I’m good.” And once that pattern is set, there’s no going back. If you change your mind, the cat’s all “No, no. This is what you wanted. This is what you got. Too late now, puny human.”

But if you want a loving cat who cuddles and plays with you, they’ll eventually warm up to you and give that back. I’ve lived with 3 cats, all with WILDLY different personalities, but none were aloof, and all loved being around their person. Rani will play both Fetch and Catch. She spends about 20 hours a day with me, and wants to cuddle all the time.


When she’s not sleeping on the couch.

Lynda the Guppy
aka Rani Minion

*No, really. That’s her name. 

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Eight Years Ago

November 4, 2016

Eight years ago today Barack Obama became the first African American president in our nation’s history. I think about that a lot, and I wonder if the Obama’s celebrate this date. I wonder if they even remember what the date was, as at that point a presidential campaign is so insane they may only know what day it is because it’s election day so it must be Tuesday.

I remember this day eight years ago so very clearly because it was my mom’s 60th birthday. The last healthy one she had. I remember I gave her 60 beautiful roses and had Indian food delivered. She didn’t want to go out because she knew history was being made no matter which way it went, so we ate in front of the tv and watched the election results. After growing up in the 50s and living through the 60s, she was amazed. She voted for him, of course. But she honestly never thought she’d see the day where we had a black president. She was so proud of how far our nation had come that we would elect him.

Four years later she had been gone only three months, and I spent Election Day working my first election and once again hoping for an Obama presidency. I was nervous and scared about working the election, but it was an amazing experience. I was so grateful it was after her birthday that year, because I was a basket case for all of October. Things were Really Not Good for me then, and I basically cried when I breathed for weeks leading up to her birthday.

This year for her birthday I’m going out with a friend to see a fun movie. I can think of Mom’s birthday now without wanting to sob uncontrollably, but it took a few years. It’s still the hardest day of the year for me. I remember the date she was diagnosed with cancer. I remember the date she decided to start hospice care. I remember the date she died. I remember all the amazing Christmas Eves we had together, and all of my birthdays, but her birthday has always ALWAYS been, for me, the hardest day of the year to get through.

I’ll be working the election again, as I have every one since 2012. It’s still an amazing and humbling thing to do. I’ll be honest and tell you I’m more than a little worried about something happening at the polls, but I also know Mom’s watching. And pretty pissed off she wasn’t able to vote for Hillary. She would have been ALL OVER voting for her. And if she was retired by now, I’m sure she would have volunteered for the campaign.

But I know when I cast my vote, she’ll be in the booth with me. She’s the one who taught me how to vote when I was little and we walked to my parents’ polling place. My parents and I are of a similar mind politically, and as the only Democrats in a family of Republicans, it sometimes gets a little dicey. But she’s the one who taught me to think for myself. To look up the issues. To not just be a voter, but be an INFORMED voter. If I had questions, she’d answer them. If I wanted to know how she was going to vote, she’d tell me, but always with the caveat that I should make up my own mind, and not just vote the way she and my dad did.

All during this campaign I’ve ached to talk to her, and I know she would have had a LOT to say about the shenanigans. Most of it would have been colorful. Who do you think taught me how to swear?

So today, on her birthday, I miss her so much. And on Tuesday when I vote, I’ll miss her even more. But I think she’d be proud of what I’m doing and how I’m going on without her. At least I hope so.

Happy birthday, Mom. I wish you were here.

A picture of me on the left with my mom on the right. All you see are our heads and shoulders. I have my arm around my mom and we're in matching blue windbreakers. Taken in 1984.

And don’t haunt me because I posted this picture.

Lynda the Guppy
aka The Bear’s Daughter

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I have thoughts

November 16, 2015

Thousands of candles can be lighted from a  single candle,
and the life of the candle will not be shortened.
Happiness never decreases by being shared.

One day in 2007 my mom called me at my office and told me she had to attend a meeting in Paris. She had decided to take a few extra days and play tourist. Did I want to go? Oh, and we would leave in two weeks.

Good thing my passport was up to date.

Here’s the thing. Paris was one of those places I thought I might get to eventually, but if I didn’t, that was okay, too. No real desire to go. And the French, especially Parisians, are always said to be rude and snooty and obnoxious.

I was in Paris about 2 hours before I loved it. It took only a glance at the Eiffel Tower for me to completely lose my heart to her, and the Parisians couldn’t have been nicer or more helpful to strangers. It was a total impulse trip, and an expensive one, but one I will never regret. It was one of the best five days of my life, and I’m so glad I got to experience it with my mom.

I could tell you about how beautiful I think the Eiffel Tower is…

The Eiffel Tower on a sunny day in Paris looking from the ground up to the top.

I could tell you about how happy my mom was to finally be able to go inside Notre Dame, and how I took the only picture of herself she ever LOVED…

My mom standing in front of one of the carved doors at Notre Dame. She's got a huge grin on her face.

I could mention the cows I found while I was lost trying to get back to the hotel…

Two life-sized cow statues facing each other. One has traditional cow markings but in silver with black spots. The one on the right is gold with white wings painted on its body and a huge white flower painted on its back hip. Both cows have red tails and hooves as well as red masks over their eyes.

…Or the strolling accordion player who started playing on cue when I said I was wearing “The Magic Scarf”…

Man holding an accordion and a pink scarf I knitted which was dubbed The Magic Scarf. He looks very confused.

…Or the strangers on a train who got off the train with us, and made sure we made it to the right train, before taking a later train themselves to wherever they were going that Sunday afternoon…

All those things went through my mind Friday night while watching the awful news out of Paris. All that carnage. All that bloodshed. It was awful and heartbreaking. I have a friend who is near enough to Paris for me to be worried. Thankfully, she’s safe. I’m not sure about her friends.

I wonder what happened to those strangers who helped us find the train to Versailles? The guard at the Louvre who was so friendly? The street artist from in front of the Musee d’Orsay who drew the sketch I have hanging in my office?

The news was coming fast, but confused. First it was gunshots at a cafe. Then two restaurants. Then two explosions. No, only one. Maybe three. A hostage situation. No, a massacre. Suicide bombers? Nothing was clear, other than horrible people were out to kill as many people as they could. I couldn’t believe it.

Except…I could. Atrocities like these happen near daily in some parts of the world, but it’s become so commonplace there that we no longer notice. The talking heads last night mentioned how horrible it would be if we lived in a world where we needed to be scanned for weapons before entering a restaurant.

There are places in the world where they do just that. Places where they fear every day for their lives, for their children’s lives. People talk about how scary it is for American schoolchildren to have school shooting drills? What about the kids in the Middle East who have bombing drills. Not because it MIGHT happen to them, but that it HAS happened to them, and they need to be as prepared as possible for next time.

I don’t know what the answers are. France is declaring its own war on terror? Okay. Great. Look at where the US is after declaring the same 14 years ago. Terrorism still exists. People are still being killed. Except now we have a generation of wounded soldiers, military cemeteries who can’t keep up with the bodies, and we can’t go through TSA without putting lip gloss in a plastic bag.

Where there is love, there is life.
~Mahatma Gandhi

I know I’m scared. I’m more scared now than I was in 2001. Smarter people than me are trying to figure out answers. I don’t know that it will happen in my lifetime, but I think that’s okay. When I was growing up portions of Europe were literally walled off from the rest of the world. Nuclear war was a legitimate threat. With the push of a button the entire world could have been obliterated. But it’s better now. As awful as these terrorist attacks are, as ALL terrorist attacks are, I believe it IS a better world.

The world is a smaller place. I regularly talk to friends via social media who live in Australia, Ireland, Canada, Spain, all corners of the US, and lots of other parts of the world. People are using social media for change for the better. People are trying to make themselves better. Heck, I have my current career because of Twitter.

Yes, there seems like there’s a lot of hatred in the world today. On both a small scale and a global one. But I’ve seen people teach others about ethnic diversity and why it’s important, about how to better understand disabilities and the issues people living with them have. I’ve seen friends announce some troublesome news and be absolutely SWAMPED with love and support. I’ve seen friends and strangers alike say they’re struggling with emotional issues and people they don’t even know give out their phone numbers or offer to meet them somewhere to talk. To help.

And I’ve just watched Parisians open their doors in the night for terrified strangers who were frantic to get off the streets and away from more gunfire and explosions.

There are awful, horrible things going on the world right now, but I choose to focus on the love and strength I know we all have within us. I know it’s there because times like this, when scary things happen, and we are shaken to our core by violence, that’s when it happens. When those of us watching let all that love and strength shine out of us like beacons so those who are trapped in the darkness can find their way out.

Find their way home.

I have decided to stick with love.
Hate is too great a burden to bear.
~Martin Luther King, Jr.

Lynda the Guppy
aka The Fish With Sticks

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