Those Strays

It feels wonderful to be chosen. When we were little, to be picked first for a pick-up sports game or in gym class to not have to feel the head hanging shame of being one of the last ones chosen.

I think this is why I'm so up in arms about a tiny stray kitten that suddenly appeared near my son's home this summer. Someone took God's tiny creature and not caring what might happen to it, they "chose" to drop this precious sweetheart off on a busy road without a second glance as they drove off to their busy lives.

Mewling, scrawny, eyes too big for its little face, I spotted the tortoise-shell kitten between my son's house and the neighbor's home. At least there was a dish on their porch, and I could see the neighbors had a soft spot for this little stray. I, of course, ran into my son's house grabbing handfuls of cat kibble and a cup of water. The grateful stray rubbed against me, purring gratitude, looking up at me with those huge, starving eyes.

My son has a heart like his mama. Recently he asked what he could do for this cat. He couldn't take it in with his own two, we were unsure if it may have caught some sort of disease or infection in all its time outdoors. But he wondered if perhaps PetSmart would take it.

I had an idea. A compassionate veterinarian works down the block from me. It was she who found me my own two fluffy, gray, long hair ragamuffin cats. I prayed, "Dear Lord, please. Please let this little cat find some love and care in this world." I phoned the vet the next day and she agreed to take her.

My son and I brought "her", as I began referring to this cat as a girl, to the vets office where she was greeted with smiles, loving, caring hands and sweet voices talking to her. She may have never heard anything but, "Shoo. Get out of here!" in her short life.

God's creatures are special. And sometimes if we are lucky enough, we are the ones "chosen" to take care of them. Other times, a little kitten or puppy are chosen by a new, family and brought into warm, loving homes.

Let's not choose to do harm though. Let's never consider an animal something we can easily get rid of by "dropping it off" in a neighborhood to fend for itself. I think God smiles when we offer a little help, a little of His goodness and heart for the unloved strays of this world.

On a truly happy note: I visited the little cat several times while she was at the vets office. They took amazing care of her, and got her ready for adoption. They had a name tag of "Jenny" on her cage out in their waiting room which warmed my heart. Weeks went by, and I prayed that the right family would find her and love her as she was truly meant to be loved.

Two weeks ago, one of the girls that work at the veterinarians called me to tell me little Jenny had been adopted by a woman. She said that the woman phoned their office once she'd gotten the cat home to tell her that Jenny was doing great, getting along with her dogs and ruling the house. She re-named her "Sheba" because she is queen of their castle.

I write this ending with tears in my eyes. You see, we have the opportunity to do such good in this world. A little animal, carelessly thrown away now has  the chance of a great, new life.

Because He Saved My Life

A young girl thinks of harming herself. Just this once, she thinks. Yeah, I did it before, but I can control it. I can stop anytime I want.

She picks up the jagged piece of glass, the one she found at the bus stop when nobody was looking. The one she slipped into her purse, tucking it deep down inside, the way she's tucked her feelings.

 It's a long road that's taken her to this point. She feels lost, unloved, afraid, alone. Children in school taunt her, call her names, push her, spit on her.

She sits alone in her room. Her computer whirs to life, and she clicks on a link. The jagged glass lays atop her desk, the overhead light reflects in it. She looks at it, then at the screen. She's typed in something silly, something that meant so much to her as a child. Two words: Claw machines. They used to make her happy when Mom and Dad brought her to the mall. The way pushing the joystick made you feel in control, if only for a short time. The way you were rewarded with a little toy prize if you did well.

The girl picks up the shard of glass. Maybe just a little cut on her leg this time. It would release so much tension. It would make her feel alive again, if only for a moment.

Something catches her eye. She sees a smiling face staring back at her from the computer screen, a YouTube video. She clicks on the link and a young man plays a claw machine, nonsense words come from his mouth, but they make her laugh. His zany antics hold her captive for the moment, and she laughs again, a welcome sound in the stillness of her room.

Over and over she watches one video after another. This boy who jumps around, making funny faces, winning prizes in that most beloved of games. She puts the glass down. It does not captivate her as it once did. For she's found another outlet now. A positive one. A role model who knows what it's like to feel alone. A role model who's been through shyness, insecurity, and pain.

She writes a fan letter to this boy. And when she hears back from him, her life has changed. She's not a nameless face in the crowd. For someone has acknowledged her. Someone who has journeyed a long way himself, and found light at the end of the tunnel.

The girl holds her head up. She vows to make a change. The broken shard of glass goes into the trashcan, falling to the bottom never to be seen again. I can do this, she thinks. I can do anything I put my mind to. I'm not the same person. . . because he saved my life.

A New Blog Hop via Grace Yee

Hello. Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Karen Malena and a funny thing happened on this journey called life. Okay, I realize that's a bit cliche. But life has been a journey and yes, some funny things certainly happened! I've worked in the dental field for over thirty years, and only recently became a published author. Not bad for someone who had their mom laugh hysterically at the first story she ever wrote as a young girl; a story which was meant to be tragic and sad.

I've been invited by author Grace Yee to join in a blog hop and there are a few questions I must answer. Links to her author page and blog site follow at the end of the questions.

Here goes:

1. What are you working on?
I'm at the end of finalizing a funny fantasy cat story about Piggy, my son's cat and her make-believe adventures. Also I'm writing a poignant love story about two people who meet in the twilight years in an assisted living facility. These stories are as different as night and day, that's what makes it so fun.



2.  How does your work differ from others in the genre?
With my cat story, I've noticed that other cat authors have "true" stories which they've written about some really brave and different cats they've owned. I chose to write a make-believe story about my son's cat Piggy since a popular Facebook page of hers has really taken off. I'd like to continue to convey her very sassy side, coupled with some great adventures, heroes and villains and tell a "tail" for people of all ages.


3. Why do you write what you do?
I've loved pretending and made up stories since I was a young girl. When I'm writing a serious story such as Shadow of My Father's Secret, I dig deep within myself to how the characters feel. I find stories from my own life and intermingle them into my books.

When I'm writing fantasy like Piggy's story, my fun, inner child comes to the surface and I can be more free to express a sillier side of myself.


4. How does your writing process work?
I have a full time job, full time husband, full time elderly parents and assorted loved ones who I enjoy spending time with. It isn't easy to actually make the time to write. I grab what I call little valuable pockets of time. If I actually have a full day to myself, I write like crazy. I must have complete quiet surrounding me to "get in the zone" so to speak.

Also, I write in my head almost all the time. During a long drive, a good outdoor walk, my characters tell me what they want me to do next.

As part of this blog hop, I'd like to introduce the writer who invited me and then the two other writers who are joining in the fun:

Grace Yee who invited me:  http://graceyee.blogspot.com/
 
http://www.amazon.com/Grace-Yee/e/B009ROMSY6/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

Joe Potts:  http://joepottszone.com/

B. Chantel:   http://www.amazon.com/B.-Chantel/e/B00BC9OZ4K

This is Piggy the cat's Facebook page as well:  https://www.facebook.com/pages/Piggy/118352481653800?ref_type=bookmark

A special thank you to Grace Yee for inviting me, and for the other bloggers who joined in!

Curiosity and cats

You've all seen them. The Elizabethan collars so famous for cat and dog operations. That hideous torture device meant to keep your pet away from surgery sites and stitches.

Never have I seen a cat actually "want" to wear one of these. That is, until my own cat Rocco tried one on for size one day.

My husband and I were fortunate to adopt brother and sister cats Rocco and Bella as little kittens. The tiny ragamuffins were found near a motel in the town I work. A kindly veterinarian's office took them in and nursed the flea bitten kitties to health.

Soon after we brought them home, we decided to have them spayed and neutered. Well, Rocco had it pretty easy, after all, he's the male. The surgery for the boy cat is a little easier. Not so for Miss Bella. Stitches ran down her shaved belly and one of the plastic torture devices, the Elizabethan collar was put around her little neck.

My husband and I felt terrible watching the poor kitten trying to eat and drink with the hated collar. One day, my husband decided to give Bella a little break and he loosened and removed the collar so she could enjoy her food. Unfortunately, we placed it back on as soon as her meal was done.

Each day when I returned home from work, I was greeted by the two gray fluffballs at the door. I swear cats come to know the sound of our vehicles even when they're about a mile away. So on this particular day when I walked in, I was a bit puzzled to see only one cat: Rocco, the male. I called for Bella and heard the sound of mewing from far away. I called again....mew. I walked further into the house calling "Bella!" More meowing, but from where?

As I walked into the living room and looked up the stairs, poor Bella cat was limping down the stairs, half in half out of the stupid collar. Since we'd loosened it, her body was wedged part way, as if she'd tried to climb out of it.

My husband heard this story when he came home from his own job that night. Feeling sorry for the poor kitty, and realizing she'd had enough of wearing the awful device, he removed it from Bella once and for all, throwing it onto the floor of our bedroom into a corner.

The next day I returned home from work and as I opened the door, the sight of two kitties again greeted me. But, what's this?? The Elizabethan collar was back! How?? Why?? Had hubby returned from work feeling a bit guilty and placed it back on little Bella?

Nope. Upon examining the cats, I saw that it was Rocco, not Bella who had the collar on. Apparently the phrase having something to do with curiosity and cats had special meaning for him. The silly boy must have gone over the collar on my bedroom floor and plopped his own head into it. Sorry, Rocco, but you were the butt of jokes for quite a while in our house.

THE REAL ROCCO AND BELLA

Meet Allen Kevorkov

With the theme of inspirational stories, once again I'd like to introduce someone who had quite the journey in life. Meet Allen Kevorkov and listen in his own words how far he's come and the fun and interesting things he's up to:

1. A little bit about myself...here goes! I'm a lucky father of two beautiful girls, Alina (3), and Natalie (10 months). They have the best Mommy in the world, my wife of 6 years, Kelly, whom I met through Match.com 11 years ago. Geez, time flies. Oh and we have two kitties, Molly (12) and Maxie (9). My first cat, Joey (12), stayed with my parents to keep them company after I moved out. I studied Business Administration and Marketing in college, and during my sophomore year, I started a business selling computers, computer hardware and accessories, as well as doing repairs and upgrades for friends. I guess they liked me because the word of mouth allowed me to build up a decent customer base, some of whom utilize my services to this day. At this time, I have one regular client and a few others, here and there. About a year after graduation, I started a full-time job as a Network Administrator at a small marketing firm. I was later promoted to Manager of Information Systems. I left the company after twelve years in 2013, when I shifted my focus toward email after joining a local eCommerce solutions provider as Deliverability Analyst.

2. It makes me feel pretty old, when I start to think how long ago I began playing claw machines. It's been a significant part of my life since I was about 5 years old. There was a little amusement park across the street from my house, and there was a small arcade, where I experienced the claw machine for the first time. It was a horizontal cabinet with a glass top, and the most common prize found in these machines were cigarettes. Clearly, these machines were intended for adults, but my Mom allowed me to play it, and I won three times in a row. That kind of success in claw machines was pretty rare, especially for a child, and it ignited a passion that has never left me. I bought my first machine 11 years ago and have since owned three others, two of which I still have in my basement.

3. Interesting facts... I suppose it depends on what is considered interesting, but let's start from the beginning. I was born in Baku, capital of the former Soviet republic of Azerbaijan. I am an only child and I suppose you could say I'm spoiled, although I've always been very close with my cousins and spent a great deal of time with them growing up. Due to civil unrest in my neck of the woods, we were forced to flee our hometown, and my family was permitted to leave the country as Armenian refugees to start life anew. We landed on the US soil in January of 1991. The first couple of years were very difficult, as we learned to adapt to the new culture and lifestyle. I experienced a fair share of prejudice and bullying in middle school, which left a good dent in my confidence and self-esteem, but by the time I started high school in the fall of 1992, I had adapted fairly well and it was a much more positive experience with new friends in another school district.

4. I started my YouTube channel in 2006. I love entertaining my friends, and I've always wanted to make a science fiction type of movie on my own, using special effects, such as time travel to meet myself in the past or future. When I took a day off work to try to accomplish this, I quickly realized that doing this on my own would take a lot more time and patience that I was willing to dedicate to it, so my first YouTube post ended up being just a collection of special effect tricks in a video titled "How to be a Superman". I later made the video private, as I didn't feel it was a good representation of my skill. I am not exactly sure what prompted me to make my first Claw Machine tutorial, but with over 300,000 views, it is by far the most successful video on my channel. Speaking of which, May 28th 2014 marks the 7-year anniversary, since that video was posted. During the first year, I made 3 tutorial videos, after which I started working on music videos. After numerous requests, I revisited the idea of making claw machine tutorials 5 years later, and once I realized just how much the interest has grown over the years, judging by Matt's incredible fan base, I decided to create Be The Claw, the idea for which was inspired by "The Claw" from Toy Story and SpongeBob's quote "be the crane" from the Skill Crane episode. 

5. Music production is another big one for me. I started writing, when I was about 10 years old. I initially played piano, and a few years later, learned to play guitar as well. Throughout teenage years, I've recorded numerous albums on tapes and gave out to friends and family and it wasn't until my most recently album, published in 2009, that I started feeling more comfortable sharing my work with the public. I created a webpage and offered both digital and CD versions of my album. Music has always been a great companion through difficult times and gave me a voice that I seemed to lack otherwise. I have made a number of music videos to my songs on my own, which I have also posted on my YouTube channel. My music styles include soft rock, pop, easy listening, comedy and parodies. I also enjoy customizing cars, although it is an expensive hobby, which has taken a back seat after I started family.

6. Anything else... To people, who haven't met me in person, it often comes as a surprise that outside of YouTube, I am generally fairly shy. I have wonderful parents, who traveled across the world in search of a brighter future for me, and they have always supported my somewhat unusual obsession with claw machines. My father used to take me to amusement parks and arcades with the sole intention of playing the claw machine and I am grateful for that. I became addicted to the Internet in high school because it opened up a whole new world of people and way of communicating. It allowed me to make many friends that I wouldn't have been able to meet otherwise. I enjoy talking to people online, and the three traits I value in people the most are kindness, generosity, and sincerity.

7. Where can I be found? I'm pretty Googlable, but my claw machine website is betheclaw.com, which I created in 2012 in hopes of uniting all the fans out there. I started using Twitter recently, in light of my invitation to join Matt in NEN / Sugarloaf's Twitter Chat. My Twitter handle is @betheclaw and all my posts automatically end up on my Facebook page at Facebook.com/betheclaw. My Youtube channel is youtube.com/allenkevorkov. For anyone interested in my music, that can be found at AllenKevorkov.com and Facebook.com/AllenKevorkovMusic.

The Light

The view from my back porch was breathtaking. A tree filled with glorious pink blossoms. They had appeared after a long winter's sleep when the sun began shining.

A tiny seedling pokes its head upon my windowsill. Italian bean seeds which I placed into a small plastic container to encourage growth. Their faces turned toward the light, soaking up the sun. Even though I turned the planter completely around last evening, when I walked through the door this evening, their cheery faces were once again pointed out the window as if basking and enjoying the bright sunny day.

We are like that too. On a warm day, don't we gather outdoors enjoying the rays of warmth as they light up our faces? Sitting on my porch swing while it's still light outside after a long day's work, only to return indoors as the darkness begins to descend.

The topic of light reminds me of something, a saying I've always loved. It is better to light a candle than curse the darkness.

On my darkest of days, when I'm lonely, when I've been hurt by a loved one, when a sharp retort at my job causes me to feel less than, I must remember the light. When arthritis with its tendrils of pain snake through my back, or when I feel I can't walk another step, I must remember the light. When sadness threatens to choke out all that is good, when past thoughts creep up, snaking their way into the recesses of my soul, I must remember the light. When I'm tempted to speak badly of another, when ill-chosen words with my spouse make me wonder if there's anything good, I must remember the light.

Light reaches into a dark room, illuminating the way. My heart and soul are like that too, as precious light flows into them, illuminating, chasing away any sadness, any gloom which lurks there.

We speak light into another's soul when we freely give words of encouragement. We become light to a darkened world when a kind deed, perhaps unnoticed, touches a person more than we'll ever know. It's a choice, however, this light. For it isn't easy at times. How I long to express in an angry moment, words which would cut to the quick, words which could destroy. I must remember the light.

As I walk through the darkened days, I pick up my candle, illuminating the path before me. Sometimes the corners are very deep with gloom, and other times, only the tiniest flicker of my candle of hope remains. But I must press on, I must not give in to darkness or despair. I choose the light. I choose the path which is set before me, for good or naught. The candle will not be extinguished, for it's flame is strong. At the center of it is the heart of God. And He is my true light.

We just want to be loved

Hello everyone. I'd like to introduce myself. I'm Piggy, and yes, I'm a cat. Some of you may know me from Facebook and others of you may know me from my human, Matt3756 YouTube videos. If you've never met me before, then welcome, and glad to meet you.

I'm choosing to write on my grandmother's blog today to tell you a little bit about me. 

A few years back, oh, maybe seven or eight, a wonderful human named Rick adopted my sister Vision the cat and I. We were rescued from a neglectful situation. There wasn't much food where we came from. Rick was very kind to us and gave us a warm home and all the food we could eat. Before you knew it, I'd gained some weight, well, quite a bit actually, but began trusting humans once again.

It was around that time Rick's young nephew Matt moved in with us. We hit it off right away, he and I. Time went by and we became inseparable. I enjoyed cuddling with him, even let him film me as he made his crazy videos. 

My sister Vision became sick and left us to go over the rainbow bridge. It was at that time I really bonded with Matt. He and I moved into our own home almost a year ago now and I have lots of room to play, lots of great food and treats, and wonderful windows to look out of at all the pretty birds.

One day Matt came home with a wriggling gray kitten. I took one look at it and told him to bring it back to where it came from. But getting into the spirit of things, I decided it would be best for all involved if I'd at least try to be nice to it.

Her name is Goober, and she is now my adopted sister. We enjoy plotting destruction together, and she even lets me bathe her, which is kind of nice.

My grandma is a writer, and asked me one day if I would mind if she wrote a fantasy story about me. I thought it would be a great idea. So gram's been working on a manuscript, and we're hoping to get it out as a book very soon. We had a lot of fun collaborating on ideas. I hope you'll enjoy a "tail" about me and my adventures and let us know how you liked them.

For now, I want to thank you for your time, and remember: your cats, dogs, birds, bunnies, all your pets and your dear friends and family are much like me and you. They, too, just want to be loved. 

Love, Piggy

Love ourselves unconditionally

Last week on Facebook I wrote what I felt was a controversial topic: loving ourselves no matter what our size and shape. Today, I'm going to add to this. Love  ourselves no matter our ages.

We've earned those crows feet and laugh lines, every bump, wrinkle, bulge and gray hair. A long lifetime of raising children, dealing with death of loved ones, aging parents, divorces. All of these have taken their toll on us, and many of us have dealt with some of these numerous times.

As a child, I was a nervous little thing. You see, there were serious issues going on around me, unstable conditions at times. My fears were very real and life was chaotic. It was no wonder food became a comfort. Yet at another time, years later, when a husband walked out on me, leaving me for another, food would no longer matter, and my appetite would suffer.

I'm in my fifties now, living in a culture obsessed with beauty, stick figure barbie doll actresses and models. Diet ads and fads abound. And I'm tired of it all, I tell you. Tired of hiding behind huge, baggy, loose clothing thinking I'm the world's worst human being because I enjoy an ice cream cone, piece of cake or candy bar. Tired of thinking I can seriously lose ten or fifteen pounds to be the "ideal" weight, perhaps the weight I was as a young girl. No, I've earned my love handles, you see. In the real world I live in, my size should not matter. I don't care if you're size 2 or size 22, you are a beautiful woman of God.

How long should it take us to stop the obsession, to give permission to love ourselves right where we are, how we look, at any age, regardless of dress sizes? Why can't we buy clothing that accentuates our good points without worry of hiding the bad? Why can't we eat that brownie without guilt in front of another who is giving us "the look", the one which says, "oh my gosh, I can't believe she's going to eat that."

I've known ladies of all sizes. My own mother was particularly overweight most of her life. A beautiful woman nonetheless. In her older years, food hasn't held the appeal it once did, and she's lost an incredible amount of weight. This was nothing she felt she HAD to do, it was just one of those things I suppose.

I hate something. Why is it that when we see someone who's lost weight, we say: "you look so good?" I say to this: "What did I look like before, crap?" Why can't we learn to compliment our sisters at any size, any age?

Think about it. Don't you enjoy hearing someone say your hair looks particularly good today, or that top looks great on you? If you can't come up with one nice thing to say sometime, then tell a person they have a great smile. A smile is one of the single most beautiful face lifts any woman can have. It lights up the countenance, erasing frown lines and worry. 

You are beautiful, girl. So put that outfit on, get that haircut or style you've always wanted. Wear the sequins, the baubles, get the tattoo. Do it for you, not for anyone else. And to this, I add: pick up that paintbrush, the pen and paper, the crochet hook or some other artistic outlet. Enjoy your life, live it to the fullest. And by all means, love, love, love yourself unconditionally.

Wide-eyed wonder

Small, chubby legs run toward the young lady dressed as a princess. The biggest hug follows. She is meeting one of her most beloved characters.

 Wide-eyed wonder in everything she sees. A little girl takes time to smell the flowers, build a birds nest from colorful Easter grass she places carefully in a bush. "The birds need this," she says, while she puts bits of purple flowers, pieces of twigs, even a fresh, red strawberry to entice the nesting creatures. "Shhh, be quiet," she says, "we don't want to scare them away."

She proudly clutches her Easter basket to her, filled with brightly colored plastic eggs as if it's the greatest treasure on earth. She bites the head from a chocolate bunny and stains of delicious brown rim her cherub's mouth.

She holds her dolly, her favorite crocheted blanket near her heart; some of her first possessions in this world. The blanket, a bit worse for wear, lovingly washed many, many times, her soothing refuge.

She slips on plastic sparkly princess shoes and a summertime dress and twirls around singing songs in a voice sounding like the world's most adorable Walt Disney character.

She climbs in my lap, something has frightened her. I soothe her with nonsensical words and make her giggle. The sound is the most melodious music, the singing of angels.

She knows nothing of the troubles of this world, not yet, not now. Her thoughts are of comfort, kids movies, dollies, singalong songs, magic. Her little plate, not yet full, holds a future, a smorgasbord of adventure, blessings, love and laughter. And for now, she is content in a mother's lap, a father's embrace, a grandmother's kiss.

She is a little girl and in her heart, she always will be.

 

A Vivid Imagination

Throughout most of my life I've had what is known as a vivid imagination. Make-believe and pretend would be such a big part of my childhood. Sometimes when things were particularly scary, I'd become someone else in my head for a while. I think it helped to keep the frightening events at bay, even lessen them a bit.

I loved old television programs like "Lost in Space." My cousins and I would become the characters from shows like this for hours. Though Anna, my cousin, was only months older than me, she usually got to "be" the better characters, the popular ones, while I had the middle ones such as Will and Penny. Her younger sister, Patty was most unfortunate for she had the roles of The Robot and Dr. Smith. Well, that's what happens when you're the baby. My parent's basement would be transported into The Jupiter II. The outside of my home would be other places far, far away.

 Our grandparents talked often about "the old country" as if it were from another world and most definitely from another time. Anna and I had the bright idea that we could travel to this place if we gathered the crates which had held our Nono's grapes for wine-making. Painstakingly, we put the purple- stained crates together, forming them into a sort-of train. We hopped aboard and in our imaginative minds, we were there, wherever there was, the scent of grapes intoxicating.

Once we found an old box in our Nonna's attic. Nothing had ever seemed more intriguing. For in it were old clothes, light chiffon outfits and sparkly dresses. The old cardboard box seemed bottomless as we dug deeper and deeper into it for more priceless treasures. We would play for hours at dress up becoming whoever we wanted to be.

Another childhood wonder was the old button box. Every grandma had one. Scads of colorful buttons piled atop each other in an old tin. Bright buttons, ones with fake jewels in the center. It would become an all day affair finding just the right buttons to "become" family members. We chose pretty white buttons to portray our mothers. My own button was blue with a diamond in the center. But our grandma's button was best of all, for she was always the "queen" and a special decorative button would always portray our Nonna. Since buttons were so small, our "people" would have mansions to live in as we used our grandmother's living room for their homes. Nobody ever got sick in these imaginative worlds. Nobody ever fought or grew tired of one another.

I wonder if children have lost something in this age of I-pads, smart phones, video games and such. How will they discover the potential that lies within? That untapped imagination that will take them to other places, walk in another's shoes for just a bit. A world where anything is possible, if only in they believe.