Ella’s Calling

This how I spent my evening. It was incredibly nice. If anyone knows of the profession where I can read and write all day and hang out with animals and children, please let me know. I think I’ve found my calling.

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In other news, I’ll get back on top of the blog tomorrow. There had been a charming cyber-bulling incident that threw me for a loop for over a week, but I’ve some good ideas for some longer posts for the rest of the week that will get published over the next few days.

As for the cyber-bullying, I quite frankly pity that girl. She sounds miserable. Still, cruelty is cruelty, and her behavior is inexcusable, no matter what her emotional state was at the time. Malice is never appropriate.

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Mugs Are For Hot Beverages And Glasses Are For Dweebs Who Can’t See

This is Cecelia, covering for a super sleepy Ella tonight. I was going to talk about those scary hours (minutes? seconds?) in between sleep and consciousness where you’re not sure if you’re awake or dreaming. And you just had this outlandish/terrifying/heartbreaking dream that your commonroom was a brothel or that Sylvia Plath is and has always been the Dean of Yale College and your roommate got in a fight with you over it and you’re really anxious just because you’re pretty sure what you just experienced was too absurd to be a reality but sometimes life is absurd so maybe not! Ah well. Enjoy this picture of my cat followed by a poem by Charles Bukowski.

 

The Aliens

you may not believe it
but there are people
who go through life with
very little
friction or
distress.
they dress well, eat
well, sleep well.
they are contented with
their family
life.
they have moments of
grief
but all in all
they are undisturbed
and often feel
very good.
and when they die
it is an easy
death, usually in their
sleep.

Once Upon a Time, A Russian Poet Was an Adorable Kitten

Guess who is sick.

This girl.

In other news, when you’re sick you sometimes find yourself staring at your cats destroy your carefully folded laundry while you curl up in a chair and hack up a lung. It all of a sudden occurred to me that Pushkin has really grown up. He turned four only a few months ago, but this very muscular and adult-sized cat is so different from the malnourished, three-month-old feral kitten we rescued.

I found some baby pictures for you to enjoy because I find that cute animals makes congestion a little easier to handle.

This first one is right after his mother (a feral cat) got run over and a few weeks before we coaxed him into the cat carrier to be taken to the vet.

This next one is from the day he got home from the vet. He was around three months old and very underweight. I had just turned fourteen at the time.

Pippa playing with Pushkin.

Pushkin at six months old. Max, the cat behind him, is about two-years-old at the time. Max was born in a boat and rescued, along with his five siblings, at five-weeks by my cousin and her husband during a hail storm. His mother was also feral.

And as always, you can also find me on tumblr at http://emleng93.tumblr.com/, if, you know, you’re into that kind of thing.

 

In Which a Russian Poet and a Flapper Sit on My Lap

The unthinkable has happened twice in the past twenty-four hours.

Last night at around eleven thirty, I was lying in bed wedged between Maxwell and Zelda when Pushkin walked into the room. He leapt up on the windowsill, batted at the blinds, and then took a flying leap onto my bed. Instead of doing his normal routine of parading up and down the side of the bed while periodically head-butting my hand, he started climbing on me. This is peculiar, I thought and kept very still to see if he would continue. Finally, he stood on my stomach with all four paws and paused. I tried very hard not to breathe. After turning around a few times, he settled down on my legs and stared at me blinking as if to say,“Stop looking at me like that, lady. I do this all the time.” A minute of shocked silenced passed, and his eyes drifted shut. I could hardly believe it. Little, paranoid, fearful Pushkin was actually on my lap, and not only that, he was SLEEPING, full on completely relaxed sleeping.

It only lasted fifteen minutes, and it was magical. It may have taken him three-and-a-half years to do, but he did it! He really, really did it. I’m so proud of the little guy and thrilled that I got to be the first one to experience it.

I was talking to my mom this afternoon when Zelda came wandering over. She performed her critically acclaimed Feed-Me-I’m-Hungry Act and wound herself around her legs for a few minutes while I reached down to pet her. My mom said something interesting, so I looked up to respond, and the next thing I knew Zelda was in my lap.

Now, Zelda is a people cat. She loves sleeping right up against you, and she’s a big fan sitting behind you in chairs (and biting your butt), but she is not a lap-sitting cat. In fact, the last time she did it, we took a picture. And according to iPhoto, that picture is nearly six years old. But this lack of lap-sitting experience didn’t seem to bother Zelda any as she settled right down to sleep. Fifteen minutes later, I had to gently shove her off so I could get back to my homework, and she looked up at me as if to say, “Why did you have to do that? You ruin all the fun!”

I wonder what I’m doing to make the cats love me so much, because I’d really like those two incidents to have repeat performances.

As I write this post, all three of them are on my bed. Zelda and Pushkin are lying next to each other, and Max is in my lap. Please enjoy some grainy Photobooth pictures of the trio with a cameo made by my pajama shirt.