hello, Dolly...well, hello, Dolly

Two weeks ago I went to PetSmart for some fish...


...and came home with Dolly.

Yeah, I been sittin' on this news for a while, because I worried that it was too soon, and I worried she wouldn't fit in, and I just worried.

But I fell for her. Hard. She's two years old. Sweet and shy. She spends most of her time behind the washer or under the bed, though in the quiet hours of the morning she comes into the family room with me and Kismet and Cassie. Dolly and Kismet would be getting along fine, I think, if it weren't for Cassie the Fun Police. When they get close Dolly and Kismet get to caterwauling and that's too much for Cassie to take, so she commences to freak out. Dolly's cautious and taking it slow, and we're doing our best to give her the room she needs.

She's small and soft and whiskery, with a squeekier meow than any cat I've had before. She came to the Humane Society from her previous owners, and we kept the name Dolly because it's so versatile. Officially she's Mrs. Dolly Whitaker-Blackmore, but mostly we call her Dollarton.

holiday open house

I participated in a Holiday Open House at my friend Doreen's. She invited friends who vend: Avon, Gold Canyon Candles, Creative Memories, Homemade Gourmet, and she herself sells Silpada Jewelry.


I set up a display of bottle cap earrings and Capri Sun pouch purses.


Mandy set up next to me with her beaded earrings and necklaces. I've never seen anyone with the same design aesthetic as my sister. I love it.

I participated with inflated expectations. On Friday I sold a dozen pairs of earrings to colleagues and parents at the preschool who'd requested to see my stuff. And I've had preorders for 10 Capri Sun totes from two different people. My coworker Terry, who carries one of my totes as a handbag, claims people ask her all the time where she got it, how much, where can I get one? People appreciate my stuff! They want to buy it! As I left the house on Saturday to drive to Doreen's, I said to Dave, "I'll be back...$300 richer."

I came back six bucks in the hole. I made $45 dollars (sold a half dozen pairs of earrings and 1 mid-size tote). But I bought a blown glass marble from glass artist Calvin Mickle for $40 and still don't regret it, though Dave and Jack laughed themselves silly at me. And I pitched in $11 for horse doovers, of which I ate very few because they were all cookies.

So I have mixed feelings about the experience. Though attendees seemed to love my creations, sales were disappointing. I love making the bags and jewelry, but I wonder if it will ever be profitable, even marginally.


I still love my marble.


And I scored the pair on the right from Mandy. Love at first sight.

special surprise inside!

Purchased a bag of beads for $2.97 at Wal-Mart for the kids in Godly Play to string on pipe cleaners (oh, pardon me---chenille stems!). See the special surprise there in the center? All the way from Rhode Island.


See it now? Found in an unopened bag of beads.

At least it wasn't an unopened bag of basmati.

I'm not intentionally cryptic. Because I see it there I assume you do too, but I saw the Real McCoy and can easily pick her out in the pictures. I bought that bag of beads with a live ladybug inside!

unposted

This morning Cassie and I went around and took down the Missing Moxie posters. When she first disappeared I had a hard weekend of mourning but gradually returned to normal. We spent an afternoon searching the shelters and filing a report with the Humane Society. The recommendations from both places were to check their websites daily, check the Found Pets website daily, and check craigslist daily. I've done all those things. Moxie hasn't turned up. I'm resigned to her fate, which can't be pretty, but I no longer visual the potential scenarios of her demise but instead reminisce about what a good sweet kitty she was.

And those people at the shelter, the ones who recommend you check the websites daily? They have ulterior motives, you know. If you don't hook up with your lost pet they're hoping you'll hook up with a pet who needs a home. We've got room now. Moxie will never be replaced, and we'll always miss her. But someone else could warm our hearts.

posted

Cassie and I put up signs on the four streets nearest ours. We keep hoping. Say a little prayer.

St. Anthony, perfect imitator of Jesus, who received from God the special power of restoring lost things, grant that I may find Moxie, who has been lost. At least restore to me peace and tranquility of mind. To this favor, I ask another of you: that I may always remain in possession of the true good that is God. Let me rather lose all things than lose God, my supreme good. Let me never suffer the loss of my greatest treasure, eternal life with God. Amen.

this kitty knows her place

Kismet, Jack's Other Mother

She misses Moxie, too.

benevolence

((it crosses my mind that I'm being punished for the Great Goodwill Heist, but I remind myself that my God doesn't work that way))

in which I get knocked down

Sickness saps my energy, both physical and mental. It's surprising, really, how seldom I get sick, since I work in a petri dish. When I do get sick it lays me low and happenings that I might normally take in stride just completely knock me down.

Last week I was diagnosed with an embarrassing viral infection, the symptoms of which on their own couldn't possibly have dragged me this deep down: sores in my mouth and throat that blistered and peeled and made every mouthful feel and taste like shredded pennies; an itchy rash around my mouth and nose and on my chest. Compounding that: knees that felt packed in hot wax, the backs of my eyeballs aflame. No fever, so no H1N1. Negative strep. Malaise.

But I soldiered (martyred?) through most of the week at work, because I could, and some of the other teachers had to stay at home with their diverticulitis and kidney stones. On Thursday night my laptop died. On Friday night I felt I could deal with my weekend obligations. DH went out of town and that left only me for Jack to drag to his school's Fall Carnival, which turned into an all-evening affair. I hadn't been sick when I volunteered for an 8:30 to 9:00 pm slot turning older kids away from the Mini Midway. By that time all the little kids had gone anyway, so my volunteering wasn't necessary. We went home, where Jack's sugar high kept him from minding me very well during Bedtime Routine.

Before bed, our nighttime Kitty Check came up one short. Kismet was accounted for, but Moxie was missing. We went out and called her, shook the Whisker Lickin's container, and concluded she'd come home by morning. She's been out overnight twice before. No biggie.

Because DH was gone Cassie felt it necessary to bark at any little noise that roused her. My sleep was broken by frequent shushings and trips to the family room screen door to see if Moxie had come home. The sun rose on Saturday morning. Still no Moxie.

Jack spent all day Saturday playing with the neighbors while I stayed at home and tried to sleep, tried to craft, tried to watch a movie, but all the while trying to find Moxie.

Heavy heart, hot-wax knees, flaming eyeballs, and sandpaper throat. Still I did my best to fulfill other obligations, even when my efforts were stymied. My key won't open the door to the church for Parish Fun Night? Fine. We'll have Fun Night in the preschool, where my key does work. Sunday morning handbell rehearsal, no problem. Actual performance? My mallet rolls off the table and that fortifying bass beat I'm supposed to keep up misses three measures.

And Moxie is still gone.

At home, after church, I can't pull it together. Everything in my body hurts. I can't stop crying. My sister agrees to keep Jack all day. I wait again in Urgent Care, to be seen by Dr. Lick, possibly the most inept medical practitioner in Tucson. Mom makes an emergency visit to take care of me.

I sleep. As much as I can, aided or unaided. When I wake I check for my kitty at the screen door but she doesn't come home. Sleep is easing my physical symptoms and I feel my body is on the mend, but my heart will ache for some time to come.

Come home, Moxie. We miss you.