There are many ways to express love, as I’m seeing in the hundreds of answers to this question I posted last night on Twitter:
I love to remind people that there are many different ways to express love and that different people have different love languages. No matter what the love language, though, people can express love with patience, commitment, and acceptance of difference. Also, in order to love others better, it’s important to love yourself.
Don’t you love how it’s so easy to sound cliched when you’re expressing thoughts and feelings about love?
Am I expressing love by sharing my other images for today?
The Daily Bitch has an interesting way of expressing love.
Here’s what I find on YouTube when I search for “expressing love”:
Yesterday, I asked this question on Twitter about freaking out:
People were freaking out about many things, including money, health issues, work, family members, relationships, the pandemic, other people’s behaviors, etc., etc., etc. Indeed, some people suggested that a better question might have been “What are you NOT freaking out about right now?”
I didn’t answer my own question, but I was freaking out about our kitty Joan, her ongoing mastitis, and how she outsmarts us and every cone we put on her to promote its healing.
There’s Joan, trying to figure out how she can lick her wounds after my husband Michael tried to adapt her cone with a well-placed paper clip.
When I freak out, it’s usually because I feel helpless, so yesterday I ordered TWO MORE cones in addition to the inflatable cone that’s being delivered today.
Joan’s irritated area extends down into the top of her rear leg, so it’s very difficult to get a cone that completely prevents her from accessing it with her rough kitty tongue. Also, most cat post-surgery body suits don’t cover that area.
Over the past month, as we’ve treated her with antibiotics, applied topical lotion to the area, sent lots of pictures of the area to the vet, and helped Joan adjust to the different types of treatment (while trying to bond with her), we’ve seen the problem area get better and then get worse.
It freaks me out that I know so much about trying to help a cat heal, but we’re still not past this.
When I freak out, Michael tries to calm me by focusing on the positive: she’s not in pain, it’s not going to kill her, and she will get better, even if it takes much longer than we expected.
When I freak out, it also helps me to write about it in this blog. This blog — and all of you — have helped me get through many freak outs over the years.
Let’s see if the Daily Bitch is all about freaking out today.
Here’s what I find on YouTube when I search for “freaking out.”
What might you be freaking out about right now? Whatever it is, chances are you’re not alone.
I have so much freaking gratitude for all who help me write this daily blog, including YOU!
My mother, who was very neat, did not want pets in the house, so she resisted my requests for a cat. Also, because she had a dog growing up, she couldn’t understand why I wanted a cat rather than a dog.
I couldn’t explain it to her. I just felt a connection when I looked into the eyes of a cat. I was fascinated by them, and encountering a cat anywhere always made me happy.
One day, when I was about seven years old, my father brought home a stray cat, a small tiger kitty, who had wandered into his store. I was beyond thrilled. My mother didn’t want the cat in the house so my new kitty was relegated to the garage. I remember spending hours watching that cat eat and play in the garage, so happy to finally have one.
Soon though, the cat escaped from the garage. I remember searching desperately through the neighborhood, crying as I called out for my lost kitty. When I got home, I found that my parents were frantic about my being gone so long.
My parents were particularly worried about me because I was born with a heart condition. My heart condition really needed a pacemaker, but pacemakers hadn’t been invented when I was born in 1953.
Soon after the cat in the garage ran away, I had to go into the hospital more and more as my condition got worse. The doctors tried different treatments, including yucky medication I had to take under my tongue, which speeded up my heart but made me feel really sick.
Then, when I was in the hospital for observation at age 10, I had a heart stoppage. The doctors decided to implant a pacemaker, which they had been avoiding because pacemakers were so new and really too big for a small kid like me.
When I woke up from the heart surgery that was required to implant pacemakers back then, I said to my mother, “What have I got to look forward to if I don’t have a cat?” Tears streaming down her face, she promised me a cat.
After I had recovered enough from my surgery (which by the way, was on November 22, 1963, the day President John F. Kennedy was killed), my dad took me to the local vet, who had several cats there for adoption. I chose the shyest one, who was a calico kitty I named Tuffy.
Tuffy was definitely my “personal medicine,” helping me heal and be tough enough to endure the many surgeries I needed to undergo as my pacemakers broke in every conceivable way.
Since then, I often choose shy cats who remind me of Tuffy. Our cat Harley is one of those cats. Harley, even though I feed him every morning, much prefers my husband Michael. Harley avoids me when he can, although he sometimes affords me the privilege of patting him for two seconds. Mostly, he run away from me, like I’m the enemy.
Our new cat, Joan, is not shy. I chose her because she gets along with cats, humans, AND dogs. My husband Michael loves dogs so I’m thinking there MIGHT be a dog in our future. And because Joan is not an alpha cat, she and Harley get along surprisingly well.
Joan is very rambunctious and always wants to play. Harley tolerates that, keeping her away with a hiss when he wants more personal space.
Last weekend, Joan invaded my personal space, clawing my nose when she wanted to wake me at 2 AM. Because I take anticoagulant medication (required because of the mechanical heart valve I got in 2016), Joan gave me a nose bleed that just wouldn’t quit.
So here I am, in the second week of my long-awaited vacation from work, stuck at home with a painful balloon up my nose and two cats.
And you know what? I still love cats and always will.
Do you see any cats in my images for today?
I was kind of hoping that today would be National Cat Day, but to us cat lovers, EVERY day is cat day.
I’ve been thinking about names because of our new cat.
This adorable, wonderful, sweet, chill, loving kitty was named Ginger by the adoption agency that rescued her, her sisters, and their many kittens from the street.
My husband, whose name is Michael, said he wanted an unusual name for a cat, so Ginger was out. Michael strongly suggested the name Meredith, but my son, whose name is Aaron, and I both thought that would be too hard to say.
Michael then came up with other girls’ names he thought would be unusual for a cat, including Phyllis. Aaron and I suggested other names we thought would be unusual for a cat, including Blanche. Michael vetoed all of our suggestions according to some secret knowledge of common and uncommon cat names that will remain nameless.
When Michael came up with Joan, Aaron and I agreed that would be a fine and unusual name for a cat, and easy to say. Michael warned us that if we called her “Joanie,” he would add an “ie” to our names, too.
I don’t like being called “Annie,” so I have complied with Michael’s request.
Michael was right about the name Joan being unusual for a cat. Every time I tell people her name, they react. Usually, they say, “JOAN?!” Sometimes, they add something positive, like “I love that.”
I love puns and Michael and Aaron do not, so they don’t know that I sometimes add the name “Clawford” when I’m talking to and about Joan. Also, Michael’s brother’s full name is Martin Sloane Malone, so I sometimes call Joan “Joan Sloane Malone.” Michael has no problem with that.
In the meantime, Joan, by any other name, would be as sweet.
I asked this question on Twitter last night:
While some people have responded with “my parents!”, others have told interesting stories about the origin of their names.