o little lucy

First of all, I want to thank everyone who expressed concern over my lovely cat, Mollie, and to myself. I was extremely touched and that warmth has really carried me.

My Mollie is still gone.

I am coming to terms with it. I still have hope she will return... but... I have cleaned up her dish bowls and put her toys away. For awhile, I left her little wispy cat hairs on a pillow she loved to sleep on ... but I've now since vacuumed them up.

Animals have such a way of filling up a heart, don't they? And they leave such a void when they are gone.



I am reminded of another cat I had who walked into my life and heart two years ago.

I was putting my townhouse up for sale when the most tiniest, skinniest cat with the sharpest little fangs and the biggest head in the world, arrived on my front step and started sharpening her claws on my screen door.

"NooOo, nooo, Kitty, don't do that!"

She had the fiercest meow.

She made a low but loud guttural sound that came deep from her gut. She demanded to come in. She appeared starving so I fed her some dry kibble I had and she ate the whole bowl up. She stared up at me and her meows sounded like she was yelling at me. I was afraid to touch her. She looked diseased and worried that maybe letting her in my home wasn't the brightest idea, but I knew she needed love and caring and I felt she wasn't getting it anywhere.

This little tiny cat, I eventually called Lucy, continually clawed at my screen door to get in during all hours of the night and poked teeny holes into it. At the height of my frustration, I grabbed little Lucy and carried her off to the farthest corner of the complex I was living in. I shouted, "Staaay!!" and I ran as fast as my legs would carry me back to my home.

It was just like those old chase scenes on TV, where the woman is running and stops to look back and sees the man walking toward her and starts running again and then trips on a root, and stands up and looks back and the man is still walking and they're about the same distance apart, no matter how much running she does, he is able to keep up.

It happened just like that. I'd be running through parking lots and along curving sidewalks and then stop to turn around and I could see her walking toward me and hear her loud meowing probably saying, "I'll get you, My Pretty!" as she followed me back.

I quickly grabbed a flattened box I had for packing, and taped it to my screen door with packing tape so she couldn't scratch it. When I reached down to grab the last strip of tape, my fingers touched something soft. It was little Lucy! She was right there like a bad nightmare screaming at me with those little sharp fangs.

"Get awaaay!" I quickly rushed inside, shutting the door.

For a good hour, I could hear her scratching the cardboard demanding to get inside. Like Chucky! (I've never seen a Chucky movie, but that's how I imagine them to be). Sometimes her meows sounded like, "wullawullawullawullawallaa woooooo!" I felt I was stuck inside a horror movie.

After some silence, I began to relax a bit, when I started to hear cat claws scratching my screen door again. The cardboard was flat against the screen so I thought it was my imagination. I s-l-o-0-O-w-l-y tiptoed to my front door and opened it up. I didn't see her and as I closed the door, there was a LOUD meo0OwW and I looked at my screen door and she had squeezed herself between the cardboard and the screen door! She looked like a cardboard cutout of a cat hanging on to the screen. "Meeo0OowW"

I can't express to you how terrifying she was. At one point, I thought maybe she was a mechanical cat and I was a part of a "Smile, You're on Candid Camera" episode.

It was clear she was homeless and she slept out on my front porch day in and day out.

She clawed her way my heart and when my townhouse sold within six days and a month later, I packed up and moved away, I reluctantly packed her up, too.

I took her to the vet to be checked out and this tiny little kitten, was actually approximately 19 years old with an active thyroid! I fed her as much as she wanted because I knew she wasn't long for this world. She would eat three cans a day at least and a bowlfull of kibble. Her fur started to feel silky and soft. Her meows weren't so angry. She seemed almost joyful at this new home of hers.

Six weeks later, I could tell she was dying. She wasn't eating and her eyes were dialated. I sat beside her for an hour and a half and hoped she wasn't in any pain. I talked to her for a long time in the softest, soothing voice I could come up with. The last time I saw her alive, was seeing her tail when she climbed under the fence.

We buried little Lucy on my mom's property in the pet cemetery with all our childhood pets. I cried for three days.

Cat (napped)

Aww. A sweet wonderful cat I named Mollie came into my life last summer. We had an amazing connection. I'm not sure who loved each other more. I felt she was an old friend. I think she felt it, too. We slept together every night. She'd lean against me and use my hip or leg for her pillow. I learned how to sleep on my back motionless .. or roll over so s-l-o-0-O-w-l-y that she never woke up. She was my best friend. And I never forgot to tell her that. She told me it, too. In her own way.

Now she is gone. She mozied out to enjoy the California morning sun at 10 am a week ago last Friday and hasn't returned. I miss my Mollie. If anyone knows her whereabouts, please let go of your embrace so she can run home. She misses me, too. No Questions Asked.

E is for Early Bird

Not being much of a fan of worms, I never saw the incentive of waking up early to catch them.

I know they are good for the earth ... (and for fishin') ... but it has always been easier for me to be a ... (whoo? whooo?) .. a night owl instead.

Okay, so I've been thinking

Have you ever just been laying down just before you close your eyes to sleep and you think of your beloved aunt or grandmother who has gone on before you and wondered if they're watching over you right then? And that's sweet and nice... and maybe you lay on your back and smile up to the ceiling with your best smile. Or you poof up your hair a bit, so it looks much fuller as you lay there staring up. Maybe you turn to lay on your side.. because it makes you look more slim.

Because ... you want to look good for them.

But. What if.

You want some privacy? Are they always staring down watching? Let's assume this is all true and we really do have loved ones who have gone before us watching over us.

Do they know when to turn their face? To cover their eyes? Their ears?

If this is all real and true and God is watching over us every single moment, then I am assuming he's not all that surprised by whatever we humans do. But. What about our beloved aunt or grandmother or distant cousin?

Not that I have a lot to hide. But. Sometimes I do have an occasional itch or somewhere to pick. Do I have to always worry that I'm being watched?

There is something really comforting being watched over in this life. But I'd really like it more if I knew they have some inner awareness to know what is private and what is not.

Just so I don't have unexpected guests looking on.

Ya know what I mean?

sea

Sometimes, life's greatest moments are when we take risks. What we think might be sharks could also be sailboats. But you never know, if you never dive into your dreams and take that risk.

Beginning the New Year

I entered 2006 by bursting out of the starting block into an all-out effort to catch up with my dreams. These dreams seem to always be running just a tad bit ahead of me. The chase is alway on. My dream this year is to catch up. To at least run... with the same momentum. If for a time, we can run, hand in hand.

Did you know? That when I was a small girl, I couldn't pronounce my ers. I would call squirrels, skwoy-luhs. My aunt who lives in Lindenhurst, NY said I talked just fine. I also talked faster than my mouth could pronounce them, leaving me talking part of the conversation and playing charades with the other part of the conversation.

Sometimes even now as a adult, I find myself still playing the charades while talking.

I have all these words and feelings I want to express, but often times the words just get jumbled up inside me and I have difficulty in expressing them. I marvel at these wonderful writers and people who can converse so effortlessly. I am rivoted.

I started drawing my life in comic strip form back in high school. It was therapeutic for me. Later, I sold children's records door to door (while being in a youth ministry). I hated doing that and felt so awkward and embarrassed and shy to walk up to homes of strangers and try and act brave and enthusiastic. Despite my fear, I sold many records. Often times, I would take a break and sit on the curb and draw my door-to-door experiences out. Then I'd stuff them in my record bag and head out to sell more records. It gave me a whole new wonderful and different perspective on my life. And how I viewed the world around me. It helped me clarify my thoughts. It was a form of charades for me.

I've always felt huge feelings. It sometimes fills me up in such a capacity, I don't know how to release it. Sometimes I wouldn't even know how I felt, until I drew my experience out and once I did, I was able to collect my thoughts and feelings about the situation.

In my mid-twenties, I was hired at a large insurance company. My mom said, "Shawn, you will meet friends for life there."

Friends for life. Friends for life.
I was so excited. I couldn't wait to meet these friends for life.

I was completely out of my element, though, feeling trapped wearing a dress everyday, sitting in these long rows working as a clerk typist.

It was my first (and only) non-creative job. My survival back then was to draw out my uncomfortable experiences as a clerk typist and then tape them along the wall next to my desk. I'm quite sure, no one had ever seen the likes of me before. I lasted six weeks before the creative publications department hired me. I only worked there for a couple of years before I discovered I could only be so creative in the insurance world. I wanted more.

I think for the most part, I often feel out of my element.

I can be at the mall and feel self-conscious. I feel out of my element, when I'm waiting in a doctor's office or walking alone through the neighborhood. I feel out of my element, when I'm getting my nails done and wonder if the manacurist can sense that from me. The only time I really feel in my element is when I'm drawing comics about my life and feelings.

So. With all that being said. I have decided to start posting my comics online... just little snippets of a day in my life. They won't necessarily be funny. Because my life's moments aren't always funny. But usually they will always be thoughtful.

I'm not a great illustrator. And I know I'm not a good writer. But the combination of the two help me see the world and myself in a new way.

It is called doodlesoup.

I've already posted a link to it on the column to the right.

I've been drawing these for more than 20 years. It's time to put them out there for others than myself to view. This is my big dream. I'm catching up to it and holding hands with it now.

Doodlesoup is a blog of sorts. It's a day in my life. It begins January 1, 2006.

Happy New Year.