Mollie Hunt's Blog, page 76
September 4, 2015
August 30, 2015
34: LUX – EXONERATION 2015
I’ve seen Lux.
He is healthy, happy, fed, and loved.
That’s all I can tell you, since Lux is Jackson Galaxy’s story and not mine. The story is ongoing; someday we will have a resolution, but that will not be up to me.
The story that is mine, however, is one that began with a wonderful and terrible cat. I loved Lux with all my heart and then feared him when he turned on me. I had a panic attack and sent him away because I couldn’t cope with his outbursts, but I never felt right about it. Adoption is forever, for better or worse, like marriage. I didn’t want to give up. I never wanted a divorce.
What I’ve learned now is that I had no choice. Lux didn’t turn on me because I was bad. He didn’t turn because I did something wrong. He turned because of something haywire inside him. I know he hates it too, and good, smart people are working with him to make him well. I am not a pro. I could not have done the work he needs.
So finally after months of wondering, months of guilt, I am finally able to let it go. I did my best for Lux. I could have done nothing more. He is in the best hands now, and his future is bright. It will not be with me; at least I don’t think so. But he will always be a part of my life.
LUX: EXONERATION
I’ve seen Lux.
He is healthy, happy, fed, and loved.
That’s all I can tell you, since Lux is Jackson Galaxy’s story and not mine. The story is ongoing; someday we will have a resolution, but that will not be up to me.
The story that is mine, however, is one that began with a wonderful and terrible cat. I loved Lux with all my heart and then feared him when he turned on me. I had a panic attack and sent him away because I couldn’t cope with his outbursts, but I never felt right about it. Adoption is forever, for better or worse, like marriage. I didn’t want to give up. I never wanted a divorce.
What I’ve learned now is that I had no choice. Lux didn’t turn on me because I was bad. He didn’t turn because I did something wrong. He turned because of something haywire inside him. I know he hates it too, and good, smart people are working with him to make him well. I am not a pro. I could not have done the work he needs.
So finally after months of wondering, months of guilt, I am finally able to let it go. I did my best for Lux. I could have done nothing more. He is in the best hands now, and his future is bright. It will not be with me; at least I don’t think so. But he will always be a part of my life.
I AM NOT A WRITER
Here is a poem I wrote at work, proving that I am, in fact, a writer after all.
I am not a writer.
I’m a records scanner for a large medical group.
I hear it in the mind-numbing whir of the wheels:
“Scanners scan,
Writers write.
Do the math, girl.”
But scanning makes me sick.
My head spins and my back aches.
My soul goes blank as a sheet of copy paper.
My brain is wordless.
I am not a writer.
I am a sick old woman.
2 weeks on the couch and counting.
I’m good at being sick.
I moan and whine and have bowel difficulties.
I think about writing
But I do not write.
the arcane scroll writer by mick o maikeru
I am not a writer.
I am a cat lady. Cats console me when I’m sick
And inspire me when I write.
They greet me when I get home from work.
Cats don’t care if I have a name for myself.
August 2, 2015
FALLING APART OR TRANSFORMING?
Anxiety by Claudia Fuenzalida Johns
My world is falling apart. It’s all inside me; the outside is the same as ever. Outside my head, life goes on: Work, chores, cats, sleep, meals, family, writing. But inside, my mind is crawling with worms, my head aches all the time, my thoughts evade me. I know this space: it is the preface to an anxiety episode.
It’s been over a year since my last episode, the one triggered by love of a cat from hell. It took months to recover. Now that I again hover on that razor’s edge, it seems as if the sane time in between never happened. I see only the pain. Back through my life to childhood, back before I’d ever heard the word, anxiety. The crazy anxious me connects with those episodes like a string of misshapen and grimy pearls. My mind plays tricks, telling me I will never be free.
Anxiety Attack – Gentle Soul Arts
But there is another side to this mental illness which I cannot ignore. For whatever reason I begin down the slippery slope into anxiety hell, it comes with a lesson. It comes to force change. I cannot deny that all I’ve been thinking about lately, all the messages from my soul, have spoken of change.
Anxiety Butterflies – Katie Edwards
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
So can I pull myself out of the fire before the real panic hits? Can I see what needs to be done and do it instead of stand firm in the denial that will inevitably end me? Can I plunge my head in ice water and come up seeing a new direction? Inside myself, I know what is wrong, what needs to be corrected. It will be difficult – change always is. But do I have a choice?
Perhaps I am not falling apart after all, but merely transforming.
July 30, 2015
I SEE LIONS EVERYWHERE
I’M SEEING LIONS EVERYWHERE.
Not just the sweet face of Cecil, the slaughtered icon, but everywhere: a moss-covered statue in a neighboring garden; a year-old birthday card; a logo for a film company; an intro for a classic movie; a phone call from a friend whose name last is in Lyon.
Beyond the hate, everyone asks the burning question: How could someone do that? How could a human being with a heart and a brain slaughter an animal in cold blood? A member of an endangered species? A beloved of his country? A beautiful king of beasts? How could they entrap him, injure him, pursue him, kill him, and skin him, taking only his trophy head? The insults pile, one on top of each other. How!? Why!?
But how can people kill elephants and tigers? How can they murder another human being? A child? How can a woman shoot a cat with an arrow and post it proudly on Facebook? How!? Why!?
The fact that we can’t answer those questions says something for our own sanity. Those people have something wrong inside, something sick. Something missing. How sad for them. How sad for us that we have to live in the wake of their ignorance.
The hatred of these acts is overwhelming, but we need to overcome it. Hatred will only turn us into them. Pray, meditate, take a swim, a run or whatever calms you, then turn around and do one small thing to make the world a better place. It is our best, maybe our only, revenge.
July 26, 2015
First Post Challenge
Thank you, Jeanne, (Jeanne Owens, author) for this challenge. It’s my first tag and I’m looking forward to it. I can’t remember offhand what my first post was, so it will be a surprise for everyone.
The rules are:
Copy-paste, link, pingback, etc. your first post.
Identify the post: introduction, story, poem.
Explain why it was your first post.
Nominate five other bloggers.
My first post, April 23, 2013, an introduction:
MOLLIE HUNT: IT’S ALL ABOUT ME.
Mollie Hunt with Tinkerbelle, Registered Pet Partners for the Delta Society.
But it’s not. It’s about getting older, about taking care of cats, about volunteering. It’s about writing. Mostly that.
Nothing is more fulfilling to me than sitting at my computer with my head in a story and a cat on my lap. The two co-mingle well. In fact, that’s where my Crazy Cat Lady Mystery series came from. Well, that’s not totally true: I started Cats’ Eyes, the first in the series, on the beach in Mazatlan. But I was missing my cats, so there you are.
Tinkerbelle is with me now, a black ball of fluff. Tink is my working cat. We are registered Pet Partners for the Delta Society, visiting hospice patients and assisted living facilities to share her healing touch. My CCL protagonist, Lynley Cannon, is also a Pet Partner. In many ways, she’s like me- sixtyish, searching, ex-hippie, but she gets into a lot more trouble.
Which brings me back to what it’s about: I am working hard this year to get my book published. Since I am basically a recluse, I choose to reach out from the comfort of my home. If you are interested in my journey, I invite you to come along.
____________________________________________________________
And there you have it. Things haven’t changed a lot in the past 2 years, though I have published Cats’ Eyes as well as one more, Copy Cats. I am working hard on more Crazy Cat Lady stories; Tinkerbelle and I still visit the catless; I am still a recluse.
I nominate:
July 11, 2015
THE SHADE OF EMPATHY
What if the Japanese bot sat down with the American bot and they both refused to fight?
We all know what will happen when the machines take over the world. We’ve seen it in movies, read it in books. Whether dubbed the War of the Machines or the First Machine War, it all comes out the same: judged by the number of human lives lost, the machines win every time.
photo courtesy of Terminator-Salvation
But what leads up to that non-mortal uprising? Do we goad them into it? Do we create them that way? Do they do it for our own good?
photo courtesy of The Matrix Revolutions 2
What makes the machines decide to obliterate us instead of calling us friend? Is it our own violence? Are we really a virus on our world? Is peace alien to our nature?
Maybe we better get our shit together and quit being so flagrantly stupid. Peace can be learned, the same way we learn not to touch an open flame: when consequences hurt, we avoid the cause – a billion deaths and the loss of our species should be pain enough to encourage us to play nice. We can also learn peace through empathy. If we can feel our enemy as we feel ourselves, we would be less willing to fight.
These are not new thoughts. Since we began to question our reality, our spirituality, many of us have pondered our relationship with peace. Peace seems to be the stranger in our midst, but it doesn’t have to be that way. Be brave. Be empathic. Be the peace.
July 8, 2015
HAVE A BAD DAY?
There are some days where nothing goes right. Where work piles up like paper stalagmites on my desk and I can’t catch up. Where my mouse dies and the TV pixelates on channel 6 so I can’t watch NCIS. Where I can’t win.
Where everything either stings or hurts or aches, and I trip over my own feet. Where movement is slow and clumsy as swimming in molasses. Where I can’t think straight, and two plus two no longer comes out four. Where I just want to go back to bed.
Is it a cycle? A curse? Is it cosmic? Do I do it to myself?
What does it mean when someone says they’re having a bad day? What did that day ever do to them? I’ve learned it’s never too late to begin the day over again, but sometimes that isn’t enough. The molasses feet and muddling brain persist.
I lie on the couch, prisoner of my own racing mind. I try to slow it down, discard the wayward thoughts, one at a time, until nothing remains but the cat curled up beside me. Then, and only then, can I look to tomorrow.
July 1, 2015
SAVE A CAT – SAVE THE WORLD
Somewhere in another world, loving people are taking cats for walks in the dry, red sun of a high desert canyon. They are preparing food in small dishes with cat figures on them. They are petting and grooming and helping those who cannot help themselves.
Somewhere, there are those who have dedicated – and re-dedicated – their lives to saving animals, one at a time.
Save a cat – save the world. They say that together we can save them all.
Why is that one furry life so important in a world gone mad with war and injustice? Because it’s where we start. The soldiers in Israel who rescued the mother cat and her kittens will tell you. The veteran who brought his Iraqi tabby home with him will tell you, too. It’s not rationalization; it’s the right thing to do. We can feel it, feel it in the depth of our true humanity. Someday we will do it for every life, across the board, the human ones as well.
Save a cat – save the world.
But what about forfeiture of spirit, the suppressing of soul? Isn’t that a little death in itself? Life is so precious, so fleeting, I can’t take it for granted that there will be a better tomorrow. Everything I’ve learned in my 60+ years tells me to strive for a better today.
As I sit like a robot in my sunlightless cubicle, I think of you, Princess Blue; of you, Gray & Pewter; of you, Eli; of you, Lightfoot; of you, Lucky; of you, Matisse; of you, Sonja; all of you.
Even the dogs.
