A little pick me up...

Good afternoon, Blog Friends. I don't know about you, but when I am feeling happy, I like to celebrate by treating myself to a little somethin' special. On the other hand, when I am feeling low, I like to indulge my self pity with a little pick me up. Either way, it all boils down to going shopping. This past week was quite a challenge for me and needless to say, I was feeling lower than low, so when I got a call from Nancy at China Phoenix 2, telling me that the new Tim Holtz Alterations Dies were in, I figured, why the heck not. So, I headed to the store for a bit of consumer therapy and some much needed artistic comraderie. While there, visiting with all of the talented and super nice folks that hang out there, I managed to snag 3 of the new TH dies. At the time, I wasn't even sure they would work in my CuttleBug, but one of the CP2 regulars assured me they would, so I took my chances.

Yesterday I played and it felt great. I managed to figure out how to run the dies through the CuttleBug and even whipped up a quick 10-minute card in the process, which you see in the above pictures. If you're interested, here's the "sandwich recipe" for using these dies in the CB:

Starting from the bottom and going up.

1. "B" plate
2. Cardstock
3. Die (face down)
4. "B" plate

Run this sandwich through your CuttleBug like you normally would and, voila, you have beautiful TH die cuts.

I'm going to share another quick story with you before I log off. As you know, I was devastated over the death of my dear feline companion, Hunter on Wednesday. I was wracked with grief and I felt physically ill on and off most of the day. That afternoon was when Nancy called to tell me about the new TH dies. I thought it would be good for me to get of out of the house the next day, because it just seemed very empty without Hunter's personality to fill it up. I have two other cats, Max and Charlie, whom I love to pieces, but they are exceptionally adept at sleeping most of the day, only perking up to eat and poop. I really need to review their "kitty contracts" and see if they are living up to their feline obligations ;D They have taken the term "lazy fat cats" to a whole new level.

Anyway, back to my story...I used to call Hunter my little "monkey", because even at the grand ol' age of 19 he was still jumping up on things and getting into all sorts of mischief. His favorite day of the week was "grocery day" because he loved to take inventory of my purchases and assist in seeing that everything was put away properly by checking bags, cabinets, countertops, etc. Because of antics such as this, he earned the nickname "monkey" and I constantly referred to him that way. So, Thursday I packed up a few things to work on while I was at the store and with my hands full, headed out to the driveway to get in my truck. I glanced down and on the cement right where I'm standing by the driver's side door I see something laying on the ground. I opened the truck door and unloaded my stuff, then I bent down to pick up this tiny item that caught my eye, only to find a little plastic monkey. It was about 2 inches tall and appeared to be new. It didn't look like it had been played with and didn't look like it had been laying around outside for a few days. There was no other debris in our yard. Just that teeny tiny monkey laying in my driveway by the driver's side door of my truck, as if it was waiting for me to find it. I know maybe I read too much into things of this nature, but it made me smile and that felt good. And truth be told, I feel like maybe Hunter was trying to comfort me by telling me that "my little monkey" was fine.

There you go. A card and a ghost story, what other blog gives you that ;)

Rest in Peace, my little friend...

I have not laid ink to paper in about week. This in and of itself makes me very sad. But the reason I have been away from my work table is heartbreaking. You see, last Wednesday evening, my little old man kitty, Hunter, had a nosebleed. At first, I thought he had scratched his nose against something sharp, so I looked him over very carefully, much to his dismay. I could not find a scratch, but it did not appear that the blood was coming from the inside of his nose. There was not a lot of blood, so it was easy to dismiss it as a result of kitty mischief. He was in good spirits and went on about his normal feline antics. The next night, he had another nosebleed. Now I was greatly concerned.

A trip to the vet the next morning turned all my fears into a reality. An x-ray showed that Hunter had a tumor the size of the tip of my thumb in his nasal passage. Anyone with cats knows that their nasal passages are not very big, so this was very serious. Surgery was not an option and radiation on a 19 year old cat is usually not successful, so we brought Hunter home, made him comfortable, loved on him, and waited. It was the longest 4 days of my life and felt like an eternity. He had a reasonably good weekend, all things considered. Monday was a very good day, as he still had energy to jump into my lap for a love-fest, and nuzzle my hand for pets and scratches. His little nose continued to bleed off and on, but he did not seem to be in any pain. Tuesday afternoon, things changed for the worse. He was not responsive when I spoke his name. A scratch on the head elicited no response. It was his way of telling me, it was time. He was tired and ready to move on. My sister made the sad trek to the vet with me this morning and he laid in my lap while Dr. Walker took him on the next steps of his journey. It felt as if my sister and I would flood that little room with our sobs and our tears.

Today my heart is broken into a million tiny pieces. Hunter gave me so much joy during his life and I am very lucky that he chose me to share his years with. You see, 18 years ago I had gone to the animal shelter in search of my siamese kitty who had disappeared. I was distraught over losing her. As I walked through the cages of adoptables, a furry paw reached out of one of the cages and touched my shoulder. It was Hunter. I had not gone into the shelter that day planning on taking anyone home except for Chelsea, if she happened to be there; however, one look into those big gold/green eyes and I had to hold him. When I picked him up, he clung to me like a child and I knew I could not leave him there. We had somehow connected in just that instance. The tag on his cage estimated his age was between 1-3 years old. From that day forward, he filled my days with his lively personality, his obviously regal good looks, and knowing glances that silently said "silly human, what are you up to now"? Hunter gave me 18 years of heartfelt joy and unconditional love, and I cannot ask for more than that.

In closing, let me share with you a Hopi prayer that I happen to have on a rubber stamp, that makes me think of my feline friend:

Do not stand
by my grave and weep.
I am not there.
I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints
of snow.
I am the sunlight
on ripened grain.
I am the gentle Autumn's rain.

When you awaken
in the morning hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet
birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars
that shine in the night.
Do not stand
by my grave and weep.
I am not there.
I do not sleep.

Rest in peace, my little friend. I will keep you in my heart forever.