Life & Yappin’

  • Outnumbered by Cats

    So what have I been up to?

    Short answer: cats, chaos, and coffee.

    Long answer… Zuri has her own emotional support bedroom now. Zazu has decided walking is optional. Zorro is out here auditioning for Most Dramatic Cat. And Zephyr? Zephyr is just trying to cat peacefully in the middle of all this nonsense.

    Meanwhile, I’m over here pretending to be a functioning adult.

    Somewhere in the middle of all that, I’ve been knitting, designing t-shirts, and absolutely not doing dishes. Priorities.

    Zazu

    Zazu kicked things off by deciding he didn’t feel good, which always scares me because he’s my OG. He went from being my loving little shadow to a sick little loaf, only moving if I carried him to food or water like the tiny king he is. He would only eat if I brought food to him, and drink if I held him over the sink and gave him bottled water, like the spoiled house panther that he is. At one point, I realized he wasn’t even getting up to use the litter box, so I was carrying him to the bathroom too.

    The good news is, today he finally moved from the one spot he’s been laying in for a week to the window perch… so we’re calling that a win.

    Zuri

    Zuri is… a whole different situation. She’s set up in her own room right now, which honestly feels like her emotional support bunker. It’s quieter, safer, and she does better in there… as long as I don’t push it.

    She’s never been a “people cat.” Whatever life she had before me left its mark, so we’ve learned to live at a distance. I let her exist in peace, and she lets me love her from afar. It works… until something like this happens.

    She ended up with the same eye infection Zazu had, but without all the sinus stuff. It got bad really fast, and of course I couldn’t catch her, so I had to call in backup. My son came over and got her in the carrier for me so I could take her to the vet. The vet gave her an antibiotic shot, which I’m really hoping does most of the work, because getting close enough to treat her eye at home just isn’t realistic.

    After everything she went through, she’s even more on edge than usual… and usual was already keeping her at arm’s length.

    The Drive From Hell

    I should also mention the drive to the vet, because that felt like a full stress test.

    I was already a mess worrying about her eye, and then I realized there was a cop behind me, which is also when I remembered my tags were expired. The current ones sitting in an envelope at home, obviously.

    And just to complete the picture, my neuralgia was flaring so bad I was driving with my left arm up over my head, holding onto the headrest behind me. So not only did I look guilty, I looked like I had an attitude about it.

    Zorro

    And then there’s Zorro… our resident bulldozer.

    He doesn’t walk into a room, he storms it. If there’s food, it’s his. If there’s a spot, it’s his. If another cat is peacefully existing somewhere, he takes that as a personal invitation to go bother them. He’s not mean in a mastermind way… he’s just pushy, chaotic, and running purely on impulse with no real plan.

    The problem is, he has the grace of a falling chair. Short, stubby legs, no sense of stealth, and absolutely zero finesse. So his attempts at intimidation usually look like a clumsy ambush followed by accidental chaos. He’ll charge in like a warrior and then immediately trip over himself, crash into something, or get distracted mid-bully mission. It’s like he never actually learned how to be a cat… he’s just improvising.

    And yet… he is ridiculously adorable. Like, offensively cute. Big eyes with zero thoughts behind them, a fluffy, goofy face, and if you pet him long enough, he starts drooling like a leaky faucet. So now you’ve got this chaotic little menace, bulldozing through the house, leaving emotional damage and a trail of spit behind him… and somehow you still want to scoop him up and kiss his little face.

    Zephyr

    And then there’s Zephyr… my sweet middle child, just here existing.

    While everything else in this house has gone completely off the rails, Zephyr is just… here. Watching it all with those big eyes like he knows something’s wrong, but also knows better than to get involved.

    He still gets his wild, full-speed, tear-through-the-house zoomies like nothing is wrong at all, and honestly, I love that for him. Somebody in this house should be having a good time.

    But mostly, he stays close. He’ll curl up in my lap or tuck himself under my chin like he belongs there, like he knows I’m stressed and he’s trying to help in the only way he knows how.

    And somehow… it works.

    As for me, I’ve been knitting on my daughter-in-law’s shawl whenever I get a chance, hoping I can finish it before winter lets up in North Dakota. I opened an Etsy shop, so I’ve been squeezing in t-shirt designs where I can, between everything else life keeps throwing at me.

    Mostly, I’m just managing the stress and the pain the best I can… and avoiding the dishes like an absolute professional.

    It’s not pretty, it’s not organized, but it’s my life right now.

  • The Age of Wisdom (and Who Decides It?)

    Lately, I’ve been watching a show called A Taste of History with Max Miller.
    It’s meant to be a light food series, but it keeps pulling me into something deeper. As he walks through the historical context of each dish, I find myself thinking about how young so many of these people were—leading, building, changing the world. And how differently we’ve come to view youth today.

    —

    In my generation—Generation X—we were raised to believe that wisdom only came with age.

    “You’ll understand when you’re older,” they told us. And we believed them. We were taught to listen, not speak. Respect our elders. Wait our turn. Because we hadn’t lived as long, our voices were dismissed as inexperienced, invalid, even foolish. (Or female.)

    We were meant to watch and learn until some invisible line was crossed, and then—someday—we’d finally be old enough to matter.
    But when is that day?

    —

    Looking back through history, it’s hard not to notice how often that idea just doesn’t hold.

    Joan of Arc was only 17 when she led an army.

    Alexander the Great became king at 20.

    Phillis Wheatley was 20 when she became the first African-American woman to publish a book of poetry.

    Even within our own American history, people in their 20s and 30s were founding nations:

    Edward Rutledge, 26, was the youngest signer of the Declaration of Independence.

    George Washington, 22, was commanding troops during the French and Indian War.

    Mary Shelley, just 20, published Frankenstein—a work that shaped literature for centuries.

    They didn’t wait their turn.
    They didn’t ask permission.

    —

    Did we break the cycle?

    Did we teach the next generation to think for themselves?
    To speak up, to question what they’re told, to use their imagination?
    Did we give them the confidence to shape the world they’re inheriting?

    Did we learn to listen to them?

    Maybe the question isn’t how old you have to be to be wise.

    Maybe it’s this:
    What if the age of wisdom isn’t an age at all?

  • Where the Heck Have I Been?!

    One wedding, four dresses, three sleeping spots, two sick cats, a hole in my ceiling, and one exhausted mama.

    Hey y’all. I’ve missed you.

    If you’ve been wondering where I disappeared to, just know — I didn’t actually fall off the earth. I just got swallowed whole by real life. My son got married!! My ceiling caved in (literally). My cats got sick. And I stopped sleeping in one room like a normal human.

    Let’s just say it’s been a season.

    💃 The Great Dress Debacle

    Let’s talk about the dress — or, more accurately… the dress situation.

    The first one I ordered actually fit beautifully. But the jacket that came with it? Way too small. The company wouldn’t just replace the jacket — they said they had to replace the whole set. So in order to get a larger jacket, I would’ve had to get a larger dress that was going to be too big.

    So I ordered two different jackets from another company, and a backup dress from Amazon. This was the week of the wedding, and I was stressed out of my mind. I just wanted to look nice for my son’s big day. I wasn’t worried about embarrassing myself — I was worried about embarrassing him. I didn’t want to be the awkward mom in the corner of every photo. I wanted to do this right. For him.

    The two jackets I ordered actually fit beautifully — but they were totally the wrong color for the original dress.

    The Amazon dress fit, with a little room to spare — but not enough to worry about. The length was perfect. But there was a big black smudge right down the front of the cape-like overlay. I tried to clean it… and made it worse.

    So I ordered the same exact dress again — hoping the replacement (of the replacement) would show up clean. And I threw one more dress into the cart, because I needed options. These dresses were arriving the day before the wedding. I had to have a backup plan in case something else went wrong.

    Both dresses showed up just in time.

    • The new version of the smudged dress? Clean, beautiful, and ready to go.
    • The extra dress? Absolutely stunning — I loved it. But it was about a foot too long, and there just wasn’t time.

    So I wore the replacement (of the replacement) Amazon dress. And after weeks of stress — and everything else going on (see: furry soap opera below) — I felt amazing. It wasn’t just about how the dress looked… it was about showing up for one of the most important days of my son’s life feeling confident and proud. Mission accomplished!

    Pictures will be coming… as soon as I get them.

    🐾 The Furry Soap Opera

    As if wedding prep wasn’t enough, my house turned into a full-blown chaos zone. And not just because of the cats — although they definitely had starring roles.

    Right in the middle of it all, I was having roof work done. One of the contractors actually stepped through my ceiling, and they temporarily patched the hole with a black trash bag and duct tape. I made them use hot pink duct tape — because at that point? I needed to feel like something was under my control.
    If I had to have a black trash bag taped to my ceiling, I wanted it to be pretty.

    Zazu was absolutely mortified. The banging, the noise, the hole in the ceiling — it stressed him out so badly he got sick. And when Zazu gets sick, I panic. I got him to the vet quickly and thankfully we caught it early. He got meds and started to feel better.

    But then Zuri got it… and it hit her so much worse.

    I took her to an emergency hospital. They kept her overnight, gave her IV fluids, and syringe-fed her. Every time I called for an update, I got a different doctor — four total — and every one of them said, “I don’t know, I’m just getting to know her.” No one could tell me if she was improving or not, and I was furious.

    She didn’t get better. In fact, she got worse. So I took her to a different emergency vet for another opinion. They suspected FIP (Feline Infectious Peritonitis), which is hard to diagnose and extremely serious. They gave me a prescription for custom-compounded medication. I had to syringe it into her mouth twice a day.

    It was awful. Zuri is my quiet, fearful girl. In the four years I’ve had her, she never let me touch her. And now, I had to catch her, hold her, and give her meds. I was also syringing water and food because she wasn’t eating or drinking. I even ran hot showers just to steam her sinuses — I had frizzy hair for days.

    Meanwhile… sleep?
    I didn’t even know her.

    Every night, I rotated between two or three rooms. I’d start in Jarod’s room with Zeus, my newest rescue, who was recovering and separated from the others. Around 2 AM, I’d get up, go to the living room to love on Zazu and Zephyr, and then move to my room with Zuri. Some nights, I even napped on the couch in between. I was exhausted. Mentally and physically. It was a nightmare.

    But we made it. Somehow.
    Zazu recovered.
    Zuri recovered. And she looks part poodle now thanks to her little shaved arm where they had the IV — it’s kind of cute.

    Zephyr, for his part, had no idea what was going on. He was still new to the family — just recently let out of Jarod’s room before all of this started — and was walking around like a goofy big brother trying to figure out the house rules. And then I brought in Zeus.

    Zeus was never meant to be a permanent part of the family — just a rescue I was helping after he got kicked out of his colony, badly injured, and clearly confused about where he belonged. He had a wound across his nose and didn’t seem to know how to protect himself. I took him to the vet, got him treated and neutered, and gave him a safe place to heal while trying to find him a home.

    But Zephyr wouldn’t accept him. And after weeks of rotating rooms, constant stress, and everyone’s routines falling apart, I hit my limit. I had to take Zeus to PAWS to find him a new home — somewhere safe where he could be loved and not feared. It broke my heart, but I couldn’t do it anymore.

    So here we are.
    The chaos has quieted. The cats are healing. I’m back to sleeping in one bed again.

    Stay tuned for part two of the ceiling saga — because the contractor still has to come back and fix the terrible patch. I’m just hoping Zazu doesn’t get sick again when he does.

    Also, my other son is getting married in June! Stay tuned for that adventure!