Saturday Afternoon Chat: Cat update, why is chamomile in every tea mix, and going old school with music, books, etc.

Good afternoon from chilly Pennsylvania.

I’m under a blanket as I write this while my 11-year-old daughter rips around the room on a hoverboard, my dog stares at me because she thinks I’m going to give her some of the chicken I was eating (I’m not. It’s gone.), and my husband rushes around the house cleaning because he is neater than I am.

Where is my 19-year-old son? Sleeping most likely.

At the end of his school career, I told him to take his time figuring out his next step in life, and he has taken that advice very seriously. *wink*

I’m about to make myself a cup of peppermint tea with local raw honey. (Update: The Husband made it for me.). I had to go back to peppermint after I tried an elderberry mixed tea that had so many other ingredients in it that it simply made me sick. One tea that makes me feel gross — small headache and icky stomach gross — is chamomile and it is in every single tea I get lately.

Elderberry blackberry? Yup..chamomile.

Apple Cinnamon Spice? Yup…chamomile.

Even the cold infusion ones add chamomile. What is the obsession with chamomile with these tea companies? Gah! Give me something without chamomile. Thank you very much!

Small, unimportant rant over.

This past week was uneventful and apparently gave me plenty of time to ponder tea concoctions and their overabundance of chamomile.

I worked on the fourth book in the Gladwynn Grant series, finally buckling down when even my own parents started asking me where the book was. To make sure I am on track my mom asked me yesterday, “You’re working on the book, right?” That isn’t exactly how she phrased it but close.

I told her I was. I even participated in a two-hour writing sprint with an author I follow to make sure I got a few hundred words in. I hope to have it out in February.

On Friday, The Boy, Little Miss and I went on a drive to get some more hours in for The Boy’s permit.

One of the main streets to get out into town involves a very challenging intersection where it is difficult to see around cars parked at a local bar and grill. The Boy pulled out, and a car came around the corner very fast, essentially almost out of nowhere, and we were almost t-boned. Miss New Jersey was non-too happy and let us know with a horn and a middle finger.

She, however, was most likely speeding around the corner, like most cars are.

What’s silly is that we always go out that way when there is another street we could go up and then around on to get to the same street. Instead, we all arrive at that intersection, our stomachs in knots and worrying we are going to get hit by a car or one of the many tractor trailers that come blazing around that corner. I don’t know why we haven’t, in the five years we’ve lived here, learned to go up and around, but we haven’t. I, however, am going to start doing that because I don’t relish the idea of being slammed into on the driver’s side by drivers who refuse to slow down.

The rest of our drive to a small town about ten minutes away was uneventful. There is nothing in the town to visit so we simply went there, turned around, and drove home, trying to figure out the speed limit on the stretch of highway right next to our local state police barracks.

My dad tells me it’s 55 unless otherwise marked but I don’t trust our local state police to hold to that old adage and figure they’d tell us it was marked a mile back and we were breaking the law.

One driver decided the speed limit should be more as they passed us while we were going 55 but at least the driver did it in a legal passing zone. It offered yet another learning opportunity by reminding The Boy to let up on the accelerator when someone passes so they can get by whether they are doing it legally or not. No need to create even more of a potential for an accident.

Before I forget, I’ve been mentioning in various blog posts that we had a cat with an injured back paw and were going to be taking her to the vet. Luckily, she started walking again normally right before we were supposed to take her and seems to be doing fine now. It took two weeks for her foot to heal completely.

As for the kitten who was dropped off at our house, or somehow found us, we are keeping her and will be getting he spayed in December. Please pray with me that she doesn’t find a boyfriend in that timeframe and become “in the family way” shall we say. I would prefer not to have a litter of kittens to find a home for before we get her spayed.

She is a crazy cat who likes to climb the glass door in our living room for some odd reason. She also yowls a lot, hides under chairs and tries to grab our feet when we walk by, and annoys the older cats just by breathing and being in the house.

Jumping subjects again but AI — yeah….I am not a fan. Not in the least. This week I found out the top song in Christian music right now is an AI artist.

I became physically ill at that news and at the people defending it by saying God can use anything to get his message across.

People, listen to me. AI is Artificial Intelligence. There is no soul behind it. There is no human who is expressing their worshipful praise to our Heavenly Father.

There is simply a computer mimicking other songs and, to me, mocking what true worship should be.

This is horrific to me, and I will not be listening to AI worship music at anytime. I am so worried that real artists will start to use it too which, again, makes me sick to my stomach.

On the same wavelength, I am so disgusted with indie authors or traditional publishing houses who are using AI created images to portray humans on the covers of books. Stop it. Just please. Not only do these fake models have nothing behind their eyes — no soul, no feeling, nothing — the photos look cheesy as all get out.

I will not pick a book up with a cover like that because who knows if the person really wrote what is inside.

Now, I am not including illustrated books in this rant. My Gladwynn book covers have illustrated art that I put there piece by piece. Many other designers do the same. This doesn’t bother me, even if I am not a huge fan of all the animated/illustrated romance covers out there.

The AI looking faces with their soulless stares creep me out to no end.

And the advertisers using AI models for ads where someone is speaking? Stop that too. I’m so disturbed.

I am also not a fan, in the least, of AI audiobooks and will not buy them. If I see an indie author has offered one of their books for sale as an audiobook, I always listen to see if the voice sounds like a real person. If it doesn’t, I’m out.

All of this AI creation and AI pushing has led me even further into the desire to go old school in my life. My husband and I have a huge collection of CDs and we have a record player/CD player/cassette player/radio that we can use to play those CDs. It’s nice to have the songs on my phone too but sometimes I just want the phone to be put away so I can pretend I’m in the 90s again without the crazy hair-sprayed bangs.

I find myself reaching for old music, old movies, and old books, knowing they were not created with AI. Sure, some of the old music might include auto tune or changes by a computer but at least it started out with a real human.

Old movie makers might have used practical effects to create scenes but, again, those were real humans figuring out how to set it all up to create the look our outcome they wanted. It wasn’t someone being lazy and punching a bunch of information into a computer and waiting to see what it spit out.

I’m worried about AI and what it means to our future and our humanity, as you can clearly see. I’m doing all I can to stay away from AI and use my brain and hope to make my children do the same, especially after I heard this week that developers are trying to create AI friends for children. Oh heck no. It’s hard for my daughter to find friends while being homeschooled but I will send her to public school before I will ever let her have an “AI friend.” That’s like opening up the portal to hell to me.

I’m done with my rant now. Ha!

Now I am going to go read a physical book (even though I do still enjoy my Kindle), sip some peppermint tea with no chamomile, and later watch a movie made before 1960 to help me feel a little more grounded.

What are  you going to do to feel more grounded on this fine Saturday afternoon? Or whatever day/afternoon it is when you read this?


If you write book reviews or book-related blog posts, don’t forget that Erin and I host the A Good Book and A Cup of Tea Monthly Bookish Blog Party. You can learn more about it here.

On Thursdays, I am part of the Weekend Traffic Jam Reboot blog link party. You can find the latest one in the sidebar to the right under recent posts.

I also post a link-up on Sundays for weekly updates about what you are reading, watching, doing, listening to, etc.


Hello! Welcome to my blog. I am a blogger, homeschool mom, and I write cozy mysteries.

You can find my Gladwynn Grant Mystery series HERE.

You can also find me on Instagram and YouTube.

Sunday Bookend: Our pain-in-the-butt cat uses up another life and enjoying a variety of books

It’s time for our Sunday morning chat. On Sundays, I ramble about what’s been going on, what the rest of the family and I have been reading and watchingand what I’ve been writing. Some weeks I share what I am listening to.

Our cat Scout was missing yesterday so I was not in a very perky the entire day.

We hadn’t seen her since Friday morning. We do let our cats outside but they usually come  back several times throughout the day, and in the case of our oldest cat at least, don’t go very far.

I hadn’t been able to mentally function much since Friday night when it was pouring rain and she still hadn’t come back. I was sure she’d been hit or kidnapped. She could have been locked in one of the neighbor’s sheds too. They were all mowing their lawns before the rain came. I held out hope that she’d be home Saturday morning when one of them opened a shed or barn door.

Saturday morning came and still no sign of her.

I spent all day Saturday crying, but I knew it wasn’t just over the cat – it was over all the stuff that’s been going on with my parents and my health all combined. It was mainly the cat because I pictured her dead over the banks, I suppose, but the built-up tension from trying to figure out some weird symptoms I’ve been having and the challenge to get into a doctor and the challenge to fake it to everyone around me has been overwhelming me lately.

I just kept shoving it all inside and trying to pretend everything was fine and it just came to a head yesterday because I thought the cat was dead.

Saturday night I headed to bed around 11:30, resolved to the fact our cat — the biggest pain in the butt cat I’ve ever had in my life — was gone. I don’t know why I even did it, but I walked to our blanket closet in the hallway, as if giving it one last look, even though I was sure my husband and son had already thought to do so over the  last couple of days, and I opened it.

There was a soft trill, and then a cat jumped out at me.

I was in total shock. I just started yelling, “Oh my gosh! She’s alive!”

The kids came running while the cat, probably startled as much as I was, took off for the food downstairs.

During the day I had been thinking about how much I would miss her. I would miss her touching her nose to mine when she came into my room at 5 or 6 a.m. for cuddles (I don’t actually enjoy being woke up that early, but I would now miss it, I had decided). I would miss her touching her nose to mine when she jumped up on the counter and waited for me to give her a snack of turkey deli meat when she came in from exploring outside at the end of the day.

Touching her nose to mine is something Scout has done since she was a tiny kitten, and she’d sleep on my chest.

After she grabbed some food and water, she ran back up the stairs, overwhelmed by everyone screaming over her and the dog excitedly sniffing and chasing her (I’m sure our older cat Pixel was simply glaring at her as she’d probably hoped she’d died somewhere so she could have all the attention again). I went up to finish getting ready for bed and she was standing on the window sill at the top of the stairs. She trilled at me and then she stretched her neck out toward me. When we were face-to-face she touched her nose to mine and I cried again and did something I almost never do to a cat — I kissed her forehead.

Then I wiped the fur away. Yuck. That’s why I don’t do that.

This cat definitely has nine lives. She’s the same cat that climbed and then fell out of a tree when we first got her. She lay on her side at the bottom of the tree panting and we thought she’d broken her spine and was dying. Thirty-seconds later she jumped up and took off running..

A few months later she climbed a larger tree in front of our house and was trapped there a day and a night and finally the town’s lovely fire department came and rescued her in dramatic fashion with their ladder truck. Just like in the movies.

In addition to having nine lives, the cat is also notorious for embarrassing me. That time it was the fire company rescuing her and yesterday our son went up and down the street asking all the neighbors to watch for her. Now we have to tell all of them she was in our linen closet the entire time and that we are sort of morons for not checking it and she’s sort of a moron for going into in the first place.

Last night I finished The Wishing Well by Mildred Wirt. It is a Penny Parker Mystery. I actually enjoyed it more than some of the Nancy Drew Mysteries because Mildred’s wit and humor comes through so clearly and Harriet Adams took a lot of that out when she wrote the Nancy Drew books that Mildred had written.

I might have to agree with Mildren when she once said that Penny was more Nancy Drew than Nancy was.

She is a lot more mouthy and pushy, but in a well-meaning way, than Nancy was even.

I am still reading Mansfield Park by Jane Austen, one chapter a day, but I didn’t read it much this week because I lost my paperback of it and then found it late last night. I did download an ebook copy to my Kindle too in case this happens again (which it will. I’m always laying my books down somewhere and losing them).

I am also continuing All Things Wise and Wonderful by James Herriott and will most likely finish that this week.

I plan to start The Inimitable Jeeves by P.G. Woodhouse this week and soon I will start Summer of Yes by Courtney Walsh (a fun summer romance) and ‘Tis Herself by Maureen O’Hara.

This week I watched a couple of older movies with two of the original Dames.

I watched The Assassination Bureau with a young Diana Riggs. That was — um, interesting. Quite goofy with a lot of sexual tension between her and Oliver Reed.

Then I watched The Honey Pot with a young Maggie Smith and Rex Harrison. This was another interesting one with an odd plot. A rich man pretends to be dying and invites his three former mistresses to his home to see which one of them is worthy of his inheritance.

Maggie portrays a nurse of one of the mistresses.

Rex is in his usual, witty form in this one.

I wasn’t sure what to expect of the film when I started it and when it got serious, Maggie really stepped up her acting game. That was enjoyable.

I also watched Ludwig, a mystery with David Mitchell, on Britbox. I really enjoyed the first episode.

Of course, I watched Just A Few Acres Farm on YouTube and will watch it again because I was interrupted during it. He was restoring a Farmall tractor. Who knew one day I’d be fascinated with watching a man restore an old farm tractor…

I’ve decided that I am going to have a Summer of Angela and watch Angela Lansbury movies. I’m going to sort of do it on my own but if anyone wants to join me, they/you are welcome.

Last week on the blog I shared

What have you been doing, watching, reading, listening to, or writing? Let me know in the comments or leave a blog post link if you also write a weekly update like this.


This post is linked up with The Sunday Post at  Kimba at Caffeinated Reviewer, The Sunday Salon with Deb at Readerbuzz, and Book Date: It’s Monday! What are you reading hosted by Kathyrn at The Book Date.


Lisa R. Howeler is a blogger, homeschool mom, and writes cozy mysteries.

You can find her Gladwynn Grant Mystery series HERE.

You can also find her on Instagram and YouTube.

Sunday Chat: So insanely cold, watching old shows because I’m always behind the times, and shows about farming in the past

It was so cold this past week that our animals had no interest in going outside, which is unusual for the cats who like to go out even if it is snowing or raining.

I’m very glad they stayed inside because I worry about them when they are outside. Yes, we have outside cats. We live in a rural area and allow them to wander during the day and they come in whenever they want or they come in at night because I do not want them out at night with the various critters we have out here. I’ve had people on social media be very rude to me in the past and tell me I’m a horrible pet owner for letting my pets outside so I just thought I’d add a little context. I’m not flinging my animals out the back door into the wilderness.

They absolutely thrive when they can go outside and they stay close to our house and then return, often with a dead mouse to present to us. I sometimes forget that those who don’t live in a more rural area don’t let their pets outside for safety reasons so they misunderstand and think I’m pushing the cats out into danger.

That all being said, they have not wanted to go outside because of the cold lately, so it has been nice to have them want to cuddle and to watch them sleep curled up on the coffee table or sprawled out in front of the lit woodstove.

The oldest cat, Pixel, has been making me a little nervous lately. I don’t know if she feels well, and I’ve found a couple of bumps on her head. She’s been a lot more desperate to sit on me and be petted. Ever since I read that cats purr when they are happy or in pain, I’ve wondered/worried why my cats are purring and hope they aren’t in pain. Hopefully she’s okay. She’s pulled this on me before and bounced right back, so we will see.

I am reading three books at the moment. Christy by Catherine Marshall (with some heavy stuff amidst the inspirational, so I need breaks), Bourdain: The Definitive Oral Biography by Laurie Woolever (with some heavy stuff amidst the inspirational, so I need a break), and A Body in the Library by Agatha Christie (because a nice old fashioned murder always breaks up the heavy stuff. Hee. Hee.).

Little Miss and I are starting The Sign of the Beaver by Elizabeth George Speare for school this week. At night we are listening to a collection of Henry Huggins books by Beverly Cleary and read by Neil Patrick Harris and William Roberts.

The Husband just finished The Quiet American by Graham Greene.

The Boy is getting ready to read Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.

I finished the first season of Only Murders in the Building last night and really liked it. I’m looking forward to the other seasons.

My brother said he got bored with the show after season two, but he gets bored easily so I’m going to keep going. (*wink*)

As evidenced by the fact I am only just watching Only Murders in the Building, I often watch popular shows years after they ended. That’s why I have also started Castle, with Captain Mal — oh, I mean Nathan Fillion.

If you don’t understand that niche joke, I can’t help you — well, I can, but I’m going to make you search it up on your own instead.

Actually, The Husband started it for me last week (he’s watched it before) and now I’m continuing to watch it on my own.

I’m also watching Tudor Monastery Farm and this has me wondering a lot about this show and its spinoffs (Victorian Farm, Edwardian Farm, Wartime Farm)  and how they work. Do these historians really do all these things they record, and do they really stay at these old buildings and houses? Or do they just film a little bit for educational purposes and move on. I guess I will have to step into the rabbit hole and figure this out this week.

I also watched Morning Glory with Katharine Hepburn and Douglas Fairbanks Jr., a couple episodes of Monarch of the Glen, and an episode of No Reservations (with Anthony Bourdain) last week.

I’ve started a Substack for cozy mystery, vintage movies, and book enthusiasts, as well as readers of my books.

For $3 a month you can join in and geek out with me about vintage Nancy Drew, classic movies, classic books, Gladwynn Grant and so much more.

You will be added to my book club Discord, A Good Book, and A Cup of Tea, and receive sneak peeks, exclusive discounts, access to various products, and whatever else comes to mind as I grow my space.

You can join here: https://lisarhoweler.substack.com/7ce3211e


What I shared on the blog last week:

|| How To Start Morning Creative Writing for More Productive Days by Filling the Jars ||

|| His Encouragement 300 by Christian Fiction Girl ||

|| Wordless Wednesday by Southern Patches ||

Now it is your turn! I’d love to hear what you are doing, what you are reading, what you are watching, listening to, etc. Let me know in the comments.


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This post is linked up with The Sunday Post at  Kimba at Caffeinated Reviewer, Stacking the Shelves with Reading Reality, The Sunday Salon with Deb at Readerbuzz, and Book Date: It’s Monday! What are you reading hosted by Kathyrn at The Book Date.

I had an ‘old lady’ weekend and loved it

I had an old lady weekend this past weekend.

What in the world do I mean by that?

Well, nothing too serious really and I am certainly not saying all “old ladies” do these things.

I guess you could say I am drawing on the stereotypes of “old ladies”, not the realities, so please do not take offense if you do consider yourself an actual “old lady.”

The stereotypes I am talking about are where they eat prunes (well, we—I mean they — have to because their digestive systems slow down!), curl up under blankets (hey, their circulation isn’t what it used to be), watch Murder She Wrote (hey, it’s a fun escape!), pet their cats (cats are cozy!), and sip warm herbal tea.

Of course, I know they (um….we?) aren’t all like that, but this weekend we came home from taking one of Little Miss’s friends back to her dad and I realized I had the rest of the night to myself. I opened the fridge to pour myself a glass of lactose-free milk (hey, don’t judge – it’s not an old lady thing. I’ve been lactose-intolerant since I was born.) and saw my prunes in the fridge door.

Yes, I have prunes. Let’s not talk about why. I grabbed a couple and declared to my husband, “You know, I actually enjoy prunes!”

In the next few seconds, I remembered I hadn’t finished an episode of Murder She Wrote before we left so I said, “Oh! I have a Murder She Wrote episode to finish!” I think I might have even clapped. The very idea of getting my warm blanket, making a cup of tea, and watching Murder She Wrote was just thrilling to me.

And that’s when it hit me.

I actually am old. I’m not even 50 yet but I looked at my husband and said, “I’m old! I’m eating prunes and watching Murder She Wrote!

He said something along the line of, “You’re not old – now go in and cuddle under your blanket and maybe make some tea later while  you finish your episode, dear.”

I confess to you that I did not watch just that one episode of Murder She Wrote. No. I watched two more and Little Miss watched them with me.

We were like two little old ladies.

I was under one blanket and she was under another.

She had a dog and cat with her and then the cat curled up on me part of the time too.

Every little while one of us would comment about the show, but mainly we were fairly quiet.

“There’s something not right about that ginger,” she said at one point. “Something about her eyes are crazy.”

“I think that guy did it,” I said. “They always have the innocent looking ones that we all fall in love with be the bad guy in these shows.”

Then her, “Yeah you two could be friends under different circumstances — like if you hadn’t straight up killed that man!”

Continuing the old lady theme throughout the weekend, Little Miss and I watched a couple episodes of Mary Berry’s show and I read from a series of Christmas novellas/Amish romances.

I hadn’t seen this series of Mary Berry on Amazon before so I was giddy with excitement. The series was filmed in 2022. Mary is 89 this year. She was 87 years old and looks like she’s in her 60s and still as perky and active as ever. I know that won’t be me at her age  – if I even make it that far, but I wish it could be. Heck, I wish I could be like her at my age.

I am not usually a fan of Amish romances, but these were written well and very sweet. The book is called A Christmas Gathering with novellas by Shelly Shepard Gray, Rachel J. Good, and Lenora Worth, in case you were wondering.

The time with Little Miss and reading my sweet Amish romances was the most relaxed I’ve been in weeks. I think I’m going to draw into the “old lady” hobbies more this winter and not feel even a little bit guilty about it!

(If I start knitting or making quilts, though, you better come rescue me. It means I’ve sunk too far down into old lady land. *wink* )

Saturday Afternoon Chat: relaxing week, reptiles, pizza, some sun, and cozy mysteries to read



Sipping tea and cocoa, reading books, and watching All Creatures Great and Small. That’s all I want to do today and hopefully, I will.

It wasn’t a rough week. It was a relaxing one, but it did have various bouts of sad news mixed in about a variety of people and situations. I just need a break from things.

The world is heavy, right? I’m not the only one who feels it, am I?

I mean – it’s a lot unless you lock yourself in a house and never engage with people or go on social media or participate in society whatsoever. That may be something I look into soon.

Again, though, could just be me, but I’m sort of over the craziness of the world right now.

Which is why I am piling up my cozy mysteries and popping in some old movies and eating a lot of chocolate this weekend.

Okay, maybe I won’t eat a lot of chocolate. I’ve actually been craving fruit more than anything else. I just want fruit all the time lately and I think that’s because my body wants healthier foods. I intend to give it those healthier foods it wants this week. Even if fruits and vegetables are some of the most expensive foods right now.

This past week, as I said, wasn’t really too stressful other than bad news.

The Husband had off work for the week so we had some family time, including a trip to a nearby reptile zoo yesterday.

Earlier in the week we hung out at home, went for some walks (well, I didn’t but the rest of them did), went to the playground, visited my parents and had some pizza with them, watched some Adventures of Sherlock and Perry Mason and read books or, for me, wrote blog posts.

The kids had school but we took it easy, especially on the nice days when we had sun and warmer temps. We seem to be in this routine in Pennsylvania of two nice days and five not-so-nice ones. I’ll take those two nice days and hope for more nice days in a row in May and the rest of the summer.

Wednesday night we had a pizza night at my parents’ house. We made homemade pizza – well, not really. It was store-bought dough but we added the sauce, cheese, and roasted peppers.

Yesterday it was off to Clyde Peelings Reptiland where Little Miss was able to see her favorite creatures – reptiles. She was able to pet a snake and was thrilled by that but I’m sure she would have been more thrilled to bring it home. She’s still trying to talk me into us buying her one. I just keep pushing her off and hope she will forget about it.

The Boy, The Husband, and Little Miss went inside the zoo and I stayed in the car reading books, partially to save money because the tickets are quite high, and partially because I had already seen the zoo and The Husband hadn’t.

He is not a fan of reptiles, especially snakes, but he did well.

Afterward, we decided not to go to a fast food restaurant to eat but instead stopped at a local supermarket called Weis. It’s like a smaller version of Wegman’s, for those familiar with that chain, or Trader Joes with less options.

Still, it provides more fresh fruit and natural products than other supermarkets in our area, which means my lunch was some pork chops I had brought from home and a package of raspberries, blueberries, and blackberries. Everyone else had things like General Tsaos chicken, dumplings, and fried chicken pieces. To me, it always seems a better deal to pick up lunch at a place that provides good quality food next to some healthier options, especially since our last restaurant experience was expensive and disappointing.

The sun has been out a little bit today and that’s been nice but it looks like it is clouding up again out there. We really need a stretch of several days of sun to perk us all up.

I plan to spend the rest of the day sipping tea, as I mentioned above, and finishing up a The Cat Who … book that I got wrapped up in the other day when I was looking for a comfort read to deal with all the overwhelming news of people I know with health issues.

There are some very funny lines in this book – The Cat Who Talked to Ghost by Lilian Jackson Braun – it’s actually become one of my favorites.

At one point, Polly, the main character’s girlfriend (they are an older couple in their 50s just for a visual) adopts a Siamese cat and, usually reserved, gushes over it and talks baby talk to it.

Main character, Jim Qwilleran, a slightly uptight newspaper columnist with two Siamese cats of his own, is aghast at her behavior.

“Qwilleran had to admit he was an appealing little creature, but he found Polly’s commentary cloying.

He occasionally called Yum Yum his little sweetheart, but that was different. It was a term of endearment, not maudlin gush.

“What’s his name?” he asked.

“Bootsie, and he’s going to grow up to be just like Koko.”

Fat chance, Qwilleran thought, with a name like that! Koko bore the dignified cognomen of Kao K’o Kung, a thirteenth-century Chinese artist.”

I don’t know why that section cracked me up, but it did! I guess I needed the laugh.

How was your week this past week?

Do anything fun?

Let me know in the comments.

Next week I plan to start a link-up for weekly wrap-up posts and then anyone who does similar posts (they don’t have to have the same name at all) can add their links and we can catch up on what everyone is doing. I’ll let you know more about that next week.

Our pets and their many adventures and personalities

Our family’s pets certainly are characters and keep our lives interesting.

We somehow ended up with three black and white animals.

Zooma The Wonder Dog’s most well-known features in our family are her spotted paws, even though she has white on other areas of her fur as well. When we first met Zooma and decided we wanted to adopt her, 3-year-old Little Miss told everyone we met that we were going to buy the puppy with the spotted paws. We had planned not to tell my parents right away because we thought they might not think we should get a new dog since we’d recently had a negative experience with another puppy adoption. That plan fell apart when Little Miss ran into their house first thing and announced, “We’re getting the puppy with the spotted paws!”

The breeder had actually asked us if we would like to switch puppies because someone else was interested in Zooma, but I told her we couldn’t do it.

“My daughter has already announced to everyone we meet that we are getting the puppy with the spotted paws.”

So now we have our Zooma with her spotted paws. She has taken over this blog a few times and you can find those posts if you search “Zooma” in the search bar in the right sidebar.

The first year we had Zooma.

Scout, our almost-two-year-old cat, has huge, white paws, as well as other areas of white over the bottom part of her. She is a polydactyl, so she has extra toes.

You can see a bit of her big paws here.

Pixel, our veteran cat, appears to be all black but if you are unfortunate to be stuck under her underside you will see a small streak of white fur between her legs.

All three of our animals are allowed outside now. In the past, I tried to keep Scout inside because I didn’t want her to be an outside cat. Sadly, after she saw Pixel and Zooma going out each day, her curiosity was almost overwhelming. She became so desperate to go out she would continuously slip out past us, finding any way she could to escape. Stopping her became an exhausting undertaking and she was also severely hyper when she couldn’t go out — raring all over the house and being a general nuisance all of the time. Once she was able to go outside and explore, she would come back in a lot happier and a lot cuddlier.

As a kitten, Scout loved to curl up on my chest to sleep. In a few months, though, she was too big to do that anymore, so she found other places to curl up. Every once in a while she does still try to curl up on my chest and I have to sit slumped down, my arms folded across my chest in a circle for her to lay in. We don’t last very long in that position so now she wakes me up early in the morning by trying to curl up against my neck or chest while I’m still in bed. When she cuddles she bumps her nose against mine while purring and then “kisses” (licks) my chin or cheek a couple of times. When she curls up on me on the bed she eventually decides I move too much and gets up and moves to her favorite place to sleep in the house — Little Miss’s pillow, just above Little Miss’s head. Sometimes she even curls around Little Miss’s head.

Pixel has never been a huge cuddler, but she does occasionally climb up on my chest and kneed and try to curl up there. She’s much too large to cuddle on my chest so her body drapes down my stomach or her large rear crashes into my laptop. She often picks a time for cuddling when I am trying to write instead of when I am trying to read. I would have a lot more room for her while I am reading than when I am typing, but, well, she’s a cat and cats want attention at the most inopportune times, as cat owners know.

Zooma loves to cuddle but wants to be petted most of the time during the cuddle (pawing at your hand to let you know you must keep rubbing her head or belly) and like Scout, she seems to decide somewhere during a snuggle session that she needs more room to spread out and leaves to sprawl onto the floor or couch. The Boy is the champion Zooma cuddler and hugs her like a baby, especially when he is procrastinating on doing school work or any other work.

“I can’t do that. I’m cuddling the puppy,” he’ll say and then he and Zoom will look at me with pathetic “puppy eyes.”

It seems to be an unwritten rule that you can’t move a cat once they’ve curled up in a spot on the couch or bed and you can’t break up a boy and dog cuddle session.

Zooma also likes to cuddle with Little Miss first thing in the morning while Little Miss either plays her online games or chats with her friends before schoolwork.

When we go outside, the animals go with us and often follow us as we walk down the street. Zooma is, of course, on a leash when we go for a walk because even though this is a small town, and very close to the woods, it’s still a town.

Zooma is on a lead or leash when she is outside so she doesn’t take off on us, because she will. She will chase whatever critter she sees in the yard or on the street. When we first moved here, and if we took her off the lead, she would take off over the hill behind the house after deer and rabbits. She would also chase the neighborhood cats and more than once she yanked the lead out of the ground and wrapped herself around our one neighbor’s large tree trying to get to one of them. If she sees a cat while we are walking on the leash she tries to yank the leash out of our hands and get to them. The main cat we see on our walks is our neighbor’s cat Simba.

He was here before our pets so this is his territory, but our animals don’t seem to understand that.

Simba wanders freely like Pixel and Scout do. None of them seem to go very far from their houses and don’t seem to go to other streets. Scout and Pixel do go over the bank toward the old railcar on the street below ours but I have yet to have seen them actually on that street, which is a lot busier than ours, so I hope they never do.

Simba and Scout had a run in the other day after Simba chased Scout out from under the neighbor’s cars where they all like to hang out. Simba wasn’t done with her and even hissed at her while she was laying on the sidewalk in front of our house.

The next day I caught him stalking her in our yard. I guess he’s really not a fan of Scout. I don’t know if he has been doing this for the last several months we’ve been letting her out or if he just realized she is around or what. He and Pixel aren’t really fans of each other either so I’m sure they have some battles too. I know they did when we first moved here.

Another odd thing is that when we walk down the street, the cats follow us like we are taking them on the walk with us. They usually only make it halfway down the street, though, and decide they don’t want to follow us any further. Also, when we visit our neighbors, the cats will follow us onto their porches, like they are visiting too.

Our biggest issue with letting Scout out is that she doesn’t like to come back in so there are some nights we have to chase her down to get her back inside. Pixel wanders in and out all day, jumping up for a snack of food and a drink, and then meowing to be let back out. Scout occasionally comes back in, but usually, once she is out we don’t see her for the rest of the day or if we do see her she comes up for attention and then darts away when we try to pick her up to go inside.

Many an evening the family has watched me pace anxiously when she hasn’t returned from one of her excursions, sure that this time I shouldn’t have let her out and she’s finally got herself killed. Every time she’s come sauntering back in like there was nothing to worry about and clearly clueless, or not really caring, that I was worried sick over her.

We don’t want the animals outside at night because we do live close to the woods and a rural area and that means there could be any number of animals in our backyard at night, including raccoon, skunks, opossum, foxes, and bear.

Speaking of animals, our animals have had quite a few run-ins with animals, I’m sure even more than we are aware of. The main run-ins the cats have had have ended up in the deaths of the other animals since we often open our door to find dead mice or moles on our back porch. The mice were showing up before we let Scout out a lot and then they were showing up even more. Apparently, she had learned how to hunt, or maybe Pixel had shown her. My husband sent me a photo of her with a mouse in her mouth in our backyard one day and we finally knew Pixel wasn’t the only one leaving us presents.

Pixel is quite brutal with her prey. One day The Husband and The Boy were down by the bank across the road cleaning up from a failed yard sale we had and they heard what sounded like screaming. It was, in fact, screaming. It was one of Pixel’s victims trying to get away. My son testified that Pixel came out of the brush with it, tossed it on the ground and let it run a few feet away to give it the illusion that she was going to let it live, then pounced on it again, flung it in the air and repeated the process a few more times before finally killing it. The poor little mouse screamed the entire time and The Boy said it was completely unnerving. They both seemed traumatized when they came back in the house with The Husband only saying, “She’s brutal.”

Neither of them looked at her quite the same for a couple of weeks, trying to figure out how to balance the cat who seems so sweet when she bumps up against their legs for attention and the cat who is a homicidal predator.

Scout also shocked us one day when she came around the other side of the house with a small snake in her mouth. “What did you bring us this time?” I asked. “Is that another — oh my gosh! Snake! She’s got a snake!”

My dad was here so we all walked over to investigate the wounded reptile she dropped on the sidewalk and then rolled next to, clearly very proud of herself.

We all decided the snake wasn’t poisonous (probably a garter) so it hadn’t hurt her but we were still unnerved by the entire incident. We scooped the snake up in a shovel and pitched it over the bank in front of the house. I’m not sure if it made it or not but I did see a similar snake in our backyard last week and it was slithering along quite fast.

Zooma’s last animal run in, beside the rabbits she chases out of the backyard, and the deer she barks at, was the skunk who sprayed her at the end of last summer. That happened a couple of months before we caught Covid and lost our sense of smell and we joked that it would have been nice to have been able to smell when she got sprayed. It took a couple of weeks to get the smell off her even with two or three baths.

I rarely get a photo of all three animals together, even though they are all together at times. For example, the morning I am working on this post, I woke up to find all three of them on the bed with me, which is a rarity. Pixel is still not super fond of Scout and hisses and smacks at her when she gets up to snuggle with me before Pixel does.

We call Pixel our resident witch (we try to be nice and not use the b before the itch) because sometimes she just randomly smacks anyone who walks by her, including Zooma who is simply trying to get outside and use the bathroom. Sometimes even one of us gets smacked by her for no reason at all, but sometimes she wants us to stop and pay attention to her. Usually, the smacks are claw-free. Another funny thing about Pixel is that she snores when she sleeps. It’s this small little wheeze/whistle. I am curious if this is a trait with black cats since the black cat my husband had and I adopted when I married him also had sinus issues and sort of snored. She (Squeak) also sneezed horrible large boogers out of her nose and mainly when she was laying on my chest for snuggles.

Pixel was actually adopted because she reminded me so much of Squeak. The only difference is that Squeak was always skinny where we often call Pixel The Beast or Fat Cat.  Sometimes when I call her Fat Cat she glares at me through tiny slits as if to say, “You don’t have room to talk, lady.” Other times she seems to appreciate the nickname and rubs up against me despite me insulting her weight.

Pixel is fairly laid back and doesn’t get herself into trouble, unlike Scout and Zooma.

As I’ve mentioned in past blog posts, Scout’s little tree climbing adventures have kept us hopping, including the one night she got herself so stuck the fire company had to bring its ladder the next day to get her down.

The first time she climbed a tree was also one of the first times she escaped. That climb almost killed her because she didn’t land on her feet like Dad told me she would. She landed on her side and then laid there panting and I thought she was going to die. I even prepared for the kids to say goodbye to her. She jumped up and darted away a few seconds later, though, and it was clear she wasn’t going to die after all. Since then she’s had our hearts in our throats more than once with her antics, but I guess we are adapting to them more and don’t worry as much as we once did.

So, there you go.  You’ve not learned a little bit more about our crazy pets and their antics. Do you have pets? If so, what kind, how many and what are their names? Let me know in the comments.

I’ll leave you with some random photos of the pets. I’m surprised, yet not surprised, of how many photographs I have of them, actually.

Finding Zorro


I was talking to my son the other day about the Siamese cats in The Cat Who books who almost sound like they are talking to people. Our former vet (who has since passed on) told us one time that our cat, Zorro, was most likely part Siamese because of how he spoke to us as he walked down the driveway to our old house, as well as some other physical attributes. I mentioned this tidbit of information to The Boy who said, “Oh! That reminds me, Grandpa thinks we found Zorro in the barn the other day.”

My expression froze, and my mouth dropped open.

“Excuse me?”

You see, Zorro has been dead for anywhere from 12 to 15 years. That’s right. I don’t know how many years because I can’t remember when he died. Isn’t that awful?

The Boy’s eyes got big, and he literally gulped. “Um…I shouldn’t have said anything.”

My chest tightened and I felt tears pricking my eyes, though I don’t know why. I knew Zorro was gone, but it was still hard for me to imagine the cat I had from junior high until after I was married at 25, lying dead in the barn.

“Grandpa would have told me eventually,” I said.

“Probably not,” The Boy said with a shrug. “We found him last week. He was all curled up behind a dresser like he’d just gone to sleep.”

This revelation prompted me to call my mom because suddenly I couldn’t remember what happened to Zorro. In my head, he had been put to sleep after a kidney infection, but then I realized I must have been wrong. I felt awful that I didn’t remember how one of my favorite cats ever had died. Zorro had such an amazing personality. My mom is allergic to cats so she could never pet him or have him inside, but she talked to him in a sweet voice, and he talked back to her. He also rolled over as she was talking to him, just like she was petting him. It was as if he understood she wanted to pet him but would itch all over if she did.

When I called Mom, she realized she couldn’t remember what happened to Zorro either. After discussing it, with Dad offering his memories in the background, we concluded that Zorro had wandered off to pass away. He was quite old, over 15 years old, maybe close to 20, and had been having kidney issues for a long time. Dad blames himself for him wandering off, says he didn’t get him to the vet for his kidney issues, but I think Dad’s memory is off because thinking back, I do remember Dad taking him to the vet after I had moved out and was living with my husband. Zorro was on antibiotics and a special cat food for many years before he passed away.

After we brainstormed on what had happened to Zorro, we realized we couldn’t remember what had happened to our other cat, Leonardo, either. I named Leo after Leonardo DiCaprio. It was the around the same time the movie Romeo and Juliet with DiCaprio and Claire Danes came out. I was home from college one weekend when he arrived, if I remember right.

I picked out his name, despite the very vocal protest of my mom, who said she would never go out on that porch and call “Leonardo!” across the valley when it was time for him to be fed. The joke was on her. She totally did that, more than once, over the next decade, that cat was alive. She did it often the time he went missing for a week and we all figured he’d been hit by a car or chopped up in the hay baler when the neighbor cut down the hay in my grandma’s fields (we had moved in with my grandmother by that time). He hadn’t been killed, but instead had been trapped in the grain shed.

When my dad opened the door and he wandered out, he was about 10 pounds lighter (he was a fat cat before that) and my parents didn’t think it was him until he came to the patio door and stretched his full body up the door like he always did when he wanted to be fed.

My grandmother, who was in her late 80s at the time, was the only one who could pet Leo. Not only could she pet him but she could practically cuddle him while he laid across her lap. Mom said it was because the rest of us moved too much and Grandma simply sat still, which wasn’t usual for her either. My grandmother was on the move almost up until the day she died.

Leo did eventually wander off and pass away, as far as any of us know, much like Zorro had. The only cat we remembered being put to sleep after she became quite old (close to 20) and sick was Four, who I left with my parents after I got married. She was a rescue from my mother-in-law’s cat and flea infested home and had an orange four in her fur on her forehead.

Of course, I remember other cats we had in the past. We had a lot of cats over the years because there was a non-working chicken coup behind our house and I’m imagining people passing by thought it was a barn because they would often toss cats out near our property. There is a common misconception that cats can simply go live at a farm, but guess what? The farmer has to feed the cats along with every other animal, so it’s really not like the children’s books which suggest that barn cats are beneficial because they catch the mice in the barn.

A photo of my scrapbook of my grandmother with Leo.

The first cat I remember was a cat whose name I can’t remember. I was very young when we had him, but I remember he couldn’t meow. When he tried to meow, it came out as a whispered gasp. He got stuck in our burn barrel one day and I happened to hear his gasp and found a board to slide in so he could climb out. I’m guessing he fell in looking for old chicken bones. For the city-folk who read my blog, a burn barrel is a barrel where rural folk burn their trash (papers only please and thank you. Anything else and it starts to stink. We did burn chicken bones in there because otherwise we had to throw them out in with the food waste and cats or other animals would eat the chicken bones and possibly choke.)

The next pair of cats I remember is Morris and Marvin. They were brothers and I named Morris because he looked like the cat on the 9-Lives boxes. They were both orange cats and I have no idea how they ended up at our house. They used to sit on either side of our front door, like bookends, waiting for us when we came home.

Sadly, Morris was killed by a car and not long later, Marvin was hit by another one. We lived along a major highway so we lost a lot of cats this way. We really liked Marvin and wanted to save his life so my mom, who I mentioned is allergic to cats, rushed Marvin to our local vet. Our local vet said the cat needed surgery and suggested he either be put down or my mom drive him 30 miles to the animal hospital. Mom drove that cat 30 miles, crying most of the way while he cried in pain, scratching her face because he was itching.

Surgery was done, a $300 bill was wracked up (we were told never to tell my grandmother of this bill because in her day, which was during the Great Depression, they would never spend that kind of money on a cat. They drowned kittens in the creek to keep from having to feed them), and in the end Marvin passed away at our home anyhow. It was so heartbreaking, but Mom made a gallant effort for him, forever driving from our mind the idea that she wasn’t a fan of cats. She loves cats. She simply can’t be around them because of the allergy.

After Marvin and Morris, I remember Cleo, who I named because she looked like the cats in Egyptian hieroglyphics. Cleo came to us with another cat, who we didn’t name, and both of them were pregnant. They both also gave birth in our basement at the same time and we had 12-15 kittens then to give away. The kitten we didn’t give away, who we somehow fell in love with, was Zorro.

I should mention, as well, that Zorro was one of three black cats I have owned in my lifetime. The second black cat was my husband’s before I married him and we had her until she was 19-years-old. The third black cat is our current cat, Pixel. Have they brought us bad luck? I don’t believe so. We’ve had bad and good experiences throughout our lives, like anyone else.

I still hate the idea of Zorro cat dying alone in the barn, but it was one of his favorite places to hide out and it was probably how he wanted to go — alone and quiet, curling up and then drifting off to sleep.

Isn’t it weird that after all these years of him being gone, that I teared up when I wrote that previous sentence? Our pets stay with us for only a short time, but our memories of them last our lifetime.

Our cat has no consideration for my mental health

Our cat thinks she rules our house.

Well, she sort of does rule it, like any other cat.

She also thinks she can walk in and out of our house anytime she wants.

And apparently she can because she does. A lot.

All of this behavior isn’t unusual for a cat, but it is annoying for me.

See, our cat has no consideration for my mental health.

When she’s out there, wandering our new property, which is near some woods that are inhabited by bears, foxes, raccoons, and who know what else, I sit inside and waffle between hoping she isn’t killed by a wild creature to hoping she dies so I can stop worrying.

It isn’t just that I worry about her. There are others in the equation.

I’ll miss her if she dies, of course. I’m fond of her.

She’s not the most cuddly cat ever but sometimes she climbs on me and shoves her claws into my flesh while she kneads and draws blood, purring the whole time and sometimes she screams at me to put her up by her food and I do and she lets me pet her, and every night she yowls for someone to turn the water on in the faucet in our bathroom and I’m the only one who does it (sometimes my son does actually, but it sounds better to say I’m the only one. ) so I guess we have some sort of connection.

The real issue isn’t only my worry our cat — who we named Pixel when she came to live with us in 2017 — will die. It’s my worry that our cat will die and I’ll have to tell the kids she has died and how she has died.

To explain, the kids and the cat sort of tolerate each other. They aren’t really in love with each other. Still, we’ve all gotten used to her being there – taking up the foot space in our beds, scratching our couch and our kitchen floor, rolling in catnip like a stoner, screaming at 1 a.m., 2 a.m,., 3 a.m., 4 a.m. whatever time she wants because she either wants the water in the faucet turned on, the stool to get up to her food has been moved (we put it up to keep the dog out of it), she wants to go out, or she’s simply . . . a jerk.

See? She’s sticking her tongue out at me. She’s saying “Pfffffbbt. I’ll do what I want. “

So if she gets eaten by a fox or a bear (my daughter keeps reminding me they are mainly omnivores and yes, my 5 1/2 year old uses that word), or mauled by a raccoon, or hit by a car in front of our house, I’ll have to break it to my kids she’s dead.

I’m pretty sure they’ll be sad, and therefore, my cat is acting irresponsibly and not considering my mental health at all.

She definitely was not considering my mental health last Sunday when my son and I realized at 12:30 at night that she wasn’t in the house. We have three doors in our house – a back, a front and a side door. I went to all three doors but no cat, which is unusual, because usually she runs inside at some point, looking for food or water or to simply be a nuisance. This time, though, she was nowhere near the door.

I figured she was probably out exploring and I didn’t want to keep waiting for her.

“My life is not going to be ruled by a cat,” I grumbled, stomping up the stairs.

But I could barely sleep and I have enough trouble sleeping. I slept fitfully, dreaming of our cat being eaten by a bear or fox, or me opening the door and her finally running in.

“I’m not going to be ruled by a cat,” I told myself each time I woke up from a scary dream of her nocturnal demise.

I did finally sleep and in the morning my husband peeked his head in and said “Have you seen the cat?”

I informed him I had not and told him of my nightmares.

“Whatever,” he said. “If she wants to live outside, then let her.”

But then, as he was in the shower, I remembered an incident with our family cat Leonardo years ago. Yes, I named the cat Leonardo after Leonardo DiCaprio. He was dropped off at my parents’ barn as a stray and my parents said ‘Do not name him because if you name him, we have to keep him.’ So I had just watched Romeo and Juliette with Leonardo and named the cat Leonardo and my parents had to keep him because I named him.

You would think the cat would have liked me the best since I named him and my naming him meant my parents kept him, but no, he did not like me. He would rarely let me pet him. The only one he did like was my grandmother, who we all lived with at the time. They would sit together on the porch and he laid on her lap while she caressed him. She wasn’t a cat person so this was a fairly unusual thing for both of them. Unusual and touching.

Anyhow, my mom insisted: “I will not be out there yelling ‘Leonardo!'” But when Leonardo went missing one week, there she was out on the deck yelling “Leonardo!” Leonardo didn’t come back for three days and they decided he’d been killed by one of the area tomcats or a fox or maybe hit by a car and laying somewhere. That’s when my dad went out to their grainary (which used to store grain, but just stores garden equipment now) and a very skinny, very scared Leonardo ran out.

I didn’t feel like getting out of bed so I texted my husband (I know. So sad.) to check for her in the garage before he left. We aren’t parking our cars in the garage yet because we still have some of our boxes from moving in there. He texted me back that the lost had been found and later that night told me he heard her yowling before he even opened the door.

I will say, Pixel was a lot more affectionate with me that day, rubbing her head against me, laying on me, licking me. And she didn’t rush back outside that day either. She spent most of the day asleep on our bed upstairs.

Despite her affection, I could tell she had no concern for my emotional well-being and that I had been worried about her. I could tell it even more when she ran out of the house again the next day when I was letting the dog out, but I’ve decided that since she has no consideration for my mental health, I’ll stop having concern for her physical health — unless she doesn’t show up again, of course.