By Dawn Munro
Prissy's Corner (#1)
Finally! My Mom has recognized my talent and decided to let me show the world. It only took six years. All this time, I have been the one behind her writing, but she refused to acknowledge it, even going so far as to say things like, "I honestly don't recognize some of my own writing when I stumble across something a couple of years old." (Well, Dawn, of course you don't recognize it. You didn't write it. All you did was act as my stenographer. You typed as I dictated.)
In all fairness, though, I do have to admit that she did call me her muse a few times. But I am the one who writes all her stories and poetry, all but those simpering, "poor me" things, and of course, her personal essays.
She's not without some talent herself. But just about any hack can write about the real-life stuff. It takes the heart of a romantic to write fiction and poetry, and what feline do you know that isn't the epitome of svelte sensuality and romance? The minute you stroke our soft fur you want to cuddle us--be honest. Throw in a purr, and you're putty in our paws.
Anyway, this is the start of a whole new undertaking for me, not the writing part, but the part where I get to ramble as I see fit, and pass on some of the knowledge we cats were so worshiped for back in the day. Those Egyptians really had it going on... Did you know that it was an Egyptian who first wrote poetry? Yes, it's true. His name was Imhotep, and the man rocked. He was apparently the first physician too.
Now there's a human with some talent, not like the ones today. And we felines were the muses for guys like him, so if you think my column will be boring, think again. I will be covering a wide variety of topics--whatever strikes my fancy that week. I have a lot to pass on, and lucky you--I'll be doing it all for free. (Of course, if you feel so inclined, a little catnip in the post once in a while would not go unnoticed.)
See you next week. Maybe I'll even scratch out a poem next time.
~~~
from Wikipedia:
Imhotep - "the one who comes in peace"; fl. late 27th century BC) was an Egyptian chancellor to the pharaoh Djoser, probable architect of the step pyramid, and high priest of the sun god Ra at Heliopolis. Very little is known of Imhotep as a historical figure, but in the 3000 years following his death, he was gradually glorified and deified.
Today, outside the egyptological community, he is referred to as a polymath, poet, judge, engineer, magician, scribe, astronomer, astrologer, and especially a physician. These claims are founded on the legends that flourished in the millennia after his death, not on historical records. No text from his lifetime mentions these capacities and no text mentions his name in the first 1200 years following his death. Apart from the three short contemporary inscriptions that establish him as chancellor to the pharaoh, the first text to reference Imhotep dates to the time of Amenhotep III (c. 1391--1353 BC). It is addressed to the owner of a tomb, and reads:
The wab-priest may give offerings to your ka. The wab-priests may stretch to you their arms with libations on the soil, as it is done for Imhotep with the remains of the water bowl.
--D. Wildung (1977), Egyptian Saints: Deification in Pharaonic Egypt, p. 34.
By Dawn Munro
Prissy's Corner #2
Yes, I'm early with my number two lecture, but it's because I am compelled to educate a few of you on the differences between canines and felines. I was horrified to discover that some of you seemed to think, when I said in my introduction last time that furry friends are a blessing, I meant cats and dogs are on equal footing.
Nothing could be further from the truth. Cats are smarter than dogs, infinitely so. Honestly, it's unimaginable that you don't know this, some of you--what cat do you know that eats dog poop? Blech! Felines are finicky. We demand a superior diet, something only a gourmet can prepare. And we are obsessively clean--it's why we get hairballs.
Dogs eat our poop like it is candy. They don't even seem to mind the grains of grit that stick to it. Not exactly an Einstein move is it? Unlike you, cats and dogs can't spit. It wouldn't surprise me in the least to learn that veterinarians are seeing at least one dog a week with constipation brought on by clumping litter.
You should be aware of this--enough vet bills, and it will directly affect how much of the budget is left for cat toys.
Speaking of cat toys, have you ever considered getting a bird, a lizard, even fish? They make wonderful secondary pets. While a dog may greet you at the door, fawning over you and improving your confidence level after a hard day at the office, none of the afore-mentioned must be taken out to do their business during an Arctic blizzard.
And they make marvelous playmates. Granted, they are a little fragile, but then it's simply a matter of replacing them with, say, a gerbil.
Well, that's it for this week. I'll leave you with a poem this time, since some of you seem to feel cheated when I don't, and one of you asked --
How I Got My Name
Perhaps Dawn didn't realize that I was soundly sleeping.
Her chest was warm and cozy, just the perfect place for keeping
such royalty away and safe from plebes (I mean Bill's dog),
and I awoke disgruntled, still in a sleepy fog.
Of course a kitten protests, when rudely jarred from sleep!
That doesn't make me "prissy"--I shouldn't make a peep
when she so brusquely plopped me onto a bathroom floor?
So even though I'm civil, of course Miss Prissy swore.
~~~
You see, Dawn was visiting friends, Bill and Lorri, when Aunt Lorri introduced me to her. (She knew poor Dawn needed guidance after years of owning canines. It's a story for another time, but suffice to say, Bill's beagle was a holy terror.) My Dawn had originally gone to Barrie (that's where Bill and Lorri live) to help them train their hyperactive purebred. Enough said for now? (I rest my case about cats being smarter.) Next week I will see if I can find a picture of Lorri holding me. I know you like pictures of me.
"prissy" definition:
adjective -
fussily and excessively respectable.
"her prissy mother"
synonyms:prudish, priggish, prim, prim and proper, strait-laced, Victorian, old-maidish, schoolmarmish; informal, starchy
By Dawn Munro
Prissy's Corner #3
It would seem there are more than a few dog-owners reading my lectures, so I have decided to educate them for their own, and their dogs' protection.
Dogs will eat anything. A canine will eat too much, gobbling like it never saw food before and then vomit from being so stuffed. Guess what it will then ingest? Yes, and not because it is trying to clean up after itself either.
I know these things. My mother has stories--boy, does she have stories about our dogs before I was born! You should have read the one about Jessie and Sheriff--they almost destroyed her house. Or Sheriff did, and Jessie was his lookout. I will dig out that tale for you from Mommy's files if you like, but in a minute. First I have to tell you about her prize-winning stud, Prince Charming. That was his registered name, but she called him "Billy". He was Jessie's pup--get it? "Billy The Kid".
Billy was a Golden Retriever, like his mom, and he came from a long line of champions. He was exceedingly handsome, and to be honest, he wasn't nearly as dumb as he looked (at least not when he was growing up). Mom says it was pure joy that moved that dog too. He was always happy-go-lucky--so much so that most people thought he was either super stupid, or like Bill and Lorri's beagle--hyperactive. But he wasn't--not at all. He was actually pretty smart, for a dog, as you will see in a minute.
But Billy The Kid was also motion-sensitive (although you would never know it from his prancing, bouncy gait). A few blocks in a vehicle and his upchuck would make you feel like joining him. (Remember what I said about canines not being fussy about what they eat?) But eventually Mom's persistence paid off. Over and over she took that dog on car trips, short at first, then longer and longer until eventually he stopped barfing every time.
Mom also trained him to run beside her, on a leash, while she rode her bicycle. Now can a dumb dog do that? Wait--I haven't got to the part where he proves what I keep saying--that cats are infinitely smarter than dogs. Mind you, Billy was a very good dog--he lived to please Mom.
Mom says Billy was easy to train, in everything but car rides. He never chewed a table leg or a shoe, quickly learned to ask to go outside, all of the usual stuff--"sit", "stay", "come", "heel" -- the stuff we cats abhor. The only dog smarter and quicker to learn, she says, was Jessie. Jessie trained her own puppy, Chantilly. But Chantilly's story is for another day, and so is Jessie's. (Mom says she could put her dinner on a coffee table, and Jessie wouldn't touch it--that's what a good, clever dog Jessie was. Actually, all Golden Retrievers are smart, as far as dogs go. German Shepherds too, but they're bossy.)
But back to Billy. If you had raised a puppy from birth that never did anything wrong, that ate only what you put out for him to eat, would you think he would be so dumb as to swallow a whole sport sock by the time he reached four years old? That's twenty-eight in people years!
Billy The Kid almost died. Mom rushed him to the veterinarian when she saw that he wasn't himself, and just before his surgery in the morning to remove the offending item, he passed it, INTACT. THE WHOLE SOCK. I ask you, how can a Golden Retriever eat a whole man's sock without chewing it? Mom says she once had a Siamese cat that used to crawl up into the bureau to find her socks and sweaters to chew on them, but at least there would only be holes in the socks and sweaters.
Let's not forget, however, that Siamese cats are more like dogs than any other cats.
But that's not even the best example of how dogs are not as smart as cats--Prince Charming, Billy The Kid--wonder CANINE-- did it again, about a year and a half later! The minute Mom realized a sock was missing, she knew she had to get the silly animal to the vet. But this time it almost caused a divorce. Mom was some mad about Dad's habit of dropping his socks on the floor before climbing into bed.
As it turns out, Dad left anyway, but that happened much later. And speaking of later, it's time for my catnap, so the story about Jessie and Sheriff will have to wait for next time. But you see? What cat would ever eat a sock (except a dumb Siamese)? Oh, I almost forgot--Mom says Billy was so devoted to her, sometimes she wonders if he ate those socks because he knew she needed to laugh.
I know she misses Billy, and all of her dogs. So I let her cuddle me every night, even though she doesn't like some of the things I do to make her laugh. I even let her rub my belly, and sometimes I will throw my back leg over her arm while she's doing it.
She yelled, "Ouch!" last night. I retracted my claws really fast, and I had only let them out very, very slowly, and carefully touched her toe... I was just reminding her not to wiggle them, or kick me in her sleep. Wasn't that funny? Besides, she gets cold feet, and she needed to tuck them under the covers.
Oh, and I didn't forget about my promise to show you a baby picture of me. It's just Mom took them all on her old phone, so now we're trying to figure out how we can get one here. I was so cute! I hope you get to see one.
~~~
| Author Notes |
Friends, this is all tongue-in-cheek. Some of you seem to feel I'm saying something serious (as Prissy) about dogs - believe me, I'm not. It's meant to be the POV of a cat - a feline that might just believe it is superior - 'above' dogs, and even people.
I love dogs. Very much. I miss all I have ever owned, and a piece of my heart belongs to each and every one of them (and always will). "Prissy" will probably write much about canines, and the stories will show just how much I treasured every moment they blessed my life. (So can we lighten up? It's supposed to be fun. Do cats really write stories?) Thank you for reading. |
By Dawn Munro
Prissy's Corner #5
Hi. It's me again, Miss Priss. Guess what? Mom just got back from shopping and had two big bags full, but not one thing in them for me. I even sent her vibrations to look at the shelf in front of her, and she SAW them, but didn't buy them. I LOVE Luv cookies for cats. She bought herself stuff she isn't supposed to eat--chocolate-covered raisins, and cheese nips. She wants to lose weight! Huh. I haven't had ANY of my cookies--well, one--in MONTHS. Nice eh?
I guess those Luv cookies probably were what contributed to my bladder stones, but "everything in moderation, even moderation", I always say--I wouldn't eat so many like I did before. Would I? But then, I do tend to follow in Mom's footsteps, and she has about as much willpower as a dog with a juicy bone in front of it.
Anyway, on to my lecture for today. Some of you probably thought I was mean when you read that I scratch Mom in her sleep, but you are forgetting something. It's not only a way to protect me--it's for her sake I scratch too.
Didn't you know that cats are guardians? At one time or another you must have read it. The problem is, you didn't believe it. Well, listen up, because I am about to share one of those BIG secrets I promised. We usually aren't like dogs, guarding you that way (although Mom said she had a Siamese a long time ago that did, and I'll tell you that story sometime too). But right now it's important that you learn this: cats walk the spirit world. You heard me. That's why everyone should have one. We guard you when you are in the ether (sleeping).
Some of Mom's dreams are not good for her, so I scratch her to jolt her out of that particular dream. Lately she's had a lot of those, so that's why she has little scratches all over, and when it's REALLY bad, I have to make the jolt bad too.
I know you don't believe me because you probably aren't Egyptian, but as I told you in another one of my lectures, those people have it going on--or did. They worshiped us because who else would protect like we do? Personally, Mom was especially lucky when she got me, because I am a warrior. Some cats are not nearly as strong. She does sense I am incredibly brave though--that's why she likes that I am, what she calls 'feisty', some of the time.
So I guess the stories of Chantilly, Jessie, and Sheriff will still have to wait for another posting by me because I need my catnap now. But you can see that this lecture was more important, right?
Here's some stuff I thought you should know, so you can decide if I am telling you the truth or not. Dogs are okay. They do a good job of looking after you here, in this reality, but the spirit world is just as real, and it can be dangerous because people don't even know they're threatened there... Dogs make great friends, I know, but they will never be cats.
Take good care of each other, especially if you don't have a cat or a dog to take care of you. But if you are smart, you will rescue a cat. There are many who need good homes--it's not just dogs that humans disrespect and mistreat.
1)The ancient Egyptians held cats in the highest esteem, the penalties for injuring or killing a cat were severe. They worshipped a Cat Goddess, often represented as half feline, half woman, whom they called Bastet. The main center for the worship of Bastet was in northern Egypt at the city of Bubastis.
2) The Mummy was afraid of the cat because of the Egyptian belief that cats are the guardian of the dead. Having been risen from the dead, Imhotep probably thought that the cat could possibly send him back, hence being afraid of them.
3) Usually seen in the form of a cobra, the goddess Wadjet was depicted as a lion-headed woman in the later periods of Egyptian history.
Cats (Felis silvestris catus), known in ancient Egypt as "Mau", were considered sacred in ancient Egyptian society. Based on recent DNA comparisons of living species, it has been estimated that cats were first domesticated from the Middle Eastern subspecies of the wildcat about 10,000 years ago in the Fertile Crescent. Thousands of years later, the peoples in what would later be Upper and Lower Egypt had a religion centred on the worship of animals, including cats.
Praised for controlling vermin and its ability to kill snakes such as cobras, the domesticated cat became a symbol of grace and poise.
As domestication was not as steadfast with cats as today, wealthy families would often curate examples of well-bred felines, show them, and pride themselves in the coloration and behavioural adaptations that are seen in today's organized shows.
The goddess Mafdet, the deification of justice and execution, was a lion-headed goddess. The cat goddess Bast (also known as Bastet) eventually replaced Mafdet, and Bast's image softened over time and she became the deity representing protection, fertility, and motherhood.
As a revered animal and one important to Egyptian society and religion, some cats received the same mummification after death as humans. Mummified cats were given in offering to Bast. In 1888, an Egyptian farmer uncovered a large tomb with mummified cats and kittens. This discovery outside the town of Beni Hasan had eighty thousand cat mummies, dated after 1000 BC. The punishments for harming cats were severe.
The Egyptians associated the female cat's fertility and motherly care with several divinities...
Cats were one of the most recognizable species in Egyptian culture and were domesticated much later than dogs.Two types of smaller cats appeared in ancient Egypt: the jungle cat (Felis chaus) and the African wild cat (Felis silvestris libyca). The African wild cat was domesticated from the Predynastic Period onward. Wild cats naturally preyed upon the rats and other vermin that ate from the royal granaries. They earned their place in towns and cities by killing mice, venomous snakes, and other pests. They were worshipped by the Egyptians and given jewelry in hieroglyphics.
And I can't even get a few Luv cookies?
By Dawn Munro
Prissy' Corner #6
Mom says the sound was exactly as it is always described, a freight train barreling toward them as they cowered on the divan. She says she knew something was wrong when both Golden Retrievers climbed up there beside her, trembling, before she ever heard the tornado's howling winds. All the dogs were trained to stay off of furniture, and for the first time ever, these two ignored her commands. She looked outside and saw the other phenomena; rain falling, not straight down, not even somewhat slanted, but perfectly horizontal.
She called for Dad to get out of bed, to help her get the other dogs into the house, but he stayed where he was, and told her to do the same. "They will be fine; we all will," he promised her, and promptly fell back asleep.
She couldn't believe it. "Get up! Get away from the window, at least." But his only answer was a snore.
It wasn't the first disaster Mom survived, but it was the only one to cause her to change her mind about dog runs. It was Jessie and Chantilly in the house with her and Dad that night. They all had their turns inside, but when you own seven dogs, you can't expect to have them all happily indoors with you all the time, especially large breeds.
I listened to the story with awe. The other dogs were outside, in the storm. Oh, their kennel was luxurious, with an insulated dog house for each run, plenty of exercise room, both inside and out, security lighting, even its own heating source and grooming tables. But I braced myself for bad news as Mom related the tale. I figured I'd have to fine-tune the purr, strike a cute pose, even rub my nose on her forehead. But bad news never came. Need I say I was relieved?
Mom never forgot her fear, though, she told me, and they moved from that small house shortly after. The new house came with an unfinished basement they made into a new facility to house all the dogs. There was a sliding glass door that led to the outside, and fenced runs, but Mom vowed never again to allow her precious pets to remain outdoors overnight, even in summer. It had been a normal evening rainstorm, one that usually had Sheriff, the German Shepherd, climbing the fencing to get to the house at the first boom of thunder. Yet earlier, when she'd checked him, she said he lay inside his own doghouse perfectly content to listen to the rain falling on the tin roof of the kennel building, unafraid. So she'd thought that perhaps he was outgrowing his fear of storms, and it would be good for him to remain outside. No one had any idea that a tornado was brewing until it struck, and it was over in minutes.
It devastated the town. Mom and Dad's property was the only one in their neighborhood untouched. Directly across the street from them, the two-story, beautiful mansion looked like a giant had dropped it down beside the lake--you could see right into both levels, from the dining room below to the upper guest bedroom. One whole, outside wall had been ripped in half, the other half sailing away somewhere over Lake Simcoe.
So forget all the other hazards you've heard about that can befall a cat left to roam the outdoors, like getting caught in a car's fanbelt in winter. Forget all the wicked things people say about cats too--chasing birds and chipmunks, pooping in your garden, and generally being a pest. This cat is an indoor cat because Mom survived not one, but two tornadoes. (The other one happened when she and Dad were on a fishing trip.)
By the way, have you ever heard of the kitty-zoom?
~~
List of 21st-century Canadian tornadoes and tornado outbreaks ...
https://en.wikipedia.org/
On average, there are around 80 confirmed and unconfirmed tornadoes that touch down in Canada each year, with most occurring in Southern Ontario, the southern Canadian Prairies and southern Quebec. Canada ranks as the second country in the world with the most tornadoes per year, after the US.
(Picture courtesy of Google images.)
The image I used is of Barrie, Ontario's tornado damage of 1985. But many followed that one, including ours. And yes, none of our dogs were hurt, nor was there any damage to our car, parked in the driveway, or to the house and kennel building. All that we had as evidence that a tornado had passed were a few tree branches scattered in the yard. But the neighborhood was a mess, many vehicles with trees down on them, houses with massive damage. To this day, I wonder... How did that man know? How did he SLEEP through it?
The impenetrable wall of slate-coloured fog swirled and parted, and in front of me was ... nothing.
Where just the day before a subdivision of upscale suburban homes – dubbed Snob Hill by locals – filled the space, now there was nothing but empty basements with their insides sucked clean.
No walls, no roofs, no dining room tables, no beds, no knick-knacks or photos. No happy families. Just soldiers patrolling with guns hoisted on their hips, heads swivelling, on the lookout for trouble.
Beirut or Baghdad? Nope. Barrie.
It was Friday, May 31, the day after the Great Tornado of '85 and I was on a military bus filled with shell-shocked reporters, noses pressed to the glass as we silently took in what an angry Mother Nature had brought to town.
A series of tornadoes had hopscotched across central Ontario, touching down in Barrie, Fergus, Orangeville, Shelburne, Grand Valley and Arthur. The whirling clouds delivered death and destruction on an almost unimaginable scale for the region: 12 dead – eight in Barrie alone – and hundreds injured. In Barrie, then a city of 45,000, more than 300 homes were destroyed. Another 300 were damaged, leaving 800 residents homeless.
One of the worst weather systems to ever hit Ontario, the twisters tossed cars like toys, twisted metal factory beams around trees and flattened whole blocks of houses.
The winds in Barrie registered F4 on the tornado scale (F5 is the worst), with winds hitting 331 to 417 km/h, and mowing a path of utter waste some 600 metres wide.
| Author Notes | The "kitty-zoom" Prissy is referring to is that crazy, mad race around a room all cats seem to like to do every once in a while, for no apparent reason... Thanks for reading. |
By Dawn Munro
-COLLAGE_(3).jpg)
Prissy's Corner #7
Hello again. Did you think I was away too long? Did you miss me? I bet you did, because I am a clever cat, and full of wonderful stories. I have much to pass along to you too, but before we begin, I have to tell you what happened last night.
Then again, maybe I should offer a bit of backstory first. Do you remember me saying that Dad left us? Well, it was some time ago now, and it wasn't quite like Mom tells it--I won't go into a lot of detail about it because Mom says stuff like that is private, but she also speculates a lot. She says things sometimes that she doesn't really know are true, she just thinks they are. Dad is a super nice guy, not to mention, especially smart and uncommonly wise. My point being, there are always two sides to every story, and I don't think theirs is over yet. I wonder if it can ever really be over...
But therein lies a problem, and it's a big one. Mom gets very sad, and I don't mean occasionally, I mean we can't get through a day without at least one part of it being spoiled. I promise, I am not exaggerating -- we have had one day in five years that was truly joyous, and even that day didn't start out with Mom being her old self.
Which reminds me of Pastor Doug's sermon on Sunday: did you know that joy is not the same as happiness? It isn't! Joy, according to Pastor Doug, is buoyancy. He says we have unreal expectations of the world, and that's why we are perpetually disappointed. But when we are sad, that's okay. Sadness is not the same as unhappiness. When we realize that troubles are inevitable, we bounce back--buoyancy. That's joy, and it comes from knowing and believing in something bigger than ourselves.
Mom needs to get with the program. I don't mind when she's sad, but sometimes she lapses into unhappiness, and that's when I need to step in and remind her that God never said we would never have problems, only that how we dealt with them could make a world of difference. Being thankful, in spite of trials, is what gives us joy.
So I scratched her again, this time while she was awake. I didn't really mean to, but she was lying down, and I wanted to jump onto the bed right at her face to scare her into praying. (It really was an accident. My claws caught her arm, just above the elbow. *sigh*) When she gets in these funks, it helps to take her mind off things anyway. Not for one minute should any of us be ungrateful to our Creator, because He loves us, no matter what, and if we expect things to always be perfect, well, that's Heaven, isn't it? We are here, in the world, with all its troubles, so we pray to let His Kingdom come--we pray to tell Him we love Him, and that's all He asks of us, isn't it?
It's not rocket science--how many people don't know the Lord's Prayer? It's right in there! Life is all about how we perceive things, and if we are always expecting things to go smoothly, we are going to be disappointed. That's unhappiness. That's not the same as being sad. Unhappiness is whiny, complaining about stuff, not feeling grateful.
Holy smokes, here we go again. I did it again, talked until I have to have a nap. Remember me telling you I travel the spirit world? Cats have to nap because they don't sleep like people do. But before I go, I guess I should tell you that cats have feelings. Some people think we are very aloof, but we're not really. It's a little like a doctor, who has to keep his or her emotions under control.
I kind of miss Dad too. It's not just Mom. That's why she was happy the rest of the day, a few days ago. She got to talk to him--to know he's okay. So it bugs me when she gets all weepy--I guess that's what I meant when I said I wonder if the story of Mom and Dad can ever be over. Everything that happens to us, especially the meaningful things, become a part of us, don't they? So whether we are together or not, we are still together, in a way... But...
I wonder if Dad ever will come home?
By Dawn Munro
Enough pussy-footing around.
Some people think they're smarter than everyone else, especially smarter than Mom. Nice equals stupid, didn't you know?
Mom isn't like that -- in fact, she's too humble sometimes (well, if being too humble is possible). But that brings me to this -- Mom is much harder on herself than anyone else, and far too easy on people who don't deserve it. She remembers all the wonderful things about Dad, for example. It's partly what's made her so sad, she can write stuff that'll make the meanest critic cry. Thank heavens some of the other memories are starting to come back to her, like the time she drove all the way to Montreal to pick him up without even a proper address to find him.
Who does that?
My Mom, that's who, and when she got there, she got into a fight with a woman who was visiting Dad's sister. A real fight! But wait -- I almost forgot to tell you -- he wasn't even answering Mom about the address when she managed to get a call through to him! He kept saying he wasn't sure -- where his sister lived! He would check and call her back.
Just a little fishy, right? And then, that woman kept walking into the guest bedroom where he was staying, as if she had every right to when Mom was there, finally! (If I'd been around then, I would have scratched that woman's eyes out!)
But speaking of fish, I wish I had some. I'm feeling a little put out because Mom used to steam fish for me all the time, and now I can only eat that special diet stuff. The vet told Mom that fish is high in calcium, and it may have contributed to my bladder stones. Mom doesn't think so -- she thinks it was all the yummy Luv cookies I used to get (and now I don't get those either).
Boy, like I said -- some people! I should have scratched that vet! But there are a few others who could use a good bite and more than a few scratches, also known as a lesson in integrity. An education about treating people with respect, unless and until they show they aren't worth it. Then -- get the hell away from them! I know a lot of cliches because Mom loves them. My favorite one is, "Lie down with dogs; get up with fleas."
We are all on a journey, from cradle to grave, and if we have ANY faith at all, what we do in this life, how we treat God's creatures (His favorite being the one He made in His image) counts when judgement day arrives. If you do not believe in life after death, where do you think you came from, huh? We all came from that place, and we are all going back, some of us joyfully, and some of us not so thrilled with the accommodation, maybe... Maybe not YOU...
While we are on the subect of that place, and those who've gone before us, Grandmother Munro was one smart dame. Her offspring are not too dumb either, even if some folks think they are. Neither are the pets of said offspring (even my cousin, the dog belonging to my genius uncle). It's come to my attention that some FanStory members (I said SOME) think they are the cat's meow. They seem to feel that they're free to use someone else's idea without so much as a by-your-leave. Well... Of course they are. After all, HOW it will be used is different.
But a little acknowledgement is common courtesy/respect, and my Mom doesn't get much. In fact, not only has no one said so much as, "Gee, what a great idea! Thanks," her reviews have dwindled from the 35-40 she always used to get on everything she wrote, to barely enough to inspire posting.
How many of you who like to throw around three and four-star ratings, or are being recognized, winning accolades, have IMPROVED thanks to the reviews my mother writes? (Her CORRECTIONS, not the mere typos.) She might not keep up with the five hundred plus people she's fanned, but she's kind, and she doesn't subscribe to some system that pits writers against one another -- you always get at least five stars. In short, she treats every single member here with the utmost respect. She's often been known to spend a half-hour on a review for work that's paying two cents.
(You ain't buying the work, Brother/Sister, so whether you like it or not matters as much as a piss-hole in a litter box. That's why there is a skip button. It's technical merit that's supposed to determine the rating.)
This has been said many times too: there are MANY levels of expertise on FanStory. It is not rocket science (although it seems to be for a few): FanStory is supposedly a learning site. Therefore, it stands to reason that technically sound work deserves the respect of being CAREFUL. Not just in offering suggestions when you are going to rate lower than five stars. Support among writers isn't just writing reviews, it's acknowledgement of things that have inspired an idea, or taught something, and networking. That's how the professionals operate. But Mom? Nah, she can take the shitty end of the stick and keep coming back for more. Kind of like the lesson on joy that Pastor Doug taught, isn't it? No matter what crap she is dealt, her faith makes her joyful, which Pastor Doug says is bouyancy.
If you had any idea of the life we lead...
For shame. If Mom has any sense, she'll tell you just what she thinks of you, maybe even leave. (But then she'd miss the ones who do treat others with respect and kindness.)
God, it's all too much for me. I'm in need of a nap.
<><><>
| Author Notes |
My disclaimer: the above is all Miss Priss's POV... (LOL)
However, here's MINE: After several years of writing poetry by Prissy, I then wrote a book - "The Cat God Loves", which I published. I guess it was a popular concept, because I see that recently, in 2017, AFTER my book was out, a club was started here called (I think) "Animal Crackers". This year, 2018, because of my success with the pet poems and the book, I decided to start a column, namely, "Prissy's Corner". But when I see all kinds of pet stories appearing, where once only a very RARE tale about a pet, or by a pet, was posted (there's even something called "Pet Corner" this evening), it's getting just a little too crowded. There is something called "the spirit of the law" in real law, and it is actually considered valid. I should think the same would apply to popular ideas. But it's a grey area, isn't it, and this is FanStory - a place I no longer recognize. Oh, it's not the first time it's happened to me - not by a long shot. But it's a lot more common a practice these days. Ideas are gems. Huh. Guess it sunk in. You're offended? I'm conceited? Maybe, maybe not. But you read it. |
By Dawn Munro
Prissy's Corner # 9
I feel so sorry for my Mom. You would too if you had any idea of the problems she's had. Almost six years here, at FanStory, and she still can't get her account straightened out. This is just one problem of dozens: among other things, her books, which are supposed to be able to be posted on her profile page to advertise them, never show up. Instead it's a link that takes you right to Amazon to buy things, not to one of her eleven books. She has a new one out too -- just yesterday, and wants it and her other romance poetry books advertised for Valentine's Day sales.
But as bad as that is, she still steps up. She works so hard, and we have real, personal problems too. Church is Mom's only refuge, that and me. She loved FanStory, but she's been plagued with things like one post showing up eight times, being made to disable nine or more book chapters after putting Treasure Chest certificates and pumps on them because the Revive certificate didn't show when she was trying to re-post one of her novels -- the list is endless. She's very suspicious that somebody up there doesn't like her. I sure hope she doesn't decide she isn't going to stay on FanStory. I finally get to write my column!
And now she is sick. It started after she talked to Dad last week. She had to go to church on Sunday, unable to even shake hands with people. She felt she had to warn them she had a cold. Yet still, she kept working, hour after hour, determined that the new book would be on Amazon this month.
It's called, "Jaded Hearts" -- it's on Kindle right now, and the print copy will be out in a day or two. I'm worried though. She's coughing so hard, her ribs hurt, and she can barely swallow, her throat is so sore. That's my Mom, though. She's like that Energizer bunny, and it scares me because she can't even lie down to sleep without hacking so badly! But she also has two more of her poetry books on a special promotion at Kindle -- "Just Breathe", and "Passionate Hearts". They're going to be only 99 cents, staring February 3 - 10th! She wanted to have them on special ahead of the most romantic day of the year.
She has ten other books published, and none of them are advertised on her profile page. Pretty sad, eh? What's worse is Amazon over-priced her two books of short stories -- over $100 for a $7 paperback! She yanked both books off the shelves as soon as she found out, but they'd been like that for months! Imagine how many potential readers she's probably lost! She's going to try and get them re-distributed in February. February -- her birthday is tomorrow!
I'm going to ask her to buy a lottery ticket for tonight's 6/49 draw -- our luck has to turn around sometime. Cross your fingers for us, would you? Maybe we could move into an actual apartment or house, instead of living like paupers in one, big room. And Mom's been saving to buy a car so we can take a vacation. She hasn't had one in decades, and she won't leave me, so we need a car, too.
But you know how good my Mom is? She was nodding along with Pastor Doug on Sunday, when he was talking about being content -- feeling that you have everything you need instead of wanting this and that and the other thing. We'll probably always be poor if we don't win a lottery. She can't say no to anyone in need, and I think some of those people asking for money when she goes grocery shopping, or the rare time she does anything else away from home, really don't need it.
I guess I wouldn't change a hair on her head, though, except to make her be a little nicer to herself. (And me -- she could give me some Luv cookies again...)
Thanks for liking my column. I couldn't tell you a story tonight because I am too worried about my Mom. I haven't forgotten that I am supposed to tell you about Sheriff and Jessie and the mess they made in Mom's house, though.
Next time, maybe.
~~~
| Author Notes |
LOL. I feel sorry for me, too, Prissy. I'm going to stay in bed some today...
(Thanks for reading, friends!) UPDATE: HAPPY DANCING! AMAZON PHONED ME -IT'S FIXED! MY BOOKS NOW SHOW - SCROLL DOWN THE RIGHT SIDE OF MY PROFILE PAGE! (Sheesh - it only took nearly six years, and re-inventing the wheel, BUT IT'S FIXED! YAY!!!) Now to get over this lousy cold... |
By Dawn Munro
Well, you can see it for yourself. I took the pictures of our respective meals while Mom was busy talking to someone -- with her back to me. She couldn't see what I was doing, so don't tell her, okay? For a cat, I guess I'm doing alright. And I will get to the story about Jessie, Mom's Golden Retriever, and Sheriff, her German Shepherd, in this essay, like I promised in an earlier essay, but first I want you to vote for which meal looks the most appetizing.
See, I used to get Luv cookies and Blue Buffalo kibble -- cat food. BUT... Mom also cooked cod for me every day. (Before that it was sole, but I got sick of it, so we switched to cod.) I had her very well trained. She shared her bagels with me (I love that cream cheese), ice cream, even pudding cups, until--
You guessed it! That's what our book, "The Cat God Loves" is all about: bladder stones in felines. But at least we made sure it was fun by adding lovely pictures of me, some chapters and poems by Mom, AND MY letter to you all, with poems I wrote also. It's big, too - 8-1/2 X 11 inches. (Mom says it makes a good coffee table book for people who love cats. I say all people should love cats.)
But I digress. Which dish did you pick, or do I need to ask? You picked Mom's supper, didn't you? So now, if you buy my book, you will understand my behaviour at the veterinarian clinic. As if it wasn't bad enough that I had to have needles where needles should never have to go, those people were MAULING me -- they took pictures with the biggest camera I have ever seen, stretching me this way and that. I don't even let MOM pick me up! On top of all that, WE KEPT GOING BACK!
So I wanted you to see why you should not listen to anybody but me -- don't feed your cats and dogs kibble. With cats, it can cause bladder stones, and there are more serious types of stones than the ones I developed, too -- I got lucky, but Mom is paying a fortune so I didn't have to have surgery. (That's why the toonie is in the picture with my food -- to show the size of that itsy bitsy can that costs $2.61.) I go through about three cases in one month, and that's dieting! At $61.00 a case, Mom spends more on my food than she does on her own (almost). Dogs on kibble can develop kidney disease. Mom still mourns one of her seven dogs -- Tiffany -- who died of kidney disease. Sad, eh?
So don't let the vet, the breeder or ANYBODY tell you that felines and canines should be on a diet of kibble. It's too dry, and puts a strain on the organs. Just like people, dogs and cats are made up of a lot of water.
Anyway, getting back to that picture of Mom's and my supper, you can see that my diet is now very boring, right? After all that torture I went through at the vet's, you'd think I'd deserve a little treat, wouldn't you? Mom sits and eats chocolate bars, potato chips (she says potatoes are poisonous for cats), bacon (the smell KILLS me when she cooks it), all kinds of good stuff, and she won't even give me a taste anymore.
The irony, though? She COMPLAINS SHE IS GETTING TOO FAT. Apparently she can't fit into her clothes.
But I better get to the story I promised you, because it's getting close to nap time for me again. Here we go (just to show you why cats are the best pets, besides guarding you while you sleep).
When Mom got Sheriff, she stayed at home with him and Jessie until he was a few months old. (There's a story about that too, how long she waited for him to be born, and how an emergency came up and she had to have a friend babysit him...) But that's for another essay. This one is about how bad dogs are. (Cats are very good.)
Anyway, Mom wanted to go back to work by the time Sheriff was about seven months old, but she wanted to make it a gradual change, so the puppy (not Jessie -- she was over a year old, and smart -- for a dog) could adjust. She started back to work part-time.
The very first day, when she got home after only being gone four and a half hours, she pulled into the driveway and could hear Jessie barking. Now Mom is pretty cool -- she could tell something was up because Jessie's bark sounded hysterical. (I am trying not to laugh...) When she unlocked the door and stepped into the pristine, all white kitchen (that led into the white-carpeted living room), she says she has never in her life been so furious. But the situation was so ridiculous, all at once her anger turned into laughter. There was this huge puppy, all four feet planted on her glass-topped dinette table, bouncing joyfully, with Jessie frantically barking at him to get down -- Jessie was no fool. She'd heard the car pulling into the driveway.
Mom had a scheffelera plant in the show-room kitchen that she had grown from about six inches tall. It grew so big, it actually touched the ceiling from its pot on the floor.
It had been uprooted, the dogs' water bowl turned over, and the plant/tree dragged all through the white-tiled kitchen into the white-carpeted living room.
But the piece de resistance she says, was the missing half of her gorgeous, gold and white, chesterfield chair. Bits of beautiful fabric and stuffing lay scattered all over the now-muddied carpet.
I rest my case about a puss being the better pet. What's a little claw mark compared to that? So there are a few strings hanging off things... Fun toys.
I deserve my cookies, don't you think? Next week I'll tell you about the train that almost hit them when Mom and Dad went away for that emergency... AND what happened with Sheriff, and Mom's friend, Jeanie...
By Dawn Munro
See that picture? The one that ISN'T of me ONLY this time? It's because those are the two books that Mom has recently brought out. "Love Forever" has 178 pages of short stories, twenty of them, and the poetry book? Too many poems and not ONE of them mine, after I put up with all of Mom's neglect since this new year started. I hardly even get BRUSHED anymore! I asked her tonight, and she said she was BUSY. She hasn't even taken new pictures of me lately!
Did you wonder why she's been here so infrequently? Well, that's just part of the story, and let me tell you, it's not a happy one.
She's been going out on DATES. Yes, you read right -- DATES, but not with some new fellow, with DAD! So tonight I'd had enough. I figure if she can spend so much time ignoring her petting responsibilities, I can let her know she isn't the only one who can have a social life. I went down the hall to visit that little chihuahua she has told you about in the past. I mean, come on! Mom's no spring chicken at sixty-six years old, but at LEAST it could be someone NEW she was seeing, couldn't it?
The problem with me disturbing ca-ca is that stupid mutt started panicking -- raised a ruckus behind the door, so loud, the whole building must have heard her. But hells-bells, I think Mom even dipped into MY MONEY. They went to the casino -- and you haven't seen Dawn when she gets on those one-armed bandits. There's no stopping her, and she can play for HOURS.
Pray she wins today. That's correct -- they're going AGAIN, and if she doesn't bring home some profit on our hard-saved cash, this is one kitty going on a purr-strike.
Seriously -- gamblers. At least she should stick to betting the horses! That's one area I know I can send some help in the way of cat vibrations...
As if it isn't enough that she spends so much time writing her poetry and stories. Poor Prissy!
(Oh -- I forgot I was supposed to tell you about that emergency trip Mom made, and how she almost got hit by a train. Sorry -- it will have to wait for next time. I'm too mad.)
By Dawn Munro
.jpg)
Mom almost killed herself this past week. Oh, not how you might think -- she forgot to take her blood pressure medication, TWICE, and I've gotten out of the habit of reminding her. She's been so good these past few months, I slipped up. Her last checkup at the new doctor's office was great. She finally has a doctor who cares enough to make sure she knows how and when to take her pills, and her blood pressure had stabilized.
The previous physician -- a woman -- let Mom go on for nearly nine years, telling her about nausea and dizzy spells at every appointment. SHE told Mom to get her eyes checked. It was only through Mom's friend, Lorri, and talking about it, that Mom finally realized what was going on, but not before visits to the Emergency department of our local hospital with a diastolic reading that was over 200. And get this -- even AFTER the emergency doctor diagnosed a serious hypertension, Mom had to remind her old doctor-- each time she visited -- that her blood pressure should be checked.
Yet that physician blamed my MOM! She said Mom didn't get to the doctor often enough for her to remember. (Duh. Didn't she keep a chart?)
Yeah, some women are like that -- not all of them are good people, like my Mom, and her friend, Lorri. Envy is women, friends -- don't let anyone fool you. (Sorry, ladies.) Men are generally much kinder. More like dogs. I know, I know, I've been hard on the canine species in previous columns, but dogs are loyal to a fault, and always happy to see a friend, sometimes to their detriment. You can treat a dog terribly, and if you're their owner, they'll whimper and beg you to be kind, maybe even pee a little out of fear. Poor things.
Anyway, when Mom had nausea and a horrible dizzy spell for the second time this week, the light dawned -- with her medical history, right from childhood, it's very dangerous for her to have hypertension. She had forgotten her pill AGAIN.
But that brings me to the story I have been promising to tell you for several columns now, about the train, and Sheriff, Mom's German Shepherd puppy. Here's how she told the tale to me...
She didn't want just any German Shepherd, not like the ones she routinely saw in the kennel club show rings. They were nothing like the massively strong dogs used during WWII. That's the dog Mom wanted -- large, with a barrel chest, and hind quarters that were a driving force.
She sought out several reputable breeders, but all had show dogs that resembled nothing close to the guard animal Mom was looking for -- and then, after two long years, she found someone. This breeder owned a sire and dam that were magnificent. But the breeder had no puppies. The dogs were due to be mated soon, however, if Mom was willing to wait. The breeder would even let her have her pick of the litter for her patience. Ecstatic, Mom agreed.
I know, what about the train, right? Hold your horses, I'm getting there. Without a little backstory, you wouldn't know how important this dog was to Mom, and just how much she hated to leave Sheriff, once she finally owned him.
But people make plans, and God has His own.
At the time, Mom and Dad lived in a house in the country, with Jessie -- did you read the column where Jessie and Sheriff destroyed the place? Anyway, that was several months after the train incident, but I included a picture of Mom at the time, posed outside the house. That's her, in the green sweater. But I digress.
Sheriff was incredibly smart, to hear Mom tell it, right from the start, and a rough beginning it was, too. The breeder called Mom in a panic when the puppies were only five weeks old -- they had lost their farm to foreclosure, and if Mom wanted her pup, she would have to agree to take Sheriff almost immediately, otherwise the breeder had another buyer.
Such a thing went against everything Mom believed (and still does) about taking puppies away from the bitch too early. Our Golden Retriever puppies often didn't go to their homes before they were three months old -- Mom was adamant. It means a lot of extra work for the breeder, but Mom says her puppies' psychological well-being was as important as their physical health. I'll tell you more about all that stuff, like pack theory, and why Mom was so firm about it, but later, in another column.
Right now I know you want to hear about Mom and Dad's near brush with death.
To give up her dream of the perfect German Shepherd was simply too much for Mom to bear. She agreed to take our hero dog at only six weeks old. And only a couple of weeks later, immediately following supper, came the urgent phone call -- there was a family emergency several hours north, and Mom and Dad would have to leave right away. Sheriff would have to be boarded.
Sheriff was in the midst of training for car travel, and Mom tells an hilarious story about that dog and his stubbornness, too, but it will have to wait for me to share THAT story with you also. Right now we are getting to the train... (Of course Jessie got to go on the trip. She was used to travelling. A quick phone call, and Sheriff was farmed out to Mom's friend, Jeanie. Remember that name, Jeanie, because there's another story that relates to what I said at the beginning of this essay about women and envy. But AGAIN, it's too much to tell in one column, so it will have to wait for next time.)
Here's where the train story gets foggy. Hey! It's not MY fault -- I'm only repeating what Mom related to me, and this is someone who almost gave herself a stroke or heart attack by forgetting something so simple as taking a pill! For some reason that Mom says she can't quite recall, their departure from the house to bring Sheriff over to Jeanie's was delayed by about fifteen minutes. They were heading up north right after, and by then it was nightfall.
The trip was basically uneventful until they got just north of Lake Superior (or was it south? Great. Now I'M forgetting stuff. Anyway, it doesn't matter. What happens next is what matters, and believe me, we cats are pretty courageous animals, but this one even gave ME shivers... My fur is standing on end a little right now, and I'm not trying to look bigger to an attacker.)
Mom was driving. She says for some reason she can't explain, even to this day, she had a moment where she felt disconnected to everything around her inside the car-- Dad, Jessie, everything but the large, bright light she saw in front of them on a direct path towards them. It kept growing in size. She couldn't figure out what it could possibly be, and kept asking Dad, who didn't know either. Minutes passed as they kept driving along the highway, straight at it, both trying to understand what the light represented.
It was only a matter of seconds before they crossed the railroad tracks, and a train whistled, full speed, past their bumper. Mom AND Dad looked at one another, and immediately knew that if their departure had not been delayed, that train would have hit them.
Again, don't ask me, I can't explain why they would think that, when the difference was a fifteen minute delay, but Mom says it is something she will never forget, and something of which both Dad and she instantly just KNEW.
The section of track they had crossed was at a huge bend in the road, and that's why the light, seen from a far distance, appeared to be coming right at them. It was, before the track veered off.
Jessie lay quietly sleeping on the backseat, only whimpering from time to time, as if having a bad dream... It makes me wonder what Sheriff was doing at that moment too. Doesn't it make you wonder?
| Author Notes |
All of this column is pretty much true, folks, except for the fact that it's Prissy telling the story.
Thanks for reading. XX Dawn |
By Dawn Munro
Mom is being pushy again -- she wants to tell the story, and it's supposed to be my column.
Does anybody want a good cat? I can even write stuff.
Here's what she wrote... (And who cares anyway? It's all about dogs.)
"Make A Doggie Pilaff"
(by Prissy's mom)
Have I ever given you my opinion on commercial dog food? Most of it is not at all what the advertisers would have us believe. Some of it is made with something called "render", and I know that for a fact because my husband worked for a company that dealt in animal hides. You are going to find this hard to believe, but it's the truth -- the truck would pick up hides from animals that had died, some of which, cause of death wasn't even known. The animal, once skinned, would then go to the dog food manufacturer. That's render, folks, and sometimes it's even dogs and cats that have died, not even flea collars removed before making the dog food, or so I read when I began to thoroughly research commercial pet food. To date there is no government inspection of pet food, and it is a multi-billion dollar industry.
Let your pup eat "people food", as long as it's a balanced diet, and you've been careful to ensure nothing toxic to dogs is in the pot you cook. I used to boil a big pot with chicken, or whatever meat we were having for supper that day (then, of course, remove the meat from the bone and add the meat back to the pot), throw in the veggies -- peas and carrots are good for dogs -- and some good grains (not a lot, but things like barley, oatmeal, wheat germ). I would then add chic peas, lentils, kidney beans or some other kind of legume (for the high protein count when combined with the grains). I'd add enough white rice to make it a pilaff when it was done. Solid food, full of nutrition -- you could eat it too, if you wanted to, though without a lot of spice, it might be a bit bland for your tastes.
One of my regrets in life is not knowing, not informing myself about the problems associated with commercial pet food long before I did -- by then my dogs had eaten it for years. Kibble is especially bad -- it's too dry, and consequently, hard on the kidneys, and that's information straight from the veterinarian's mouth who had to euthanize one of my beautiful dogs when she was in the final stages of kidney disease.
The last night of Tiffany's life we spent together sleeping in the hall of my apartment building, me on the floor beside her because there was no one to help me lift her upstairs. Her whole backside had finally given up, and she couldn't climb. (But did that dog whine or complain in any way? Not a whimper, just sad, brown eyes staring at me, as if to say she was sorry for letting me down. That was my Tiffany, my pick of a litter of puppies my Billy-boy had sired. All of my dogs were wonderful, each in his or her own way.)
Billy died of cancer. I often wonder how much commercial dog food had to do with his death -- I bet it contributed. Too many chemicals in his commercial pet food diet, probably, and not nearly the healthy nutrition promised.
But let me go back a few years, to a happier time, and my first Golden Retriever. Her name was Jessie, and she was one smart dog. So clever, she was constantly surprising me. This is one of my favorite memories. Whenever I cooked corn-on-the-cob I would always hold a cob for Jessie so she could eat the kernels. She knew when corn was on the menu, she'd get some.
Anywhere my husband and I went we usually had Jessie with us. One summer we decided we wanted to buy some land, and made an appointment to look at a farm property. We let Jessie out of the car when we arrived at the farm. It was hot in the unmoving car, and she was well-trained, obedient, and usually stayed by my side. In fact, this was a dog that wouldn't touch my dinner when I'd leave it at nose level to answer a phone call or something. (Yes, sometimes I eat in front of the television--don't you?)
But I digress.
There was a field of corn close to where Rex and I stood, talking to the farmer. To my amazement, I looked over at that field, and there was Jessie, pulling a cob off a plant! She promptly lay down on the ground with her prize, put a paw on one end of that cob, and began STRIPPING IT, JUST AS SHE HAD SEEN ME DO SO MANY TIMES AT HOME.
The farmer couldn't believe it, and we all had a big laugh as we watched Jessie turn that cob every time she'd eaten the row of kernels, then strip it again to expose the next row.
So don't believe the hype about "people food" being bad for dogs. Some of it is, but most of it isn't -- do your research if you decide to give feeding Fido people food a try. Another little bit of trivia to consider -- in the Caribbean, MANY dogs never eat anything but people food, and live long, healthy lives.
Is anyone hungry for a nice, rice pilaff? And please -- ignore that naughty cat of mine -- she would never leave me, just like I would never part with her. Good heavens, I haven't taken a holiday in nearly seven years because I won't even leave her overnight!
Much more to come about dogs (but I might have to let Her Royal Highness do the writing...)
By Dawn Munro
Well, did you miss me? I bet you did. There aren't a lot of felines who write, let alone ones with my talent, right? Before we begin, though, let me warn you -- I am one ticked off kitty-cat. Do you see the picture of me sleeping, with another one beside it? That is the outside of our fire escape door, and that's what Danny, the downstairs Pot-head posted on it while Mom and I were sleeping. Sleeping, as Mom tries to adapt to HIS sleep schedule, and walks around in her stocking feet so as not to disturb him, even though her feet freeze because of her poor circulation. Not that her fuzzy slippers made any noise, but that's my Mom -- trying to avoid further confrontation with the bully.
But let me digress for a moment, because if you are reading the notes Dumb-Dumb Cannabis Creep wrote, you're wondering who "Deb" is... Well, that's my Mom. Dawn is not her first name -- Deborah is -- "Dawn" is just the name she uses as her pseudonym. Did you read the poem she wrote here about her minister calling her by her childhood name? He calls her "Debbie", and she doesn't use that name, even with me. (She has started to now, though, because she liked it a lot when Rev. Doug called her by it.)
Anyway, I had to let you all know what's going on. I haven't felt a lot like writing lately. Mom has been pretty depressed, and I've been working hard to cheer her up. There was an awful tragedy here just a week ago, and you know Mom -- she takes on the grief of the world! She feels things deeply, and I try to make her stop, but a tabby's Mom can't change her stripes anymore than a leopard can change its spots, you know? But that's okay -- I love her for it, except it makes me worry because her ticker isn't as young as it could be, after all.
What would happen to me if something happened to her? You see what Bozo Brain-Mush wrote -- that nobody likes her? It's not true. Mom makes friends with everybody when she goes out -- at the library, the grocery store, up on Queen Street, her friends down this street too. Heck, even the 'street' people know her and love her.
But she keeps to herself here, in our building, almost all the time.
But I'm afraid it might be true about me! I'm not exactly winning any popularity contests at the vet's office, not after all that happened when I had my bladder stones (it's in my book). And I am an indoor kitty. We don't get a lot of visitors, either, except the girl down the hall who's allergic to cats. You know -- the one Mom told you about who owns the little rat-dog that LOVES to visit US (*shudder*).
Anyway, that Danny better not try any more of his shenanigans. If I catch him, I am going to bite him. Maybe scratch his legs, too. I hope he's wearing shorts when he comes up here again... I hope I am out in the hall (but Mom isn't letting me out much anymore, even though he is STILL smoking inside and we're suffocating!)
'Bye for now, everybody. Please send up good thoughts for my Mom and me. As usual, she hasn't even reported this latest harassment. But this time I don't know if she isn't wise not to -- that idiot posted those things AFTER Mom called the police for the last thing he did. Nothing scares him. (No -- not the cinder-block episode -- after that! Didn't Mom tell you? I guess she hasn't felt a lot like writing either...)
| Author Notes |
This is classified as "fiction", only because I am writing it as a Prissy's Corner posting (and cats don't really write, do they)? LOL.
Thank you for reading! XX Dawn |
By Dawn Munro
.JPG)
I had to think long and hard about sharing some of the information this essay contains -- oh no, not about Mom sharing her ice cream cone with me. That she is embarrassed to have you know she did is hilarious. She is so concerned about what others think of her, and let's not forget that she forked over several thousand dollars (and continues to pay exhorbitant prices for my food) when I had my bladder stones. (Do NOT tell me you haven't bought my book, "The Cat God Loves". What is wrong with you? It is delightful -- full of pictures, fun conversation and poetry -- a regular fireside read in winter, fun read at the beach in summer kind of book. Now if Mom had had her way, it might not have been, but again, I'm getting off topic. I do that a lot-- one of my few flaws. Anyway, it should be an Amazon bestseller by now. I haven't checked recently... But if you were a Kindle reader, I think you could borrow it for free... Maybe. Don't quote me on it. Ask Amazon, if you think a coffee-table book isn't worth the paltry sum we are asking...)
No, what concerns me is giving away ancient feline secrets. But after much thought, I realized you can't actually do anything to change it, so I'm going to enlighten you. You're welcome. (Besides, some clever Cornell graduate student figured it out anyway, so undoubtedly it will soon become known all over the globe. You humans have little reservation about 'letting the cat out of the bag'. By the way, what a horrid expression -- why would you put a cat in a bag? Letting a cat play with a bag is something entirely different. You're not imprisoning the sweet thing. And don't get me started on another one of human's awful cliches! 'More than one way to...' I can't bring myself to repeat such vulgarity.)
But I digress (again). Back on topic... In days of old, we felines communicated in tones of too high a frequency for the human ear to hear. I'm not sure it wasn't for the best, but since you all decided you couldn't live without us, we decided we would have to change our meow.
So we adapted a tone that serves a purpose. That's the difference between cats and dogs, by the way. We seldom do anything that isn't multi-purpose. Dogs will gulp down breakfast, puke it up and then, looking at the disgusting pile, think, "Oh yummy. More food!" Their minds are too simple to handle more than one task at a time, or more than one creative thought.
Felines, on the other hand, love to conduct complex psychological experiments, especially when it comes to their staff -- that's you. What, you thought you owned your cat? Puh-LEEZ. Now that's funnier than Mom being afraid you'd think she was foolish to let me eat ice cream.
Anyway, the point is, she didn't really have a choice. Don't believe me? Watch the videos. (I wrote all this and hunted down the videos for your edification, after all. But I have also included other videos that give you a lot to think about -- more information than I care to write about. I need to nap...)
By the way, next week I might actually decide to tell you more about a topic I touched on once before -- a LOT more. Some of you have a taste for thrilling adventure, and I can take you on a journey to the spirit world...
| Author Notes |
Prissy: I like this guy. Except for the fact that he calls pussy-cats bizarre...
|
By Dawn Munro
I thought it was about time I shared a little of my poetic talent with you all. I know you have been waiting patiently, wondering when, if ever, I would. (Well, there's some in my book -- if you bought it, then you know how good it is -- if you didn't buy the book, you're missing out.) Don't tell Mom I said that though. She says we're supposed to be humble. All I know is, I'm sure glad she didn't live in Egypt, back in the times cats were worshiped. My family lived with royalty, and Mommy and I might never have met.
Anyway, in Prissy's Corner # 15, I promised to share some of those ancient secrets with you, and maybe even take you on a thrilling adventure into the spirit world. But first you should know just exactly how talented I really am when it comes to the craft of writing.
Do you see that picture of me? Does it look a little like I am reclined upon a cloud? What if I told you I could, anytime I wanted to, visit a cloud, and I could teach you how to do it too... What if I told you that I have the secret to writing anything that makes people want to read what you wrote...
I call this Prissy beat. It's really mixed meter, so be careful -- don't let it throw you when you get to that last stanza. Oh, and bonanza! (See what I did there? I can't help myself. I am just full of talent.) Anyway, the prize is the wonderful rhyme scheme. Enjoy. And learn a secret or two...
Christmas and the Sacred Cat
by Prissy
You hear the music of my purr,
and think it's really silken fur
that makes you want to cuddle me --
it's not -- my purring's healing...
So long ago, when times were slow
physicians all, not in the know,
believed they were concealing
some magic that would make them rich.
Can you imagine? What a hitch to
suddenly discover you were wrong?
Those days were diff'rent, not like ours --
Egyptians plotted with the stars,
and cats were really ones who'd be revealing
the frequency of our sweet purr,
like frankincense and Wise Men's myrrh,
could mend the human heart with catus song.
~~~
The Magi knew, and gladly flew
across the desert to an infant's side.
And that, my friends, is where it ends
and how felis silvestrus got its pride.
~~~
So the next time you are cuddling up with your cute kitty, and he or she is purring, close your eyes... Imagine you are sailing far away, drifting languidly, lazy; drifting on a cloud as soft as your feline's fur... Stroke your cat.
The sky is a brilliant blue, the sun is blazing, highlighting the creamy puff of cotton that cushions you, and you are dreaming as you float...
That's the secret to great writing. Can you do it? Practice. All it takes is believing. (And of course, not being afraid of heights. Did you know that the cat's spine is the most flexible in all of the animal kingdom? How do you think we always manage to land on our feet when we fall?)
I have to go now. Nap time. Dreams, you know... And some work to do in the spirit world...
| Author Notes |
felis silvestrus catus = cat - the scientific name
Can Your Cat's Purr Heal? | Animal Wellness Magazine https://animalwellnessmagazine.com/can-your-cats-purr-heal/ Sep 12, 2010 - Interestingly, research has shown that exposure to frequencies at that same 20 to 50 Hz induces increased bone density, relieves pain and heals tendons and muscles. Why do cats purr? - Scientific American https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/why-do-cats-purr/ Jan 27, 2003 - This association between the frequencies of cats' purrs and improved healing of bones and muscles may provide help for some humans. ... Although it is tempting to state that cats purr because they are happy, it is more plausible that cat purring is a means of communication and a potential source of self-healing. Prissy again: Want to stop the purr? Just click on the rectangle in the bottom left of this video. (Don't know what a rectangle is? No wonder you don't like kitty's purring... You have a dog, or dogs, right?) |
By Dawn Munro
The internet is a devil in a seductive, black dress -- beware. But be wary here, too, on FanStory. Thankfully, it's not a BIG problem here, but I have seen pretension rear its ugly head a few times, and that's what has prompted this essay. I want to share how I managed to build a fan base that was of great benefit, and how to avoid falling into bad habits with your craft.
For those of you who don't know me, I am Miss Priss, a cat, and long-time muse of Dawn Munro. I take full credit for every word she has ever written, except the ones that needed correction. I also was the one who planted the idea in her brain to "fan" writers who were apt to influence her own writing favorably.
You may call me Prissy. And by the way -- I am not bothered by envy as much as I am by pretension. Envy is evident for anyone with eyes to see -- pretension, or snobbery, is the mask envy wears. As if being overlooked, ignored, even bullied is not enough, some jealous folk hide their agendas by becoming self-proclaimed experts, thereby leading astray those who eagerly follow their advice, hoping to improve. They cover up inadequacies by pretending that they are superior, and that is much worse than simply being a bit green-eyed over something someone else has written. Ask me -- my eyes are green. (I am, however, a feline, and therefore automatically expert.)
In and of itself, any review like I've described should tell you. Art is something no one can truly label and put into a box, as history has proven over and over. Pardon the cliche: "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." Many now-famous artists never experienced success in their lifetime, never saw a dime for their work. (For example, Da Vinci comes to mind, and I had Dawn write a villanelle about him, but there are literally thousands upon thousands of writers who are fabulous, but never managed so much as a write-up in a local newspaper.)
Of course, I am not referring to glaringly obvious grammar and spelling mistakes, typos or punctuation problems mentioned in a review. I'm not pointing out reviews that attempt to help with continuity in a plot, its pacing, character-building, conflict and resolution; the basic building blocks of a good story or the requirements of a poetic format. I'm talking about those reviewers who pick apart a poem or short story for no reason other than the reviewer didn't like it, or didn't understand it, and then try to lend authenticity to their review by pretending they're sure your piece is lacking or mistaken.
I've had the good fortune to be instructed by one of this site's best poets. Because I don't review for him very often anymore, he seldom visits my work. At least I presume that is the reason -- it can't be because he doesn't like what I write. (Puuuuurrrrrrrrrr.)
I don't review for him because there's nothing I can offer of real value to this writer. (I'd feel as if I were reading his work to grab the member dollars.) His knowledge is formidable, his work brilliant. I will name him soon, but in so doing, I must refuse to name a few of the others that are favorites of mine (and don't see a review from me as much as I would like...) I don't want anyone to feel I don't respect his or her work because their names aren't listed.
The list is long, and I am always lagging behind, but I try my best to at least offer a return-review, so in no way does NOT naming you, OR reviewing fairly frequently for you, imply that I don't think you are talented too. There are simply too many to name, and you've probably reviewed for me, so I try to return the favor. (Naturally, I don't let on that it is me, Prissy, who writes those reviews, especially since Mommy finally let me have my own column...)
Ray Griffin was (is?) an instructor here (mountaineer49), and I honestly don't think we could have a better one. I have known Ray since joining FanStory in 2012. He has been with FanStory since 2009. But we've lost some also, like Patrick Cox, with whom (thankfully) I stay in touch. He writes prose, both fiction and non-fiction, and you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone better. One of his books, "Limehouse Boys", is one of my favorite novels.
But I don't name names to encourage anyone, or to DISCOURAGE anyone -- I name them for one reason: they were chosen by me in the very beginning (along with others) to be authors I wanted (Dawn) to read so that I was able to improve (her) my own writing. It doesn't matter what some reviewers may try to tell you, how 'expert' they want you to believe they are -- what matters is that you carefully select those writers who will inspire you, who share their talent, and are ones you think write beautifully.
That's the summary, friends -- that's the tip I wanted to share. Read avariciously, greedily, but carefully. Not everything we read is going to be top-notch, so select accordingly. Build a fan base that will help you to achieve the skill you desire. (Read me.)
Feed your mind the way you like to feed your body. (I like lobster.)
Puuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrr.
By Dawn Munro
.jpg)
Did you know that bird's brains are not "bird-brain" at all? I bet you didn't, because humans use that demeaning term for people who aren't very smart.
But birds are smart. Maybe they're smarter than I gave them credit for too, I must admit. What I am about to tell you, you might find hard to believe, but I swear -- it's the gospel truth.
Mommy's birds have found us. (You know she feeds them, right?) Well, the pigeon she wrote the hilarious poem about ("Love Shack") sat on the part of our air conditioner that juts outside, cooing when Mom was late putting out the seed. Then, when it didn't get the banquet it was expecting, it hopped onto the window sill. At first I thought it was just a coincidence, but that bird has done it every time Mommy is late since the beginning of April -- maybe sooner than that, but I didn't notice because I sleep a lot.
Now it's time for my usual meandering...
Did you know cats need to sleep a lot? We spend about 70% of our lives sleeping. But never mind that -- back to the birds. The sparrows have found us too. They sit in the tree outside our bedroom window and sing. Or maybe it's scolding. I'm a cat -- I don't speak bird. But they sure are bold for little birds. One sparrow sits in the closest branch to the window -- inches away from me, and I'm no slouch for a cat. I weigh about 22 pounds!
But I guess I digressed again and forgot to tell you that I helped Mom write that poem about the pigeon -- that's why it's so funny. Mom's okay, but her humor is a bit dry sometimes. She doesn't play enough. That's what she used to say about me when I had those painful bladder stones. But of course, she didn't know I had stones, though she told the vet I looked uncomfortable a couple of times. I guess those stones take time to form well (and cause real symptoms).
Anyway, I'll come back in a minute. I have to go and get some research now about birds and their brains. Oh, you think I didn't know that some of you are skeptics? Listen, I told you way back when I started this column that you humans do not sleep enough. We felines are smart because we do. So I will get the proof of what I'm telling you. Back in a tail twitch.
Well, I'm back. I promised research results, and they're below, in the author's notes. Instead of including the boring stuff here, though, I found a forum I thought was quite a delight, so that's what I' sharing here. (You're welcome.)
THavoc wrote:
Quote:
Birds are smart. They use tools, engage in social learning, plan for the future, and do a variety of other things that were once thought to be exclusively the stuff of primates.
Schizoid wrote back to him:
Quote:
Get back to me when they can do physics experiments like cats can.
To which THavoc replied:
They do.
Of course, not to be outdone, Schizoid referred to earlier in their conversation, when THavoc said PNAS shows size doesn't matter:
That's what I keep telling my girlfriend!
Then some other countries are heard from--
skinlo
(Smack-Fu Master, in training)
Quote:
I wonder what would happen if you could somehow modify the human brain to have the same density of a birds brain?
Ostracus
Quote:
What do you think they're using all those neurons for?
trapper answers:
(a Wise, Aged Ars Veteran)
Quote:
We'd probably die since our brains would be marbles rolling around inside of our skulls.
S_T_R pipes up:
Quote:
If birds are so smart, then why can't they stop me from eating them by the bucket?
(I'll show myself out)
The forum didn't say who posted this:
And stay out!
I, Prissy, thought it quite a good question. (*Cheshire grin.* Pardon the feather dangling from my lip.)
Love Shack
(the poem I told you about, by Dawn, AKA Mommy)
(and if you REALLY want to have some fun, play the video below it WITH it and sing the poem AS LYRICS - it works - honest)
A pigeon has adopted me -
I don't know what to do.
It waits for me each morning,
and man, that bird can poo!
You see, I feed the sparrows,
and began to use my stoop.
A snowfall hides the bread crumbs,
but I didn't think of poop
when I decided I would bring
the birds up to my door.
But now this pigeon eats the seeds
and crumbs, and then wants more.
It's cold outside, and I feel bad -
the pigeon sits and waits.
It snowed and still it sat there,
so I sorted through my crates
and taped some plastic to a box.
Inside I placed some weight -
at least it's some protection
for this creature I can't hate.
In blowing snow and icy wind,
no longer spooked by me,
it fixes me with loving gaze,
its head cocked trustingly.
I think perhaps the pigeon thinks
it's found an easy mark.
I'm pigeon-holed as sucker - help!
These turds are no darn lark!
The pigeon thinks I like it, and
its feathers spread disease.
So if you have an answer,
won't you share it, pretty please,
'cuz even worse than feathers are
the pigeon's deadly poop.
Bacteria in birdie crap
now lives upon my stoop,
and what if this cute pigeon
coos to call a pretty mate?
Before long there could be a
dozen pigeons I can't hate!
The doorway to my home could
be awash in pigeon poop!
I guess I never should have made
a cardboard pigeon coop.
| Author Notes |
~~~NOTES: (I give up changing those stupid marks Evil Eddie insists on replacing common things, like quotation marks with... SHEESH!) This is by Juliet Gellatley, founder & director, Viva! (BSc Zoology): Chicken farming is the epitome of life is cheap. "Everyday" whole chickens sell for $2.48 at Tesco - all that suffering for 2.48. The numbers are crazy, close to one billion little lives wiped out each year in the UK alone. So much cruelty on a mind-boggling scale and so often excused by ignorance. I've heard them all: "But chickens are stupid - they don't feel or have emotions, and even, "Are chickens even animals?" People celebrate the smartness of wild birds yet dismiss chickens as being unintelligent, worthless. In fact, birds display human skills: magpies recognise themselves in a mirror; New Caledonian crows make tools; and African grey parrots count and categorise objects by colour and shape. Chickens' high level of intelligence made studying them something of a challenge... Scientists and those who live with hens have learned that they can be cunning and wily and can communicate in sophisticated ways comparable with some primates, just as the cognitive abilities of all crows are equal to chimps and gorillas. Roosters protect females, chickens solve complex problems and mother hens emotionally empathise with their chicks. The Scientific American reckons: "Chickens are smart and understand their world, which raises troubling questions about how they are treated on factory farms." And researchers at Macquarie University in Australia recently found that chickens' high level of intelligence made studying them something of a challenge. Birds would deliberately subvert experiments to their advantage. In large, outdoor spaces with lots of vegetation, an enclosed area was set up which showed TV footage of a cockerel shaking his wattle, which a female finds very attractive because it means he has found food for her and the larger the wattle the more the testosterone. (Isn't that the way!) Hens had to wait to for the door to be opened but one, hen 007, became impatient and examined the lock mechanism closely, turning her head from side to side. After a few moments, she carefully plucked the wire that controlled the latch, the door opened and 007 got what she wanted, to be close to the guy and his food. She never waited again, even though the latch configuration was changed several times. Scientists have known since the 1940s that roosters perform complex visual displays to attract the ladies when they find food. The most prominent display is called tidbitting, where the boss man (alpha male) food-calls and rhythmically moves his head and neck, picking up and dropping food items. The females respond and approach the fancy male to accept their gift, the dominant females being the most likely to win the morsels. Because the birds are often secretive, hiding in long grass and bushes, observers had missed some of the underlying dramas which showed that subordinate males can be (and I quote:) "Devious bastards!" However, with the aid of multiple, high-definition cameras, small groups of birds in large outdoor enclosures were monitored and showed surreptitious techniques in a way previously thought impossible for the birds to attract females without being chased and pecked by alpha males. They performed only the visual part of tidbitting, without food-calling. To those who live with hens, this isn't surprising, but scientists were shocked to discover the range of conscious judgments made by chickens. by Prissy: There's more, but that's all you will probably read anyway. You have plans at Swiss Chalet, don't you? Or maybe it's Kentucky Fried tonight... Sorry, birds. (Mommy is too.) |
By Dawn Munro
Prissy Is Too Inactive (lazy)
by Dawn Munro (her mom)
(don't tell her I was here)
My little puss is lounging on the bed again.
She should be writing poetry - it hurts my brain!
But I am wise to her deceit -
caught red-pawed and she can't retreat,
she purrs in vain.
I think I'll make her claim this poem - would serve her right!
She'll have to spend her time at work this rainy night.
A sonnet's not this kitty's strength,
but she would go to any length
for your delight...
So your reviews will help her to prioritize.
Don't fall for whiskers, and those em'rald, pleading eyes.
She's far too smart - tricky, but cute,
calls me a mean, demanding brute -
don't compromise...
~~~
Hi, everybody. It's me again, Prissy. I have to tell you something, but you have to promise you won't tell Dawn. Do you promise?
I told her I wanted to publish my own chapbook next -- I mean, I have already started one -- there are poems of mine in The Cat God Loves, and if Dawn (AKA Mom) wasn't so lazy, she could find some other ones I wrote that are in her Word files too. Instead, do you know what she did? SHE MADE ME SIT RIGHT DOWN AND WRITE A POEM RIGHT NOW. (I call her Dawn when I'm mad at her. She doesn't like it, so it's purrfect because I don't like to be forced to do things. Even-Steven, Mamma Meanie.)
Anyway, there we were, having a really nice time (I was getting brushed and petted, and kissed and told what a good girl I am), and Dawn decides I'm not to nap, that I shouldn't fall asleep, that I have to be disciplined if I want to write a poetry book all by myself.
Okay. I get it. But SELF-DISCIPLINE is what a writer needs, right? I will write two hours every day. I will eat two minutes every hour, play two minutes ONCE a day, and sleep the required fourteen hours. How else can my feline brain handle the pressure?
I swear she thinks I'm human. Anyhow, here's the poem, for those of you who wear glasses:
My mommy loves me;
she's really so cool.
I love her also,
but I am no fool.
She keeps me happy
and brushes my fur.
Feeds me and pets me,
so grateful I purr.
But she needs to know
kitty-cats are the boss.
If she gets too pushy,
this pussy gets cross!
And now the stanzas you all need to keep mum about, yes?
Some people, though stupid,
can still be so cool!
But Mom and the rest need
this feline to school
them in how to be nice.
Not one of them ever brings kitty some mice.
~~~
(Okay, that's it. That little cat -- yeah, it's me, Dawn -- is just a little TOO spoiled. She's getting a swelled head!)
"Prissy, your poem isn't bad, but it's a bit bland. And your prose is disgraceful!"
"WHAT?"
"You heard me. Poor grammar, repeating the same word instead of finding a synonym -- you're becoming very slack."
"Cats have a flexible spine."
"That's not what I mean, and you know it."
"Okay, I'll bite (*snickering whiskers*); where did I go wrong in my 'grammar', Mom?"
"Stanza two; lines three and four are an incomplete sentence."
"IT'S A POEM! I took creative license, Mommy."
"That's not what 'creative license' is for, and besides, you even have a spelling mistake."
"(You just ended with a preposition!) What word is misspelled?"
"Perfect."
"Thank you."
"PRISSY!"
"Okay, alright. So-o-o-rry. How come you are reviewing this anyway? I thought you said I could write my own column?"
"Correct. I did, although I never promised not to drop in from time to time to supervise, help you be the best writer you can be. Another word could replace one of those "rights" you used when you were telling everyone how mean I am. I was teaching you to discipline yourself, to devote yourself to your craft. As writers, there is no one looking over our shoulders, and it's easy to get lazy, distracted, even fall into bad habits."
"I always land on my feet."
"PRISSY! What am I going to do with you?"
"Love me, Mom. My whole life. Like I love you. Puuuuuurrrrrrrrr..."
<><><>
Author note -
from The Scratching Post Cat Rescue:
THE PAW PACT
It means when you adopt me
You will love me for my whole life
No matter what...
When you move, you will take me with you.
When you have a baby, you won't give me up.
If you get another pet, you will still love me.
THE PAW PACT=FOREVER
By Dawn Munro
Dear Dr. Sam,
I want you to know that I am an educated cat. You can't fool me! You'll be sorry. Yesterday Mom made me write a poem, so today I am writing one just for you -- especially!
You Suck
I read the email written 'bout my diet.
You think it's so darn easy, YOU just try it!
My mother says I drive her more than crazy,
and now she's even saying that I'm lazy.
Cats sleep a lot - you know it! It's called "napping".
When hungry, like a crocodile, I'm snapping,
'til Mommy says my temper is unruly.
You made her stop the fish I loved-- so cruelly.
I think that you and all your staff are meanies.
No ice cream, kitty cookies, tortellinis?
A little human kindness shown is feeding
all things you say that cats should not be needing!
My bladder stones are gone now, and I'm happy.
(No cod, no herring? How about some crappy?)
Just wait -- you won't be glad -- I soon will visit.
My dissertation -- promise -- is explicit.
~~~
"Prissy Munro! You apologize to Dr. Sam this minute!"
"Er, uh... Hi, Mom."
"You're not sending that email!"
"I thought you'd be glad, Mommy. I wrote another poem -- see?"
"Oh, I see it alright! Don't you know that Dr. Sam and everybody at that clinic saved your LIFE?"
"They DID? They sure did poke and prod me, Mom. They gave me needles, stretched me out so they could take pictures with this BIG camera. YOU don't stretch me out, and you're ALWAYS taking pictures."
...sigh... "Prissy, they had to do all that to help you. The pictures were to find out why you were in pain. Don't you remember how uncomfortable you were?"
"But they PICKED ME UP!"
"I know. But you forget, when you were slimmer, you even used to get up on my shoulder."
"I don't remember that..."
"Sure you do! I even have a picture of it. And speaking of pictures, do you remember getting up on top of the closet door? I don't even know how you balanced there, Prissy."
"I didn't do that..."
"Yes. You did. I have a picture of that too."
"You take too many pictures."
"Don't be grumpy, Priss -- and don't change the subject. Dr. Sam and all the staff at Roncey Village Vet Clinic just want what's best for you."
"Steamed fish is best, Mom. 'Luv' cookies from the dollar store are best. Ice cream and some of whatever YOU'RE eating is best."
"No, Prissy, it's not. You shouldn't be having 'people' food, or any food high in ash content. We got rid of those painful bladder stones with the special diet you are on, but you are still eating too much. Being overweight is unhealthy."
"So? YOU are."
"Oh my God! You are SO spoiled. I know it is hard. When our pets get sick, we people can't explain why we have to do things to you that you don't like. But Miss Priss, starting today I am measuring all your food and you are not getting more than what Dr. Sam says you should have."
"You should fire her. President Trump would..."
"Prissy!"
"I bet she has dogs. Or all her cats are starving."
~~~
| Author Notes |
Hey, you all --
Yesterday, Prissy was half way down our hall corridor again. I chased her back to her spot in front of our door, and then (in good humor) told her she was bad (just teasing). She knows the words "good" and "bad". I tell her all the time what a good girl she is, and that "Mommy is bad" when I accidentally trip over her, or step on her toes or tail. Are you familiar with that sound cats make that's half purr, half meow? It ends on an 'up' note, right? Well, when I said she was "bad", (ROFL) I SWEAR - it ended on a down note, and she PRETENDED to POUT! Prissy will be seven this year, and I honestly think there is not a week that's gone by that she hasn't surprised me with how clever she is... With a new 'trick' of some kind... So Dr. Sam, how am I going to deny her? (LOL) She stands on two back feet -upright - when I am at my table (on my laptop) and gently taps my arm with one paw when she wants food... And that's when she is being "good" Prissy! Fondly, Dawn |
By Dawn Munro
.jpg)
I had the most fun ever this morning -- for about ten seconds. Dawn, also known as Mommy spoilsport, scared it away, along with four of its siblings.
Mind you, I must admit, I didn't see the big momma cat, and it kind of growled at Mom when she shouted, "No!" I was almost nose to nose with its darling little baby at the time. I would have happily cuddled with it too. Maybe we could have even played tag! It was the cutest kitty I ever did see! But Mom said she almost had a heart attack. Drama queen, that Dawn. I mean, just because those kittens don't look like me doesn't mean they're any danger to me, does it? But Dawn (my Mom) says they aren't cats, they are raccoons, and the momma raccoon was ready to pounce on her head if she made a move towards those babies.
Well, my new friend wasn't any danger, that's for sure--she (or he) was as curious about me as I was about her.
See, we have been having a horrible heat wave lately. The temperature has been into the mid-forty degree celsius range with the humidex. For the past week, Mommy hasn't let me out into the hall, and she hasn't opened the fire escape door so I could see outside. SHE still went out to feed our birds, but every time I tried to, she chased me back into the house. "It's too hot," she'd say, and if I didn't obey her and scoot back into our apartment, she'd get out that dreaded water gun she uses to MAKE me do stuff.
So I've been pretty bored. Until this morning, when the heat wave finally broke. Dawn says she's going to take full advantage of the nice weather, too, and she's going out this afternoon. So I get to stay all cramped up inside our apartment while she goes out to have fun, and all because that momma cat (raccoon) growled at her.
Are all mothers so grumpy, or is it just mine? I mean, that mother raccoon had all her babies on our fire escape. What did MY mom THINK would happen when she scared that poor, little cutie raccoon?
Sheesh. Rocky Raccoon never had it so hard. But boy, I didn't know my old, arthritic mom could move so fast. She had that camera out quicker than those visitors could make their escape.
Looks sure can be deceiving. Raccoons? I would have sworn they were nice, friendly kitty-cats. A bit like you'd think my old dame can't handle herself when she has to... Not that I mind. It inspires a feeling of security, like I try to give her when she's being a scaredy-cat in a thunder storm.
Speaking of thunder storms, we had a doozy last night. But don't worry -- I'm not going meandering again. Today I am staying on topic. No digression for this kitty. But did I tell you how Mom almost squished me, hugging up to me when the thunder boomed? I do like hugging though...
| Author Notes |
Rocky Raccoon has nothing to do with this story - I just like the song. purrrrrrrrrrr.
"Prissy, you have to learn to stay on topic when you write your story. Some people get confused when you suddenly switch subjects." "MOM! You're SPYING on me again!" "Priss, listen -- it's Mommy's job to watch over you." "Yeah, well what about those felines I see wandering all over the neighborhood, huh? Who watches THEM?" "Our birds, Prissy. They're afraid." "Oh. Why? They're not scared of ME... OH! ... Well, I guess it's okay then." |
By Dawn Munro
I'm so excited, I can barely wait to tell you! But first, I have to say, this site sometimes rocks, but sometimes it's a big pain in a cat's--
"Prissy! Don't you dare!"
-- whiskers. That's all I was going to say, Mom. Sheesh. Now go away. You write all the time. It's not fair that you are watching me and horning in.
Back on topic--does this happen to you? You are working on your story (or in my case, my very popular column)--
"Prissy! Humble; remember?"
MOM! GO AWAY! I'm sorry, you guys. I was going to tell you how I was a bit ashamed of myself earlier today, but now I think I have changed my mind. See, I hissed at my mom when she took away my catnip toy. That's it, in the bottom left box of the picture. Do you see it? Nice, eh? I got it for Christmas from a wonderful friend of ours...
Anyway, where were we? Mom says I digress too much. But cats like to explore and meander all over the place, don't they? If YOU know it, why doesn't SHE? Oh yeah, now I remember -- I didn't check before saving, and the stupid site... (Whew, Mom's gone!) changed the preview box AGAIN, to a "no". It's happened before, but I usually catch it. I am, after all, a predator.
But if you are reading this while I am typing it, I won't mind if you get excited too, and maybe even a little frustrated because I haven't shared my big news yet... Guess WHAT? I have a secret admirer. ME, PRISSY! You know I am spayed, right? Well, I guess this pussy-cat doesn't even care that we can't have kids! Pretty cool, eh?
Sheee--eee--sh! This mouse is all over the place too, just like I told you cats do. It keeps jumping up into stuff I've already written. So you poor readers are stuck with a very short column this time. Sorry. I know you love me, er, my writing, so I'll try to write again soon. (That is, if I'm not too busy with a lot of dates. Romance, you know! OH! I almost forgot -- I was going to enter this week's column in the romance writing contest, and Mom said I can't, the instructions for the contest say two PEOPLE are in love. Boy, those judges don't know what they're missing!)
By Dawn Munro
I'm trying not to get too excited, but Christmas is only a little more than one month away, after all, and even though Mom is down with the flu, I feel I have to share last year's story with you or there will be a repeat.
But it's been awhile since I wrote any poetry for you, so I wrote a poem about it. Maybe if you like it, you'll talk to my mom and tell her she needs to be a little nicer to me. (And I don't see why you wouldn't like it because I am a very good poet.)
Mom, The Grinch
by Prissy Munro
Eight tiny reindeer landed on our roof.
At first I thought it might be Christmas mice
and did my very best to stay aloof
'cuz eating Christmas critters isn't nice.
But then I heard the jingle of their bells
and asked my mom if I could go outside.
She said I couldn't, 'though my litter smells
and everyone knows felines have their pride.
"I clean your litter every time you go,"
said Mommy, and she looked a bit perplexed.
"But Mom, it's Santa's sleigh, and there's no snow;
I want to see the reindeer!" Mom was vexed --
"Miss Prissy, you will stay in here with me,
and help me decorate our Christmas tree."
~~
(See? I told you I write great poems!)
Now maybe, like Mom, you think I should have to stay in all the time too, and most of the time, I would agree that it's much safer for me to be an indoor cat. But let's face it, when there's something running around on the roof on Christmas Eve, wouldn't YOU want to see if it was Santa's reindeer? What are the chances you'd ever catch them again?
All I know is, I never got to see them last year, and if they are noisy enough again, I want to see if they really fly! I am a good cat. I never trouble our Christmas tree, and I always let Mom share my presents. Last year I got a really nice one from a friend of ours in the mail, but Mom took it away from me. She said it had catnip in it, and it was making me grumpier than usual. I think she just liked it herself. She hardly ever drinks, not even egg nog if it has rum in it, so, you know... And this year there's a postal strike, so I might not get ANY presents besides the ones she gets me. So you better believe I'm not letting her near my gifts this year.
By the way, if you have cats, don't let them near your Christmas tree, especially if you decorate it with tinsel. Cats chew on tinsel, and if we swallow it, it can get tangled inside and maybe even kill us. And some cats chew wire. (Not me -- I guess I was pretty lucky my Mom hid all wires away from me when I was a kitten because those Christmas lights can electrocute us! They sure are pretty though...)
| Author Notes |
|
By Dawn Munro
Hi everyone. Happy Mew Year! It's me, Prissy. I know, I know, I haven't been here since before Christmas, but I've been very busy. I really don't have time today, either, but I had to come and say hello just because I know a lot of you are missing me, and I am a nice cat. I KNOW what it is like to feel lonely, and I don't want you to feel that way; for long anyway.
But it's one of those rare January days when the sun is shining so brightly, it's blinding, and the temperature is above freezing. You can't possibly expect anybody to prefer the stuffy indoors to an excursion outside.
Of course, MY 'outside' is just the building's hall, so I soaked up some sunshine before I asked Mom to go out. See the picture? That's me on my bed. (Oops--OUR bed. Mom gets rather testy when I don't move over fast enough for her.) But what was I saying? Oh yeah, we are both going out today.
I know you're wondering how my Christmas was, so I'll tell you. I got a bunch of toys again. I batted them a couple of times, just so Mom didn't feel disappointed, but really, I much prefer more intellectual pursuits. I did kick the curly-kew things a bit too, though. You know Dawn; she likes to think she makes all the right decisions for everyone, pleases everybody. I keep telling her that you can't please everyone all the time, that pleasing SOME all the time, or all, SOME of the time is realistic, but my Mom is a dreamer. She keeps trying.
You should see the little mouse-toy -- I have to admit -- it's kind of cute. It squeaks whenever it's moved. But I think even if it was real, I wouldn't play with it. Rodents carry disease, you know. There's another toy Mom is holding back also. She thinks I don't know, but it's one that holds catnip, and I L-O-V-E catnip, but Mommy says I am feisty enough without being on drugs -- that I take after her. I am on a "natural high". I don't agree at all, but it's not like I can fetch the thing myself. That toy is hidden someplace even Mom probably won't find in another month or two. Besides, that happy place she calls a "natural high" eluded her a long time ago. She only gets it back when she goes out, and even then it's a mellow high, not like she used to be when she was younger.
I guess we ALL slow down as we age, but in Mother's case, it's a GOOD thing. I hear she was always a little hyperactive.
That's all the news for now, friends and fans. Mommy is getting ready to go see Dad. (Yeah, that's what I meant when I said I know how it is to be lonely for someone. I do miss him. A little bit. Not too much because he's very big and takes up a lot of my bed.)
I wonder if that's why Mom said he had to go, even though she still likes him... (At least I THINK that's why he doesn't live here anymore...)
By Dawn Munro
-COLLAGE-COLLAGE-COLLAGE_(3).jpg)
Whoa. Slow down. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I know I tend to meander a lot -- that's a cat's prerogative, isn't it? But first things first. Before I let the cat out of the bag (snickering whiskers -- I crack myself up) we should know WHY Mommy went where she did yesterday, instead of meeting Dad, like originally planned.
But even before any of THAT, you have to promise me something -- keep in mind that kids might have some say in what goes on between adults but cats don't. They go with whichever 'parent' says they do. Not that it matters, in my case, because even though he smells nice, has a really great body fragrance, I'd have picked Mommy anyway. (She's MUCH easier to control. For me.)
But apparently, that was part of the problem between Mom and Dad. But again, you have to promise not to get on your high horse and start judging Mom OR Dad, okay? (Gosh, I love cliches.)
Dad does whatever Dad wants to do, and the way he sees it, Mom should want whatever he wants -- Dad is the boss.
Do you know a lot of Irish folk? Because even though she is second generation Canadian, like me and my Egyptian ancestry, my mother is about as Irish and Scottish as any who've just arrived in Canada. When it comes to certain idiosyncrasies, here's what I know: Irish = hot-tempered, Scottish = stubborn. HA! You didn't know that about Mom, did you! (For that matter, maybe you're Irish and/or Scottish too, and you are now about to demonstrate how correct, canny and clever I am.)
(My whiskers are twitching again. Take a few deep breaths. You don't REALLY want to smash your PC, do you?)
Okay, now that we have that settled (and hopefully all you Irish and/or Scottish lasses), consider adding another element to the mix. Both Mom and Dad are pretty smart, both fairly wise, but MOM is the one who spent most of her working career in a position that demanded an ability to manipulate an income to a satisfactory conclusion. She has had many jobs, but none wherein SHE wasn't the one in control. That lasted, anyway. (She's a great driver. Just aggressive enough. Now what was I saying? Oh yeah. Jobs.)
Do you know the cliche about "too many cooks"? Yessiree. Darn tootin'. They SPOIL THE BROTH. I hear Mom and Dad's fights for the first few years were LEGENDARY. Stopped short of physical altercations, of course, but MAYBE because Mom always said if a man ever hit her, he'd better kill her or spend the rest of his (short) life sleeping with one eye open. (NOW my whiskers are positively DANCING with laughter because I know my Mom AND my Dad. First -- he may be a lot of things that Mom complains about, but Dad is a gentle man. Big. Strong. But gentle as a kitten.)
And MOM? Take a LIFE? No way! (Umm, well, on second thought -- PROBABLY not, unless she was protecting an innocent one that was not her own... Er, on third thought, maybe she would protect her own, too. I've heard stories, but they're for another day.)
So, I guess you can see where this is heading. But what you don't know is the nitty gritty details about what caused a long period of severe sadness for Mom. And I don't gossip, so I'm not going to tell you.
Tonight. Or maybe not in the next essay either. MAYBE not...
But I WILL tell you that Mommy is much happier than I have seen her in a long time. It only took a few emotional avalanches and six years, but she's blooming more every day. Explain the six years? DAD. He wouldn't speak to her. (And no, it wasn't her fault!) But Mom says you can't have that much history with someone and not stay friends. She persisted. In spite of certain things I won't tell you that were very hard for her. (Maybe I'll tell you tomorrow...)
She won the battle. Who knows what's around the corner, but for now, there's only this: Mom went to put her name on a list for better housing yesterday.
Personally, I'm a little freaked out about it. Cats do NOT like to move. But Mom says I should relax, that the housing crisis is so bad in Toronto, it'll probably be three years or more before she ever hears about anything.
But there now. Aren't you glad I am so organized I kept you organized too? No meandering at all. Oh! I almost forgot. WHY Mom didn't meet Dad was because 'as usual' (Mom says) it was 'all about him'. So instead of getting upset because it grew later and later, Mom simply made other plans.
Nice one, Dawn!
By Dawn Munro
Ha! So you think my little fur-friend is so cute and innocent, eh, friends and Prissy fans? Well let me tell you a thing or two about Miss Priss--
"MOM! NOT FAIR! You SAID I could have my own column, that you wouldn't interfere!"
"Prissy, it's about time you learned some hard facts. Fact number one, Mommies do whatever they need to do to keep their children and friends, including the furry ones, safe. Fact number two--"
"Mommy, PLEASE. You PROMISED!"
"Miss Priss, that was before you pushed me too far. You're getting just a little too big for your boots. All the lovely purring and cuddling afterwards doesn't make up for all the 'scratch, scratch, scratch' all day demanding--"
"If I promise to stop, will you not tell?"
"I don't know. You've been driving me bonkers, and lately you're smart enough to nibble a bite of the food I want you to eat before--"
"PURrr-leeeze?"
"And what about that adorable new trick of standing on your hind feet and tapping my arm while I'm trying to work on our laptop?"
"Well, you DO like it. You just said so."
"Prissy! You are using it to control me! Just like the scratching. And the newly developing meowing that sounds like whining and complaining."
"You said the other day it sounded like I was speaking ENGLISH. Remember? When you asked if I wanted some of my cookies,and I said, 'Muuuuh- huh'. I WAS, you know. Speaking English."
"Friends, we call Prissy's food 'cookies'.But there's ANOTHER word Prissy knows just a little too well!"
"MOM-EEE, PLEASE!"
"Are you going to be a good girl? Stop thinking you're outsmarting me and demanding I give you what you want? I'm wait-ing, Prissy..."
"Oh, GO AHEAD and TELL them then. I can't help it if I am addicted and you're a push-over."
HA! See what I mean, Prissy fans? We all have two sides, you know. Remember me telling you we call Prissy's food 'cookies'? Well, MEET Miss CANDY MONSTER. That's what we call her Luv treats -- candies -- and little Miss Innocent won't even stop scratching at things when I pull out the water gun anymore. I started giving her a little treat when she would eat the 'wet cookies' to encourage her to eat more of the soft, special diet food and less of the diet kibble. It's better for her, and I've kept her on that very expensive 'urinary' food even after her bladder stones were cured.
"I don't know what they put in those things that make me want them so badly, DAWN. But YOU were supposed to try to lose weight too, and YOU still eat potato chips, chocolate, cheese puffs, pie--"
"Prissy! Hush... Want some candy?"
By Dawn Munro
To All My Friends and Fans:
(By Prissy Munro)
I'm wearing all my bling today
(in fact I wear it all the time)
but if you think I'm pretty, friends,
then you should hear me when I rhyme!
I'm quite a clever cat, you see.
I wrote a book all by myself,
it's full of pictures -- really good --
and you should have it on your shelf.
Me: "Prissy, we don't brag about ourselves. It's not nice."
Miss Priss: "Why not? I'm not saying anything that isn't true."
Me: "Yes, I know dear, but we are much more attractive when we're humble. Humble people have even MORE friends."
Miss Priss: "Then I guess it's a good thing I'm a cat, eh?"
As I was saying, did you see
my picture up above this post?
I'm awfu'ly cute, and very nice,
but Mom says that I shouldn't boast.
I think she's just a little nuts
(but that's okay; she's kind to me.)
But if YOU ask her really nice,
she might promote my book -- for free!
Me: "Prissy! Kindle has changed everything about how we can run an ad campaign. I haven't even booked one yet."
Miss Priss: "Then I guess you'd better get busy, huh?"
WATCH THIS COLUMN FOR AN UPCOMING PROMOTION OF
"THE CAT GOD LOVES" and get your copy. :) Rave reviews!
Me: "By the way, Miss Priss, you didn't really write that book all alone now, did you?"
Prissy: "Shhh! Don't you know anything about promotion? You never let the whole cat outta the bag, Mom! Take a lesson from our politicians and some of the news media. SHEESH."
find Prissy's book at:
amazon.com/author/dawnmunroideasaregems
| Author Notes | (and as always, thank you for reading!) |
By Dawn Munro
I made a new friend yesterday. Her name is Jesse, and she's really cute. But she's a kid, and has a long way to go when it comes to learning about not getting other cats in trouble.
"Prissy! What did we say about being nice? Jesse did not get you into trouble. You did that yourself by saying that maybe DP wrote her essay. "
"What are you doing here AGAIN, Mom? You PROMISED I could have my own column, and lately you've been spying on me every time I write."
"You're my cat, Prissy. I love you and I want the best for you. You are normally very sweet, a real lady, but sometimes you get a little pushy, even rude."
"I am a big cat, Mom. It's my JOB to show kittens the ropes."
"You... Oh never mind. I'm going back to bed."
"Yeah. That's a good idea, Mom. Your Grey's Anatomy starts soon. I'll call you for it."
Now what was I saying, friends and fans? Oh yeah, I made a new friend, but Mom hasn't got enough these days, I guess. Online sure. She's got lots. But then, maybe that's not even the real problem. All I know is, today is Bell Let's Talk Day, and Mom has slept through it. She said she felt so sleepy, it was like she had been drugged.
I worry about her. She barely cooks anymore, and she has problems with her stomach. When she doesn't eat properly, she gets very sick. I know she always used to say that the secret ingredient in delicious food is love. I don't think she feels very loved anymore, and I don't know what to do about it. I purr as hard as I can, and I purr a LOT now, even the minute she first comes home if she's gone out. But she doesn't go out very often either. She won't even call the doctor to go like she was supposed to in the new year!
Reverend Doug made sure to tell her to keep her promise to go. After she saw that heart specialist, and learned she has a cholesterol problem, and that doctor wanted her to take a statin drug, Reverend Doug told her they love her, and they don't want to lose her. She should take the pills.
But the prescription bottle sits on our dresser, untouched. And now she has a torn rotator cuff in her shoulder. She made a joke on FaceBook about not being able to get her bra on to go out, but I know it wasn't funny. She cried because it hurt a lot when she was dressing for church, and the next day she couldn't get dressed at all.
As if the other things wrong with her weren't enough to make her depressed. She has Chronic Pain Syndrome, and high blood pressure. Her family doctor said the hypertension medicine needs to be increased because it's not working anymore, and they were supposed to do that in January.
And she wonders why I don't play with the toys she buys me. She doesn't realize I can hear her thoughts, and sometimes they scare me now. The only time she seems cheerful is when she has come from church, but last Sunday, even that didn't lift her spirits a lot.
Today is Bell Let's Talk Day, but there's a reason for mental illness, and sometimes it has nothing to do with a person's mind, and everything to do with their circumstances. A little kindness helps, but it needs to go further, happen more often. Mom is very kind, even to strangers, but there are still some who are just mean.
I hope you're not one of them.
<><><>
| Author Notes |
Bell Let's Talk Day is all about eliminating the stigma associated with mental illness. If you are feeling lost, reach out. There's someone out there to help.
As always, thank you for reading! (Usually Prissy's Corner is written to give readers a smile, but this time we felt it was important to show that everybody has problems, and there is nothing to fear in sharing.) |
By Dawn Munro
.jpg)
Did you know that two dogs will kill a cat by stretching it between them if they haven't been raised around cats, and can catch it?
Everyone thinks cats are so stand-offish, so independent, even very cruel because we sometimes play with our food, but believe me, dogs can be very cruel too.
Mom's dogs once escaped the yard, all but the German Shepherd and the Rottweiler (Mom didn't have them at the time) and they attacked a neighbor's dog. That's right. A pack of 'lovable' Golden Retrievers. Fortunately, the neighbor was home and ran them off, but they were using the same strategy of biting from behind and in front at the same time. With a cat, one dog will grab the head, the other the tail or hind quarters and... Well, I'll leave it to your imagination.
Those goofy dogs are not as nice as humans think they are. THEY are animals too, and people forget that fact. Why? Because dogs are so eager to please the one who owns all the food. This is how a dumb dog thinks: "Oh yum! Food!" And they will eat until they can't eat anymore, throw it up, and then EAT THE THROW UP. "Oh yum, food again!" They eat kitty poop too. They think it's CANDY. Remember that the next time you let a dog lick your face.
Cats are MUCH cleaner. A dog will find something really STINKY outside, and ROLL in it, like it's the finest fragrance from Paris or something.
Mom has been all teary-eyed again over HER dogs. She still misses them, even though the last one passed away YEARS ago. But back a few columns ago, I promised to tell you the story about her first experience of getting really angry at Jessie and Sheriff. She said she was so furious she couldn't even stay mad, and suddenly started laughing. (I can't remember. Did I tell you this tale already?)
But Mom has been hauling out dog pictures again, and it makes ME mad, so I'm going to tell you again.
Jessie, the Golden Retriever, was barking -- Mom said she recognized Jessie's panicked bark when she got out of the car. Sheriff, the German Shepherd, was still a puppy, but several months old, so he was pretty big. Mom had stayed home from work to train him for the first few months, and had just returned from her first day back, part-time.
Those dogs had RUINED the house. When Mom entered the door to her beautiful, all-white kitchen (the first room you entered from the closed-in porch), there was Sheriff, all four (clumsy) paws, on top of her chrome and glass dinette table. Jessie was on the white-tile floor barking hysterically. Mom swears that dog was saying, "Get down, get down!" That's what made her laugh.
Personally, I don't think ANY of it was funny. Mom had a plant in the kitchen that she had grown from a two-inch seedling that now reached the ceiling. Those dogs had uprooted it, turned over their water bowl, and dragged that TREE through the water and the whole pristine kitchen into the white-carpeted living room. In THAT room, Sheriff had eaten half of the chesterfield chair. The whole arm of the chair was gone, nothing but bits of foam mixed into the mud now ground into the carpet. Oh, and they had ripped up part of the kitchen floor, too.
But let's back up to the story about Mom's Golden Retrievers that I started with... How do you think those Golden Retrievers had escaped the yard to attack the neighbor's dog?
They ate the gate. Yes. You're reading correctly. It was a wooden gate, and they destroyed it while Mom was out shopping. But the story doesn't end there. Mom had to pay a very large fine to the dogcatcher to get her precious dogs back. You do NOT want to read what ELSE they did when Mom went away to school either, a few weeks later. Where the heck was DAD?
But that's a story for next time. I'm exhausted. Time to nap. 'Man's best friend', my hairballs.
| Author Notes |
LOL- please, I love dogs. Prissy, on the other hand, runs from a tiny dog about 1/4 her size.
Thank you for reading! |
By Dawn Munro
Well, I bet you didn't expect to see me again so soon, did you? But I simply HAD to come and tell you the latest news about Mom. She is all bent out of shape because Google+ is closing. (Among other things she's fretting about, which is typical Dawn.) You know she considers herself tech-challenged, right? Well, Google+ is the recipient of all her cell phone's photographs and videos AUTOMATICALLY, plus it makes adorable animations (of me) from her photos. On top of all of that, she makes all the collages you see posted here at Google+.
Do I need to tell you how hyperactive she is at the moment? It's bordering on hysteria. She is convinced she will never figure out how to get all her pictures off her cell phone now. She has a couple of months to find out (Google+ says it will close down around April 2) but already she has made a list of a few things she has shared to her page there from FanStory (aside from all the photographs).
I mean really, does she think the store won't be able to instruct her on downloading from her phone?
Not only that has her in a tizzy. She is right ticked at me for my last column. She says I had no right to diss on her dogs. One thing DID please her though -- she said she appreciated me not using foul language about them eating cat poop, that in past I would have stressed the disgusting fact by saying "shit", "ca-ca", "doodie", "feces" and all that. I say I'm a lady. I try to avoid such banal language. I am, after all, a writer!
Anyway, the other news is, she seems to have perked up some. Her depression, while not lifted, is on sabbatical again. It might have something to do with all the wonderful birthday wishes she got yesterday. Even though Dad forgot (as usual), a gazillion friends extended greetings and good wishes, and even her brother called her. For once he didn't keep her on the phone for hours, either, which was a good thing because she had taken pain medicine and gone to bed. (Her shoulder pain was BAD.)
So that's really all I had to say. But I wanted you to know that I appreciate you all SO MUCH, because like I said before, kitties share depression with their people, and I was beginning to think there was no end to THIS latest bout of it. So thank you. I have to go and pose for Mom now. She's on a picture-taking rampage, determined to get as much as possible out of Google+ while she can.
By the way, she has some great video of me -- animations too. But she doesn't know how to download them to FanStory. They're on FaceBook right now, at least until Google+ closes... If you want to see them, she is Dawn Munro on FB.
'Bye for now.
Love, Prissy
By Dawn Munro
.jpg)
Hi, everybody. This is me, Prissy. I know, I know, you can hardly tell from the one photograph, right? But it's me alright, and Dawn posted that picture on FaceBook today. Guess what she said? She said she felt someone was watching her, and she only noticed me when she got up. Whaa--? Gee, Mom, you've only been sitting for hours on OUR laptop. Now get this, everybody -- SHE THOUGHT I WAS FEELING NEGLECTED, AND THAT'S WHY I WAS WATCHING HER!
Hahahahahaha. HAHAHAHAHA!
So much for Mom's instincts. Yes, I know she has poor circulation, fibromyalgia, arthritis, blah, blah, blah. I know she's not supposed to be in one spot too long. So yes, I'm not without sympathy. I WAS kind of glaring at her for that TOO, but more to the point -- she was HOGGING OUR PC. When am I supposed to write my poetry, my column, huh? I know you all are dying for my next story!
Is my Mom just a little too self-absorbed, or WHAT? I NEVER go under blankets by myself. I was needing her attention? Phooey. Like I need her to get another DOG! I'M the one who comforts HER.
Funny, eh? I do love her though... But she takes too many pictures of me. And she's needy. People she once trusted keep letting her down, though, finding ridiculous excuses to unfriend her. Like she has to agree with everything they say or she's so much chopped liver.
I say she needs to find a little bit of that arrogance she has about me with PEOPLE. What kind of friend isn't happy for you when something nice happens to you? What kind of friend wants all the attention for himself/herself? No kind of friend SHE deserves.
(*H-i-s-s*)
Speaking of hissing, Dad was here the other day. I hissed at him. Often. I even puffed up while we were still in the hall. I feel a little bad about it now because he came a long way to give Mom a set of keys. She lost hers. They came right off the clip she's had on her purse for years, and because there's snow on the ground, she didn't hear them drop, like she would in summer.
But Mom has a big, wide forgiveness streak, and I, for one, won't forget how he was always telling her she was feeding me too many cookies.
~~~
| Author Notes |
It's a good thing Mom goes to church or I'd NEVER get to post my stuff. But one thing she taught me was to use these notes and say thank you for reading. So I guess that's pretty good. Because if I say thank you, then you will tell me how great I am, right? I am a nice cat. And you are nice, cat-loving people. :)
"P-r-i-s-s-y!" "MOM! You're here AGAIN? Spying on me? I thought you were at church!" (lol lol lol) "By the way, nobody has unfriended me, Prissy. And that's not really a word. The English language is suffering from this new media age." "Oh." "That's all you have to say for yourself after gossiping?" "Yes." *sigh*... |
By Dawn Munro
Hi, everybody. It's me again -- your columnist, Prissy Munro. I'm telling you this because you might not remember me, it's been so long since I got a chance to write anything. Mom has been hogging the laptop again, but this time I'm not going to complain, at least not within her earshot.
You know how I've said a few times in the last months that I'm a bit worried about her, that she's not right in the head?
I was right. This time she's definitely bonkers. She--
"Prissy Munro! Don't you dare. You're out of line."
"Oh, I'm not Mother." Where did she come from anyway?
"I am TELLING you! I released that poem last night before midnight!"
"Mommy, it's okay. Go and lie down. You'll feel better after you have a little catnap."
"Don't you condescend to ME, Miss Priss. 'Casting Spells' was written three days ago, and yes, I was late releasing it, but only because I was working on something else and the time got away from me. But I KNOW it was before midnight because I worried people were going to read it before I could make the edits I decided to make at the last minute."
"There, there. I love you, Mom. Even if you DID just say it was already written, but you worried you made changes AFTER you released it."
"Listen, you-- you-- Prissy, you shouldn't keep gossiping about me anyway. Besides, I DID take that poem out of 'preview'. It was only AFTER I posted it that better ideas came to me."
"I know, Mom. Of course you did." (Sometimes it's best to humour crazy; know what I mean, friends?) "But why is the release date today's then, hmm? Pur-r-r-r-r."
"That's it EXACTLY! There's the PROOF. I clicked on "views" to see any reviews it had, and there were none. BUT THE DATE WAS FEBRUARY 20th."
""Today is the 21st."
"I KNOW!"
"But how is that proof, Mommy, Honey?"
"Stop that!"
"Stop what, Mommy, Sweetheart?"
"Humouring me. I'm not crazy, Prissy."
"I know, Mommy Dearest. Er, Mommy Darling." (I have to be careful. She watched that movie.) "Listen, you should get out of the house today. It's sunny and above zero. I'll hold down the fort here."
*S-I-G-H*... "You win."
| Author Notes | This cat cracks me up. LOL. Thank you for reading her nonsense, friends. |
By Dawn Munro
On Sunday, one of Mom's church friends said she loved reading my column. Mom was very pleased, and proud of me she said, until the next thing that Linda had to say-- "It seems that you two are always arguing." Mom says Linda was smiling when she said it, but Linda is a very good friend to Mom, and a nice lady, from all accounts. She was probably just trying to lessen the blow.
So when I heard that, I decided that perhaps this kitty-cat needs a little more introspection, more understanding and compassion, and I should talk about some of the good things Mom does for me.
That's not to say that she couldn't be more forthcoming with the cat candy, but hey, I do appreciate the fact that she is trying to keep me on a diet that is nutritious and healthy. And after all, how many people would patiently sit and feed their feline one blade of grass at a time? Sometimes Mom will put the pot down and let me eat it myself -- when she's busy. But mostly she knows I don't manage it as well as I do when she feeds it to me. I often uproot it, and little clumps of soil aren't palatable. Outdoor cats just eat regular grass, which is more deeply rooted, but outdoor grass can be dangerous because sometimes it has been sprayed with pesticides.
But I am an indoor cat, protected from things like that, and from freezing cold that makes cats look for warmth anywhere they can find it, like in a car's wheel well, or on a warm engine. I know these things. Cats talk, you know. And people need to be more thoughtful, like I am being now about Mom. All people need to do is thump on the hood of their vehicle to prevent horrible injury, even... Well, it's a real-life horror story.
Anyway, where was I? I got carried away again. Well, not literally -- do NOT try to lift me up. I don't like it. But I will cuddle with you, especially if you've been generous with... You know.
Oh, I'm wandering off topic again, aren't I? Well, I AM a cat. One reviewer of my column didn't like it. But it's my nature. Cats roam. And there're all kinds of things to talk about.
Oh yes, kitty nibbles. That's what I wanted to share today. We're growing the fourth pot of kitty grass so far this winter. It's yummy, and grows easily. See? I am being nice, saying good things about my Mom.
Do you feed your indoor cat kitty grass? You should. It's full of nutrients, like folic acid, and helps cats with their digestion. You can buy it already grown at most pet stores. Mom did that for a couple of years, but then discovered it's available in seed form, and a lot less expensive that way. So now we grow our own. You can even order it online from Amazon. See the picture I posted with this article I am so generously sharing? (The one with the pictures of me.) That's kitty grass, in a special planter from Amazon.
Mom just uses a regular pot though, and it works as well -- it's a lot less expensive too. A package of seeds that last for several plantings is about $5.00. That's only five packs of Prissy... er... cat candy. (I could go through that many of those tuna-flavoured delights in a day, if Mom would only let me.)
Anyway, that's all I wanted to tell you. My Dawn is a pretty good Mom, and she trains easily. I try not to take too much advantage. Until next time, be good. Buy your cat kitty grass. (And Luv cookies, tuna flavour. You could send them to me if you want. My address is--)
"Prissy!"
"Oh, hi Mom!"
"You were doing so well..." *sigh*
"Oh, okay Mommy. Sorry. It's just that those candies are SO GOOD. Listen, I was researching kitty grass, and guess what I found out?"
"What, dear?"
"People can grow catnip too."
"Oh, they can, can they?"
"Yes, Mom."
<><><>
| Author Notes |
Prissy's research: (Thank you for reading everything.)
Love, your favorite writer, Prissy. (p.s. Don't tell Mom I said so, okay?) 1) Can cats eat too much grass? Not only is there no evidence to suggest that grass will harm your cat, but many experts theorize munching on those long green blades can be beneficial for your cat. Cats regurgitate when they eat grass because they lack the necessary enzymes to break down vegetable matter. 2) Is cat grass the same as catnip? Catnip is notorious for producing a particular response in cats. Although this member of the mint family is chemically similar to some hallucinogens, catnip is not toxic to pets. ... Catnip and cat grass are relatively easy to grow. Cat grass will thrive in just about any sunny window. 3) What else do vets say about cat grass? Fur Balls. Indoor cats spend about 60% of their day grooming themselves, making them prone to hairballs. Grass eating can help aid in their digestion and help coughing up hair balls. If your cat eats grass on a regular basis it may help to prevent the build-up of hairballs in their stomach. (See? Good research, eh? P-u-u-r-r-r-r...) |
By Dawn Munro
Hi, everybody. I guess you can tell from the picture that Mom is a little sad. She needed a break, so I get the laptop again. Don't tell her I said so, but she does need to relinquish control of it sometimes! But there's been so much going on that she wanted to address, I didn't have the heart to complain. (Except for my lack of candies -- but even then I didn't complain TOO much. I was pretty well-behaved, eating my cookies first, even kissing her elbow a couple of times when she was ignoring me.)
It's a good thing she has other friends, like Barb and--oh, there are too many for me to list. She's says she's so blessed, but I know she's feeling bad because she just lost another friend. And even though she tries to keep her mind on pleasant things, she's a news junkie, and she was already upset about some recent WORLD events, like a plane crash in Ethiopia, and horrible murders in New Zealand.
I can't blame her. But I do blame people who are so nuts they kill others of the same family/species. Mom says ALL human beings are one village, one people under God, and they should look after each other. (But hey, when something as simple as doing what she loves to do, like letting me write my column, is enough to cause mean spirits in someone who is supposed to be a friend, is it any wonder there are folks at the far end of that spectrum?)
That 'friend' likely thought me too stupid to know when I'm being insulted -- when others are too. Just sneak the one drop of arsenic in the tea and those who matter will notice. But then apologize, say you didn't MEAN it, so all is forgiven.
There's one problem with that -- PEOPLE don't have nine lives.
EVERYBODY should be nice, like cats are to the people they own. Oh, I shouldn't say that -- my 'cattitude' bothers some people. But they're those PEOPLE who never want to share anything or BE anything but worshiped. (And they say CATS have cattitude!) Sorry, but when it comes to spitting in the face of our Lord, I'm with Mom. EVERYONE has talent to some degree, at least for some things, and talent isn't something any PERSON controls anyway. It's God-given.
Now SKILL is different. That takes hard work to develop, and anyone willing to try has my respect, AND Mom's. So there. My fur in the eyes of people so blind. They know who they are, and they should be ashamed of being so greedy and mean.
But for once, I believe Mommy is teaching ME something (and not the other way around). She says it is easy to be forgiving of friends and family. It's much harder with enemies, but when you have faith, you pray for them. Nothing they do or say can bother you much more than a little sting. But it's your duty as a sister or brother to gently enlighten them IF you can, and if you can't, to pray for God to change/soften their hearts.
Personally, I think I'd rather scratch them. Throw in a good bite or two, too. Now if they're just minor offenders, I'd warn them first. A hiss, a growl -- you know.
But my Mom's heart is so soft that I think she makes herself ill sometimes, and I wish there was more that I could do. I purr so hard I squeak at time like this, and I do cute things, like casually crossing my paws, or reaching up to pet Mommy's face when she's petting ME.
It's not enough though. She assures me she has control over her mind, and uses that focus when she has to. Dad used to get mad at her for caring so much about some things, and now I understand why he did.
I can't for the life of me figure out how she was SO GOOD at her JOB. But she says what she means and she means what she says, so I guess there is power in that -- she once persuaded a guy high on drugs (of whom everybody in the clinic was afraid) to accompany her, and she talked him down from the threat he posed. He left peacefully.
Some things are out of our paws and hands, though, and I guess those are the things that bother Mom the most. Like that man going into two different mosques to shoot people. How can you pray for somebody like THAT? Even Mom isn't. It takes a lot to make her REALLY lose her cool, but she did this time, and the crash that follows isn't pretty.
(Depression.)
Pray for her kitty. See my fur all ruffled-up-looking in the picture? I'm feeling her sorrow. It was why I was whining in my sleep again. Mom said I was. She would know -- she's had a whole three hours sleep since yesterday.
Maybe I will cuddle her a LOT tonight.
| Author Notes | Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate you all very much. |
By Dawn Munro
.jpg)
Hi, y'all. I know it's been too long, and I really don't like Mom hogging the laptop, but these days she's allowed, and I bet you can guess why. That's right. She does some stuff to me when she's bored that is not exactly dignified. I didn't even mind that she went to church today. It's better that she's out some instead of home and fidgety -- she torments me with what she thinks is funny. Her sense of humor is mystifying. I've had to have a lot of patience through the years, but it made her laugh when I let that silly, toy mouse sit on my head while she took pictures. Most felines would have tossed the thing off in a jiffy, of course.
But it does prove I am NOT "most" felines! I write stories and poems, I stomp my feet when I am mad, I pet my Mom, and I let her sleep, no matter what time of day or night it is -- at least mostly. What cat do YOU know that doesn't act like an idiot when it's time to get some shut-eye, climbing up curtains and other mischievous antics? I haven't done that since I was a kitten, and then I learned very quickly not to do it. (But I've hidden Mom's water spritzer, and she hasn't been able to find it for days.)
Mom didn't sleep very well last night, though. We went to bed about 11:30 (that's right; I go to bed with her to tuck her in and purr to her most nights -- I am considerate that way) but she was still tossing and turning until after 1:00 a.m. She was up every hour thereafter too, until she finally surrendered and stayed up at 5:30. Then she cooked a breakfast of one slice of whole wheat toast, one cup of oatmeal, a small plantain, fried, and a scrambled egg.
I'm telling you what she ate for two reasons: first, I think maybe she got ten or fifteen minutes of sleep all told before cooking breakfast, and secondly, she bought a keto diet plan designed especially for her and completely ignored it. She says she shouldn't have been quite so forthright in answering the questions, like how much physical activity she gets daily, and so on. They wanted her to eat nothing but keto chips for breakfast! They're little dabs of parmesan cheese sprinkled with spices and baked in the oven.
I could have told her to fudge the questions a little if she'd asked me. After all, I don't even eat everything the nutritionist said I could, and I am still very hefty. Poor Mom is struggling with my diet too. She's cut way back on my candies. (*sigh*)
I don't know what happened. It's not like she drank a lot of coffee or caffeinated cola before we went to bed. She rarely drinks more than one cup of coffee anyway -- oh, I forgot, she had coffee with breakfast too.
But my mother is like a big kid when it comes to holidays (even though she doesn't have anyone to spend holidays with except me). I think that's how she stays young. Anyway, this year she's determined to make Easter as special as she says her mom did when she was a kitten -- oops -- child. She came home on Wednesday all excited because she bought a new dress, a new purse and new shoes, and they all match the Easter bonnet she says she will wear to church on Easter Sunday. If she really has the nerve to wear it, I'll take her picture so you can see it. It's actually very pretty, and if I was the kind of cat that liked to play, the big flower on it would probably flop and bop quite nicely.
But I know she won't be wearing it for the first service because it's called a sunrise service, and it will still be cold at 7:00 a.m. Yes, her church is really quite wonderful, and I'm sure that's why Mom couldn't sleep -- too excited. They have the sunrise service up on the roof of the building, then a breakfast, then the regular service, and then an Easter egg hunt. Cool eh? I wish cats could go.
There IS a service coming on May 5 to which I am invited. I am pretty excited too, even though I can't go to that one either because I don't let people pick me up. (Besides -- dogs are invited to that one also.) But Mom can send my picture by email and the minister, Rev. Anne, is going to bless me! In fact, Mom already sent my picture, and a whole lot of other ones for a memorial of her deceased pets.
Reverend Anne didn't know what she was getting into. Mom has had a LOT of pets. She's sixty-seven years old, and she loves us. This is the first time she can remember only having one at a time.
You see, every Good Friday, the Parkdale United Church shares service with the Roncesvalles United Church. Everyone meets at the big church on Roncesvalles Avenue, and my Mom made sure to ask Rev. Anne about the Pet Blessing Service when she went today. Mom said the service was really nice, and she especially loved the violinist, although the music made her cry. (She does that whenever something is truly beautiful, and the music the violinist chose was also very sad. The closing song chosen was the theme from 'Schindler's List".) Mom says the man was an incredible musician too, and you know Mom -- she was picturing all that Jesus went through to save us.
Sometimes having a vivid imagination isn't the best, is it? But we know that Jesus triumphs over death, and so we celebrate in style on Sunday! You DO know that animals have souls too, don't you? Be good to yours (even if they're dogs, I guess).
By Dawn Munro
My paws are cold! Dawn left my kitty grass on the bed for me and went to the mall. Don't you think she should always close the window before leaving, though, since this spring is more like fall?
But she leaves it open so that any lingering nastiness from her gross, disgusting cigarette smoke goes outside. I say she should go back to smoking outside. Cats have rights. But ever since that bully downstairs threw the cement blocks at her -- well, not actually AT her, but close -- she doesn't sit out there anymore.
She gave that neighbor a Christmas card. Said there's more than one way to skin a-- Oh, I'm not going to repeat that horrible cliche. (That's worse than freezing my paws off.) But the point being, after she called the police that last time, she decided that being honest and following proper procedure was getting her nowhere. So she taped a card to his door at Christmas. It said "Peace" in beautiful, gold lettering right on the front. Smart, eh? It seems to have worked too. I don't want to speak too soon because his marijuana smoke still comes up from his unit below us, but not nearly as often, and not nearly as thick.
I have to be frank -- that rank smoke bothered me, but now, so does cigarette smoke, even though Mom is trying to quit. Mostly she sits at the open window, even in winter, but let's face it -- if she had been a little more devious a lot sooner, we wouldn't have had property damage and the need to hide her revolting addiction. She's never been a BIG smoker, mind you. She doesn't smoke a whole package in a day or anything like that, but it's still stealing our breath and making us wheeze. I mean, REALLY?
I'm sure glad I don't have any addictions.
"HEY MOM -- MAY I HAVE SOME LUV CANDIES PLEASE?"
Sorry, Peeps.Gotta run. Here she comes with the bag.
By Dawn Munro
Hissssssssss, grrrrrrrrrr. I'm really mad. My mom is about the most supportive person there is, and I am serious. I might rag on her about not giving me enough treats, or smoking, or whatever, but the bottom line is, she is kind, she is overly generous and she tries her best to encourage everyone around her.
But does that Ghandi approach ever satisfy some humans? She is humble too, to a fault. I say 'to a fault' because NO one can be harder on my mom than she is, but there is consistently someone trying to tell her how she should think, or do something. It doesn't matter where it is, she is always being criticized. She has REAL friends who support and encourage her, but they have a huge hole to fill, caused by the ones who dig, either behind her back or with mealy-mouthed 'suggestions' about how she should improve her personality.
Personally, I can understand why she suffers from depression. This is a person who should ALWAYS be cheerful because she is always giving, in spite of chronic pain and illness, in spite of real-life hardship, always finding ways to help when she really should simply turn her back on those who have nothing to offer her but complaint.
Do you know what she has said to me since January? (No, you don't, because I haven't let that kitty out of the bag -- until now). She's said she knows she's a decent writer, but she has no idea how she has held onto the number one spot here for short works. She doesn't even get close to the reviews she used to, and she knows some writers here that are better than her -- but she ALSO says she's tried, from the moment she first joined FanStory, to simply 'do her thing' and ignore rankings and ratings, to not let it get her down when she sees people she has TAUGHT being recognized, even though they're still making errors that are basic.
And now she wants to quit. Again. She's fed up with feeling the envy of others, even though she is finally feeling a little recognition for HER talents, HER skills. "Let them have at it," is what she says, and I am afraid she's not kidding.
What a shame. She's posted thousands of poems and short stories, several novels, and sat at her two-seater table at the same, old laptop she bought eight years ago, dedicating herself to a craft she loves dearly. Always willing to share anything she has learned, even when she's had to do it indirectly because of overblown egos -- that's my mom.
Tact and diplomacy have no place with those kinds of people. One example is a one-star review she received on a masterful op/ed about marijuana smoke permeating our abode. First of all, it was an OPINION piece, and about OUR PERSONAL experiences. But that reviewer not only did NOT review the piece, but reviewed her NOTES. What on earth would make him think he had the right to judge her opinion anyway? Reviews are supposed to be on the merit of the writing! And then, when she politely and carefully reminded him that his review was in fact, an attack, he quickly deleted what he'd said and reflected what she told him -- (that reviews were not supposed to be on content and he should make suggestions on how he thought she could improve the work.)
He then changed his remarks to include so-called "errors", and changed his review rating to two stars -- on a flawless op/ed.
I'm only using this one review as an example because it was so OBVIOUSLY not a real review. But there have been many that are pretty much the same, except they rate five stars.
I know for a fact that my mom has repeatedly said it's the principle that matters to her, not the ratings or rankings, and she's said it in a variety of ways -- clear, and impossible to misread (unless one is intentionally obscuring truth).
So I have a message for those ones who insist on trying to tell Mom HER opinion -- thank you, and I don't mean it. After more than six years, I was finally given a voice and now I am about to lose it because she is quitting.
Okay, I lied. The message is really this: Dawn says she doesn't even know where to begin in thanking all the wonderful friends who have supported and encouraged her, but she really can't take any more abuse from the others, so she's leaving.
"Have at it."
~~~
| Author Notes |
Hey, folks, it says "fiction". :)) I don't allow non-writer reviews. There are too many trolls, and I would rather have a review from someone (I hope) respects the craft, namely another writer, regardless of his or her skill level. That definitely affects the number of reviews I will receive here.
But there are reasons that the site has instructions on how to write a review, and Prissy (lol) makes a valid point. When something is an opinion, we are certainly able to comment, but in no way should another's opinion be mistaken for a real review, nor should it reflect in the rating of the piece. We don't always have to agree; heck, we might not even have a lot to say in a review EXCEPT on content, but we must always consider the merit of the actual writing. Otherwise -- There's a skip button for a reason too. Thanks for reading, as always. Prissy has been such a little tattletale of late, I thought it was time to show she is also a little warrior for Mom when needed. :)) |
By Dawn Munro
.jpg)
(Dawn... in blue)
Wow, Prissy is BIG.
Lucky thing I am now taking her diet into my own hands. No more nutritionist recommendations on amounts. Prissy never even ate what she was allowed! I've found a Royal Canin urinary, LOW-CAL food too. She's started on it, mixed for a while with the regular urinary, the regular being slowly reduced.
But... and here's the thing... after trying Priss with the sample -- she loved it -- I went to buy the big bag today. While some staff at the clinic are exceedingly helpful, some are just a little too interested in being 'superior'. One of my pet peeves is people who simply don't listen because they've pre-judged someone else. It took three tries before the young woman on the desk finally heard what I was asking and led me to the bag of LOW CAL urinary s/o. And I only then got the RIGHT bag because I caught the lack of anything confirming it was "urinary" on that first one. She was determined that I didn't have a clue; she kept wanting to check my account to see what food my cat should be eating. Excuse me; I might have some grey in my hair, but there are no cobwebs in my brain, thank you very much. I KNOW what food I brought home as a sample. It's the right LARGE BAG I'm looking for... just listen to what I am asking!
Whew. At least now I know what the bag looks like and I've pre-ordered. I asked the woman to ensure that one is ordered every month. But after this afternoon's experience, I will follow up with an email.
~~~
(later...)
"So, Prissy, tell me, is there any room on that bed for me?"
"As a matter of fact, DAWN, I lie right in the middle of MY bed on purpose. You are hardly ever IN it, are you, always on OUR LAPTOP!"
"Now, dear Priss, don't be upset. There aren't enough hours in a day for all I want to write, you know."
"Oh, how well I know! You blabbed all over Facebook today about my little weight problem, didn't you?"
"I have a reason for it, Honey-belly." (And it's not a 'little' weight problem.)
"Huh. Good excuse, Mommy. You are trying to embarrass me, make me stop craving candy. You posted that picture of me, the same one that you've posted here, and you KNOW my tummy looks bigger when I'm propped up with a pillow."
"Chubbiness is not something to be embarrassed about, Cutie-angel. But it's not healthy, and while we are trying to fix your problem, we can help others by documenting it."
"Oh."
"I'm not trying to embarrass you. I'm sorry if it does."
"Oh."
"You don't even eat too much. It's just been the wrong food for too long. Some cats, like some people, have slow metabolisms."
"Oh."
"You could use some exercise too."
(So could you.) "Oh." (Did you not JUST buy a chocolate bar, chips and some more ice cream when you SAID you were going out to buy MY candy?)
(Thank heavens you think the new diet food is candy. Calling it that when I first gave you some was a stroke of genius on my part.) "I admit it; you're right, Fluffy Buns. I should go out more."
(Yeah, so you can buy more junk food for YOU.) "Mee-yoww." (Finally. Mom acknowledges who's the smartest kitty cat in this family. About time. Now, let me at this story by myself. I have a few pictures of HER also... Not the ones SHE always picks to post...)
(Finally. Prissy is actually acting like a cat instead of a human child. Nobody believed me when I said she didn't meow or even purr her first year of life with me, that she stomped her paws when I made her come in from the hall, that she watches me when she's awake, as if she's trying to understand, that she has NO 'prey' instinct...)
By Dawn Munro
.jpg)
So here she is, friends and fans, in all her glory. Isn't my Mommy cute? This is what I see every day, except Sunday, and then as soon as she gets home from church and changes clothes again, washes the makeup off her face.
So I'm fat? I am NOT that fat -- in the picture she posted of me yesterday I had a pillow at my back. It added bulk that is not the real me. I am pleasantly plump.
"Prissy! What have you DONE? Eeeeekkk!"
"Hah. There ya go, Mommy Babe. Not so great, huh?"
"No, not at all. I am surprised at you. That ONE picture is YEARS OLD, and we were building a dog run."
"Well, err, I didn't even choose some of the worst pictures. What about the one of you sticking out your tongue, huh?"
"That was all in fun, and besides, I already posted that one."
"You DID?"
"Yes, I DID."
"When? I didn't see it..."
"Do you read everything I write?"
"Err..."
"Well?"
"Err..."
"Is this one on Facebook too?"
"Umm..." (Not yet. Look at that picture of your feet on me, like I am a footstool!)
"You should know better, Miss Priss."
"Uhh..."
"I have posted MANY images of myself without makeup, in the clothes I wear around the house, doing silly things -- it's not what you look like, Miss Priss, it's who you are on the inside."
"People don't see who we are inside, Mommy."
"Sure they do. They see how we behave, hear the things we say, watch how we treat others. There's a glow about us when we are kind, Prissy.""
"I'm kind. I don't glow. Unless I roll around on the carpet. Sometimes then my fur sticks up from static electricity."
"Priss, that's not what I meant. You glow inside, and it shows through your pretty eyes."
"My eyes are pretty?"
"They're beautiful."
"They're green, like yours."
"Yes, Sweet-knickers."
"But I'm f-f-a-a-t-t. You said so."
"Yes, Bumble-buns. That's why you have to go on a diet. I want you to be with me a long time."
"I'm NOT GOING TO BE WITH YOU?!!!"
"Of course you are, Prissy, but I meant here, before we die."
"Oh."
"You know cats don't really have nine lives, don't you? People just say that because felines are so blessed."
"We ARE?"
"Of course you are. Didn't you and I write a book about it?"
"Do you mean, The Cat God Loves?"
"That's the one."
"I thought you were just making that up because they were mean at the vet clinic."
"Prissy, let me ask you something..."
"Err, okay..."
"Do you remember Mommy telling you about that kitty, Grumpy Cat, and how popular she was?
"No."
"Prissy..."
"Okay, maybe a little. But you liked HER a lot!"
"I did. And on Tuesday this week, God called her."
"WHAT? She DIED?"
"Yes, Fuzzy-tummy, she did. And she died of a urinary infection, just like you had."
"OH!"
"So you see? The vet clinic wasn't mean; Mom wasn't mean. I explain in the part of the book I wrote, not the part you wrote. You HAD to have those needles, and they HAD to hold you and stretch you to take pictures of your insides. You were very lucky, Prissy. You were cured of your bladder stones in just a few months. Mommy didn't even let them give you surgery. We did it with diet."
"Oh! So how come Grumpy Cat's mother didn't do that?"
"I don't know the whole story, but maybe Grumpy Cat wasn't as strong as you are. Not every kitty-cat is the same, just like all people aren't the same."
"I know... I'm sorry, Mom."
"It's okay. Sometimes we get embarrassed over silly things, and then we do dumb things out of spite, or envy. But it doesn't matter, as long as we're sorry for them after we do them. God forgives us, so we have to forgive others, and ourselves."
"And never do them again?"
"I wouldn't put that kind of pressure on you, Baby. But I will say you must never do something hurtful EXPECTING to be forgiven. We don't test God, or any of His creatures. Understand the difference?"
"Yes. I think so. And you're pretty anyway, Mom. Even in your ugly pictures."
"Thank you."
~~~
| Author Notes |
RIP Grumpy Cat. We will miss you...
from the INSIDER: Grumpy Cat, the beloved cat with a grumpy face that won over the internet and gained millions of followers, died on Tuesday, her owners have announced. "Despite care from top professionals, as well as from her very loving family, Grumpy experienced complications from a recent urinary tract infection that unfortunately became too much for her to overcome," a post on her official Instagram and Twitter pages announced on Thursday. "She passed away peacefully on the morning of Tuesday, May 14, at home in the arms of her mommy, Tabatha." |
By Dawn Munro
Hey, guys and gals, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, peep-le. Ha! That's right. This is I, Miss Priss Munro, coming to you from the great city of Toronto, "We The North". Mom doesn't really follow sports much, but even she has to be excited about the Toronto Raptors leading in the NBA finals. Claws crossed for the next game, coming up Monday, here, in the Big Smoke. If the Raptors win this one, it's game over. They'll be champions for the first time ever (like moi).
I'm not usually all that big on basketball myself but there's so much excitement in the air, my fur is just a bit electric (or maybe that's static from the hallway's carpet). Anyhow, I'm in a wonderful mood. Mom made me a little annoyed earlier, and I gave her what for ( a little hiss now and then keeps her on her toes) but after all, it is my house too, and a feline should be able to recline wherever and whenever she pleases. We are royalty, are we not?
Here's the thing -- if I don't lie right across from my water bowl, and the yummy 'wet' cookies Mom puts out, I swear she would ignore both all day! She gets a little upset with me for lying in her path, and for only licking the gravy and not eating the actual chunks of meat, but as long as she doesn't step on me, all is good, yes? And throwing away most of the 'wet' food is okay, as long as she keeps the candy dish full. She whines and complains because she says the canned stuff is expensive, but I earn my keep. Who else would put up with her moods, give her ample cuddle time, and hardly ever grumble about all the demands she makes, I ask you?
But getting back to me and my status, I am posting a picture for you all to adore. Isn't that a purr-fect card? I have many fans, but only one who sends me something in the mail regularly, because she recognizes my worth. (Have I not asked you to send catnip and toys? Have you yet?)
Regardless, as long as you know I am very special, and tell me so often, I will continue to allow you to read my postings.
<>
"Prissy! Stop that!"
"Er... Hi, Mom. What are you doing here again?"
"You are really becoming a little too haughty, my Honey-belly."
"But my tummy is honey, isn't it Mom?"
"Don't change the subject. I have told you over and over again that people do not like a boastful cat."
"Mom, you have to love yourself first or you can't love anybody else. Reverend Doug said so."
"That's not exactly what he said, Priss."
"That's what you told me he said."
"No-oo, I said-- Oh, never mind. Just be a good girl, and humble. We don't ask for presents, either."
You don't. "Are you going out again today, Mom?"
"I'm only going to buy you some more kitty grass."
<>
See, friends and fans? As much as she tries to be a disciplinarian, our Dawn is really fully aware of my importance. That's a picture of my dish. What is that on the kitty's head, too, hmm? Not only on the card my fan sent me...
Until next time, try not to miss me too much. I'm off to nap.
<><>
| Author Notes |
:) Thank you for reading my (conceited) kitty. :)
|
By Dawn Munro
.jpg)
Oh my God, if I tell you what Mom did today, you won't believe it -- she tried to feed me LIVER, RAW! Does she not know I am CIVILIZED? What next, I ask you? She watched this very l-o-n-g video by Dr. Marty Goldstein that was all about felines and what they should be eating for longevity, and it's all this raw meat and other stuff. Mommy is not usually so easily fooled. The video was really an advertisement for Dr. Marty's ridiculously expensive, freeze-dried, RAW cat food.
I admit, Mom did say that she knew the video would turn out to be an ad, and she does know there's all kinds of crappola in a lot of the commercial brands of cat food, even dead cats and dogs, along with traces of whatever made them dead, but jeez! What's a little poison or even preservative among friends -- does she think HER food is free of it?
I'd puke before I could get raw liver or kidney past these gums. Chicken and turkey hearts? Have a heart!
Anyway, that's all I wanted to share. Mom doesn't want us on FanStory right now. She's pretty upset because ever since she was told she had too many chapters in her books (and too many books; that's why she was experiencing so many glitches) ALL BUT A COUPLE CHAPTERS OF HER NOVEL, "EMPTY CRADLE, EMPTY ARMS" ARE GONE, VANISHED, MISSING. Management told her that if all the chapters were taken out of her books it would fix the problems, so she finally allowed Tom Ens to do it for her. But the book chapters are nowhere in her portfolio.
Maybe she's gone a little crazy. Maybe that's why she wants to feed me raw food. She should know I wouldn't eat it. The birds we feed every day are all my friends. They're not scared of me because THEY know I am civilized.
But don't say my Mom is a birdbrain. Did you know that for their size, birds actually have a big brain? Pigeons aren't super-smart, but crows are, for example. So calling somebody a birdbrain is not really an insult.
But Mom IS a carnivore. (I think she should be a vegetarian. Leave the meat for me -- cooked.) She cares, but she has become obsessed with my diet. Dr. Marty swears his food will give me more energy and make me live longer, but $34.95 U.S. plus taxes and shipping, plus exchange rate, for enough food for a couple of days only? I might be royalty, but rich Mom isn't. Besides, would I even eat it? Highly doubtful, but she went all the way to the clinic to ask about Dr. Marty's diet and the vet told her not to feed me any raw food, that the specialty diet I am on since my bladder stones is the best. It's inspected and everything. Did you know there is no government inspection done for pet food? It's a multi-billion dollar industry too. Nice gig if you can get it...
Until next time, friends and fans. I have to go lie down. Raw food will make me feel better. Puh-leeze!
| Author Notes |
Buy my book, "The Cat God Loves". It's on Amazon under Mom's author page -- amazon.com/author/dawnmunroideasaregems
I can't sign it for you unless you send it to me, but my picture is in it and I wrote some purr-fect poetry and a letter. Mom wrote some stuff too. Not as good as mine, but pretty good. I don't know why HER picture is in the book though... Love, Prissy |
By Dawn Munro
.jpg)
Alright, first off, before I get into any serious topics (like the feline need for naps) let me address the topic I am sure you all are dying to know -- Miss Priss is not going to dignify a certain canine's remarks with any of her own. In fact, she is so unimpressed, she is now speaking of herself in third person so as to remain as far away from a dog by the name of "Butch" as possible. To aid the poor creature in his lack of intelligence (and vocabulary) she says only that 'aloof' is a cat's natural state, and no amount of insulting, slanderous comments can change our behavior. We merely consider the source. (His poem sucked too.)
Now on to the important subject, namely the noise of my (and Dawn's) neighborhood (and my need to nap). *Cats sleep an average of 15 hours per day. However, they can sleep as much as 20 hours within a 24-hour period. In general, cats do the majority of their sleeping during the day, since they are most active overnight.* I, however, am not your average cat. I sleep when Mommy sleeps. When I can, that is! I have lived through fireworks, air shows, race-car weekends (the Molson Indy takes place annually, virtually in our back yard) traffic sounds, ambulance and fire engine sirens... But booming bass announcers are claws scratching ceramic tiles .
As if the discordant notes of 'so-called' music is not enough on weekends (from the bars on the beach), there is Caribanna, and the steady hammering on steel barrels called 'pans'. And some announcer shouts on a mic all through it! It's said to be a joyous celebration of West Indian culture. They call it music too. Seriously? Music is Vivaldi's "Spring" or Beethoven's "Ode To Joy".
My limbs are not affected either, although I must admit, I find my paws twitching to the trance-inducing beat, probably because I am sleepy. My whiskers, too, are vulnerable, especially when Dawn dances. She actually thinks I enjoy the noise. She has even tried to dance with me! (I do like all the feathers the revellers wear though, but I could do without their obnoxious sounds.)
But Dad is a great dancer. Mom should dance with him, she likes him so much. She has completely ignored my opinion about having him here, no matter how much I growl and hiss at him. I never growl and hiss at anybody else! But Mom just laughs and tells him I think he's a Big Dog. I say if the shoe fits, put it on and leave. I don't share. It's just one more thing keeping me from a peaceful sleep -- I have to stay awake to make sure he isn't hogging or bossing Mom. She doesn't put up with it, but she has high blood pressure, and I know he gets on her nerves when he does that whole 'I am the man' thing -- you know, cave-man style.
"Prissy! He's not like that!"
"Mom. You are spying on me again. Not fair!"
"Kitty-cat, I learned many column posts ago that you can't be trusted not to gossip about people, and our private business."
"It's not gossip if it's true!"
"That is not the definition of gossip, Prissy."
"Hisss..."
"Prissy! That is enough!"
"He's ba-ac-k."
"Oh. I see...You are one jealous feline, you know."
"Well, my eyes are green. Besides, why was he gone so long? Where did he go?"
"None of your bees-wax, little one."
See what I mean, friends? And HE doesn't even play with me anymore. We used to play cards, you know. Honestly. Mom has a picture of it if you don't believe me. And I used to get in a bag and he would tickle it so I would jump out and catch his wiggly hand.
"Prissy, why don't you get up on the bed and have a little nap, now that the celebration is over?"
Yeah, I think I will -- right in the middle of the bed. Just in case he gets too comfortable. This place is small. "Okay, my Mommy. I love you. Purrrr."
"Aw, I love you too, sweetie."
Gah! I sound like Butch! Gag me with some of my kitty grass. These are the last lines of Butch's sick, pleading poem -- "My humbleness is wonderful - now won't you please feed me..." That's what canines are good for -- right? Begging. I ask you, where is the magic in that? Now a good, throaty purr--
"Prissy, there's no room on the bed for anyone else. Move over. There's a good girl."
"We need a couch." Besides, it's my bed.
"There's no room for a couch. This is a bachelor apartment."
My point exactly. There's just room enough for us. "Goodnight, Mommy."
...sigh... "Come on, Big Dog. Sit at the table. Let me get you something to eat..."
~~
| Author Notes |
I swear sometimes that cat strays off-topic so much she gets lost! Thank you for reading her though. She gets a little bored in our tiny apartment. :)
Dawn *reference, Google* |
By Dawn Munro
.jpg)
Hey, friends -- just so you know what today is, and all that I suffer, I wrote a poem for you. And because I am so talented, I made an ABC poem rhyme! But I modified it. 'Cause the last line doesn't start with the next letter in the alphabet. And there aren't five lines, only four. That makes rhyme flow better. See how smart I am? I DESERVE CANDY!
Prissy's A Poor, Little Kitty
She bought me some toys, but no candies -- that's sad.
Today is my birthday, and Dawn makes me mad!
Unless I'm a pigeon, she won't make me glad.
but vengeance can be mine, 'cause I can be bad!
I'll show her! I'll chase them, those birds in a tree!
Just wait 'til she gets home and tries to find me.
Killing the pigeons that get treats, you see
will finally set this deprived kitty free.
But then again, I'm lying here on a bed.
Could I just surrender to catnap instead?
Dawn left me with Brenston, who sleeps like the dead.
Maybe I'll bat him upon his big head.
He wouldn't like it, although he would try
insisting I'm mean to him -- oh my, oh my!
Just hearing my Mommy say, "You're a strong guy!"
would make me laugh so hard, I swear I would cry.
She bought me some toys, but they're DENTAL my friends.
That's worse because Mommy Dear always pretends
useful "is healthy"! They're just meant to CLEANSE.
I want my Luv cookies - I'm getting the bends!
~~
"Hi, Priss-Miss."
"Hiya, Mom. Watcha doin' home so early?"
"I told you I wouldn't be gone long. I know it's your birthday, and I want to be with you."
So why'd you go out at all? Left me here with HIM. He snores, you know. "I want you to be here with me too, Mom. Where'd you go?"
"Where do I go every Wednesday, fluffy-bum?" You little addict. I know you were hoping I went out to buy you some of those dollar store treats.
"Prayer group, right?" Even on my birthday!
"Right you are, sweetie. And I couldn't miss today especially because I asked for special blessings for you, now that you're getting older. You're such a good girl, I wanted to ask God to make sure He keeps you with me for a long, long time, in good health."
You DID? "Oh! Mom, that's so nice -- thank you!" I am so catty.
"Of course. I always pray for you. But especially today."
Dad's head is safe. So are those pigeons. Lucky thing I am so good.
~~
| Author Notes | At least the stupid toys have catnip in them. |
By Dawn Munro
Hey, friends -- just so you know what today is, and all that I suffer, I wrote a poem for you. And because I am so talented, I made an ABC poem rhyme! But I modified it. 'Cause the last line doesn't start with the next letter in the alphabet. See how smart I am? I DESERVE CANDY!
Prissy's A Poor, Little Kitty
She bought me some toys, but no candies -- that's sad.
Today is my birthday, and Dawn makes me mad!
Unless I'm a pigeon, she won't make me glad.
but vengeance can be mine, 'cause I can be bad!
I'll show her! I'll chase them, those birds in a tree!
Just wait 'til she gets home and tries to find me.
Killing the pigeons that get treats, you see
will finally set this deprived kitty free.
But then again, I'm lying here on a bed.
Could I just surrender to catnap instead?
Dawn left me with Brenston, who sleeps like the dead.
Maybe I'll bat him upon his big head.
He wouldn't like it, although he would try
insisting I'm mean to him -- oh my, oh my!
Just hearing my Mommy say, "You're a strong guy!"
would make me laugh so hard, I swear I would cry.
She bought me some toys, but they're DENTAL my friends.
That's worse because Mommy Dear always pretends
useful "is healthy"! They're just meant to CLEANSE.
I want my Luv cookies - I'm getting the bends!
~~
"Hi, Priss-Miss."
"Hiya, Mom. Watcha doin' home so early?"
"I told you I wouldn't be gone long. I know it's your birthday, and I want to be with you."
So why'd you go out at all? Left me here with HIM. He snores, you know. "I want you to be here with me too, Mom. Where'd you go?"
"Where do I go every Wednesday, fluffy-bum?" You little addict. I know you were hoping I went out to buy you some of those dollar store treats.
"Prayer group, right?" Even on my birthday!
"Right you are, sweetie. And I couldn't miss today especially because I asked for special blessings for you, now that you're getting older. You're such a good girl, I wanted to ask God to make sure He keeps you with me for a long, long time, in good health."
You DID? "Oh! Mom, that's so nice -- thank you!" I am so catty.
"Of course. I always pray for you. But especially today."
Dad's head is safe. So are those pigeons. Lucky thing I am so good.
~~
| Author Notes | The system messed me up again. I'm trying to correct it. *sigh* |
By Dawn Munro
Hi, everybody. I have to apologize for being away so long. It's cat-astrophic, I know, since you rely on me to keep you informed about my life with Dawn. But trust me, you aren't missing a whole lot. We live a rather boring life, except when Dawn (my mom) gets angry. THAT, friends, is a bit like surviving a tornado or hurricane.
Speaking of hurricanes, the Bahamas has been decimated. There are over 70,000 people now homeless. I am not going to list the death toll, still rising, and I am not going to write about all the evidence of climate change. But with the many unprecedented weather events in recent years, even certain politicians have to acknowledge that something is going on, and what's happening calls for urgent action.
But getting back to the Bahamas, the situation is tragic. It warms my furry little heart, however, to hear that there is a cruise ship visiting every day with thousands of prepared meals for people. Yes, I do think that generally people are good, but it's the cat's pajamas when there is proof. Talk is fine, and certainly words are very important (especially mine), but actions really do speak louder than words.
I know -- I am wandering off topic again. Cats do that, I'm told. So let me return to the topic of pajamas, or more precisely, slovenly attire. Dawn's clothes might be clean, but the only time she wears anything that doesn't look as if it came out of a garbage bin is when she is going to church. Which, when you think about it, is ridiculous. God is probably the ONLY one who doesn't care WHAT she wears. But the minute she walks in OUR door it's out of the decent stuff and into a t-shirt and stretch pants, most of which are older than I am and so full of holes they look like they've been chewed by rats.
Speaking of God, church is good. Praying is good. Asking God to help is admirable. Dawn has done so, and WILL at the gathering of prayer warriors tomorrow too, even though her cold virus has kept her pretty much prone for over a week now. (So I guess I will overlook her lack of panache THIS time...) But even a feline knows that God IS LOVE, and THAT must be shared -- 'GOD-action', I call it. Let's donate to the organizations that do the 'actual' work. No matter how poor you are (and Dawn dresses like a pauper, it's true, but we are not THAT poor) the victims of this latest disaster have NOTHING.
There are lots of groups. And you know how to find one in your area. But I'll give you some ideas, just in case. Watch the videos, okay? Until next time, friends and fans. Remember to be good to your pets. Some organizations even help THEM! (They're my favorite aid groups! Puuu-rrrrr...ty nice.)
| Author Notes |
Thank you for reading!
|
By Dawn Munro
.jpg)
Hi, y'all. I guess you are glad I am back so soon, and you love the pictures of me. But here's the thing -- Mom got a new tablet, and I want to use it, but I can't even open the dang thing. (That's me, trying between bites of my cookies, in one of the pictures... Not very flattering, is it?) I work so hard I often don't even take a break for lunch. But Dawn? Mom's already downloaded those dumb slot games she likes, and spends more time playing on them than with me, but that's my life -- mostly ignored.
I have a proposition for you. Our tablet is a Samsung Galaxy Tab A, and like most things these days, it didn't come with a lot of instruction. (Mommy is still finding new things that her cell phone can do, and she's had it for two years or more.) Here's what I propose -- I will teach you some (more) things, and you can send me a list of instructions for this confounded tablet, okay? (I already taught you a LOT in my previous essays.)
First up -- nutrition. Did you know that when combined with a good grain, legumes are higher in protein than meat? It's TRUE. (But don't try feeding legumes and brown rice to your cat. Felines are carnivorous. That means they like meat. You might get away with it with dogs, though. They're a little slow...)
But that reminds me! Mom has yet to write about something very important for her autobiography. HER mother once cared for foster children, and there's a sweet, sentimental story that tells of one of the children who was called "slow" by the so-called 'experts' responsible for placing this child in a foster home. (In those days that was the term used when people wanted to be kind. Others, who didn't care, called it being "retarded".)
Anyway, the child was not at all "slow". She simply needed glasses. She couldn't learn because she could barely see, and Wilma ("Billie") Munro fought with those 'experts' until she finally gave up and just paid for the eye exam and glasses herself. Remember -- this was a woman struggling to support three of her own kids without a husband. Good old Jimmy Munro took off with the neighbor's wife and Billie's car.
But back to Susie, the child they dubbed "slow" -- her glasses were as dense as the bottom of Coke bottles. No more bumping into things, though she did look a lot like an owl. Did I ever tell you that owls are my favorite birds? I wish they would visit our fire escape like the pigeons and sparrows do.
But Coke -- that's another interesting tidbit of 'history'. Coke bottles in those days (the nineteen-fifties) were made of thick glass and much smaller. They were really cute, and the cola tasted better, Dawn says. (Dawn is my mom -- please keep up with my column. Have you read ANY of my previous and most excellent essays and poetry?)
Uh, oh, I got distracted again. Some people like to read my work and pretend they can't follow it because I switch topics too much -- I'm 'all over the place...' (I say they're just being 'catty'. Kitties roam. It's what we do.) Which also reminds me -- who comes up with these derogatory terms anyway? Like "other ways to skin a cat" -- good grief, talk about barbarism! Saying someone is being 'catty' should be a compliment.
Anyhow, to get back to the subject of nutrition, did you know that it is not the 'bad' fat in foods that is a problem so much as the way the food has been processed? For example, olive oil is not necessarily a healthy alternative. VIRGIN olive oil that has been COLD-PRESSED is the one to choose. And margarine that is labelled non hydrogenated is excellent. Becel is a good one. (Do you think I could get a little royalty for mentioning the brand name? We could use the moolah. Dawn is on a fixed income, and it is the lowest of the low. She spent her working life doing what she wanted to do -- mostly -- and ignoring what she got paid for doing it.)
Some things we just have to learn the hard way...
But speaking of learning, could you help me figure out how to use our new tablet? (And as for "royalties", Mom says I am hers. Puuuu-rrrrrr.)
(Who can stay mad at Dawn for long? She's the cat's meow.)
~~
| Author Notes |
definition: Moolah is a slang term that means "money." When you don't have enough moolah to buy a car, you may have to work and save for a while before you've got the moolah to buy it. This informal word is similar to bread or dough, or clams, just a few of the many slang words meaning "money."
A writer's style is called his or her 'voice' -- this pussycat loves to explore, and people call it digression. I call it meandering, adventurous, or-- as in this case -- reminding my fans and friends that I cover a LOT of territory. A little tablet instruction is a fair exchange. Yes? Thanks! Love, Prissy (a One-Of-A-Kind cat) (The title for my new book, perhaps?) |
By Dawn Munro
.JPG)
Hooray! I finally got my paws on our laptop again. One might think it would be easy, what with my mom offline so much, but the truth is, she's been keeping me busy trying to manage her mood swings.
You are aware of a cat's main obligations, are you not? I mean aside from occupying the most desirable spot on the bed, ignoring plebeian demands, and reminding our people just who is in charge... Yes! Exactly. We walk the spirit world, and such a world commands and controls the emotions (and often the actions) of humans. (Please -- keep up. We discussed this in an earlier column. If you missed it, YOUR obligation is to go back and read them all again until you find the right one.)
As master of her moods, when Dawn is flipping out, it's my job to help her keep her head from swiveling around on her neck. A slight bat of a paw with claws out works well, although she does develop some rather unsightly facial ticks when I do it. So sometimes I only threaten her by extending a paw and showing the little buggers to her. (I call them "buggers" because she says it "bugs" her that her favorite pillow cases and bedspread are nearly ready for the rag-bag. I like 'em sharp.)
Which reminds me -- she has tried several scratching posts, none of which are the least satisfying -- except knowing she had to spend the effort and cash to buy them. Keeps her humble.
Do I sound as if I am hard on Dawn? Trust me -- if you lived with her you would understand. I am extremely kind, considering her selfishness, especially of late. She is out far too often for my liking.
I know you have enjoyed my gossiping about her habits in past, but this time I would rather tell you about me. You see, there is rarely a day that goes by when I am not surprising (and often amusing) Dawn with some new trick. Lately it has been what the so-called experts call 'affection feeding', which is simply making her feed me my cookies, one-at-a-time. We used to do it when I was young (and skinny). It's not new. What is, is my vocal insistence.
Do you remember me telling you she put me on a strict diet? I no longer get kitty candy (my Luv cookies), fresh, steamed fish, or even the pudding cups and ice cream we used to eat together. And she TOOK ME TO THE VET again. She knows I hate it! Ever since I went through the trauma of bladder stones, I have not had the slightest sympathy for her many excuses as to why I need a check-up.
But I fixed her, AND the young woman who thought she was clever. I simply mouth-breathed, and that new veterinary assistant was afraid to take me out of my carrier.
Did I mention Mom weighed me while we were there? I am thirty-one pounds, an Amazon beauty. Hey! I am very long, not just chubby.
But getting back to the topic of me and my care for my Mom, I talk to her a lot now. She seems to need it. (Sometimes my actions are not enough, even though I am still doing all the sweet things she loves, like purring when I feel like it, and catching her hand to bring it down to the spot I want her to pet.)
Now that I think about it, I had better have a little chat with her to remind her of her responsibilities (and the date). (I think sometimes she doesn't even know what day it is...) Am I not getting anything for Christmas this year? It is almost the second week of Advent and Dawn still has shown no sign of decorating. I do love our tree, and I am not one to bother it, but I haven't seen the usual flutter about gift-wrapping (or hiding) the many things she buys me either. What, you thought I didn't know she takes great pleasure in giving me things, even though I mostly ignore them?
I still believe in Santa Claws too. I do, and I have yet to catch any of his reindeer, even though I hear the pitter-patter of tiny hooves on our roof every year. I do so! You might not hear them because you think the reindeer are large. Well, they're not! Read "Twas The Night Before Christmas" again. Sheesh, must I tell you everything?
Send me a present and I'll consider it.
~~
| Author Notes |
Hmmm... seems like Prissy is hinting around for gifts too. What can I say? We're very much alike, we two...(lol).
Merry Christmas, everyone. One more column from our little furry-belly and it'll be time for her second book. What? You missed "The Cat God Loves?" I better promote it for Christmas then -- how's about a free promo on Kindle? You got it! Starting Dec. 8th. through Dec. 12th. (inclusive). Love, Dawn & Miss Priss-pants Author page on Amazon: amazon.com/author/dawnmunroideasaregems |
By Dawn Munro
.jpg)
Santa Paws
T'was the night before Christmas
and all through the house
I prowled, but I couldn't find
one single mouse.
My mother has presents
for me 'neath the tree.
I wanted to give her one too -
don't you see?
I guess that the best
I can do on this night
is let (for this one time)
poor Mommy be right.
I'll be a good kitty-cat -
give Mommy pause,
and let her believe I still
love Santa Claws.
But friends, that old man
lets me down every year!
I can't even catch me
one tiny reindeer.
No mouse in the house
and no print on our roof
to show to my mother
definitive proof
the scratching she hears
isn't me with my claws!
It's reindeer, and raccoons
and Santa's big paws.
~~
Well, friends -- there you have it. The truth is out at last. St. Nicholas retired and put his dumb pooch in charge. I know because I spied on him after Christmas last year. He wasn't expecting anybody to look for him after the holidays, and you know felines can do just about anything in that spirit world, even spy on other felines.
I didn't tell Dawn. She's not feeling so hot. It's the second time inside of three months she has contracted a nasty bug, and this time she sounds like an outboard motor in need of major repair. But worse, her cough is so deep, it's making her cry, 'cause apparently it hurts.
She is so disappointed! Tomorrow is "choir Sunday" at church, and she looks forward to Christmas and that concert all year. They will be performing 'a most beautiful cantata', and she said that she was 'finding her voice a little' after all these years. She was overjoyed following their last rehearsal.
So you would think that asking for a teeny-tiny mouse to give her wouldn't be asking for the world, wouldn't you?
I hope she'll settle for a cockroach.
Anyway, that's it -- that's all for this year probably. I might be back before New Year's Eve, but I doubt it. I have to polish up my purr. If she can't sing, one of us has to... (Wish me luck.)
Have yourselves a Merry Christmas, and be kind to your fur-friends, even those that live outdoors, okay? Stalk up on birdseed and peanuts -- it's c-c-cold, and birds and squirrels are my friends. Oh, and don't forget -- tinsel is a cat's nemesis! NO TINSEL! (Except maybe for dogs...) Oh, alright! Not for them either.
If you insist.
| Author Notes | Prissy, it's "stock" up, not "stalk", and I'll be going to church anyway. (But you can purr for me when I get home, okay?) Love, Mom. :)) |
By Dawn Munro
-COLLAGE.jpg)
By Dawn Munro
| Author Notes | "Sleep tight; don't let the bed bugs bite." (Yikes!) LOL. Who came up with that saying? |
By Dawn Munro
(I have used a different font colour and italics for things said in emails. Where the text returns to standard, it is my 'aside' to you, the reader. I am doing this so as not to mention specific names.)
It's been well over a year, almost two, since Prissy had her bladder stones.
My precious cat is paying the price of carelessness and pettiness among people. How so? Because one snippy receptionist made it her goal to 'show me' how much better she is than I am, and relayed the message to Prissy's vet with HER slant on it, not mine.(I telephoned back to the clinic after picking up Prissy's food. All I asked was to please have the vet call me.)
And apparently, one careless nutritionist didn't follow up on her recommendations, and she hadn't got it right in the first place.
The vets themselves were wonderful, as Prissy and I say in her book, "The Cat God Loves". So were all the other staff members of Prissy's clinic -- X-ray technicians, the clinic's other receptionist, and so on.
But now, almost two years later, because I recently (and stupidly) asked about a sudden, large price increase in already terribly expensive food...I should have kept my thoughts to myself! Earlier I had complained that Prissy was NOT losing weight on the nutritionist's recommended diet. Herein is the email I received this morning.
(Bear in mind that I have spent thousands of dollars, not only on all the tests needed when Priss was diagnosed with bladder stones, but on this food Prissy has been eating for nearly two years. It was wonderful -- it dissolved her stones, rather than the cheaper but more RADICAL solution of surgery. So even though the vet said Prissy could go on regular cat food after one year, I elected to keep her on the special food so those nasty, painful stones had less chance of recurring. But I made sure the vet agreed. She said that idea was the ideal, and she would have the nutritionist recommend the amounts I should feed. Cost was NOT a priority for me (but when something jumps in price by nearly half again, it seems reasonable to me to want to know why).
~~
Just following up on (leaving blank's) recommendation to transition Miss Priss onto a specifically weight loss diet that is also good for her bladder health. We can order one of the types she had recommended if you are interested.
Please let us know if you have any questions about the recommendation and let us know if you would like to book a courtesy nutritional consult with a technician to further discuss/ make a plan for Miss Priss's nutritional requirements."
~~
But the email that is being "followed up on" was all about a cheaper food 'by a few dollars', and only one of Prissy's foods. She has canned and kibble. this one is not even signed with anyone's name, not the vet's, no one's. So who sent it? The vet? The receptionist? A technician? Every other email has been signed, except the invoices I receive -- my receipts for the food. It's only signed "(the clinic's name) Team". So... It seems to me it's soliciting exactly what I said in my reply. Would you agree?
Here's my response:
~~
I am interested, but I don't recall any specific food recommended, other than one mentioned as being cheaper. I am quite sure that is my lack though, not (leaving blank) and I don't know where the email is right now.
Diet food that we are SURE is good for bladder health? I thought that's what Prissy was already on, since I have the amounts recommended by the nutritionist posted on my 'fridge, and a 1/3 cup scoop always in the bag of dry. So you see, that's the misunderstanding I had, I guess.
That email was (I thought) sent because of cost considerations -- which was not MY priority, and why I asked your receptionist to have the vet call me . (*sigh* Then, I missed the call.)
But the receptionist's reaction when I asked about the price increase seemed to be that I should not be concerned about money. She focused on that, when all I was really doing was having a conversation. I DO have to watch my budget carefully. But this woman seems to have a real problem with me, and I have no idea why. I guess I am to blame -- I shouldn't have opened my mouth about cost, (though the increase is sudden and large).
I'm sure you know this: about 85% of communication between humans is body language. I have felt that 'disconnect' from the very first time meeting (that particular receptionist; not the others) (and reading people was a huge part of my job before retiring). I'm sorry, because she truly seems exceptional at her job otherwise; warm and friendly with others, and truly interested in their pets. But not with me. And when we 'assume', it can have unhelpful consequences.
Anyway, yes, please tell me more about this diet food for Prissy! The case of canned and one small bag are pretty predictably needed once per month. So I can purchase something new to try on my next trip. BUT... even though my pension is fixed and low, I will spend what I need to for my Miss Priss, if ever I can. Cost is NOT my priority. So if this food she's on isn't right (and she is obese), then let's get it right this time, yes?
Thanks!
Deb (aka Dawn)
~~
PEOPLE! Any wonder I prefer animals to most humans? Poor, overweight Prissy! She doesn't even eat all of what the nutritionist said she could!
| Author Notes | Thank you, friends. |
By Dawn Munro
First of all, let me say Happy Mew Year to you all. (Yes, I know, it's"new" year, but you ought to know me by now -- I have a wonderful sense of humor, among other charming traits.) But wait until you hear this -- I am still laughing over the story, so much so I even felt like playing with one of my toys later in the day.
So picture it, there's Dawn seated in front of the congregation at church because she is part of the choir, and sopranos sit in the front row. Reverend Doug asks, "Who has made New Year's resolutions, and what are they?" Dawn's been enjoying the service tremendously, and she is full of pep. Even her singing voice hasn't been too bad, so she's confident. So when only a couple of people speak up rather shyly, she decides to add her own voice, maybe inspire some enthusiasm.
Now you have to understand my mom -- her dignity is more important to her than winning a seventy million dollar lottery like the one that was won last Friday. (Yes! It was the highest in Canada's history, and it was won very close to us -- Mom had actually ponied up the five bucks to buy a ticket. Surprise, surprise.) But I'm meandering again, right? I'll get back on topic without complaint or excuse this time -- it's too funny.
Okay, maybe it's a slight exaggeration to say being dignified would one-up that kind of money for Dawn, but Dawn is nothing, if not a lady (or so she thinks, anyhow). She was sent to charm school, don't you know, when her mom thought she was a little too much of a tomboy. (Oops, I'm digressing again...)
Here's the thing -- Dawn is not loud (unless she's very angry over something). She is able to make any kind of verbal presentation well, but that's when she is reading from the Bible, making an announcement or speech, acting in a play -- that kind of thing -- because she 'projects'.
She projected purr-fectly. "I plan to finish three books this year!" she said proudly and loudly to the minister. She was smiling as she said it too. Worse, she completely missed what one parishioner piped up in response to her declaration, and added, "I've already started them." It was an explanation to the Sunday school teacher who had started to reply at the same time as the first guy. The Sunday school teacher, Maya, was sitting much closer to the front, and Dawn didn't hear him -- only Maya.
But Maya knows that Dawn writes books. The other guy didn't, and according to Dawn's 'special' friend (David -- who naturally watched the guy), that man wasn't trying to be funny. He was seriously questioning why it would take anyone a whole year to read three books. So my mom's second (well-projected) comment only added fuel to an already well-lit fire.(Um, can anyone say,"Poor thing. She can sing, but she must be awfully dumb.")
David was cracking up behind Dawn, and so were most of the other parishioners. Purr-sonally, I think David might have spoken his thoughts aloud --namely that Dawn meant she intended to finish writing three of the books she started writing last year. (Isn't that what a good friend would do?)
At least one person now thinks my mom is more than a little-- I c-c-c-a-n't say it! I'm laughing too hard. Even Reverend Doug laughed, and he knows she is a writer. So can you blame a kitty-cat?
But that ties into the big news I want to share -- guess what book Mommy is working on now so it can be published in 2020? Yep, mine! And we are learning how to use our new tablet too. It's only been about six months since we got it. That's better than Mom's knowlege of her almost three-year-old cellphone -- she still doesn't know what all it does. (It does take great photographs of me though.)
But don't tell Dawn I told you her business this time. You fans have not treated little Prissy as well as you should have.
Some catnip sent to me would help me forget.
| Author Notes |
A message from Dawn--
This will serve as the conclusion to Prissy's Corner, I think. I want to thank you all for your tremendous encouragement and support of my uppity little cat's endeavor. She really IS very sweet, and would thank you herself if I could figure out how to upload video from my cell phone to FanStory. But we did upload a silly one to YouTube yesterday, so if I can find it, maybe... |
By Dawn Munro
| Author Notes |
Thank you for reading!
|
By Dawn Munro
be a drug dealer
for your cat
plant her some catnip
| Author Notes |
Video courtesy of YouTube.
|
By Dawn Munro
| Author Notes |
*Grin* - the spelling "allays" is intentional - I'm trying to make her sound like a kid (often mispronouncing "always", leaving out the 'w' sound).
Video courtesy of YouTube. |
By Dawn Munro
I have to wonder about the validity of intelligence quotient tests. Supposedly I am of average intelligence, at least I was many years ago (allegedly).
Here are just a few examples of why I am questioning whether or not those tests are any good at determining IQ: (all true, except maybe that last one)
a) I've been on the phone telling the person I am talking to that I can't find my phone.
b) I've kept the car running because it's hard to start in winter and I know I'll only be a few minutes away. But I've locked the doors on my way out of my car so nobody can steal it while it's running. No, I don't have another set of keys. No, there's no key fob.
c) I've checked the due dates on things I've bought at the grocery store then forgotten that I bought them until they've expired.
d) I routinely need to use my landline phone to find my cell phone, but I know I have to look up my cell phone number to call my cell phone. It's in the list of contacts on my cell phone.
e) I've climbed three flights of stairs, returning home from a block away because I think I may have left my keys in the apartment. Those stairs are on the interior of an access-controlled building.
f) And last (but by no means least) I talk to my cat all day, every day, but she only answers when she feels like it. And then it's usually something along the lines of, "If you want to give me treats it's okay, and I'll tell you whatever it is you want to know. Just not at nap time. Or when I am enjoying the sun. Or when I want to go out into the hall. Or when I want you to brush me."
All kidding aside, I am a very foolish woman. I have more regrets than anyone I have ever met. But one thing I will never regret is joining FanStory (as much as I have griped about gremlins and problems, most of which are probably a result of my antique laptop struggling to keep up with me). There's no other place I could put out the thoughts I did in my last posting ("Black Holes") and receive the warm reception, the generous and kind answers I did. Thank you, each and every one of you. (And no, I've never really had my IQ tested. Not even by the white coats the time I thought I could fly.)
<><><>
By Dawn Munro
I have to say, the reasons for my state of depression at times are complex -- the phoniness of the voice on the other end of the phone when you're a customer calling about business, the lack of compassion for lost souls by people who should know better -- the list is endless. If it wasn't for this silly creature with whom I share my days and nights I think I'd go bat-shit crazy.
Bad Kitty
This is the story of Prissy, the cat.
She's far too inactive, and really quite fat.
You see, she's determined (and has me well-trained).
I have to give in, or there's naught to be gained.
She'll scratch at the bedclothes; meow in my ear -
it's her way or nothing, and she knows I fear
the day that she actually stops trying to be
the sweet, little kitty that cuddles with me.
~~~
I try to maintain some sort of balance, but the truth is, it's hard because I take things personally, and I am right to do so, I think. I am, after all, a person, and the standards I set for myself are high. It follows that I expect no less of others.
Unfair, you say? I don't think so; not when it comes to kindness. It is easy to be considerate of others, to walk a mile in their shoes, but so few people seem willing to do it these days.
"There but for the grace of God go I." How is that so difficult to understand? Maybe you've been blessed in this life, this world. Maybe what it would take is a few troubles to set your feet on the right path.
"But everyone has troubles!" cry the masses. Well, in my world, those trials teach very few. Thank God for my cat. She gets me giggling in spite of chronic pain, in spite of miserable people who can't seem to pull their heads out of their asses long enough to commiserate with anyone they think is less than them.
I have news for those folk -- you're going to die. Just like that homeless person you walked by this morning, ignoring the plea for 'spare change', just like that junkie passed out under the overpass who might have already preceded you, you will not live forever.
How you live will determine where you find yourself at the end of your life. I pray ceaselessly that it will be a good place, for me and for you. Because I care.
~~~
| Author Notes |
Sorry, friends, it's a bad day, and yep, we all have them... It's just some people don't seem to know the difference between a full cup and an empty one. The paradox is, of course, it's NOT a bad day -- I woke up.
I'll now share a poem, a villanelle -- something I wrote two years ago: My Mind Shall Dwell On All Things Pleasing by Dawn Munro Should pain and sorrow seek to plague each hour, I'll fight to sing and dance - remain steadfast. No, never shall my countenance be dour. While others may believe we have no power, the Hand of God is comforting - holdfast, should pain and sorrow seek to plague each hour. This life is very brief - we must not cower, but greet each dawn as if it is our last! No, never shall my countenance be dour. I'll spend my time enjoying garden's bower, and feast upon birds' song and my repast, should pain and sorrow seek to plague each hour. I'll build, with praise to God, a mighty tower of joy and understanding - love so vast! No, never shall my countenance be dour. So blessed am I, His child, for He does shower forgiveness in abundance - love amassed! Should pain and sorrow seek to plague each hour, no, never shall my countenance be dour. ~~~ Thank you for reading. I guess I should run now. I'm undoubtedly going to hear about this op/ed... (lol) |
By Dawn Munro
.jpg)
Mom (Dawn) is freaking out. She gave me my bunny and blanket to comfort me. As if! Better she get with the program -- get my book on Amazon shelves! First of all, I am no wuss-puss -- like a big baby, needing a blanky and stuffed rabbit to feel secure. Next, I can't get the virus, so why would I be worried?
But I notice she slept with me and the afore-mentioned inanimate objects last night. They've been around all day, too. She is obviously displacing her own feelings of fear onto me. It's called projection. The concept emerged from Sigmund Freud's work in the 1890s.
I get it. It's scary times for humans, so scary, some stupid people have been dropping off their pets at animal shelters, fearing they would contract Covid-19 and pass it on to their owners.
But Mom would never do that, so I am not a scaredy-cat.
But she's right about one thing -- although humans foolishly lost their ability to use their sixth sense very well (their instinct), animals have not, and we pick up on the emotions of our people. So while I am not worried about getting sick, I am worried about Mom's health. She is hypertensive, and all that fear can't be doing her blood pressure any good. There's collateral damage to consider too, like her flare-ups of temper. Bad enough she's pretty vocal with him, sometimes her acid tongue also flows onto poor Prissy. She always did say her tongue could strip the hide off an elephant if need be, but I've never heard the kinds of things she says to Brenston, even in a horror movie.
I understand he could try the patience of a saint, but wow, Mom manages to get him to behave for a while -- pretty impressive. You see, we have been self-quarantining for about two weeks now, and Brenston's been here for months. I almost feel sorry for the big dog, even though he doesn't have the sense of that stuffed bunny Mom brought to bed with us. I mean, how many times should a grown man have to be told to eat at the table? And that's the least of the dumb things he does. He loses everything, and we live in one big room! How do you lose stuff in one room? His passport has been missing for ages, among other things. Mom says she's quite sure he left it somewhere when he was going out every night.
But that's the real problem -- she hates him being here, but she won't let him leave anymore. She says he is so careless, she can't take the chance he contracts the virus and brings it back to her. He was one of those people who didn't take it seriously at first, not even washing his hands properly, though Mom demonstrated several times. We have notes taped to the bathroom wall now, and for a week she sang the happy birthday song to him through the door every time he went into the bathroom.
Yes, it's that bad. He sleeps, too, while Mom does other things, and then keeps her up when it's her turn to sleep. I guess night after night of one's rest being disturbed would make anyone testy, not to mention she trails after him to clean up his mess all the time. But she does it because arguing with him is worse -- most of the time. 'It's like living with a child', she says. When he does anything for himself, like making toast with honey, or a peanut butter and jam sandwich, there's evidence everywhere -- sticky counter top, table, even the floor.
Are you starting to get the picture? Her rage is justified, except when it spills over onto me. I mean, this is my house. Before Brenston came to stay with us, when I wanted something, Mom always knew it because I would lie down in her path. Now she scolds me for doing what I always did. Not often, mind you -- only when it happens right after she has been yelling at him. Her yelling then continues to include reminding him I am in his way, and he is not to step on me. (He has poor spatial judgement, and gambles, not lifting his foot very high when he steps over me.) She also notes that I could move unexpectedly. I am thankful for that... Her Irish temper is a sight to behold, though. But he is the one always underfoot. I have only told you one-fifth of the vile things he has said and done, believe me.
But truth be told, she would feel awful if anything happened to him. She still loves him -- in a strictly platonic way, of course, and only sometimes. Sometimes she finds herself hating him, and then she hates herself for it.
Nobody saw it coming. This novel virus, I mean. Dawn took Brenston in when his sister lost their house. Vieo has been in the process of buying another one, but the closing is held up (allegedly) because she has been unable to get her hands on the insurance paperwork needed for her mortgage. I say 'allegedly' because I'm not sure I believe it. The corona virus is causing insurance agents to be unavailable too, especially when Vieo apparently had arrangements to meet already -- twice?
Brenston was only supposed to be here with us for a few weeks because Vieo moved in with her daughter when she lost their place, and there wasn't room for another adult with Vieo's three, nearly-grown children (who still live at home). Allegedly, Vieo's accident settlement was slow in coming, and she had to find a new house. She told Mom the lawyers were subtracting more money from the settlement than they should, also. Of course, Mom offered to go with Vieo to protest the large fees, being the softie she really is, but Vieo didn't bother to call her back (like she promised).
Family trait? I know Mom says she can always tell when Brenston is lying -- his lips are moving.
Anyway, that's what I meant when I said we are corona virus captives. It feels like there's little happiness left in our humble, very crowded unit, thanks to having no choice about staying inside. And Dawnie is falling apart. She told me today she is starting to lose track of who she is (again). She hates being mean to anybody, yet it's what she has to do to keep Brenston from completely taking us over. "Boundaries!" she shouts at him. But he listens only as long as she's yelling it. And then he cusses her, tells her how awful she is.
I hiss at him. A lot. And I don't usually hiss at people. I didn't even hiss at the raccoon that came right up to me last summer through the fence Mom built to put in the open fire escape door...
Of course there is Dawn's bone-deep sorrow at what is happening throughout the world on top of the strain of living with Brenston. She says nobody is defined by only one aspect of his character, though, and Brenston is the kind of person who would take us in too.
She goes into the bathroom to weep in private. But I hear her, and I know when she prays, also -- she does that a lot -- silently. But I feel it.
Stay safe, my friends. This current situation is being called our 'new normal'. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll curl up with my blanky and bunny after all.
By Dawn Munro
I don't want to say anything more at this time. I just want to bring her postings -- Prissy's Corner -- up to the front of my portfolio so that I can work on her book, as I promised I would this year.
Please pray for her! She is in distress as I write this.
By Dawn Munro
OMG! This little dickens is smitten--no doubt about it now. She was out in the hall most of the day, but we were late getting up this morning, so we missed Murat leaving for work in the wee hours.
But he will be home... And Priss will wait...
Update: Success! She got some more attention from her beloved. But sadly (*sniffle*), he's gone out again.
So guess who is still in the same spot? Hahahahaha! (Love ain't nothin' if not patient.) (*Silly grin*)
For those of you who have not read "Prissy's Okay", 'Murat' is our neighbor, and when Prissy had to be rushed to the Vet Emergency Clinic over the weekend, he volunteered to drive us. Murat not only carefully transported my thirty-one pound cat and carrier, waited with me for HOURS (with no complaint) in their driveway (thanks Covid19!) before we left, he worked with me trying to get Prissy into her crate.
No easy feat getting Prissy into a carrier-- but Murat patiently coaxed and petted the little vixen for over an hour to tempt her get inside willingly, while I was busy on several calls with our regular clinic's technician.
Prissy was in pain. As it turned out, that technician from our 'normal' vet clinic had to do it -- she kindly stopped off after work to help -- another 'hero', in my mind. But Prissy is no dumb kitty-cat: she's been lolling in front of Murat's door every day since. An area BEYOND where she is allowed by Mommy to be... (HAHAHAHA!)
Do you need even more evidence of this kitty crush? It's 11:15 pm. -- yep, she's still in front of Murat's door, and the yappy little chihuahua (lives at the other end of the hall) usually sends her scampering to find a hiding place. This time it did nothing more than make her sit up to watch it being carried out. She would not budge! I heard the barking first and rushed out to make her move, so she would feel safe.
She hissed at me.
| Author Notes | Thank you for reading! Prissy's second book will be out in time for Christmas. |
By Dawn Munro
Okay, now, this is getting a bit ridiculous. I have plans this evening, and they don't involve sitting in my sweltering apartment watching my cat wait for my neighbor to come home. The air conditioner has a hard enough time keeping up with the door CLOSED.
"Prissy, get in here. You've been out all day, and Mommy has shopping to do."
I wait... Try again, "Furry-butt, come on. Do you want a brushing?"
I am ignored.
"Prissy! How about your favorite catnip toy?"
Nothing. Nada. Not even an ear-twitch. Wait! I spoke too soon. Her tail is twitching.
"Oh, Pri-i-i-ss-ee. Some cookies?" The tail is angry now. I can tell because the ears went back also. Well, after all, she IS supposed to be on a diet...
How does she know when Murat is coming? This is day three, and every day she has had it timed. She leaves our area of the hall to lie down by his door just before he arrives..
But he's inside his unit now, so I guess I won't be shopping anytime soon -- Murat will have to go out too, because Miss Priss isn't moving a whisker.
| Author Notes | LOL -- I do NOT exaggerate. This kitty has it BAD! |
By Dawn Munro
Prissy's Song for Murat
Oh, where, oh, where has Murat gone?
I miss him so! It's been too long.
But wait! I think I hear him now...
I HAVE to SEE him - don't care how.
Oh bliss! Oh joy! He's home from work!
(Should I miss him, I'd go berserk.
I know he'll go inside to eat,
but Prissy's love, time can't defeat.)
(I'll just wait here - he has to leave,
and when he does, that's my reprieve.
I'll ask him for another pat.
He'll give me ten! Imagine that!)
(I'll just wait here - he'll come along.
I'll sing for him my purring song.
I told my Mom, "Buy him a gift!"
But you know HER - her mind's adrift...)
Oh, YAY, HURRAY! I guess she heard.
This time t'was for sweet Mom I purred.
But Murat is Miss Prissy's friend...
Our story's nowhere near
The End
By Dawn Munro
Well, well, well -- this is certainly a Priss-puss I am pleased to see. A smitten kitten, but shy and sweet, as she is (sometimes!) with me. (You wouldn't know it by the column she writes. She gossips about me, trash-talks dogs, and offers her opinion about anything and everything as if she is Muhammad and the rest of us should be grateful she allows us to climb her mountain.)
When Murat was done petting her out in the hall, he invited her into his unit. (Baaahahahaha!) Miss Royalty, Miss Arrogance was too timid to accept! (Lol) The most she could muster was a few pitiful meows.
Now I don't speak 'cat', but I'm pretty sure she was begging him to stay out in the hall with her. Tough break, feline -- that's the way the kibble crumbles. If you want to have a grown-up relationship, eventually you have to walk the talk. Murat is a pretty swell guy -- he could have any kitty he wants.
That'll teach you to flirt.
By Dawn Munro
_(5).jpg)
| Author Notes |
I was so terribly worried about her this past weekend! I guess this poem is about letting go of all the dismay, the physical pain (getting up and down off the floor, Friday, Saturday and Sunday) the stress...
Our second book (mostly Prissy's) should be out in the fall. :) Watch for it on Kindle and Amazon. ~~ UPDATE: By now, most of you know I lost my best friend on January 4th. of this year. Miss Priss fought to stay with me as long as she could, but the cancer was too far advanced. I will miss her every day for the rest of my life. |
By Dawn Munro
Sometimes I have to wonder if I'm ever going to 'get it right'. In a little less than one and a half years, I'll be seventy years old.
If we have no control over our lives, why did God give us free will? I believe we do, and our choices can be costly. I wouldn't feel so bad if I was the one who suffered because I messed up.
Last night, Prissy jumped off our bed and injured her foot. (I'm praying it's just a slight sprain. She limped out to the hall, and she's been there all night. She didn't even get up to greet Murat. Her stress-level from the trip to the emergency clinic last weekend is only now returning to normal. I do NOT want to take her again!)
Re: Prissy's diet. The bladder stones are gone (thank God -- the diet worked) but this diet sucks as far as losing weight, and it's low-calorie, with recommended amounts by our vet clinic's nutritionist. (No, my cat does not overeat in case you wondered). (In fact, I am surprised at how little she eats and still maintains the same thirty-one pounds!)
I spent the night tearing apart my bed and throwing away the perfect frame and box spring. The bed is only a couple of years old, but I now know it is w-a-y too high for her.
#oldbroadgotitdonealone
#epsomsaltbath at 5:00 a.m.
#goodneighboragain
My neighbor from the building next door (his name is Mathew) was out late playing cards with friends (thankfully). After watching me make a couple of trips down to the trash in the middle of the night, he asked if he could help. (I wonder if he was waiting to see if I carried out a rolled-up carpet...)
God bless good people! The farthest I had been able to drag the box spring was the hallway. The metal frame was precariously balanced in our bathroom doorway.
2020 is a banner year, and the banner reads, "YOU SUCK!" And I think it's me who sucks... How could I not know all this time that my beloved Prissy wasn't being grumpy, but was in pain? And all because of the new bed I bought to ease MY pain.
The limp this time gave it away, but all along I marveled at how loud her landing seemed when she would jump off the bed. It even occurred to me that she was too heavy to be jumping off our bed.
#DUHDAWN
And I swear, when I checked on her, she would stretch that leg out as if to say, "It's not that bad, Mom." One of the times (and again -- this is the Gospel truth) she even used that same paw and pushed strongly against my hand. "Nothing is broken," she seemed to say.
God, I love this cat! I don't deserve her, but I love her madly. I'll give it two days to see if it heals enough for me to know it was only a mild sprain. After all she went through with her bladder stones in 2017, she is so frightened I am loathe to put her through what she did this past weekend, yet AGAIN.
God, give ME her pain.
By Dawn Munro
Friday evening, after ingesting her usual cat grass I buy at the pet store, Prissy went into respiratory distress. I bought the last and only plant on the shelf that was mature enough to be eaten right away because the previous plant was already dying off.
I have fed kitty grass to Prissy since she recovered from her bladder stones several years ago, with no adverse effects. It is extremely good for the feline digestive system, and it has the added benefit of folic acid.
Prissy will be nine on August 14th, a birthday she shares with a very special friend of mine.
This time the effect of the cat grass was immediate and abnormal, causing her to vomit violently and begin breathing rapidly and deeply. (Regurgitation can and does sometimes occur, but not like this!) She was also in pain and wouldn't/couldn't move.
Some of you are aware of Prissy's rather unusual temperament -- I have described how she stomps her feet and grumbles when I make her come in from our hallway, and other very clever/independent antics, like bringing a kibble from the dish with her paw directly to her mouth, how no one can pick her up since she began gaining weight, and so on.... She is no lap-sitter, didn't purr or meow until she was over a year old, gives me the stink-eye whenever I ask something of her that she considers beneath her... But she was adventurous, even perching on top of my closet door (how?!!) or curling inside anything that took her fancy, including the bathroom or kitchen sink and a plant pot our previous landlord left in our hallway.
She does none of that now. Her biggest adventure is jumping up onto our bed, although she is still mobile, just not nearly as agile as she once was
But as sweet as she can be at cuddling when we are there together (grabbing my hand to bring it back to continue petting her) she is anything but ladylike at the vet's, or when trying to groom her (unless it's a brushing -- THAT she likes)... But untangling a knot, attempting to clip a claw, check her teeth and gums?
After all she went through when she had her bladder stones, she learned to behave like she is demon-possessed.
And she is terrified when taken away from home. So it wasn't an immensely hard decision to give it a little time to see if she got better on her own -- my usual vet's office said that the emergency clinic might be a better choice anyway, since they were equipped to deal with something potentially requiring intensive care.
I have owned cats before Prissy -- many, including Siamese I used to show (through the Canadian Cat Association), leash-trained, taught them to retrieve, use a scratching post... (years ago). (One of my books, "The Adventures of Hershy" is loosely based on a chocolate-point Siamese I once owned and adored. It's family fiction, and one of my favorite books. I have owned domestic breeds ever since I was a child too. They all usually wore a collar, at least.)
Not Prissy. I gave up trying to keep a collar on her for fear she would strangle herself in her attempt to remove it. Remember -- this was a kitten so small I could hold her in the palm of one hand, and my hands are not large. (Too young, really, to have left her mom, in my opinion, but that's when the owner was giving these kittens away.) Bringing her home from Barrie to Toronto, I borrowed a canvas cat carrier from my dear friend and college buddy, Lorri -- Prissy bit and clawed through that carrier before we were half-way home -- Lorri's carrier -- the one she used for her adult cats.
I have owned dogs -- again, several show animals, and so well-trained I could ride my bicycle with one of them on a leash beside me, so well-trained I could leave my supper plate down on a coffee table and it wouldn't be touched... (There are lots more tales about my dogs in my autobiography, if I ever get finished writing it!)
But I have never owned a Miss Priss -- a pet I cannot groom or medicate when it's necessary. When she was spayed (I chose laparoscopic -- the least invasive surgery, so it's an easier and shorter recovery) she needed pain medication for a couple of days. But after attempting all the known ways to get a pill into a cat, my vet had to concoct a special salve that was rubbed into the inside flap of an ear and absorbed through the skin.
It's result is described in "Prissy's first book", but let's just say it brought back some scary memories of a night spent outside a St. Catharines, Ontario, hospital with a young husband who had just dropped LSD.
Prissy's large, air-travel-approved carrier is down (and has been since her stones episode) so that she has a place to go when she wants quiet, or needs to feel secure. But you try to get her into it when it's your idea. And once in, the carrier weight plus her 31 pounds is too much for me to manage more than a few steps.
Enter the first of two heroes -- Tina, of Roncy Village Vet Clinic, you have my undying gratitude. It was she I first spoke to, and she who called the following morning to see how Miss Priss was faring.
She came to my home. After several attempts to convince me I could and should do it, she stopped by to get Prissy into her carrier. I had tried, but Prissy's pitiful meows at being moved at all were my undoing. When Tina did it, I turned away and covered my ears. I fully expected it would take more than one try, and the woman wasn't even wearing padded gloves! (Remember-- Prissy has only ever had her claws trimmed once -- a grooming session at the vet's before she became such a handful.)
Here's where the second hero comes into the story -- Murat, the young man and my neighbor (who only a few months ago moved into the unit next door to me), had not only volunteered to drive me to the emergency clinic with Prissy, he patiently tried the methods Tina had conveyed during our repeated telephone conversations to get Prissy ready for travel..
No dice. Even in distress, tricky Prissy out-maneuvered us through everything.
All but the excellent technician from Roncy Village Vet Clinic. (Expect a surprise at work next week, Tina -- I'll be phoning tomorrow to find out when you're scheduled to work.)
And Murat? He drove Prissy and I all the way to the emergency vet's, and waited hours without complaint.
They gave Prissy some oxygen to get her saturation up to 100%, but of course the car-trip had panicked Prissy even more, so they sedated her and gave her some pain medication. Still my little angel/devil could not be handled to be examined properly, and she hunched in the corner of her assigned cage in fear.
I didn't find any of this out until we had been there about three and a half hours or more. That clinic was BUSY! When I finally got the call from the veterinarian as we waited out front (thanks, Covid19), I was faced with another gut-wrenching decision (the first, of course, being whether or not to subject my beloved cat to a trip to the vet's anyway, knowing how terrified she would be).
To be examined, Prissy would need to be 'heavily sedated'. As with any drug, there are risks. I opted out. There's history here, having to do with losing my first Golden Retriever to an extremely rare reaction to anesthetic, but I also remembered how Prissy had reacted to pain medication when she'd had her spay surgery. I couldn't do it. No matter that all of this effort had been in vain, that I had no answers, and Prissy no diagnosis. I had suspected toxicity in the kitty grass from the first.
I would torture my cat no further. I decided to take the chance that my gut instinct had been right from the beginning, bring her home, keep her as comfortable as possible while we waited... And pray. (I had already asked all my friends to pray for her.)
My sweet cat didn't stop purring from the moment we got home. She was obviously stoned from the pain medication they'd given her, and wobbly from the sedation, but "The Cat God Loves" ('her' first book) was blessed again. By morning she had returned to her normal self-- (well, almost. She hasn't tried to get onto the bed yet, and might still have some pain. Continued prayers?)
Praise God!
| Author Notes | My heartfelt thanks goes out to those who prayed for Prissy this trying weekend. The photos are of her waiting outside Murat's door at 5:00 this morning. Methinks someone may have a little kitty crush... (*grin*) Murat left for work, and a few minutes later Miss Priss was back in our section of hallway (where she is allowed to be). |
By Dawn Munro
.jpg)
Well, here they are, the pictures of me as a baby, like I promised. Mom figured out a way for us to keep them on the new phone, and naturally I was delighted. I can share them with you!
But all the news wasn't good. She tells me that I am going to have to share this column with her, that occasionally she will add a piece, maybe even participate in one I have written -- which, if you ask me -- comes dangerously close to book-burning.
But that reminds me of the other good news -- eventually she plans to turn this column --"Prissy's Corner" -- into a book. So I have decided not to remind her that the title says "Prissy's Corner". No doubt, that will have to change, and she will pick the new name.
The other drawback is that she feels quite entitled to pop in whenever she pleases, and some of what I write might not exactly please her...
More next week. I'm off to sulk.
Cancel that. It would seem Dawn is on the warpath--
"I have another new scratch, Prissy."
"I didn't do it, Mom."
"It's on my right forearm."
"Which one is that? You know cats can't tell right from left."
"Don't try that with me, Miss Priss. I even taught you to count."
"Anyway, I didn't scratch you."
"This one is only about an inch long, but it still stings."
"Sorry, but it wasn't me."
"It looks like a claw made it."
"Maybe you dreamed about a cat."
"Prissy. Tell. Me. The. Truth."
"I am. It wasn't me."
"And the foot-long one on the back of my right thigh--that wasn't you either, right?"
"Right."
"You weren't mad at me for reminding you we had an agreement--that you're only supposed to post once a week, and I'll be posting too?"
"N-o-o."
"Pr-i-s-s-y--"
"Mom, I didn't scratch you, but if I had, it would be because YOU post whenever you want to."
"So you WERE mad."
"A little--maybe."
"And what about that review of one of your postings that I took over?"
"Those dogs said I was DYSFUNCTIONAL!"
"No, they didn't. They said you were delusional."
"Same thing."
"No, it's--er, ah, okay, I get your point."
"Good. Can I go post now?"
"I don't know, Prissy--can I go to sleep safely tonight?"
"How soundly are you planning to sleep, Mommy?"
"I guess that will depend on how much thunder you bring."
Sometimes even I don't understand human beings, with my superior intellect.
"What was that? What did you say, Miss Priss?"
"Scratching isn't thunder, Mom."
"No, it isn't. I'm onto a different subject now. I tend to wander a bit too. It's not just cats who like to explore, meander, learn about things."
Don't you mean, it's not just cats that are NOSY?
"I meant something different--sometimes people will be envious. Sometimes they don't even know they are, but they try to discredit you, to rob you of your power because they're jealous. That's called 'stealing your thunder'. A bit similar to you not liking that I am going to add to your column."
"Oh."
"You have to learn to accept it."
"Okay. I'll try. I will." I know who fills my dish, after all. But Dawn, your rant seems a little over the top. Is it only me you are angry with?
"And another thing--I have little nicks and scratches on me all the time--sometimes on my hands, my arms, my legs--"
That's staying right on topic, Mom. "It's not me. I don't scratch you while you sleep." Sometimes a little nick in sleepy-time saves nine lives. I am an animal, not a person, as much as you try to make me one. THAT'S called 'personification'. 'Thunder', my whiskers! I know all about Thor, and I don't think he'd like it if--
"Prissy--"
"Yes, Mommy?" Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...
"I never said anything about the scratches happening when I am sleeping."
PURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR....
"Oh, never mind. Go ahead. Write your post. I know you're dying to show off your baby pictures."
By Dawn Munro
Since last month's traumatic trip to the Veterinary Emergency Clinic, Miss Priss has not entered her carrier, a space she previously used daily for several hours. She seemed to love it! So much so, I was beginning to feel concerned that I was unintentionally stressing out my kitty-cat and she wanted peace and quiet.
So last week I sprinkled a little catnip in it and voila -- Prissy went in.
But she didn't stay long, and she hasn't been back since. Until a few hours ago...
Some of you will remember that I built a small fence barrier to prop open our fire door so that we can catch a little breeze, and Prissy can watch the birds I feed. She never tries to chase them -- in fact, she's so laid back I think the sparrows could land on her and she'd barely twitch a whisker.
But this morning, one of the squirrels who visit the fire escape landing decided there wasn't enough bird seed out. The greedy, bold rodent scaled the fence. One freaked-out puss ran for cover, and she's been in her 'cat-house' ever since.
Have you ever seen a cat close a carrier's door behind her?
#mytalentedscaredycat :) (Truth!)
| Author Notes |
Watch for Prissy's new book, "One-of-a-Kind Cat", due to be released in time for Christmas!
Thank you fir reading! |
By Dawn Munro
Her Royal Highness
Tough-talking Miss Priss is really a big pussy-cat. (Thirty-one pounds of ultra-sweet, not so lady-like temperament.)
She has lots of advice to give, often wanders off topic (cats are known to meander all over the place) and loves to spill the beans about her mistress.
Whether you're a cat lover or not, you're sure to find a smile in her scribblings.... Oh, and DO NOT even think about calling Dawn her OWNER."
| Author Notes |
This is the picture planned for the front cover. It will also say that the book includes color photographs and poems by the cat. The tag line will be used on the back cover as it appears here -- would it make you want to read the book?
Thank you for your feedback! |
By Dawn Munro
| Author Notes |
What can I say? Miss Priss is just too cute. :)) (Thanks for reading. She wants you to know her column will be back soon.) Photos by Dawn - one-handed. lol
Did you know that when a cat bites you it's to let you know you are accepted? You 'belong' to that cat? |
By Dawn Munro
| Author Notes |
Somehow this ended up being under poetry instead of prose, hence the format, and I don't want to experiment with changing it, lest I ruin the layout of the pictures.
Regardless, when published, this is the actual size that will be used; it will just be more than one page. I hope you enjoyed it. Thank you for reading. |
By Dawn Munro
| Author Notes |
I feel truly let down. For those of you who've read my previous essays through the years about my downstairs neighbor and his marijuana smoke pervading my unit while I slept, you know I fought, and fought hard for our rights.
My sweet cat is suffering the effects, and it will eventually be the cause of her death. Likely mine too, as I am now under the care of the chief of Respirology at my local hospital. |
By Dawn Munro
.jpg)
By Dawn Munro
| Author Notes | RIP, baby, until mommy sees you again. (It was an honor to be loved by you.) |
By Dawn Munro
Feline Fear
by D Dawn Munro
copyright 2021
Ah, friends may come and friends may go,
but there's one thing I truly know -
there's just no pal that's quite like you!
I thank you, Priss, for braving through...
You UNDERSTOOD that Mommy tried.
Still... broke her promise, though you cried
you didn't WANT to see a vet!
But feeling better's what you get
for facing all those awful trials -
the needles given without smiles,
the strangers terrifying you
to snap a pic - not like I do...
They picked you up, and I do not.
They caused you pain, and so you fought...
and Prissy, I DO understand!
Oh, illness like this isn't planned,
yet mommies have to do what's best,
and vets and staff must often 'test'
to see what they can do to cure
what's wrong (although they're still not sure...)
You are my song, my joy, my heart,
and if AGAIN I have to start
to force you into your big crate -
I'll DO it baby, though I'll hate
that you'll be frightened - and it hurts!
(I won't, unless your vet asserts
it must be done, to diagnose...
to see if even one more dose
of medicine will then restore
your health - in fact, I'll give you more
if that is what the vet prescribes
until this malady subsides...
And I believe it WILL my friend,
for every knee that CAN does bend...)
Prayer works wonders - you will see -
our God loves them, and you, and me.
| Author Notes |
I am posting the most recent letter I sent to Prissy's veterinarians. (I sent them a video to show her condition too...)
Why? So that Prissy's many FRIENDS and FANS here know what is going on... Prayers are always appreciated. Dear Mark, Samantha, or Karen, ***Please remember, Prissy has had three doses of the liquid for three previous evenings too. Tonight -- New Year's Eve -- makes day 5. I was told not to worry about that -- that beginning the salve was the start of 7 days for that dose. I was surprised that any of our veterinarians didn't come out to talk to me when I picked up the salve. But then again, I was also surprised that my pharmacist's packaging seemed so much better (50 mls. in strength, rather than 25, so that only 0.2 mls. need be given for the first 7 days -- less mess in Prissy's ear) AND that the company that prepared it for my pharmacy made sure the syringes were dark, not clear (since the medicine is light-sensitive). It was also almost half the price. I'm disappointed that no one returned my original call either -- when Prissy was reported as being in respiratory distress, no less! Apparently, Ryan didn't relay the message properly. Visiting a vet is traumatic for Prissy, and it's also difficult for me because of my own mobility issues, yet we do it when it is unavoidable. The last time we came to Roncy Village Veterinary Clinic, the young woman (a vet assistant?) wouldn't even remove Prissy from her carrier. My cat was mouth-breathing then, too. Margaret and Anousha have been wonderful. But they are not veterinarians, and Prissy deserves the attention of her vet. ***If there are any changes to the instructions passed on to me by Anousha (like the salve should NOT be administered for five more days) I will expect an email or phone call from one of Roncy Clinic's three veterinarians.** Fair is fair. I have borrowed the three thousand + dollars I had to pay for Prissy's care at the VEC, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. (They refunded $915.00) But I feel very strongly that because Prissy has not been brought in to your clinic often, you think I simply am a negligent pet owner. The opposite is true. It is traumatic for my cat to be anywhere but at home. Dr. Donald at the Vet Emergency Clinic understood that, and supported my decision to bring Prissy home "100%". Her words. Thanks, Deborah Munro |
By Dawn Munro
Prissy loved almost everyone, but no one more than she loved me, and our bond was incredibly strong. As sweet as she was, she stood up for me -- she instinctively knew when something wasn't right about how I was being treated.
But she was also a lot of fun as a kitty 'writer' -- she had her own column, wrote a book with me ("The Cat God Loves", on Amazon), and loved to make fun of her mom. (Her many followers loved it too! *grin*) Here's an example--
To All My Friends and Fans:
(By Prissy Munro)
I'm wearing all my bling today
(in fact I wear it all the time)
but if you think I'm pretty, friends,
then you should hear me when I rhyme!
I'm quite a clever cat, you see.
I wrote a book all by myself,
it's full of pictures -- really good --
and you should have it on your shelf.
Me: "Prissy, we don't brag about ourselves. It's not nice."
Miss Priss: "Why not? I'm not saying anything that isn't true."
Me: "Yes, I know dear, but we are much more attractive when we're humble. Humble people have even MORE friends."
Miss Priss: "Then I guess it's a good thing I'm a cat, eh?"
~~
By Dawn Munro
I awoke this morning slightly nauseated. At 5:00 a.m., some inconsiderate neighbors stood below my open window flying a drone, and carrying on a loud conversation. Cleo was overjoyed. I was up earlier than usual, which meant breakfast wouldn't have to wait.
Prissy was the same. She would let me sleep, no matter what time of day or night it was, but then, I keep the kibble dish full at all times. No one can tell me that free-feeding isn't a good thing. It's taken a few weeks for Cleo to catch on, but she doesn't wake me up anymore.
(There's more to come... I just needed the book at the top of my portfolio so I can easily work on it. Don't bother to review. *smile*)
By Dawn Munro
(For those who followed her stories...)
Prissy couldn't be properly examined, on that first trip to the VEC with Murat, even though she had been given a large dose of sedative (a second dose even). And I couldn't give consent for a general anesthetic -- I just couldn't! I had lost my precious Golden Retriever (Jessie) to what I had been told was "so safe these days" -- Jessie succumbed to pulmonary edema, coming out of the anesthetic, on the operating table. I felt that putting Prissy at such a risk would only be for my own peace of mind.
I took her home. She recovered by the next day.
The second trip to the VEC is when she was diagnosed with lung cancer, and apparently, she'd had it for years. She simply wasn't getting enough oxygen, and never did, even though she received oxygen at the clinic. The buildup of fluid outside the lungs, and inside, the one lung wall that was fragile, was a chronic condition. Attempting to draw the fluid into a syringe to remove it was unsuccessful (and the procedure is anything but pleasant, never mind the terror Prissy felt at being handled, at being away from home, and away from me).
My precious Priss went through all this -- not just the difficult tests THIS time, but the trauma of what she'd gone through when we diagnosed her bladder stones a few years earlier. Only to end up with the diagnosis of a terminal illness...
So yes, it was an awful time for me, but so much worse for her. And having to make the decision to euthanize wasn't easy either because I knew she would be frightened at having still more needles stuck into her, more strangers handling her. At least our own vet clinic was compassionate enough to know I wanted them to come to her, that she had to be at home. And our vet made sure I knew just how sick she was, that I was making the right decision in agreeing it was time.
God rest Prissy's sweet soul, I pray she now has all the joy a cat can hold, that she's playing with other kitties, that she knows how loved she was -- still is -- and that I will see her again someday.
<>
| Author Notes |
VEC=Vet Emergency Clinic
One of the hardest things to accept... "To everything, there is a season." And the worst of it is that she did not die peacefully -- she went out fighting, in fear, 'strangers' handling her and giving her more needles. I couldn't even give her a peaceful death. So no, I am not "over it"-- I never will be over it. 'Outside' was a nightmare for my Miss Priss, except for looking out from the safety of our hallway. Even a car ride had her mouth-breathing in fear. |
By Dawn Munro
| Author Notes |
By Dawn Munro
Prissy, the time I spend with you has some of life's sweetest moments -- the way you grumble when I tell you it's time to come indoors, that I need to nap, and you do too. If a cat could stomp, you do.
The tiny squeaks and squeals you make as you munch your cookies -- you know -- when I'm whispering in your ear how much I love you while you eat. Now I wouldn't ordinarily do that, certainly never have before, but since you demand I feed those cookies to you one at a time...
The way you use your paw, claws carefully tucked away, pulling my hand down to stroke your silky head as you lie on your back, purring so loudly I'm surprised the neighbours don't complain about the noise. Nobody would believe how very human-like that motion is, either, unless they witnessed it for themselves. And I'm always surprised at how strongly you insist!
I'm especially gratified to hear your 'kitty music' -- it took a long time for you to trust me enough. I've never known a kitten that didn't purr or even play until she was more than a year old. I suspect you had a rather harsh start in life... were the children allowed to 'maul' you too much when you were a baby? Was it the dogs or maybe your siblings trying to push you out of the way when you all were nursing that made you such a serious little feline?
I know your human said you were the 'runt' of the litter...
Well, you're no runt now, are you, my friend? You are Queen-sized, regal, and deserving of every ounce of love I have to give you. You are feisty, but you are sweet, too, incredibly affectionate when you want to be, just like that little girl in the poem who had a curl 'right in the middle of her forehead'. And stubborn? Never, ever have I seen anything like it! I've owned more than a dozen each of dogs and cats, but none of them, not a one, couldn't be broken of certain annoying habits eventually -- not you, though. Even now it takes the water spritzer to get you inside when you don't want to come, doesn't it? (And you sure can cuss me for it.)
But you have exquisite manners, too. I swear I can hear you saying "thank you" when I pour fresh water for you, or give you your daily serving of freshly-cooked fish. And you know, now, not to go beyond that boundary in our hallway. You were pretty quick to learn I wanted to keep you safe, so you weren't allowed to roam past our area. You just like to be out there to watch the comings and goings, don't you?
I've never had a cat who doesn't disturb me when I'm sleeping either, at any hour of the day or night. I'm sure folks reading this will think I'm exaggerating, but we know it's true, don't we? I have no routine, but it doesn't bother you at all. You are not a cat to be up all night playing.
I love you, fur-ball -- I can see how Egyptians were said to worship felines: you've become a friend I can't bear to leave for more than a few hours. Pathetic -- slave to a cat, and yet, no friend could be more loyal, more devoted. To think that you -- the biggest chicken I've ever known in all the cats I've had in my lifetime -- would try to open our apartment door when that silly boy was disturbing my smoke break this morning. (He needs to find someone his own age to stalk.)
Happy fourth birthday, Miss Priss -- I pray you are with me for many more!
| Author Notes | My quirky cat has idiosyncrasies that have to be seen to be believed. (The artwork isn't of her - I'm so techno-challenged I can't get my own pictures of her loaded.) But I tried to find one that looked most like her, and since I wasn't able to find one nearly as pretty (of course I'd think that), I settled for this painting of a grey tabby. |
By Dawn Munro
| Author Notes |
I do not exaggerate these things about Miss Priss, I really don't! She continually surprises me with new things she has learned, and this wasn't even something NEW I taught her - it was months ago, and all I did was talk to her and show her the carrier when the fire alarm rang in the building the last time.
When it went off this morning, she ran straight for it. As it turns out, someone was cooking and opened their door when the smoke detector went off (because the food was burning). (Duh.) But I was astonished, and SO PLEASED when my little lady (and coward - there's a VERY tiny dog at the end of our hall that's tried coming down to visit, and Prissy runs from IT - one swat and that dog would be flying through the air!) ran into her carrier. (She is a very large cat; not at all average. And...the dog is the smallest chihuahua I've ever seen - she belongs to a friend of mine. LOL ) |
By Dawn Munro
Today is your birthday, Dawn bought you a bed,
but you didn't like it, so I'm here instead.
I hope you don't eat me, 'cuz I'm kinda cute,
but if you are hungry, then I'd better scoot...
| Author Notes |
She is five years old today...how time flies!
Video courtesy of YouTube. (Yes, this is how she eats...) |
By Dawn Munro
A while back I wrote an essay for a prompt about my cat, Miss Priss. For those of you who read it, I bet you thought I was exaggerating when I said she stomps her feet and grumbles when I make her come in from the hall.
I wasn't. But that's not all the little devil does.
I have some health problems, and one of them is hypertension. It is serious enough to have caused me to end up in the emergency department of the local hospital.
This past year I discovered that in order to be effective, blood pressure medication should be taken at the same time every day. (What can I say? I had a doctor in the past who couldn't be bothered to inform me of that fact, and hey--I've lived most of my life avoiding so much as an aspirin--how would I know if nobody ever told me?)
But I've struggled mightily since getting a wonderful, new physician, trying to remember to take my pill--for the first few months, there were whole days I missed it altogether.
Enter Prissy. From the time I confessed to my highly frustrated, family physician that I kept forgetting my medicine, Prissy seemingly caught the vibe, and took it upon herself to scold me if I am late. I know, you don't believe me, right? Well how else would you explain a normally angelic (she lets me sleep, whenever I go to bed, and I have no routine at all) and affectionate cat suddenly biting (well, not hard enough to really hurt...usually) when I go to pet her? It's every time I have missed my pill for the day, I kid you not. The minute she does it, I know.
She was late today--two hours, in fact. But if the doctor was frustrated because he couldn't seem to get my hypertension under control, why wouldn't the cat begin to lose patience? I swear she looked at me in disgust after she bit me...
By Dawn Munro
| Author Notes |
A dear friend sent us some Christmas presents, but I'm glad I had on a sweater! LOL. (Prissy was SO excited the minute I showed her the parcel that came in today's mail. I couldn't make her wait 'til Monday. LOL)
Here's another fur baby like mine - Video courtesy of YouTube. |
By Dawn Munro
Prissy And Her 'Octopus' Poem
My little puss is surfing on
the web again -
pretends her name is really Dawn -
it hurts my brain!
But I am wise to her deceit,
caught red-pawed this time! Can't retreat!
I really should decide to beat!
She purrs in vain.
I think I'll make her pen this poem -
would serve her right!
She'd have to spend her time at home
this blasted night.
A sonnet's not this kitty's strength,
though she would go to any length
to win first place, and not just tenth -
She likes a fight.
But Lovi says she did alright,
and anyway,
there's competition - I'm uptight
most any day!
I've added extra lines for her,
'cause truth be known, I love her purr
and kissing soft, sweet belly fur.
The Queen holds sway...
| Author Notes |
The little brat will use a pen if she can't find my laptop when I'm out. (LOL)
(Video courtesy of YouTube.) *YES, YOU CAN PLAY THE CUTE CAT VIDEO WHILE THE MUSIC IS PLAYING* *smile* |
By Dawn Munro
Prissy's Corner #4
"I have another, new scratch, Prissy."
"I didn't do it, Mom."
"It's on my right forearm."
"Which one is that? You know cats can't tell right from left."
"Don't try that with me, Miss Priss. I even taught you to count."
"Anyway, I didn't scratch you."
"This one is only about an inch long, but it still stings."
"Sorry, but it wasn't me."
"It looks like a claw made it."
"Maybe you dreamed about a cat."
"Prissy. Tell. Me. The. Truth."
"I am. It wasn't me."
"And the foot-long one on the back of my right thigh--that wasn't you either, right?"
"Right."
"You weren't mad at me for reminding you we had an agreement--that you're only supposed to post once a week?"
"N-o-o."
"Pr-i-s-s-y--"
"Mom, I didn't scratch you, but if I had, it would be because YOU post whenever you want to."
"So you were mad."
"A little--maybe."
"And what about that review I took over?"
"Those dogs said I was DYSFUNCTIONAL!"
"No, they didn't. They said you were delusional."
"Same thing."
"No, it's--er, ah, okay, I get your point."
"Good. Can I go post now?"
"I don't know, Prissy--can I go to sleep safely tonight?"
"How soundly are you planning to sleep, Mommy?"
"I guess that will depend on how much thunder you bring."
Sometimes even I don't understand human beings, with my superior intellect. Did she completely miss the point of my question? Lucky. I almost gave myself up.
"What was that? What did you say, Miss Priss?"
"Scratching isn't thunder, Mom."
"No, Baby, I'm on a different topic now. I meant something different--sometimes people will be envious. Sometimes they don't even know they are, but they try to discredit you, to rob you of your power, because they're envious. That's called 'stealing your thunder'."
"Oh."
"You have to learn to accept it."
"Okay. I'll try."
"Sometimes they don't even mean to be mean."
Yeah, right. And dogs don't eat excrement.
"Now, back to the original subject--I have little nicks and scratches on me all the time--sometimes on my hands, my arms, my legs--"
"It's not me. I don't scratch you while you sleep." Sometimes a little nick in sleepy-time saves nine lives, Mom. I am an animal, not a person, as much as you try to make me one. THAT'S called 'personification'. 'Thunder', my whiskers! I know all about Thor, and I don't think he'd like it if--
"Prissy--"
"Yes, Mommy?" Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...
"I never said anything about the scratches happening when I am sleeping."
PURRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR....
"Oh, never mind. Go ahead. Write your post. I know you're dying to show off your baby pictures."
Purring. Putty in the paws. Works every time.
| Author Notes | All in good fun - no offense intended. I'm just lighting a fire under someone I've been TRYING to say should PUBLISH certain fun tails. (yes, "tails", used intentionally :)) |
|
You've read it - now go back to FanStory.com to comment on each chapter and show your thanks to the author! |
| © Copyright 2015 Dawn Munro All rights reserved. Dawn Munro has granted FanStory.com, its affiliates and its syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
© 2015 FanStory.com, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Statement