The Tasks at Hand

No, Gentle Reader, it’s not you. We have a full moon coming in this weekend. Good to set aside a few hours to do some decluttering. I’m intending to clean out a couple of cabinets and make a run to Goodwill. Good to recharge your crystals, too. Also optimal to do releasing ceremonies–my personal favorite is to write letters to release toxic feelings, then burn them with sage. Or write them on toilet paper and flush away.

It will also be good to start getting the garden going. At least getting things staked out, or containers lined up to welcome their occupants. Mothers’ Day, the second Sunday in May in the US, is generally considered the safe date to start planting. Any earlier and frost may prove an unwanted visitor.

At the very least, I’ll get some planters for the back step and front porch. I love gardens. I’ve had some luck with indestructible vegetables like zucchini, but with flowers, not so much.

Walks and time at the park with Oakley take the top spot on the list. It has a special urgency this spring. He’s fine. However, Precious, the neighbor dog, is not. When I stopped over earlier this week, she looked as if she didn’t know which side of the veil she was on, and instead of her usual exuberant barking and tail waving, she sat motionless. She’s either developed diabetes or kidney failure in these her later years. She’s lost her vision and most of her hearing. In the last few weeks, her decline has sped up exponentially. Precious was three when they moved in ten years ago. Her humans will be walking her to the Bridge this weekend.

I issued the standard “I’ll be thinking of you” sentiment. If I offered to do what I really want to do (be present, crystal grid, sage, Reiki), there would likely be much consternation. She has her spiritual path, I have mine, and we value the common spaces too much to impose our beliefs on one another.

So I will quietly send Reiki, light some sage, and lay out a grid in my own home. And make a cake.

Believe me, we agree on cake.

This Weight on My Heart

Sorry for my absence. It’s a little thing called common reality. Been dealt with. I’m back.

This last weekend, the story of the vet who shot a cat with a bow and arrow then posted pictures of herself and cat with the arrow through his head made the rounds on social media. Some tried to excuse her behavior by saying that it was a feral cat, and women have as much right to hunt as men.

I call bullshit. Tiger, her victim, was a beloved family pet out for a stroll. Even if he had been a feral cat, she had no reason to take his life in such a cruel manner.

The state’s attorney is filing charges against her. For that I am truly grateful. If this makes people more aware of cruelty towards animals, then it will not have been in vain. There’s been a proven correlation between animal abuse and likelihood of violence towards other people. Unless legal remedies are brought into play, nothing will change.

It also made me grateful that I’m an adult now. In my late childhood, my dad bought an air gun. I don’t know why. Perhaps as a hobby to fill the space left by my mother’s death, but I will never know.  At the time, he was drinking heavily to cope, a dangerous combination with his grief and his Asperger’s.  He’d hunted his way through his youth, so it must have been like a reunion with an old friend to hold it in his hands. He spent the evenings drinking beer and lining up the cans on the picnic table in the back yard for target practice.

Dad also took potshots at the cats who came into the yard. He said that he had to keep them away from the house because of his allergies.  I don’t think that he ever killed one, not to the best of my knowledge.

One day, I made the rounds of the neighborhood selling candy for a school fundraiser. One of the elderly widows who’d been labeled “crazy” for her cats  invited me in for a chat. Somehow, Dad’s “hobby” came up.

A couple of days later, an animal control officer stopped and gave Dad a written warning that legal action would be taken if another report came in.

I was told never to speak to that neighbor again, and an ugly confrontation between her and Dad ensued.

I stayed in my room a lot after that.

Now, forty years later, this story comes up. I felt as if I’d been punched in the heart when I read it. I did a lot of Star of Bethlehem flower essence yesterday. It’s a specific for trauma release. I showed my support on Twitter. Otherwise, I was totally at a loss as I contemplated making amends to the cat people for my father’s actions.

Even with his Asperger’s, drinking, and grieving, he would not have been able to plead insanity. Too much thought went into his actions. In 1973, perhaps charges related to illegal discharge of a firearm in a residential area would have been brought into play. Perhaps animal cruelty charges could have been made to stick.

Maybe justice is best served by the younger and more impressionable daughter proudly bearing the “crazy animal person” badge, just like the neighbor who called wrong on his actions.