Sula, Parish Cat

Somewhat over two years ago, on my 100th Lamb blog, I related a story of how Sula, our parish cat at Old Mission, shown here in the Nativity scene this year, comes to confession. She also rarely misses a Mass.

I have come to know Sula well over the years, so it seems logical to include some mention of her on my "family" blog. Sula is almost ten years old, including her days of fighting cancer. She often comes up to me at Mass, but she only sits with me when I need some natural comfort.

Well, Sula has become somewhat famous these days. An article I wrote about her was published in the December 2015 Guideposts Magazine as "A Cat with a Mission." Guideposts synopsized the story on its website.

Then, this week, the Hollister Freelance (California paper) carried Sula's story in a touching piece, "Cat on a Mission."

Both articles had excellent pictures, including some that were not in the publications. If you find the Christmas picture endearing, check out these other two sites.

And, please, stand by. Sula is writing her own book, Surviving Cancer, Healing People: One Cat's Story (MSI Press), due out in February (or maybe a tad later). The purpose is to raise money to retrofit her mission home against earthquakes.

So, here is the proverbial ending: "more later."

Have a relaxing weekend -- and find some time to be with Sula's Divine Inspirator, the good Lord (and St. Francis).

Intrepid Needs Prayers

Tomorrow we take Intrepid back to the very special vet in Santa Cruz (a long trip for us) for his umpteenth follow-up. He eats like a pig but is skinny as a snake's shed carcas. According to the local vet, there is no hope for him because his kidneys and pancreas are functioning at less than optimum levels. We were told that the only thing we can do is feed him chicken but without expectation for improvement. So, we took him to a specialist, who did new blood tests and found out why his organs are not functioning properly, as well as why he keeps throwing up and has lost nearly three pounds (of an original 12 pounds; vet says 10 1/2 is his proper weight). So, things are looking up, but we are aware that the reason he is not flourishing is malabsorption and that this is a chronic and life-shortening condition. He is just such a neat little cat that we want to do whatever we can to help him last as happily as possible as long as possible.

He started life as a scruffy little thing. He was found in 2005 in the grass, sans mother, by a professor who worked for me in Amman, Jordan, a country where pets are not common. The professor knew that Dr. Elizabeth would take care of the little thing, and he brought him to me. He was a starving little thing, and I could hear him crying the entire length of the three-landing staircase. When he discovered the food bowl, he did not leave it for two weeks, except to use the litter box. He even slept beside it. In time, he learned to play and explore, earning his name. Once weaned from life beside the food bowl, his curiosity led him to test and try out everything. There was nothing he was afraid of; that continues to this day. In fact, when we took him to the vet on an emergency trip a couple of Sundays ago, the vet on duty commented on the fact that he attempted to stare him down. "Mr. Look Me Straight in the Eye," he called him and explained that feral cats have no fear of looking people in the eye the way that domestic cats tend to.

Well, back to the vet tomorrow. Please say a few prayers for our "Trep."

Too Big for the Bed

I forgot to provide an update on the "other" Mahlous, the cats. They are doing well, and in the past two years, we have acquired two new cats, Happy Cat and Wooper, who join Murjan, Intrepid, and Simone.

Murjan is the largest cat, nearly double the size of Intrepid, whom he raised from kittenhood. Nonetheless, he tries to fit in everywhere.

Today he found one of the larger cat beds, which he fills completely, in the sun by the sliding glass door onto the deck. He quickly curled himself into it -- well, as much as would fit.

Happy New Year, Murjan!

Back after two years of website hijackings! No longer MIA! I think those interested in the sites have realized that I am not ever going to capitulate to the exortion to get them back (pay us $$ and we will give you back your site/domain) or purchase a neworx or whatever it is going to take to clear up the site. Time is a friend, and time seems to have returned my blogsites to me. So, I am back!

Quick update:

Donnie is, well, still Donnie, but Doah is writing a book about him, called Daddy Waited.

Lizzie has married. Post coming. Handsome black dude from Caribbean and an overall good guy.

Noelle continues to live independently, with Ray, who died four years ago (how did so much time pass?). She proofreads books, something that she can do at home -- and does well.

Shane moved to Sacramento as part of his job with the California Highway Patrol. He is now teaching for CHP, which makes his hours a lot better for family time. Nathaniel was 14 (!!) on Christmas Day, and Nikolina has both survived and thrived. She is now 6 and in first grade. Mom has to go to school with her everyday to manage any unpleasant medical interruptions, but otherwise, Nikolina is just another little school girl, something that most of her doctors and nurses doubted would happen.

Doah is, well, still Doah. Still living in a group home nearby and still finding ways to keep his caretakers and us on our toes. It kinda says something when all the police and sheriffs know him! (Fortunately, they also like him.)

Posts forthcoming on all the above.

Waiting expectantly to hear all of your updates!

Happy New Year!

Unsecret Santa

A couple of years ago, we heard about the Secret Santa movement--a movement that seems to be secret in itself. Secret Santas go to department stores around Christmas time and pay off the layaways that are still there. Dozens of people find themselves pleasantly surprised for Christmas when they receive a special call from the layaway department. No one ever knows who these Secret Santas are because, well, they are secret Santas. They work out a deal with the clerks at the layaway counters or with the store managers, pay off whatever number of packages, and then leave. I suppose the clerks may know their names unless they are paying for all those packages in cash. If the clerks know, though, they never say.

Donnie and I became intrigued with the Secret Santa movement a couple of years ago although we cannot be considered well off. In fact, we have to scrape dollars and sometimes even change together to get our last few meals of the month before our next paychecks arrive. (It is not that my job does not pay a decent salary; it does. The problem is that all of Shane's money and much of ours goes to keeping our $3M [so far] granddaughter, Nikolina [see sidebar], alive and smiling. One of only three OEIS Complex survivors in the world, she is now a plucky, happy four-year-old but requires close medical monitoring and special supplies. I will write an update soon.)

While we do not have the finances to be Secret Santas, lack of money has never stopped us. So, a couple of days before Christmas we go to our local Kmart, where we can use our Sears card, ask the layaway clerk to find a package with toys in it, and pay it off. (We figure that if there are toys, there are children, and, who knows, without those toys, Christmas might be rather barren. We also figure that if they have not been picked up by December 23, the parents are probably struggling financially and may not be able to come up with the remaining amount. After the store calls the recipient, we sneak out. It is crazy fun!

This year, though, a lady walked into the layaway department as we waiting for the one clerk to find a package for us. The second clerk waited on the newly arrived lady, who had paid about 2/3 of the cost of the layaway but was short of cash for Christmas food. She wanted to turn in the layaway and get what she had paid into it back so that she could feed her kids.

While the second clerk looked for her package, we talked to the lady. She told us she had five boys (well, there's a challenge), was a single mother, and had just been a little lavish in her desires for the kids for Christmas. Lavish? When the clerk brought out the package there were 1-2 gifts (a t-shirt and a toy or pajamas and a toy) for each boy, and there was a cookware set, obviously for everyone. All together it was more than what we had planned to spend, but it was Christmas, after all, and God is pretty good at refilling our coffers. So, we told the first clerk not to look anymore and explained to the lady what a Secret (un, Unsecret) Santa is.

The layaway clerks excitedly walked with us to the customer service desk, where all the items in the layaway package were turned back in, the lady reimbursed for what she had paid into the layaway, and then all the times were purchased on our Sears card. The customer service desks clerks got into the spirit of things, too, and it seemed like Christmas had arrived a couple of days early.

The lady, whose name we never learned (nor does she know ours), kept iterating her grateful surprise. It clearly seemed a bit unreal to her until it came time for her to leave the store with all her layaway items and more than enough cash in her pocket for holiday food. She gave both Donnie and me a big hug, then revealed that she had not planned to come by the store the evening of the 23d but was planning to come in on the morning of the 24th. She had been returning from work, really tired, really hoping to go home, when she felt so impelled to come to the store that she knew she had to make the extra stop but did not know why. I guess we can all figure out why!

Wishing all a blessed Christmas!

The Christmas Pageant

Another goodie from the Internet loop, sent to me by a friend and, I think, worth sharing:

My husband and I had been happily married (most of the time) for five years

but hadn't been blessed with a baby. I decided to do some serious praying and promised God that if he would give us a child, I would be a perfect mother, love it with  all my heart and raise it with His word as my guide.



God answered my prayers and blessed us with a son. The next year God blessed us

with another son. The following year, He blessed us with yet another son. The year after that we were blessed with a daughter. My husband thought we'd been blessed right into poverty. We now had four children, and the oldest was only four years old.



I learned never to ask God for anything unless I meant it. As a minister once told me, "If you pray for rain, make sure you carry an umbrella." I began reading a few verses of the Bible to the children each day as they lay in their cribs. I was off to a good start. God had entrusted me with four children, and I didn't want to disappoint Him.



I tried to be patient the day the children smashed two dozen eggs on the kitchen floor searching for baby chicks. I tried to be understanding when they started a hotel for homeless frogs in the spare bedroom, although it took me nearly two hours

to catch all twenty-three frogs. When my daughter poured ketchup all over herself and rolled up in a blanket to see how it felt to be a hot dog, I tried to see the humor rather than the mess.



In spite of changing over twenty-five thousand diapers, never eating a hot meal

and never sleeping for more than thirty minutes at a time, I still thank God daily for my children. While I couldn't keep my promise

to be a perfect mother - I didn't even come close - I did keep my promise

to raise them in the Word of God.



I knew I was missing the mark just a little when I told my daughter we were going to church to worship God, and she wanted to bring a bar of soap along to "wash up" Jesus, too. Something was lost in the translation when I explained that God gave us everlasting life, and my son thought it was generous of God to give us his "last wife."



My proudest moment came during the children's Christmas pageant. My daughter was playing Mary, two of my sons were shepherds and my youngest son was a wise man. This was their moment to shine. My five-year-old shepherd had practiced his line, "We found the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes." But he was nervous and said, "The baby was wrapped in wrinkled clothes." My four-year-old "Mary" said, "That's not 'wrinkled clothes,' silly. That's dirty, rotten clothes." A wrestling match broke out between Mary and the shepherd and was stopped by an angel, who bent her halo and lost her left wing.



I slouched a little lower in my seat when Mary dropped the doll representing Baby Jesus, and it bounced down the aisle crying, "Mama-mama." Mary grabbed the doll, wrapped it back up, and held it tightly as the wise men arrived.



My other son stepped forward, wearing a bathrobe and a paper crown, knelt at the manger, and announced, "We are the three wise men, and we are bringing gifts

of gold, common sense and fur." The congregation dissolved into laughter, and the pageant got a standing ovation.



"I've never enjoyed a Christmas program as much as this one," laughed the pastor,

wiping tears from his eyes.  "For the rest of my life, I'll never hear the Christmas story without thinking of gold, common sense, and fur."



"My children are my pride and my joy and my greatest blessing," I said as I dug

through my purse for an aspirin.



Jesus had no servants, yet they called Him Master. He had no degree, yet they called Him Teacher. He had no medicines, yet they called Him Healer. He had no army, yet kings feared Him. He won no military battles, yet He conquered the world. He committed no crime, yet they crucified Him. He was buried in a tomb, yet He lives today. Feel honored to serve such a Leader who loves us.



GOD BLESS YOU ALL!

I think all mothers can relate to the story of the pageant and that we all can take a minute to ponder the wonders of that last paragraph. Wishing you all a blessed Advent and Christmas. Let's not hurry the season; let's experience it fully.