Tag Archives: cute kitten pictures

Fixing Mariah Stewart

DSCN0455I try to be a good foster mom. I really do.

The mystery room has been taken over by eight fuzzy little miscreants, and just as one was adopted yesterday, an emergency came in. Yeah, it’s been that kind of summer. The emergency kitten – we named her Miss Kitty Butler – is a Russian blue with brown eyes, a lovely wee thing who narrowly missed getting squished on the side of the road. She’s not supposed to be here, but it was better than the alternative.

Now, with eight kittens, and our dear Mrs. Hudson adopted a month ago, you can imagine the state of things. We keep on top of the boxes (which all the kittens are using like champs, in every sense) but they have a kitty tube, a climbing tree, a spiral hat, two dangly toys, assorted jingle balls, and about a thousand catnip mice in there.

We open the door by day, and herd them in at night. When I open the door the next morning with their (two) plates of wet food, they swarm my ankles like fuzzy piranhas, meat-seeking missiles. While they eat, I tidy the room. Which is a lot like Sisyphus pushing his rock up the hill, because the kitties have discovered the joys of tunneling through our new shelves. See, we just redid the mystery room about two weeks ago: new shelves, better classification system, and a big tidy that included Saint Anne buffing and rewaxing all the floors.

Yeah, good thing we got it tidied.

Every morning the kittens have created new tunnels between the central shelf’s lowest level, pushing Ed McBain, Mariah Stewart, and Charlotte MacLeod out of the way in great strings of books across the floor. These fallen soldiers of the kitten wars were, the first week or so, restacked with careful attention to titles and authors, turned sideways to allow a tunnel left open for the fur babies, and given a little tlc.

The kittens ignored the prefabricated tunnels and created more. Ridley Pearson. Richard North Patterson. When they shoved our 200 Robert Parker novels out of the way, I knew they meant business. You mess with Spenser for Hire, nobody is safe.

So I’ve stopped worrying about the kitten tunnels, and just shove those titles willy-nilly back under the bottom shelf each morning. Charlotte and Ridley have grown….close. Entwined, one might say. I’m pretty sure some of the Stewarts are pregnant, and will give birth to slim volumes of Harlequin Suspenses. Sigh….. 081

We ensure the kitties never give birth. It’s been a bad year for people forgetting their responsibilities, and these are the result. But I’m not sure how to fix the Stewarts…

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Filed under animal rescue, Big Stone Gap, book repair, bookstore management, crafting, humor, Life reflections, Little Bookstore of Big Stone Gap, publishing, reading, shopsitting, small town USA, VA, Wendy Welch, writing

For Love of Owen Meany

owen meany 026I don’t read the reviews of my book, but Jack does. He says many have liked the book with 4 or 5 stars, and those who haven’t tend to say it’s either because I don’t like Amazon and box stores, or because I don’t like Owen Meany.

Not like Owen Meany!? I LOVE Owen Meany!! I’ve never had a cat like him.

owen yelling

Owen, for those who don’t know the story, was part of two families fostered together at the bookstore. We decided to keep him after the others were adopted—and his biological brother died in my arms, despite our best efforts to help him overcome a virus.

owen guitarLittle House kittens pt 2 008

We are still trying to decide if Owen is a criminal mastermind or a complete imbecile. He’ll curl into my arms on his back in adorable kitten pose, purring away with that curious cat smile on his face, a picture of innocence—until he reaches up with lightning speed and bites my nose. It’s his little way of saying, “I love you, Mommy.”

owen kiss Owen and leroy

His claws are like razor blades; they can rip denim. Ask our customers. And he’s allergic to milk, which he loves, so you can just imagine how much fun it is when I get out the cream pitcher to add some to my coffee. He’s a pushy little guy.

owen throne Owen’s favorite game is to push glasses—particularly antique long-stemmed wine glasses—off counters and tables. He loves the crash, and the pretty patterns of light reflecting off the broken bits. One day I raced across the room to save one, only to see him jump into the midst of the shards, pick up a large, curved piece in his mouth, and shake it like a mouse.

owen longI’m voting imbecile.

Owen wrestles with Bert, our scruffy terrier who outweighs his feline brother by double; Owen grabs Bert’s leg and pulls him to the ground, judo flipping at the last second so he winds up sitting atop Bert, chewing on his ears as Bert, looking embarrassed, tries to find a way to extricate himself while retaining canine dignity.owen books

And at night Owen comes to our bed, checks to see that we’re tucked in, and sits on Jack’s face in a loving way. Since Owen didn’t learn everything about cat hygiene that he needed to from his overworked foster mama, this can get… ugly. But, as Jack says, love comes in many forms.

owen and jack

Not love Owen Meany. REALLY!!! But, yes, I did hate the book.

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Filed under Big Stone Gap, book reviews, folklore and ethnography, humor, publishing, Uncategorized, VA