Tag Archives: foster kittens

Ruth Thinks Certain Things would be REALLY NICE

DSCN0446Hey y’all, I’m Ruth. Yes, I’m a girl. Yes, I’m an orange tabby. Yes, I’m unusual.

Now we’ve got that out of the way, lemme tell you, we’ve got an unusual life here. It all started when we were born, see. My two brothers and I got taken to a place called a “shelter” when we were three days old. I don’t remember that part, or the part about Mom not coming with us. The first thing I remember is this lady bottle feeding us, and then we slept, and then we got more bottle. Which was very nice, and then the stuff in the bottle was in this big plate on the floor and it had this delicious stuff mixed in, called “solid food.” That was REALLY nice!

DSCN0459And then one day she put us all in this box and we went in a car and we got out at this place FULL of books. And other kittens. And the two ladies talked, and we stayed at the book house. Which was also nice, because she had the same food for us, plus there were other kittens there to play with. We all swapped stories – none of them had moms either. Some of the stories were kinda sad, but then the place where we were was nice: clean, bright, all the food we wanted, plenty of toys, and people kept coming in and cuddling us and saying things like we were adorable, and cute, and brave, and all that. That was REALLY REALLY nice!

Then one day the second lady, the one from here, she came in and sat us all down and explained that we didn’t live there forever, that one day we’d get in a car again, but maybe just one or two at a time, and go live someplace else, and THAT would be our forever homes. We all looked at each other; we like playing together! But then, you know, a forever home. That would be REALLY REALLY REALLY nice. So I guess that’s okay.DSCN0476

You should come visit us. THAT would be REALLY REALLY REALLY nice too! We love to snuggle.


Filed under animal rescue, Big Stone Gap, bookstore management

Dear John

As people are visiting in preparation for the Author Humiliation Contest, we’re re-running the infamous Dear John letter from last year, as incentive to have fun. (Mr. Grisham can take a joke. We hope and pray….)

Let’s face it: we’ve had some good times, but they’re all in the past.

You made me laugh; you broadened my horizons; I ran my fingers down your spine and felt sexy and smart. We even shared some values. I will never forget weeping over A Time to Kill, feeling that I’d found my soul mate (not to mention this generation’s To Kill a Mockingbird).

But we’ve grown apart. Put more bluntly, you’ve changed. Try as I might, I just can’t get past Playing for Pizza. 

It’s over, John. Our bookstore won’t be taking any more Grishams–not paperback, not hardback, not written on vellum. I tried. Through the mood swings from The Testament to A Painted House, I stood by you.

“He’ll find himself again,” I said to naysayers. “Really, he’s a sensitive ’90s guy; did you read Rainmaker?” And then I read The Litigators, and wondered.

Frankly, John, it’s just not worth it to try again. Your hardbacks are clogging a desirable traffic area among the Pattersons and Cornwells. (If it’s any consolation, she’s next. You may find comfort under each other’s covers in the bargain bin; rebounds aren’t so bad if you have a traveling companion.)

Plus, your hardbacks take up an entire shelf, and can’t lie sideways because of their height. Size does matter, dude.

So really, it’s not you; it’s me. You’re just… too much. You throw yourself at every Amazon, Dick and Barnes and Noble, and then come crawling in here expecting I’ll take you back. You’re not a cheap date anymore; I need space for the next guy; you’re all over the place–in the Quick Trades, clogging the discount bin, lying under our shelves. I’m tired of cleaning up your messes every morning, after you party all night with the foster kittens. You’re just too cheap and easy.

I know, I know; you want to talk about the past, the glory days when people couldn’t keep their hands off you. I get it. I should feel lucky to have you here, with me, now. But it doesn’t work that way.

The time has come. Let’s be adult about this–no blame, no regrets. Admit it; you had fun. So did I. Shake hands before you go? No, don’t kiss me. You’re dusty. Just get out.


Filed under animal rescue, bad writing, blue funks, bookstore management, humor, Life reflections, out of things to read, publishing, reading, shopsitting, writing