Two Adult Cats Need New Homes After Owner Passed Away

UPDATE 5:10pm Thursday January 29, 2015: Sammy and Baby Girl are safe and adopted!

My friend Nick lost his mom right before Christmas. He didn't hear from her over a weekend, which was weird; they were very close. The following Monday, he went to check on her to find his mom's body; she died sometime early in the weekend. Nick is an only child. He lives alone, in an apartment, and he has a kitty of his own. He loves his kitty, his kitty mostly tolerates him, but his kitty will not tolerate any other cat... and neither will his landlords. Nick has until the end of January to finish cleaning out his mother's apartment, and as he does that, he's been visiting the cats daily to feed, water, scoop, and play.

Time is almost up, though. These two cats suffered the loss of their person, and now with 5 days to go they are losing their home with nowhere to go. We've been trying to home them for a month and a half, but nobody wants adult cats, and the shelters and rescues we've asked have regretfully declined - they're overpopulated with adult cats, as it is.

Please, if you can spread the word, share the post, if you know anybody who can take these cats in - please send them my way. Comment here, email jenniferbaileybergen at gmail, tweet @tryjen. These two don't even need to be homed together, since the tuxedo girl sort of totally hates the Maine Coon, but they need homes.

This is Sammy. He's a 10 yr old Maine Coon.

This is Baby Girl. She's a 6 yr old chubster.

We don't know what to do. These cats deserve a home where they will be loved, but we can't find anybody who has a place for them to go. We have offered donations of money and goods to local no-kill shelters, we've asked everybody we know... Nobody can take them. 

There are five days left until these cats are homeless. 

Ideas? Thoughts? Help? 

Why, Hobby Lobby, Why?

Source: Tell Them!

As you might have noticed by now, sometimes I write things, and these things are occasionally for contribution to other websites or organizations.

Here's one I wrote recently for a South Carolina based non-profit, my former office neighbors and buddies over at Tell Them! Presently the post shows over 450 combined visible shares, which I believe makes it their second most popular blog post (to date). I guess we hit a nerve?

Without further rambles: please enjoy my ranting and raving over at the Tell Them! blog in a guest post entitled Why, Hobby Lobby Why?!: Experiencing the Five Stages of Hobby Lobby Grief.

Numb Ladyparts and Routine Knitting

Last year I bought an exercise bicycle at the Goodwill for $10. I did this because I thought I maybe kinda sorta would give it a try. Maybe, possibly. See, it was only $10, which was important because then, later, when I never used it ever ever ever, at least I wouldn't feel guilty for not exercising AND for wasting money.

Except then I actually used it, and I used it a lot. A lot for me, anyway, which was anywhere from 90-120 minutes a week. It was uncomfortable, to be sure - most of the time I would hop off of that sucker at the end and my ladyparts would be completely numb. NUMB. MY LADYPARTS. That's right, you get quality and value in your blog reading here at Not Too Crazy! But even with my brain missing my ladyparts for the duration, I rode that damned bike.

And then I broke it. I broke it but good, too, snapped one of the pedal arm thingie whoosits in a way that was either unrepairable entirely, or at least cost-effectively.

That was some number of weeks ago. I've been shopping around for a new - actually really for serious retail-new new - bike, but. All the bikes I looked at seemed not to meet what I needed in one way or another, or if they did I would add them to my amazon cart to deliberate for a few days and then they'd go out of stock.

So, today, I happened upon the perfect bike (it's even one of the chair kind, not the ladyparts-killer-bike-seat-kind) and so of course, I told Tim. Sweet, understanding, long-suffering Tim, who has listened to me hem and haw and waffle and complain about exercise bikes for what has turned into months, you guys. Months. And I continued to waffle, even during the course of this conversation, but then:

Timothy: and look, hands-free

me: i'm still waffling btw

Timothy: you could do ROUTINE KNITTING in this thing

me: HOLY SHIT SOLD

He wins at being my husband. For real.

Differences in the Time of Social Media

Lately I've been thinking about differences. With a big D, that is: Differences. The kinds of Differences which can ruin friendships. Specifically, I've been thinking about Differences in the time of social media.

Thinking about this makes me wear my "I'm keeping my mouth shut, behold my utter seriousity!" face, which I've helpfully demonstrated for you over there on the right.

You see, for me, for the kind of person I am and the kinds of friends that I have, it's usually been the case that once differences of opinion get addressed, that's that. To co-opt a gross cliché here, some of my best friends are Republicans! Our differences? They're okay, because we are entitled to our opinions. What I mean to say is, overall, we just don't need to constantly hash it out. We keep our mouths shut. Seriously.

Politics, religion, global warming.... heck, in the times of the Mommy Wars, it was, is, and will probably always be about how breast is best, or circumcision is genital mutilation, or my kid's carseat is safer than yours... whatever. You know how I feel, I know how you feel, and we move on.

So here's where Facebook, in specific, is causing me some discomfort, and some introspection.

Facebook groups and pages are the new Fish/Bicycle t-shirt, or "Don't blame me!" bumpersticker. Sure. I get it. What scares me about this, though, is how you can make a statement without actually making a statement, just by way of being a "joiner". You don't own that shit. You're not saying "I, Self Me, believe that the Holocaust is a lie! Wanna make something of it?"

No. You're not taking that heat.

You're saying "I passively agree with this thing someone else said, and did you happen to notice the moist and chewy pre-packaged safety in numbers deliciousness? No? Oh, well, then it's just a JOKE Holocaust denial anyway, quit being so reactionary".

It feels like receiving a "Dear Jen, learn how to park, you asshole!" note under my windshield wipers - not that I've ever received one of those, Aaron - every time I see a friend joining a group or liking a topic that I, personally, find reprehensible. No, I know it isn't about me. Yes, I am just as guilty as the next guy. Only my Passive Joiner Statements of Difference were things that I agree with. Acceptance. Equality. Understanding. Choice.

You know what They say about opinions.

So I think about the kind of person I am, and the kind of person I want to be. Do I want to be the kind of person who only surrounds herself with people of like mind? Because that sounds pretty boring. Do I want to embrace or ignore my (admittedly) knee-jerk reaction of "You know what? Friendship over." when I encounter these really grotesque statements that my friends seem to be supporting? Because if I got friend-dumped over being pro-choice, for example, I'd be pretty pissed. I'd be making noise about my right to my opinions. If I got friend-dumped for being Caucasian, well, aiiie discrimination!

It's always about rights and discrimination when it's not originating from your own self, innit?

I don't know what's right or what's wrong, here. I don't know where it starts or where it stops. What does it say about acceptance and equality if I'm going to refuse to be friends with you because you feel differently than I do?

As I said, lately I've been thinking about Differences. I don't have a clear answer, but at least I'm thinking. I hope my friends are, too.

Stayin' Alive

Hey, look! I turned 36, and I didn't explode!

February: Old Age

Oh look: It's February. Lots of things have happened in the 10 days of February that have already elapsed. Here are a few:

• CJ and his girlfriend (!) were written up at school for kissing by her locker. I had forgotten that public displays of affection are outlawed at school. Honestly I was just glad that this time he hadn't been in a fight.
• I got into a hit and run crash on the 3rd. Very scary. My beloved Saturn VUE is going to be in the shop until at least the 19th.
• Meredith started in the gifted program at school, made it into the talent show, and continues to be so booked with activities that she has to consult her calendar before making plans. She's 9.
• We're in crunch-mode at work. I mostly enjoy crunch time, but not when it requires days worth of a most dreaded activity. I've developed a twitch in my left eyelid while doing said activity. I'm convinced it is psychosomatic, and that's hilarious.
• Tim has been coordinated by the lovely and talented Tracy, and there's apparently some to-do afoot for my upcoming birthday. We don't usually do a lot of to-doing as regards my birthday. I'm thrilled and nervous. Speaking of my birthday...

I'm turning 36 this month. Day after tomorrow, actually. I've been having a constant feeling of unease in the pit of my stomach regarding this, even as I fully recognize just how ridiculous that is. Age Aint Nuthin But a Number, (whatup ghost of Alyiah!) and all. I know. It's petulant and privileged, and oh my god, Becky, look at her butt (and that was two (count 'em!) TWO early nineties song references right there!) and everything, but there it is: I'm having Gettin' Old anxiety.

Starting sometime some number of years ago around this pre-birthday time (how's that for specific?), I realized that I remembered my mother being the age I was about to be. That was unsettling. I approached thirty with the idea that I was going to dread it, every minute of it... but that never happened. I love my early thirties. Or, at least, I've loved my early thirties. 30 turned out to be great. I felt like I finally "came into my own", as They say. I took charge of my own life, made really positive changes, and feel super proud and good about the result.

35, on the other hand, was upsetting. Suddenly I was being addressed by pharmaceutical companies and tv doctors and other forms of media in a whole new way. Not as a desired consumer, but as a warned consumer. "Women over 35 should consult their doctor before...", "Women 35 and older should not...", etc etc. If I want to have another baby, I'm "high risk". 35 was a whole new ball game.

And so now I'm about to turn 36. That's "late thirties" by any definition. Ugh.

As Regards Mom

I figured I'd say some things that are more than 140 characters long about what's going on with my mother. As you have already brilliantly deduced based upon my crafty reference to "140 characters" right then, I've been making updates regarding her status via my Twitter accounts (here (approval needed) or here (public access)), which auto-updates my status on Facebook. It's easier for me than having to actually talk about it. I know that seems weird, or maybe crass or something, but it is really helpful for me to not have to repeat what's going on with my mom over and over and over again every time I talk to someone. It is especially hard for me when I get asked what's wrong with her, or what happened.

It's hard to try to explain. Fact is, we're not really sure.

To sum up, my mom is still in the hospital - it's been about six weeks, now. There has been no Dr. Houseish million-mile stare moment, where a diagnosis clicked and we were then informed about what's wrong with her. She just... got sick. First with some not-the-flu virus thing, and then she got pneumonia, and then she just got sicker and sicker, and they don't really know what or why or how, just that she's sick. Diagnoses have come out of that, like ARDS, but those aren't the root cause. She was intubated and on a ventilator for nearly three weeks, she's had collapsed lungs, two tracheotomies, multiple chest tubes, a lot of other tests and tubes and scans, she almost died a lot, and she is all the way across the country from me, in Oregon.

I feel like I'm failing at daughter-hood, somehow. I feel like I'm failing me-hood somehow, because my "job" in this family is pretty much to show up and be the hard-ass caretaker voice of reason, and I'm not doing it. I know that there's nothing to do, here, but... still. My stepdad, Jeff, sends me updates every day, sometimes multiple times a day, via txt. I don't always respond, because there's only so many ways I can say "wow" or "omg" or "but do they think it's getting worse?" or "thanks for letting me know". Also, it's just hard. What do you even say to your parent when he tells you your other parent is pulling out her feeding tube repeatedly? And then when I don't respond: Fail, again.

It's important to point out that these aren't anyone's standards but mine that I'm failing. Nobody is telling me I suck for not doing more, nobody is complaining that I'm not doing what I should. Nobody, except my outta-whack internal monologue.

The fact of the matter, though, is that my two youngest siblings aren't able to do a whole lot to help, and they're local. My next youngest sibling is in Canada. Mostly, Jeff is on his own with this. He's taking care of their household and dogs, he's taking care of some teenage girl with cancer who moved into their house and their lives, he's taking care of my mom's mother in at least some capacity (thankfully, she's in an assisted living community), he's spending pretty much every possible moment at the hospital with my mother, and somehow, some way, he's having to take care of himself, too.

It's all I can do not to explode with worry, or mortar up some good old-fashioned emotional walls, or... something. I don't know. But I'm fighting this nasty internal battle about what I should do that I'm not doing, and then why I can't do those things, and hey, when was the last time the floor got vacuumed, anyway? Because I can't drop everything and run to Oregon, and it wouldn't do any good if I did. I can't make this go faster, I can't make her better, I can't fix any of this, and fixing is what I do.

Sometimes I worry that she's going to get better and be her old self again, and she's going to check Facebook one day and be "apocalyptically cross" that we've been talking about what's going on with her. And then I worry that I won't have to worry about that at all. Fancy tricks these brains play, no?

The good news is, it looks like she's finally turning the corner and on her way to getting better. She's having periods of consciousness, and the doctors have installed some valve-majiggy to her trach tube which allows her to speak. So far she's asked how long she's been in the hospital (she thought two months), and this morning she insisted that my stepdad... call the police. Baby steps? I guess.

So, thanks, you guys. Thanks for taking my 140 character piecemeal bits of information and telling me that you're keeping my mom in your thoughts. Thanks for checking in, thanks for showing me that you care, and thanks for still being there as this goes on and on, and on.