Summer writing ...

is on hold

Several projects have kept me writing over the past few months: completing the manuscript for my new poetry collection Migraines and Their Remedies, working on a new play, writing theatre reviews, and writing this weekly newsletter.

On June 17, I joined #1000wordsofsummer, the Jami Attenberg project which encourages tens of thousands of writers to write one thousand words a day through June 30. Most days I wrote close to one thousand, one side or the other, a couple of days I struggled to get five hundred, and when our cat Potato died on June 28, my writing came to a halt.

Sometimes you just have to grieve.

Potato was born on June 21, 2005. She was the last of the litter of five. Her mother, Asia, was only a year old herself, had gone into heat only once. All five babies lived. Stanton, the first born, was the biggest, and he became my cat as soon as he was weaned. He lived twelve years before dying of cancer. In 2014, Asia came to join me and Stanton, while my daughter Stormy and Potato took to the open road. Potato was nearly ten years old when she learned to walk on a leash. She was always a special cat, having survived an early surgery, epilepsy, heat stroke, and a lifelong digestive condition. It wasn't her hardships that made her special though. She was tiny, tailless, and beautiful.

Asia was Manx, the father of the kittens was Maine Coon. Asia had a short, crooked tail shaped like a toilet handle. She was brown tabby in color. Potato had her coloring, her father's long hair, and beautiful, black eye-lined eyes. She modeled the sweaters, leashes, and collars Stormy made. She loved to climb just high enough in trees to be admired.

She got along with the other cats in our lives by mostly ignoring them. If they couldn't be ignored, she hissed and they got out of her way. Due to her digestive issues, she always had a special, usually expensive, diet. She took meds for hypotension, and in the later months, gabapentin for pain. Usually she took her meds like a champ, except when she didn't. She was expert at pretending to swallow a pill, but spit it out later when no one was looking. Stormy found pills in many hiding places.

Potato liked to go for short walks around the yard, but had to be accompanied by a human or she'd stray into the neighbor's yard. Both Stormy and I walked her. When she wanted me to walk her, she'd come close and meow, then walk to the door. But she had little patience. If I took too long to get to the door, she'd turn around and go back to Stormy's room.

All the kittens were born in Stormy's lap. At the time, I had taken the grandkids to the Wallowa Mountains for a camping trip. Stormy was alone, and trapped for hours as Asia gave birth in Stormy's lap. Asia was unable to birth Stanton without help, and after that, she just stayed in Stormy's lap.

Potato was born on Stormy's lap, and died in her arms on June 28, 2023. She was eighteen years and one week old.

Please tell me about the pets you’ve loved and lost. Maybe offer advice for how to get through the grief. Or tell me about the pet you have now. Pictures are welcome.