Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness around the world.

July 18, 2006

Today’s announcements

Happy Anniversary Debra and Mark Shiveley: merribuck@aol.com

Now onto the good stuff!

Congratulations goes out to Mary Dees, the cousin of our gifted writer Debra Shiveley has now joined the ranks of our highly respected senior writers.   Mary joined us as writer # 305 on  March 23, 2006.   Mary is also extremely talented, and her poetry continues to reach the hearts and souls of readers everywhere.

You may reach her at:  marlena7694@yahoo.com

Today’s Queue Stories

~**~**~

PURRFECT TRUST  

Helen Dowd

     Tell me this: if you had a baby, and she was born blind, would you get rid of her?  Of course not!  You would take her home and love her, just as you would, had she been a sighted baby.  But of course you would have to make a few adjustments.  You would have to watch her to see that she was safe at all times.  Although she would not be favored over your other children, you would have to make a few compensations.

    And that is exactly the way I found it to be having a blind cat.  At the time Helen-Keller joined our family, I had three other cats.  I did not want--nor need--another cat. 

    Baby was a beautiful chocolate-lynx-point, one-year-old Himalayan cat, with long, creamy-silk hair: perfect qualifications for becoming a Grand Champion show cat. That is what she was bred to be; and she would have won hands-down, except for one thing. She was born with PRA, (Progressive Retinal Atrophy): blindness. No use as a show cat, no use as a breeder, she would have to be put down.  But…there was an alternative—me.

    I was helping out a cat-breeder friend when I first spotted her.  She was sitting a-top a feed container.  As I approached her, she looked up at me, her sky-blue eyes sparkling.  She yawned.  Not knowing anything about her at the time, I stoked her head and said, "Oh, hello, you gorgeous kitty.  What's your name?"  And that is when I was told that her name was Helen-Keller.

    "That's a strange name for a cat," I replied.  "The Helen-Keller I know of was blind."

    "Exactly," said my friend.  "And that is why I named her that.  She is blind."

    I couldn't get this cat out of my mind for the longest time.  But eventually life blotted out the memory of this strikingly beautiful--but blind--kitty.  Until one day I got a phone call from my friend…. And that phone call resulted in my taking Helen-Keller into our home. 

    The night before the little cat came, I had visions of having to carry her around in a basket the rest of her life, taking her with me wherever I went, to protect her from all the dangers my imagination was conjuring up.  I was having second thoughts.  But what if I didn't take her?  What was the alternative?   A cat breeder cannot have a handicapped cat…. First off, I decided, during my nighttime reveries, her name would have to be changed.  Helen-Keller was too awkward a name for such a small cat.  And "Helen" was out of the question.  We did not need two Helens in the house…. That's it!  I would call her "Baby."  

    I will never forget that first day "Baby" joined our family.  My illusions of toting this helpless, blind cat around in a basket flew out the window the minute she set foot in the house.  Cautiously I set her down, keeping an eye on Queenie, Ernie, and Casper, our other three cats at the time.  Duffy, (our ‘then’ dog), had already met Baby during our trip home.  She thought she was just fine, but then, Duffy accepted every living creature as being just fine.

     Baby began exploring.  With me following her like a bloodhound sniffing prey, the cat explored every nook and cranny in each room of the house.  She walked around, rather than bumping into, furniture, as if she had some sort of built-in radar.  And it was then that I noticed her exceptionally long whiskers.  "Pussy-footing" her way into the living room, she climbed up onto the sofa and other furniture, then cautiously climbed down again.  She sniffed her way down the hall until she came to the bathroom, where the kitty litter box was.  Gingerly, she stepped into it, used it, covered her business, and more confidently, stepped out again, resuming her inspection of her new surroundings. 

    Now where was her food?  Her rounds weren't complete without knowing where her food was. Seeing her sniffing around, I steered her in the direction of where I had put down some of her familiar food, in a special place where the other cats wouldn't bother her. She began eating.  Since she would have to share a water dish with the other cats, I showed her where that was.  One showing was all she needed.  As for the other cats, they curiously eyed her from a distance, then went back to their sleeping.  Baby was home to stay. 

    And how was life with Baby from then on?  Fine!  And fun!  Baby fit in so well that after she had been here a week, it was as if she had been born here. 

    Baby was a member of our family for five years

*********

If Baby were around to ask what the ins-and-outs of having a blind kitty as a member of the family she would tell you this: "Treat a blind cat pretty well the way you would treat a sighted cat." But there are a few things to consider.  I am passing on my experience and observation to all the humans that own blind kitties. 

Let Baby tell it in her own words:

a. Beware of sudden noises.  They can cause extreme fright. If something is dropped, or noisy machinery is working outside, assure me that everything is okay.

b. Make sure you keep my food and water in the same place all the time.

c. Make sure the kitty litter box is easily accessible, and remains in the same place all the time. And of course, make sure that it is kept clean.

d. Give me time to adjust if you change the furniture around. Help me in finding familiar things. And turn the TV on while you are showing me.  That helps me get my bearings.  I would just as soon you never moved anything, but given time, I will adjust.

e. Leave a radio, or the TV on if you go out. Dead silence frightens me. And when you come home again, make sure you greet me by my name. I will be sitting there waiting for you, and will greet you right back with my own unique little meow.  As soon as you get your arms free of whatever is in them, pick me up and love me.

f. Talk to me a lot. I love to hear your voice. It makes me feel safe. I will follow you everywhere, and be your constant companion.  I will welcome company, but I always want to hear your voice amongst theirs.

g. Make sure you do not leave doors to the outside open. And watch the door if company comes.  Sometimes they are careless and do not close doors after them. If I ever got out, I would never find my way back.

                                              ***

I do not climb or jump onto things that are high or unfamiliar, but if it is something I know, like the footstool, or the bed, I will jump up. But for the most part I stay at ground level. I love to curl up in a box. Small boxes or large Styrofoam meat trays placed around the house in two or three places are my safety zones.

I play, just like a sighted cat, but I cannot run as fast. In fact, I do not run at all. If I try, I bump into walls and furniture. I like toys that make some sort of noise. Favorites of mine are rolled-up tinfoil balls, or tiny Christmas bells, or the stone of an avocado. Bells always scoot away from me, and I lose them under things, so a good idea is to put some dangling toys above one of my boxes, and on them, tie little bells.

One thing that amazes people, who observe, is that I play with the sunbeams that stream in the window on a sunny day. I have heard the humans discussing this phenomenon. How can I “see” to play with sunbeams? Well, I don’t see them. I sense them. I feel them tickling my unusually long whiskers.  Maybe it is because of this that I can sense sunbeams. I love it when the sun shines. I just want to get in the middle of those rays and sleep. It feels SOOOO good.

Another thing that humans think is unusual about me is how I love to try to catch a fly. When I hear one buzz, and sometimes the humans can’t even hear it, I stand up on my hind feet and bat the air. I love to sit in front of the screen door in the summer, and listen for the flies and the bees to play with. It keeps me entertained for ages. And I also get a kick out of listening to the humans’ amazement at my ability to do this.

I rather like being blind. Of course, I’ve never been anything else. But my owner really gives me everything I ask for. One of my favorite things is whipped topping. I am always asking for that, and she always has some for me, in the fridge. I hurry into the kitchen every time I hear the fridge door open, or when I hear the teaspoons rattling in the drawer. I dance a little jig in the middle of the kitchen until I hear the plop of my treat, in my dish.

Oh! I am spoiled. And I love it!  So, my advice to those who are thinking of taking on a blind, or handicapped cat: DO!  Just remember to make a few adjustments to your life.  But in the long run, it's worth it.  Just ask my human, Helen.

Post script: On September 18^th, 2002, at the age of six, Baby succumbed to *PKD—(Polycystic Kidney Disease is characterized by large cysts in one or both kidneys and a gradual loss of normal kidney tissue which can lead to chronic renal failure.) I first noticed her symptoms when she stopped asking for her special treat, whipped topping. (more about that later in the article).  I prayed that she wouldn't suffer long, and my prayers were answered.  Daily she became weaker, refusing any kind of nourishment, even from a syringe.  Knowing that her end was near, since I was aware of her disease, I fixed up a small box, with a warm, hot water bottle in the bottom, and wrapped her up in the towel.  Thankfully I had to be away that day; otherwise I would have been watching her constantly.  When I arrived home at four that afternoon, she was in exactly the same position as when I had left her.  Our Baby had left us, out of pain and into peace.  Needless to say, we missed her.  The house seemed strangely vacant with her gone.

Helen Dowd

hmdowd@telus,net

Bio

© Helen Dowd enjoys spending time at her computer, along side her husband of 48 years, writing poetry, story poems, stories about pets and life in general, as well as inspirational and Bible stories. Her writings can be found on her website: www.occupytillicome.com. She has recently had a book published  – If You Only Knew!—a story of courage and faith, taking place during the Great Depression and beyond.  It can be viewed by pressing on the banner on the front page of her website.

~**~**~

My Protector

Mary Dees

 I learned early in life how to be strong, how to endure and how to go on, when I thought all hope was lost. I learned this from my brother; my brother John.

            I believed John to be the most fearless man I’d ever known. When danger snarled, he stood up and mocked at it. If there were any peril, I knew I would be safe if John was there.

            I'm not quite sure where he learned how to be so solid, but if any of us (being Mom, Lloyd or myself) were ever in the realm of being harmed, John was the one who heeded it. He was always there for me when I needed the strength only a brother could offer. John was my protector, (not always an easy job) but he never quit. John was always "such" a brother and the good and the bad that came with his position. Though most importantly, throughout our lives, John has remained.....my friend. 

                                                           Mary M. Dees

My Brother John

He never said it would be easy,

To fall instead of stand.

He had to figure out for himself,

What it would take to be a man.

He never said it would be simple,

To walk instead of crawl.

But when he was ready to stand,

I knew he would never fall.

He didn’t ask for a hand,

When he needed someone to help.

He never extended his emotions,

So it was hard to know how he felt.

He never let anyone know,

When pain made him hurt so deep.

At night, I think it found him,

And wouldn’t let him sleep.

I wonder when he knew his first tears,

Or if the tears ever came.

I wonder how he dealt with it alone,

While he built his wall of pain.

Just maybe he didn’t plead forgiveness,

When he knew he had done wrong.

But there was no father to praise him,

Anytime that he was standing strong.

I wonder how he shook the hand of death,

Then turned to laugh at its memory.

He always found out the hard way,

But he learned what a man had to be.

If battles were won without him,

I surely, just don’t know how.

His weapons were his fists,

But his heart – it leads him now.

Even though I realize John,

That you don’t think this could be true.

But to me a man is only a man,

If he has proven it like you.

My protector, my brother,

You have completed the band.

That plays a symphony in my heart,

Each time I see you stand.

If you are there beside me,

Or on the sidelines standing tall.

My weakness would diminish,

And I too would never fall.

                                         By Mary M. Dees

marlena7694@yahoo.com

~**~**~

Poetry Section

~**~**~

Christmas

Joyce Lock

Christmas is a time of year

Our hearts are made to sing

Of life, love, and family;

And all the joy they bring.

Sounds of laughter fill the air.

Children scurry around;

Bouncing, with each step, where 'ere

Festivities are found.

Friendships warm our heart and soul,

Stirring hope 'til it's aglow.

Hugs are generally welcomed

By everyone we know.

Lights add sparkle to our eyes.

Peace exudes our very soul.

When we let the Christ-child in,

Christmas can make us whole.

© by Joyce C. Lock

~**~**~

Christmas Is ...

Joyce Lock

Christmas is

A time to remember

The special people we love.


And, we love you!

© by Joyce C. Lock

~**~**~

Comfort

 Joyce Lock

As I look to the heavens

And gaze at the clear blue skies,

I know there is a Savior

With love in His wondrous eyes.

If you look close, you'll see Him.

His arms are opened so wide,

Greeting new comers

To their home on the other side.

 by Joyce C. Lock

Readers Feedback

Thanks, Carol - Martha is an honest treat.

Ron Gold

Senior Writers

Chief writer: Sharon Bryant

Chief researcher/historian: Hartson Dowd

Agee, Vance; Apted, Violet; Baker, Kathy; Batt, Al; Berry, Nell; Blaine, Pamela; Boda, Ginger; Booher, Paula; Buhagiar, Victor; Cassady, B.J.; Costner, Joan Clifton; Cavalera, Robyn; Crider, Mark; Dees, Mary; Deming, Barb; Doherty, Maria;

Dowd, Hartson; Dowd, Helen; Gilbert, Robert, Jr.; Gold, Ron; Goodier, Steve; Braun-Haley, Ellie; Harris, Kathy Anne; Henry, Linda Ann; Hunt, Sharlett; Hymes, Christina; Jacobson, Gary; Kiser, Roger Dean; Kerens, Claudia; Kevin, Tim; Jenkins, Pamela; Liles, Norma; Lily Jodi Flesberg; Lock, Joyce; Marlor, Janice Bumbalough; Mazzella, Joe; Morris, Deepak; Ojeibge, Georgewaters; Petry, Dianna Doles; Roberts, Susan; Shiveley, Debra; Shaw, Bob; Sims, Richard; Streidel, Saskia; Swarner, Ken; Vaknin, Sam; Verhoeff, Jan; Walker, Bill; Walker, Joe; Warner, Gordon, K; Walsh, Sue; Weymouth, Barbara J.; Whirity, Kathy;

Wainland, David; Westerfer, Clara; White Robert;

Storytime Tapestry Staff

Carol Roach - Founder/publisher

Thelma Hartselle - Co-Founder, Moderator

Clara Westerfer – moderator

Bob Johnston - moderator