Archive | February, 2018

Ways In Which Dolly Purrton And I Are The Same Individual Residing In Two Separate Bodies

27 Feb


We both have:

  1. A large amount of fluffy hair
  2. An uncanny ability to find a hot water bottle in a large bed, immediately

We are both:

  1. Clumsy
  2. Talkative
  3.  Expressive
  4. Attention seeking

Neither of us like to:

  1. Leave bed

Neither of us respond to:

  1. Cat nip
  2. Being picked up

Both of us love:

  1. Fixer Upper
  2. (Naps)

We are both:

  1. Rescues with tumultuous pasts

Both of us rescued ourselves with a little help from:

  1. Robert

Because yes, yes, no one can rescue you, that’s an inside job ETC but aren’t we all rescues a little bit? Isn’t that part of the human experience?


Dolly Purrton

26 Feb

dolly purrton

I’m sitting here with a curled up model of a cat right next to me. She is beauty, she is grace.

She is Miss United States.


Things were not always this easy.

Before we got Dolly Purrton, a few people had given general warnings that it takes cats a while to get used to their new surroundings.

I listened and nodded like OK. That’s nice. I read some articles on the topic and had Vivaldi’s Four Seasons ready on the record player.

Vivaldi’s Four Seasons played before every storytime my mother took me to and to this day that music brings out warm, fuzzy feelings in me. I couldn’t tell you a book we read, but I can tell you it was Spring! It was Summer!

I am now a librarian!

But Dolly.

She didn’t know Vivaldi was warm and fuzzy. She didn’t know that Rob and I were here to love her more than she had ever been loved in her life.

All she knew is that she was a new place. Her fourth home in three years. That she was scared.

That she was Miss United States.

Within the hour, Dolly had found her way into the bottom of our oven.

Rob and I left to run an errand and give Dolly some time to calm down. She was hiding under the couch at this point, perfectly normal. Vivaldi!

When we came back she was no longer there.

No big deal.

We started looking for her. “Dolly!”


15 minutes later I was seated in the corner of the room having a panic attack. Through deep breaths I was making bold promises to God about what I would do if we found Dolly.

I was certain somehow, some way she had gotten out of the house. Maybe our cupboards had a hole?

We Had Heard A Cricket Once!

It was Rob who found her under the stove.

(I was in the corner not coping, remember?)

Just a flash of fur. The poor thing so scared.

It took a week to the day.

We adopted her on a Saturday morning and the following Saturday morning I crept out into the living room before Rob woke up. I settled onto our yellow couch and let Dolly smell me. She smelled and she circled and she tail swished and when she finally rubbed her head against my leg I knew I had her.

Rob woke up to the two of us cuddling in the living room.

He eagerly joined in.

That first week wasn’t easy, and I guess I want to record that. That after Dolly left the oven we had to board it up, a protection that is still in place and still using my biggest cookie sheet.

That we got her a box and put Rob’s shirt in it so she’d learn to love the scent. And that we didn’t see her come out of her box for a long time. That we had to inspect the litter to make sure baby was being baby.

That for the first night she completely ignored her food.

That for the first week she wanted nothing to do with us, would not get near us. Rob would take pictures of her sometimes, late at night, when she was out in the house. He sat still and made no sounds. She needed to know we were safe.

That we wouldn’t disturb her in her safe space.

That we woudn’t disturb her at all.

And now here she is. A bundle of joy and warmth and the softest, most impossible cloud-like fluff you can imagine.

She is a dream.

I love her.


If you’re in your first week of cat ownership

I hear you.

I feel you.

Have you tried some Vivaldi?

Me Too

21 Feb


A few months ago I sold my gold bookshelves on Craigslist.

The way it all worked out, I was home alone the night my buyer could pick them up. I did the things I know how to do instinctively.

I gave several people information about where I was, who I was meeting, and when to worry.

I turned on all the lights in my apartment.

I pulled out my mace and had it in my hands when I opened the door.

I was greeted by a woman, about my age, holding the exact same pink breast cancer foundation mace I have.

We looked at each other and our ready mace and laughed.


“You have mace!”

“I have mace!”

Our relief was so palpable we hugged.

By the end of the transaction I’d helped this new sister strap the bookshelves on her car. Learned about her relationship with her grandma. Laughed again.

We were friends. We were safe.

I’ve thought about that moment a few times since. How I prepared myself for the worst-case scenario. How another woman felt the same way. How we live our lives prepared for the worst when it comes to our safety as women.

I haven’t written about the Me Too movement. I don’t write about a lot of political things here and then I wonder if I’m doing it all wrong.

A podcast I listened to shortly after the election quoted something along the lines of, thank goodness Anne Frank didn’t write about trees.

And while I know I am not even remotely at all ever in any way in the same situation as Anne Frank, I’ve wondered about what I write. Am I avoiding the important stuff? Am I only writing about trees?

And feel-good television?

And spring cleaning?

I think about this mainly when I imagine my future children. Young girls asking me about this particular moment in history.

What was it like when women started to speak their truths? How did it feel?

How does it feel to be a woman in this political climate in general?

The important questions.

And so.

I guess I’m here to begin in some small way.

To say Me Too.

Me Too in countless ways for countless reasons big and small.

Me Too like every woman I have ever met.

Me, me, me, Me Too.