Merry Christmas to all of our friends who celebrate, and to everyone, may you have a peaceful holiday season and New Year!
Here's a repeat of Connor's dreams of Christmas:
Saturday, December 23, 2017
Friday, November 10, 2017
Happy Friday! I want to tell you about a project I’m starting on Instagram, one that I’ll be sharing on this blog.
The purpose of this blog—and a lot of what I’m all about—is to celebrate living life with cats, to write about the beautiful, funny, heartbreaking, love-filled life I have as I follow cats.
As a way of documenting what life with cats is like, I’m posting a picture each day of one or more of my cats on Instagram, with a little bit of the story behind each picture.
Living with cats is not all sun puddles and purrs. You know that if you have ever lived with a cat. When we take care of a living being, there are hard times, there is sadness, and there is pure grief.
But living with cats gives me joy. What love I would be missing if I didn’t have cats around me.
In adopting cats, I am giving them a home and, as much as I possibly can, a peaceful and safe environment. I can only hope that I give as much to my cats as they give to me.
I hope my documentation will help others—even those who never really think about cats—see the beauty and awesomeness of cats.
If you’d like to follow along on Instagram, I’m at tinabarbour9.
The picture of Natasha in this post is the first one I posted for the project. She is staring at the birds on one of the bird feeders on a cold, gray November day. Cat TV at its best.
Tuesday, September 19, 2017
|Abbey and Natasha at the window one day when I got home from work. |
Please excuse the reflections.
I didn’t realize how long we had been away from blogging until I looked at my last post.
We didn’t mean to be away from the blog for this long. Abbey, Natasha, and Connor are doing fine. But the humans in the house have had a tough several weeks.
My mother-in-law passed away in August. Though it was expected, it wasn’t expected so soon. And we are never “ready” to lose a loved one, even when they are sick.
Mable Worley Barbour was 94 years old. She was in overall good health until earlier this year. She lived by herself until last August, for 10 of the 11 years since my father-in-law passed away. And she did well for most of the time she was in a nursing home. We are thankful that she wasn’t bedridden except near the end.
Larry is an only child, so he has had all of the responsibility of taking care of the estate and the tasks that must be done. That is hard to do while simultaneously dealing with the loss of a parent.
A bit earlier in August, I had to have an appendectomy. I got sick at work one morning with abdominal pain that just wouldn’t go away. I went home and tried all of my home remedies for what I thought was a digestive issue. That evening, Larry took me to the ER, and the next morning, I had surgery. I was able to go home the next day.
The day I got home from the hospital, Mable’s health started deteriorating rapidly, and she passed away early the next morning. I’m thankful I was able to get to the nursing home to spend time with her before she passed.
Through all of this, the kitties have helped to get us through. Of course, all the upset in household routine was hard on them. But our schedules are getting back to normal, and that’s a good thing for them.
I have missed you and have tried to keep up with what was going on in your lives. But I’m sure I’ve missed many things. I look forward to spending more time with you.
Tuesday, July 25, 2017
Tuesday, July 18, 2017
Thursday, July 13, 2017
Tuesday, July 4, 2017
Happy Independence Day to all of our U.S friends!
The New Colossus
BY Emma Lazarus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”