The Yearly Tree Post

Tis the season to post about my Christmas Tree. As I've mentioned before, the tree has been up since 2009 and up until this year, it existed relatively untouched with the exception of adding new ornaments.

This is what it looked like.

That was before Roger.

Roger...or ROGER! as his name is properly pronounced, came to us in February. It was the morning before a huge snow storm. I was awoken from a sound sleep just before sunrise by the sound of a cat wailing. I thought one of our pride had gotten stuck somewhere, or locked in the hall, or maybe sick. But when I went downstairs to make a headcount, I found our cats safe and sound and Paul getting dressed to go out and investigate.

He didn't have to go far. This young cat—no longer a kitten, but not full grown—was huddled under our car. By the time I got to the kitchen window, the cat had come out and was circling Paul's legs.

What followed was this quick conversation.

"Should we?"

"You know what that means."

"The storm's coming, we can't leave him out here."

"Do you think he belongs to anyone?"

"He's friendly."

I passed some food out the window to Paul and the cat went for it.

"He's hungry."

"Should I open the back door?"

"The rule applies."

"I'll go open the door. We'll see what he does."

When I opened the door the cat came right in...and became ours—or we became his. You see, the rule is, if we let the pet cross the threshold, it's found a home.

We brought him up to my office, he looked around and (I swear) he sighed with relief before settling down for a nap.

What does all this have to do with the tree?

Well, at first Roger was docile. Probably because of the wound we found in his side. But once he healed he turned out to be every bit the energetic adolescent boy. He was always hungry, always getting into trouble, and always trying to get the other cats to chase him.

And once he healed completely, we learned he's a climber. That's when we learned that his name isn't "Roger" it's "ROGER!" as in ROGER! GET DOWN!

Over the last year, Roger has explored the joys of our Christmas tree. He's climbed every limb, cherry picked balls, and chased them around the house—don't worry, they're plastic.

I've taken all of our more fragile ornaments off, and the special ones that were gifts were placed in a box.

Finally, with little left to pull down from the tree's branches, Roger began taking down the branches.

Here's what our tree and Roger look like today.

I don't have the heart to take it down just yet. Roger enjoys it so much.

Maybe once the holidays are over...or maybe I'll just put it back together so he can start again. After all, it makes every day Christmas for Roger.

Calling All Biggles Fans

My Cat Biggles needs surgery for a mass on his large intestine. After all we went through with Frankie, I admit to being a bit of a wreck. We've been working with the vet, treating a mysterious array of symptoms. Now we know where the mass is.

The vet was supposed to remove it today, but when she got in there she realized it was a bigger job and required a surgeon.

Please feel free to spread your good wishes and check in for updates for Biggles on his Facebook Page or on Twitter @BigglesSays.

Until this crisis is over all proceeds from my Zazzle Shop will go to paying for Biggles' medical expenses.

Biggles T Shirt by Lifeat30Feet
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A Single Shade of Grey: Sometimes a Thank You Means No Thank You

A few months ago I found myself in an unexpected position. I had to say no thank you without actually saying it.


After a very long dry spell I finally had a job interview. I prepared for days—researching the company, scraping together money to print new business cards and gathering appropriate writing samples. I had not been on a job interview in years and so I read all I could on questions to ask and answers to have. I prepared to present myself as exactly what they needed me to be.

Things were going very well. On paper, I was a great match for the position. My writing samples were a near perfect match for their own documentation. The people were nice and friendly. It wasn't going to be interesting work, but it was work I am good at and the company appeared to value the contributions of its writing staff.

I was getting ready to ramp up the charm for the final push. I had researched the company, I had my mental checklist of questions to ask about the position, and answers to questions like "where do you see yourself in five years?" It wasn't my ideal job, they were not big on telecommuting, but my little family needed the paycheck and I could make this work.

I had one more person to meet with and I was asked if I wanted a look around to see the workspace. I am so glad I said yes because that is when they lost me.

It was as if the office had been designed around my own personal list of depression triggers. High-walled grey cubes, the color of a rainy day in winter, sat in a field of matching grey carpet in a windowless area. The few people that were there were working in complete silence and, as I was taken through the office, I didn't see one personal item in any of the workspaces. It was sterile, uninspiring, and stifling.

I had already met with two people and those potential co-workers I had spoken with had been enthusiastic about the company but had described a typical work day as "heads down" and the office itself was in the middle of nowhere. So I could see there would be little in the way of conversation during the day and nowhere to escape to for lunch. I imagined what it would be like to work there in the winter, to go from the grey of early morning to 8 or 9 hours of silent grey on grey to the gloom of a commute that would have me home well after dark. It was not a good picture.

Between the dull work, the commute cutting into my time with Wookie and my Celebrant work (the two things that keep me sane and centered), and the incredibly dreary work environment, I realized that the worst case scenario would be if they offered me the job.

I'm sure this may sound ridiculous to a lot of people. I know some would say I should have sucked it up—that work is work—but having a job wasn't going to do me and Wookie any good if it pushed into the deep grey funk of Depression. I've been there and done that—I have no desire to go back if I can help it.

So I became a bit of a cold fish for the rest of the interview. I am sure the lead interviewer noted a drop in my enthusiasm even if she didn't know why. I wasn't in a position to refuse a job if it was offered to me, but I knew this job would not be good for me.

We entered the "Do you have any questions?" phase of the interview. I simply responded (repeatedly) that they had given me a lot to think about.

When I talked with Wookie after the interview, he was supportive. We discussed the possible ramifications on my unemployment should I actually be offered the position and then turn it down. We agreed that, while we needed the money, it would do us little good if my mental health wound up in the toilet as a result.

That was when the world's most non-committal thank you letter was born.

 Dear [People I Interviewed With]: 

Thank you for taking the time to meet with me yesterday about the [writer] position at Company X. I appreciate the opportunity to learn more about Company X and its [writing] department and to see your workspace. 

I was impressed with what I learned about the company and how it operates. I was also pleased to see that its [writing] staff is a valued part of the organization. It’s nice to see how much you all enjoy working there. 

I am pleased to know that my past experience and writing samples are similar to what you already have in place. If you have any more questions about my experience or skills, please let me know. 

Sincerely, 

Me 

I never heard back from them.

While there was never a guarantee I'd get that job anyway, I'm glad I acted against getting it. A short while later I was hired for a better job, one where the work is interesting and I can telecommute.

It's the next best thing to being able to work solely for myself. I'm more productive on my own and I don't bother anyone with my need to read things aloud to work out just the right wording. My home office is full of the things that inspire me. My commute is a walk down the hall. When I'm done with the day job, I can take care of Celebrant business without dealing with an hour plus of traffic first and when I need a bit of conversation, there's always a Wookie or a cat to talk to.

My Latest Creation

I love Cats Necklace by Lifeat30Feet

Road Trip Day 1

I hate leaving.

Once I am on the road, I’m okay. I’m in the moment. I’m “on vacation”—whether the trip is a vacation or not.  But the days leading up to the trip are a blur of packing and unpacking, sorting, skimming, and trying to make sure I have everything I need (or might need) without bringing “too much.”

What I brought--not including
the 24 inch duffel with my clothes. 

I had gotten used to people asking “do you really need that” till Wookie and I found each other. He’s always been accepting of my packratish tendencies.  Now I can add Ana* to the list of those who appreciate my packing genius.

Wookie taking me
to the rendezvous  point

This is the first time we’ve traveled together and one of my biggest worries was that she would feel I was bringing too much. Instead my stuff was greeted with “we’ll make it fit.”

And so we did.

Ana, Steve* the dog and I set off a bit later than we planned but we hit the road today and its been a good day.

Wookie worked an event in New York today, so that’s where I met Ana. 

From there we drove back in New Jersey, through PA, Maryland, and finally came to rest here in West Virginia.

The first leg of our route was mainly I-78.

We covered a bit over 500 miles. Saw some lovely countryside, the usual assortment of farm animals—mostly cows, and a few deer.

Saw many farms like these. I love red barns.

I don’t have many pictures from today because one shouldn’t take pictures while driving. There should be plenty of pictures tomorrow though—at least that’s my plan.

Mandatory self portrait. 

*Names changed to protect the identity of "Steve" the dog and his person--mainly Steve-- because my cats are jealous of this trip and, should his identity be revealed, Rosie might start mailing him fur balls. 

The Passing of a Little Mischief in My Life

Prelude

Frankie

Sometime in the year before we were married, one of our roommates came to us asking if it would be alright for her to cat-sit a pair of kittens for a few days.  Her friend was moving, she said, and she was worried about the tiny kittens getting lost or hurt.

Paul and I laughed. Our roommate didn’t understand that she had just adopted two cats.

Time passed and the kittens stayed. The roommate would mention from time to time that it would just be a few more days. Paul and I would laugh because she still didn’t understand that she had adopted 2 cats.

Sometimes the roommate would leave for the weekend and we, I mean Paul, would feed the kittens. “Don’t get attached.” I’d say. But who was I kidding. At the time we already had four cats between us—we each came into the relationship with two. So obviously we are the type to become attached.

Time passed some more and the kittens, as they do, became young lady cats and went into heat. The roommate asked who our vet was so she could get them fixed. Paul and I laughed because once you pay for surgery, you have definitely adopted the cats.

Our wedding was fast approaching and the roommate announced she was moving out. She was going to put the cats in a shelter if she couldn’t find a home for them. Paul and I stopped laughing. We had just adopted two more cats.

A Tale in Seven Parts

Last week was one of busiest weeks in recent memory. Some events I could never have predicted.

©2011 Cristina Kollet

Monday my cat was diagnosed with Lymphoma. This was actually the better of possible diagnoses, as Lymphoma in cats can be treated with chemotherapy and there is hope that she may go into remission. (Fingers crossed.)

One of the things we need to watch her for is dehydration, which was a problem last week. To treat it, the vet taught me how to give her subcutaneous fluids and I performed that procedure at home Monday with Paul’s help.  It takes both of us and there was a false start, but we were ultimately successful.

©2011 Cristina Kollet

On Tuesday, I was the target of an under cover sting operation by police.

Stress

It's been a long month.

I lost my job. Paul and I waited for weeks for an urgent package that seems to have vanished somewhere between Ireland and New Jersey.

Today, I found out that my Frankie is very sick and may have lymphoma, which the vet tells us is the most common form of cancer in cats. She's lost a lot of weight and has not been herself.

Most of today has revolved around a visit to the vet. I sat parked outside with Frankie before they even opened. I sat and waited while they took blood and x-rays and was sent home to wait while they arranged for an ultra sound and biopsy. I went back with Paul and we discussed options and I learned how to give Frankie IV fluids to keep her hydrated.

There was a lot of waiting and I kept glancing down at my phone and seeing this.

Its an app that's supposed to tell me the safety status of other apps I've downloaded to my phone, but today I hoped it was a personal assurance that "everything is OK."