This blog is to keep track of my writing (from Oct. '14 onward), saving tips and tricks I find, little rants or raves, and so on. If you don't like it, kindly leave. I am a fangirl and reviewer, so do tend to post on that note as well.
Friday, February 20th, 2015. I went to school, not even feeling the slightest bit comfortable, and ended up returning home with my Meme (who volunteers at the school's elementary library) and I didn't know it then... but I was in for tragedy.
Ever since I can remember, we've been an animal-loving family, thanks to my Meme. Her parents, my Pa and Nannie, didn't necessarily care for animals, but were farm-raised people in our tiny town that lay right dead-center of the country in the Bible Belt of USA. My Nannie had a dog, decades earlier, whom she loved with all of her heart, but she lost him. And though she told me at one point that she doesn't hate animals, she just doesn't want me getting too cozy with them. I was the replica of my Meme and cared for cats even when I was small and knew nothing else. I was raised as an animal caregiver and watched probably a hundred cat births and deaths among not only my cats, but my dogs as well. I had a pup named Delilah who had Parvo and I never got to say goodbye. I watched numerous kittens be killed by fleas and had them die in either my small child hands or wake up to find Meme crying over the loss she'd had in her own hands. Cats were my friends and children, and no matter how crazy I may seem... I consider myself a cat lady. Because I know them like the backs of my hands and I love them with all of my being.
One cat, in particular, was a small, tabby cat whom was raised up in the bowels of a freezer, where there sat a hole for the cord and inner workings. It was warm, ironically, for a freezer's underneath, but a cat - perfectly named Bob Kitty for her bobtail - had a single baby. That single baby could fit in my hand. She was scared and didn't know what I was. And thanks to all my knowledge and upbringing with cats and their care and critical cases, this precious being wasn't harmed, but merely frightened. Her mother, a bobcat mix that roamed down to our home, was the ugliest cat I'd laid eyes upon, but I still found her beautiful in every way. She growled instead of purred, but when you held her, it felt the same. She was cute, and looked like her face had been smashed into a wall. And she raised the kitten until she couldn't anymore. And the baby was old enough to move around on its own and eat kitty chow.
The first hour was spent watching this tiny tabby sit in a plate of kitten food and warm milk. I giggled nonstop at how indescribably cute this kitten was. She wouldn't sit outside of the plate and fit just so well in the plate - she was just that small. And the one noticeable feature that she held was her large, bright chartreuse eyes that seemed to glow every time you'd see them. I took many pictures of that precious baby and kept taking pictures as she grew.
And it just wasn't her that was found in that month. We had several outdoor cats and never got them fixed because time wasn't ever on our side. The males were wild usually anyways, and we had two wild females whom we couldn't catch even if we tried. Plus, Bellary, an old, favorable cat of mine kept popping out babies at every turn. Thanks to her I found my lovely babies every year, as most times her litters were messed up and died.
Back to the baby however. I always made sure I got the say on what to name every kitten I got to see. Selfish me, I know. I was a child and knew no better. And we had probably a hundred or more cats in my childhood. And this kitten was merely found only two years prior to now. So, I still kinda, you know... had my say in the name of her. And I had her in my room, and just kept saying random names I liked until she turned her head to me and perked up. It was such a magical moment. She was precious like any gem should be, and she stayed by me. She easily potty trained herself within a day, ate properly, and cuddled with me. I fell in love with that darling kitten and she did with me. She was yet another kitten of favor and I loved her more than words, as that usually happens with every cat I bond with. The cat's name - back to that - was decided to be Luna. But her nickname that stayed with her was Piranha because whenever she was given food or human food for that matter, she would snatch it up or nearly bite you to get it. She never grew out of that and I kept calling her that cheeky name from then on.
Skip ahead some time. Luna grew, gradually. She had a new playmate, Moose, whom was my Meme's baby's kitten whom survived as a loner, much like his new friend. He was yellow and white, cute as a button, and timid, much like his mother. In our home we originally had my newest cat, Betsy, and she wasn't kitten savvy, but she loved Rainn and Thunder, whom were actually Luna's older siblings, and she loved Luna, and she grew to love Moose easily.
At one point, my great grandparent became ill again, hospital bound, and Rain and Thunder were thrown out. This was before Luna. Rainn survived, injured, and Thunder never returned.
In the end, I loved this cat dearly and I raised her for two years, watching her give birth (and she cried so much) and I helped as best I could. She loved her kittens and the orphan kittens so much - as much as any mother loves her babies. And she lost some. And as her babies grew, she grew, too. She was always my baby and had the weirdest meow - mew mew. I can't describe it properly, but it was so cute and I'd respond how she meowed to me. Because she always answers, and we always conversed, and she cuddled and played.
Her nephew, Rainn's baby, one of three whom weren't disfigured. Her babies still had problems and had mental issues that threw them off-balance and one had a bone forming outside of the skin - this baby was also blind and was dying anyways, so I watched as it was put to sleep. The final two worse off-balance and looked just alike, but one was female and the other was male and they were the cutest yet ugliest babies thanks to their weird look. Reese and Soa (So-uh). Soa was so attached to her brother that was put to sleep and she grew up reserved and still is to this day. Reese was loving and clumsy, much like his mother, and loved attention and playing.
When I found Rainn dead, I swore I care for her babies. I'd care for all of the babies that came of our cats - over ten. They went outside and I tried to care for them all.
But, sadly, as a final conclusion to information that isn't cared for... I came home on February 20th, 2015, to find Reese killed on our carport. I cried and fell to the ground. You see, somehow our family brought in a stray male and my dad (who lives across the street from us, in the country, remember) and he used the suckiest excuse for not fixing him. They already had two females, both mutts, one a pitbull mix. Of course this ended with fourteen puppies, ten pitbull mutts, and they are nearly six months old now, I think. They can never be kept held up, and appear to be able to break free of anything and refuse to train. So, all in all, they killed Reese. And with that, my Meme was screaming and my dad ran across the street to figure out what happened. They, along with a crying me, searched the area and I saw the pups run to the old well-house, so I took off running just in case.
Never in my life have I ever prepared to get my heart broken so many times by loosing my babies. If anyone says it's crazy to feel so attached to animals, they are the crazy ones. I usually spend days with little sleep, end up bottle feeding babies if they're too small, and spend hours teaching them and raising them. That's what parents do - humans, animals, and so on. These cats were my babies, just not flesh and blood. And to walk up on your dead child, eyes open with faded pain, body mutilated, and your heart ripping apart with such force... it hurts. I screamed. I screamed and cried and ran. I don't remember much, but I remember ending up in the floor of our hallway, sobbing because it was my fault she was dead. The night before, I put her outside, as usual, and actually at my Meme's request (but no matter how much she blames herself, it just... happened). Luna's body had hardened, so they killed her through the night. I killed her and screamed about it and cried over it. And though it's done and over, that wasn't even the end of the dogs. For it's been merely three days, we had four cats missing, one a tiny baby, and ten pups running wild even after we cage them up or my dad chains them up... they always wind up loose.
Yesterday I saved two cats, by chance. I was inside and barely heard the barking and fighting of dogs. They were in my dad's shed, trying to kill their giant cat, Jett. I saved him... but barely. And then later that morning, they went after our seven y/o cat Daisy and she is injured as of now. I washed her in a warm bath and though it began sleeting and snowing... I stood outside and wanted to murder those dogs. My heart was broken not once, but twice. And now I only have one missing cat, whom was one we struggled to keep safe and stable as a baby. Daffodil, or as my Meme calls her: Pooper Scooper.
The pain felt resonates all throughout me. I don't cry, because I'm just one of those people who... almost can't cry. And I've cried. I've cried at sad movies. I've cried over thoughts. I've cried because another baby of mine was ripped from me and I will never hear her funny mewing ever again. I won't pet her fluffy tabby fur. I won't get to cuddle her or yell "Yoona bee-bee" which was her goofy-ass Korean nickname I gave her. I will never get to tell her how much I love her ever again, and my promise I made a week prior of bringing her back in as my baby, to this newer house, won't be accomplished. For she and her nephew are now buried at the edge of our yard, which holds cacti and bales of hay for decoration. It holds fake deer for decoration. And it's a ledge, as our front yard it a bit higher than our field (weird country logic) and is lined with stone. For now, I have lost a baby and I have lost a loving baby boy cat that I'll never get to coo to and squeal "Reesey cup!"
I hate to think this is it. I have lost two babies, I can't find another, and these dogs have hurt many other cats. The mothers of both sets of dogs have been gone for weeks, presumably dead. And they're left with the devilish father.
All in all, I miss my Luna terribly. I miss her and will always. For these types of deaths I mourn so much because I raise these like my own children and then have to suffer and know they were brutally murdered.
I am so sorry, my dear babies.
I would've rather me suffer what horrible pain both of you felt than to have that ever happen to you. "That's the thing about pain, it demands to be felt." - TFIOS, John Green To my internal pain, it hurts like hell and it vibrates when I move or speak, and the inner struggle makes me tired. For I am at a loss for words and mishaps. I shutter over memories because they cause me to break down. And that sucks. Even for this being animals, the pain still hurts just as bad as loosing my Papa, my Pa, my Nannie, and anyone else I loved dearly. You never understand how strong a connection is until it's broken... that's when the pain starts. And the moment you realize you'll never get another moment with those brilliant eyes ever again... that the moment that can kill you in an instant.
Friday, February 20th, 2015. I went to school, not even feeling the slightest bit comfortable, and ended up returning home with my Meme (who volunteers at the school's elementary library) and I didn't know it then... but I was in for tragedy.
Ever since I can remember, we've been an animal-loving family, thanks to my Meme. Her parents, my Pa and Nannie, didn't necessarily care for animals, but were farm-raised people in our tiny town that lay right dead-center of the country in the Bible Belt of USA. My Nannie had a dog, decades earlier, whom she loved with all of her heart, but she lost him. And though she told me at one point that she doesn't hate animals, she just doesn't want me getting too cozy with them. I was the replica of my Meme and cared for cats even when I was small and knew nothing else. I was raised as an animal caregiver and watched probably a hundred cat births and deaths among not only my cats, but my dogs as well. I had a pup named Delilah who had Parvo and I never got to say goodbye. I watched numerous kittens be killed by fleas and had them die in either my small child hands or wake up to find Meme crying over the loss she'd had in her own hands. Cats were my friends and children, and no matter how crazy I may seem... I consider myself a cat lady. Because I know them like the backs of my hands and I love them with all of my being.
One cat, in particular, was a small, tabby cat whom was raised up in the bowels of a freezer, where there sat a hole for the cord and inner workings. It was warm, ironically, for a freezer's underneath, but a cat - perfectly named Bob Kitty for her bobtail - had a single baby. That single baby could fit in my hand. She was scared and didn't know what I was. And thanks to all my knowledge and upbringing with cats and their care and critical cases, this precious being wasn't harmed, but merely frightened. Her mother, a bobcat mix that roamed down to our home, was the ugliest cat I'd laid eyes upon, but I still found her beautiful in every way. She growled instead of purred, but when you held her, it felt the same. She was cute, and looked like her face had been smashed into a wall. And she raised the kitten until she couldn't anymore. And the baby was old enough to move around on its own and eat kitty chow.
The first hour was spent watching this tiny tabby sit in a plate of kitten food and warm milk. I giggled nonstop at how indescribably cute this kitten was. She wouldn't sit outside of the plate and fit just so well in the plate - she was just that small. And the one noticeable feature that she held was her large, bright chartreuse eyes that seemed to glow every time you'd see them. I took many pictures of that precious baby and kept taking pictures as she grew.
And it just wasn't her that was found in that month. We had several outdoor cats and never got them fixed because time wasn't ever on our side. The males were wild usually anyways, and we had two wild females whom we couldn't catch even if we tried. Plus, Bellary, an old, favorable cat of mine kept popping out babies at every turn. Thanks to her I found my lovely babies every year, as most times her litters were messed up and died.
Back to the baby however. I always made sure I got the say on what to name every kitten I got to see. Selfish me, I know. I was a child and knew no better. And we had probably a hundred or more cats in my childhood. And this kitten was merely found only two years prior to now. So, I still kinda, you know... had my say in the name of her. And I had her in my room, and just kept saying random names I liked until she turned her head to me and perked up. It was such a magical moment. She was precious like any gem should be, and she stayed by me. She easily potty trained herself within a day, ate properly, and cuddled with me. I fell in love with that darling kitten and she did with me. She was yet another kitten of favor and I loved her more than words, as that usually happens with every cat I bond with. The cat's name - back to that - was decided to be Luna. But her nickname that stayed with her was Piranha because whenever she was given food or human food for that matter, she would snatch it up or nearly bite you to get it. She never grew out of that and I kept calling her that cheeky name from then on.
Skip ahead some time. Luna grew, gradually. She had a new playmate, Moose, whom was my Meme's baby's kitten whom survived as a loner, much like his new friend. He was yellow and white, cute as a button, and timid, much like his mother. In our home we originally had my newest cat, Betsy, and she wasn't kitten savvy, but she loved Rainn and Thunder, whom were actually Luna's older siblings, and she loved Luna, and she grew to love Moose easily.
At one point, my great grandparent became ill again, hospital bound, and Rain and Thunder were thrown out. This was before Luna. Rainn survived, injured, and Thunder never returned.
In the end, I loved this cat dearly and I raised her for two years, watching her give birth (and she cried so much) and I helped as best I could. She loved her kittens and the orphan kittens so much - as much as any mother loves her babies. And she lost some. And as her babies grew, she grew, too. She was always my baby and had the weirdest meow - mew mew. I can't describe it properly, but it was so cute and I'd respond how she meowed to me. Because she always answers, and we always conversed, and she cuddled and played.
Her nephew, Rainn's baby, one of three whom weren't disfigured. Her babies still had problems and had mental issues that threw them off-balance and one had a bone forming outside of the skin - this baby was also blind and was dying anyways, so I watched as it was put to sleep. The final two worse off-balance and looked just alike, but one was female and the other was male and they were the cutest yet ugliest babies thanks to their weird look. Reese and Soa (So-uh). Soa was so attached to her brother that was put to sleep and she grew up reserved and still is to this day. Reese was loving and clumsy, much like his mother, and loved attention and playing.
When I found Rainn dead, I swore I care for her babies. I'd care for all of the babies that came of our cats - over ten. They went outside and I tried to care for them all.
But, sadly, as a final conclusion to information that isn't cared for... I came home on February 20th, 2015, to find Reese killed on our carport. I cried and fell to the ground. You see, somehow our family brought in a stray male and my dad (who lives across the street from us, in the country, remember) and he used the suckiest excuse for not fixing him. They already had two females, both mutts, one a pitbull mix. Of course this ended with fourteen puppies, ten pitbull mutts, and they are nearly six months old now, I think. They can never be kept held up, and appear to be able to break free of anything and refuse to train. So, all in all, they killed Reese. And with that, my Meme was screaming and my dad ran across the street to figure out what happened. They, along with a crying me, searched the area and I saw the pups run to the old well-house, so I took off running just in case.
Never in my life have I ever prepared to get my heart broken so many times by loosing my babies. If anyone says it's crazy to feel so attached to animals, they are the crazy ones. I usually spend days with little sleep, end up bottle feeding babies if they're too small, and spend hours teaching them and raising them. That's what parents do - humans, animals, and so on. These cats were my babies, just not flesh and blood. And to walk up on your dead child, eyes open with faded pain, body mutilated, and your heart ripping apart with such force... it hurts. I screamed. I screamed and cried and ran. I don't remember much, but I remember ending up in the floor of our hallway, sobbing because it was my fault she was dead. The night before, I put her outside, as usual, and actually at my Meme's request (but no matter how much she blames herself, it just... happened). Luna's body had hardened, so they killed her through the night. I killed her and screamed about it and cried over it. And though it's done and over, that wasn't even the end of the dogs. For it's been merely three days, we had four cats missing, one a tiny baby, and ten pups running wild even after we cage them up or my dad chains them up... they always wind up loose.
Yesterday I saved two cats, by chance. I was inside and barely heard the barking and fighting of dogs. They were in my dad's shed, trying to kill their giant cat, Jett. I saved him... but barely. And then later that morning, they went after our seven y/o cat Daisy and she is injured as of now. I washed her in a warm bath and though it began sleeting and snowing... I stood outside and wanted to murder those dogs. My heart was broken not once, but twice. And now I only have one missing cat, whom was one we struggled to keep safe and stable as a baby. Daffodil, or as my Meme calls her: Pooper Scooper.
The pain felt resonates all throughout me. I don't cry, because I'm just one of those people who... almost can't cry. And I've cried. I've cried at sad movies. I've cried over thoughts. I've cried because another baby of mine was ripped from me and I will never hear her funny mewing ever again. I won't pet her fluffy tabby fur. I won't get to cuddle her or yell "Yoona bee-bee" which was her goofy-ass Korean nickname I gave her. I will never get to tell her how much I love her ever again, and my promise I made a week prior of bringing her back in as my baby, to this newer house, won't be accomplished. For she and her nephew are now buried at the edge of our yard, which holds cacti and bales of hay for decoration. It holds fake deer for decoration. And it's a ledge, as our front yard it a bit higher than our field (weird country logic) and is lined with stone. For now, I have lost a baby and I have lost a loving baby boy cat that I'll never get to coo to and squeal "Reesey cup!"
I hate to think this is it. I have lost two babies, I can't find another, and these dogs have hurt many other cats. The mothers of both sets of dogs have been gone for weeks, presumably dead. And they're left with the devilish father.
All in all, I miss my Luna terribly. I miss her and will always. For these types of deaths I mourn so much because I raise these like my own children and then have to suffer and know they were brutally murdered.
I am so sorry, my dear babies.
I would've rather me suffer what horrible pain both of you felt than to have that ever happen to you. "That's the thing about pain, it demands to be felt." - TFIOS, John Green To my internal pain, it hurts like hell and it vibrates when I move or speak, and the inner struggle makes me tired. For I am at a loss for words and mishaps. I shutter over memories because they cause me to break down. And that sucks. Even for this being animals, the pain still hurts just as bad as loosing my Papa, my Pa, my Nannie, and anyone else I loved dearly. You never understand how strong a connection is until it's broken... that's when the pain starts. And the moment you realize you'll never get another moment with those brilliant eyes ever again... that the moment that can kill you in an instant.
Name: Zoe Patterson
Known as: Cat Lady - jk! KissDromeda, KissDromedaGirl, Juliane (rp), Hyunchul 현철(rp), Sohee/소희.
Age: Nearly two decades old!
Lives at: Tumblr, AFF, blogspot, Twitter, and currently Evexia.
Country: USA
Favorite Colors: Pastels, Lilac, lavender, any shade of purple basically, white, silver, black, any shade of gray (however, Christian Grey isn't one), clear, any shade of blue, teal, coral, salmon.
Language: English (native), Korean (good enough), Spanish (good enough), intros in Italian, Japanese, Greek, and tagalog.
Hobbies: Writing (ofc), browsing the web, taking care of my cats, drawing, thinking up ideas, playing either Sims or Star Wars, reading, reviewing, dancing, singing, composing.
Favorite Quote: "If you believe in yourself, you're unstoppable."
Likes:
♥ Cats [this is a cat basecode so ofc this is here]
♥ Anything artistic
♥ Korean stuff, and many more cultures, too. I wanted to be an Egyptologist.
♥ Rapping and dancing; composing or choreographing
♥ Tumblr, Twitter, ifunny, etc.
Dislikes:
✖ Haters and fakers
✖ anxiety and depression [suffering from both]
✖ dealing with a lot of stress
Exchange Links
The current linked as "Zahra, Tsabbita, and DianeeyA' are the basecoders for this blog, so they get the creds! The rest are ones I like, my friends, and so on.
Random things since this is already here from the basecode. Check it out, and if it's empty, head on over to my Tumblr tags and browse around. eue Scroll down to the Others section!
I found myself in Wonderland, got back on my feet again - Alice by Avril Lavigne
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