I heart my cat

He's King.  Period.  I'm just a serving maid.

My dad has a green thumb- it's an innate gift he possesses- I swear the man walks upon a path of greenery with each step he takes.  His foot meeting concrete equals greenery.  It has been like this for as long as I can remember.

His real gift remains with fruit trees; grape vines and above all: roses.  Roses of any and all species.  In the time that I have recognized his action of gardening...I would estimate he has cultivated some 50-60 rose bushes.

On a foggy Saturday I overheard the hushed voices of my parents discussing the cause of death for several species of rose bushes, near the front of our house.  I must have been near twelve at the time.  I remember the discussion  of gophers as the main cause.  I also remember the solution:  bombing rodents.  It's simply not enough to say I was mad.  Irate isn't powerful enough descriptor either.  Catastrophic anger?  Yes- that's more like it.  I cannot remember raising a voice to either of my parents before that moment.  I did then.  I didn't just raise my voice- I believe I screamed "at," my dad for believing that was remotely acceptable.  Then, I screamed at Mom for letting him do it.  I caused a scene, indeed.  And before too long, I was asked to find something else to occupy my time.

I made an ass of myself over...errrr... gophers..at the age of twelve.  And...I would again at the age of thirty.  I promise.

I believe in the magic of animals.  It matters not how much a reader laughs or mocks- it's an earnest understanding I own, rather openly.  Creatures of any given size, ability and creation give us heart and reason to wake up and smile. 

My love of animals has no real defined beginning- I suppose such massive love was something I was given at birth.  It has made for some minor complications in life.  I want them all.  In many instances, my respect for animals overwhelms that of my own species, at times- which isn't too hard to imagine if you pay any attention to the news.  I have come to a multitude of screeching halts, in order to avoid them on roads...and have risked accidents to do so.  I have quit a job over the White One below.  I have cried over them.  I have argued in their defenses...and been deemed a fool for such behavior.  I got in a earth-shattering fight with my parents over them.  I would call in sick, from work, at the loss of one of my own.

Many of us find ourselves blatantly consumed by an indescribable love of animals- or we simply don't.  In my experience- breaking it down is really that simple.  Great or small...some of us are destined to love most or all..  

My cat, Bosie, is well...he has a big part of my heart.  

Cat, bed and books...all in one space.  Perfection.

Most certainly NOT a morning cat.  Not at all...

Ready for bed- like clockwork.  An episode of The Tudors.  Thirty minutes reserved for reading.  And bedtime.

I simply cannot get enough of this little man.

 I would hope that every one of us finds an animal who inspires this much love.  It just reminds you to slow down, take a breath and simply be...

And a few friends from Costa Rica.

Costa Negro greeted us upon our arrival to an outdoor cafe in Costa Rica.  

This little Queen also claimed her stake on a chair in the same outdoor cafe.

Automatic Fail!

I really hate getting my car smogged.  The reason?  Simple:

Automatic Fail.

Every freakin' year.

This, undoubtedly, means that I will spend some ungodly amount of money, to ensure the security of a working vehicle.  Typically, it's been my dad that really just fixes the issue, effectively making the issue simply disappear; go away; buh-bye mass inconvenience.  I have memories of  my dad, patiently, explaining the inner workings of a well-tuned driving machine: pistons firing; break pad functionality; "aways check the integrity of your spark plugs before you spend a dime to have someone 'examine' your vehicle," he warned. 

His fingers stained black after time spent  "handling," any given situation carefully and methodically replaced, repaired and magically fixed any and all auto issues, in my eyes. My beloved first car, Sebastain, a maroon 240 DL Volvo knew and loved his hands well.  I still love my dad for these moments, for taking it upon himself to guide me, in all things "car."  I remember these moments fondly, along with the smell of citrus hand rinse.  Thanks, Papi.  You will always be my hero.

 As years have passed, he has been able to come to my rescue less and less.  Not because he cannot; or because he chooses not to, but because, well, I'm 30 and we are cities away from one another, and reality deems: Put on your Big Girl pants; pay some money and get the car fixed yourself.  Which, I really am not super excited about.  I am...ultimately...lazy when it comes to my car; hate maintaining; scheduling appointments; asking for longer lunch breaks from work, cleaning, etc.

I admit: I am a spoiled brat in this regard.  I admit this, totally, unabashed.

Thus brings me to a state of great irritation, at the notion of having to pay someone to not only test the car again...but then "fix," her.

Enter really sweet, nice, helpful, somewhat-mechanically-knowledgeable (and really cute) boyfriend (who also built this motorcycle).

He is somewhat of a methodical perfectionist in all things... cleanliness; car maintenance; home life, beer selection, work, etc.  He is also...er...dare I say...a fixer, and damn-well determined.  Did I also mention that he is very cute?  Well, he is.  He has a spot in the garage for all things related to the cleaning of cars (incliding a ginormous shop-vac and waxer.  He makes things shine...

Anyway, today, he pops the hood of my car; investigates the OBD Fault Code and makes the attempt to figure out what it means and how he might fix it.  For this, I am eternally grateful.  He may not fix it, and that it totally fine- at least he cares enough to try.  So, I bring him a beer as a "thank you."

Sweet Arya.  She's sick.

The point?  I am mildly angered by the fact that I have to spend more money that I have, to fix my car, but more than that?  I HAVE a car.  Ultimately, I am a lucky girl.  I have a couple of heroes, who make me smile.  And, when all is said and done, it is just money, right?  It comes and goes...but Dads stay for good, and good boyfriends prove that there are still a few good men out there.