life

I could never have planned a better prank than this.

I’m not really a fan of pranks, chiefly because most of what the internet has come to consider “pranks” aren’t actually funny.

But oh man, did fate line up some extremely perfect timing yesterday.

My Handsome Assistant was in office. I message him frequently — usually not anything of consequence, just what the cats did, pictures of cool bugs I found, etc. Earlier in the day, I saw a notice about a puppy mill bust in Cecil County. 23 dogs, mostly Cavalier King Charles Spaniels, bichons, and shih tzu, are currently looking for foster homes while rescues sort through their assorted health problems, issues due to neglect, and so forth. Animal neglect and abuse upset me, so I vented to him about it for a bit.

(Also, I was maybe kind of hoping I could tug on a few heartstrings and get him to agree to try to foster.)

Anyhow, a half hour later, my phone buzzed.
The camera system detected “a pet” in the front yard.
I do not have pets in the front yard.

Nonetheless, there, on the camera, was an adorable little fluffy white dog snuffling around the front porch. I dropped my phone and hurried outside to get a better look — was he alone? Lost? Were his people close by? Was he at risk of getting stuck in the fence? Running into the street? Being captured by owls?
There’s a nest of ground wasps — what if he got stung?

Sure enough, there was a little white dog hustling around the yard. I called to him and he happily trotted over, wagging his tail. He seemed outgoing and relaxed, so I let him sniff my hand and gave him an ear scratch. He also had a collar and tag, so finding his family should’ve been no problem.

And it wouldn’t have been, had I not left my phone inside.

Dilemma.

Not wanting to lose track of him or have him run into the street/be captured by owls/eat a bunch of wasps, I was torn for a moment.
There was only one thing to do.
I didn’t have a leash or a way to secure him in the meantime, so I gingerly scooped that little dog up and carried him inside to hang out while I figured out where the #$%& I left my phone.

He seemed perfectly okay with this. I set him down, he sniffed around a bit and wagged his tail, all, “Hello! Yes! Okay!”

That was when I had a brilliant idea.

Phone in hand, I snapped a few pics, sent them to my Handsome Assistant along with an “I can explain,” and brought the little guy back outside to call his family. They came over to pick him up not long after and were very nice. He hung out on the porch with me until then, getting pets and being extremely chill and good-natured about everything.

Honestly, as far as ways to meet your neighbors go, this is definitely one of the better ones.

It’s also a great way to confuse and startle your spouse when they know you have a soft spot for animals and are given to hypomanic states.

Seriously. I couldn’t’ve planned it better.

If you live in the Maryland or Delaware area, there are still several dogs looking for foster homes. They’re coming from a puppy mill, where they’ve been confined, underfed, overbred, and never offered the opportunity to be part of a family and just be dogs. If you have the ability to open your home to one of them (or one of any number of other dogs currently awaiting adoption), please consider filling out Renee’s Rescues’ foster application.

Even if you’re not in MD or DE, there are always animal rescues looking for help with fostering. If you have the time and love to give, reach out to your local organizations to find out how you can help!

life

The Feline Terrible (almost) Twos

When you adopt a cat, it takes a little bit of time for their personality to unfold.

I remember bringing home Pye and Kiko — she had to stay confined for a bit, because she’d recently had an operation (one of her hind legs had been barely injured and she needed a bunch of necrotic skin and muscle removed), but Pye was free to roam around.

A small female orange tabby cat sits on the arm of a blue sofa.
She got better.

Instead, he decided to find a sunbeam on the bed and curl up. He pretty much owned the place, and he knew it immediately.

He was a kitten at the time, but an older one. At about eleven months (give or take), he was at the end of his kitten stage. Allegedly.

A few weeks later, he started misbehaving more. He wanted more attention, but he wouldn’t come over to receive it. No. Instead, he’d hassle Kiko. Push things over. Yell at the ceiling. Climb into places he didn’t fit, then sternly make eye contact as if to say, “Look what you made me do.”

We couldn’t figure out what his deal was. We figured that, as he’d become more comfortable, his true personality was coming out more. And, to be honest, he was being a bit of a dick about it.

That’s when I discovered the remedy: I had to call him over to me, make a space for him under my arm, and gently hold his face for him as he slept. He would not come cuddle of his own volition. He would not come tap or meow at me to get my attention. He’d act up, and I’d have to put him down for a nap like a cranky toddler. Once he’d slept for a bit (wearing my hand like some kind of disturbingly organic sleep mask), he’d be a perfect angel.
I don’t know, man.

A large male orange tabby cat lays on the edge of a bed. He's curled up on his side, paws in the air.
His entire internal monologue is just hold music.

He eventually grew out of this phase around age two, and it was as if it never happened. I just figured he was a weirdo and went on with life. He gradually settled down into a cat who is very much a buddy who wants to hang out with us all day, but actually prefers not to be cuddled.

Now, we have Pye, Kiko, and JJ. We’ve had JJ since she was a tiny, very sick baby, so we’ve been able to see her personality develop from the beginning. Once she hit a little over a year old… well, she suddenly started doing the same thing Pye did.

A large male orange tabby sits beside a much smaller female gray tabby. They look out of a window together.
Did he teach her the ways?

Acting up. Misbehaving. Hassling Kiko. Chewing on Pye’s face (though he’s pretty good natured about it). Being rambunctious and cranky until and unless she is given a nap. At times, circling me like a tiny shark and making small clown honking noises.

I’m not sure what it is about this age that seems to have instilled this very odd tendency in both of them. It seems like there’s some kind of physical or mental growth spurt that coincides with a) an increased need for snuggles and sleep, and b) an absolute refusal to admit it. Like human children testing boundaries and asserting their independence, it seems like they push themselves until they become tired and cranky, and I have to be the one to notice this and enforce naptime.

Pye seemed to grow out of this eventually, and I’m pretty confident JJ will too. It’s just interesting to see how nature doesn’t conform to a neat timetable — we can say that cats are kittens until one year of age, but there’s still so much growing and developing that they do beyond that. They’re not babies, but they still aren’t adults yet. There’s boundary testing and a lot of feelings, but it seems like naps and snuggles are suitable emotional reset buttons.

life

I’ve been translating my cat.

I mean, that’s not what’s kept me busy for the past twenty or so days, but it’s a small project I’ve embarked on.

(What did keep me away was an absolute ton of paid writing. It’s hard to write all day and then still feel like I want anything to do with words by the time I’m done. This is especially true when that writing involves hours of researching things like metallurgy and UV-C lighting. By the end of it, my brain is tired and feels like the tail end of a discarded boba tea.)

About a week ago, my S.O. and I found the app Meow Talk. It claimed to be able to record cat noises and translate them into something understandable to humans. I consider myself pretty perceptive when it comes to figuring out what these nerds are trying to say to me, but, admittedly, I was curious. How accurate could a cat recording app really be?

A fangy-toothed cat sleeping upside down.

As it turns out, eerily so. It correctly interpreted all his weird little greeting chirps as “Hello.” He also tells the fridge “I love you,” and responds to my attempts to smooch him with “I AM IN PAIN.” Like I said, accurate. Meow Talk isn’t even paying me for this endorsement. I’m just genuinely surprised and tickled that someone was able to interpret my cats weird little trills and yowls. I haven’t yet managed to capture one of his weird 3 AM TED Talks to no one, or the paid mourner-style wailing he does every time we move a piece of furniture, but I’m working on it.

It doesn’t really work on Kiko, but she primarily communicates through touch. If someone makes an app that can turn little paw-taps into human speech, I’d be all over it. So far, I’ve managed to figure out her “please sit by my bowl and watch me eat,” “smooch my head,” and “roll over, I need to nap on your stomach. It’s an emergency” bops, but she’s developed a very robust punching-based language that defies interpretation a majority of the time.

If you have a cat, especially a vocal one, I recommend messing around with the Meow Talk app. It’s fun, if nothing else, and could be informative. Especially if your cat has a weird attachment to appliances.

crystals · Neodruidry · Plants and Herbs · Witchcraft

7 Ways to Set Up a Pet-Proof Altar

Let me preface this by saying that I love my cats. I do. But one of them has an odd obsession with getting into any plant that’s within reach (and several that aren’t), and the other will hurl things and scream if one of us fails to sit on the kitchen floor with him in the morning. I don’t know why this is, but it’s the reality of the situation.

Anyway, as you can probably tell, this makes setting up and maintaining a home altar somewhat… challenging, shall we say. Not only do I not want my altar disturbed, I also don’t want to have to worry about someone eating something they shouldn’t. So, here’s how I keep everyone (and everything) safe:

Train Your Cats to- hahahahahaha

Sorry, couldn’t resist. Couldn’t finish that thought with a straight face, either.

She might be your familiar, but that doesn’t mean she cares about your stuff.

Choose Portable Altar Decor (But a Permanent Space)

In my opinion, part of an altar’s power is in its presence even when it isn’t being used. Some of that is lost when you have to set up and take down your altar every time you need it, but that doesn’t make a portable altar any less beautiful or meaningful.

If you do have to go the portable route, however, I’d recommend keeping a dedicated altar space. Even if you can’t have food offerings out without your dog getting into them, or your cat tries to knock over all of your statuary, you can still have a specific space that’s only used for your temporary altar. Get a nice accent table and cover it with a cloth. Set it with a good-sized crystal or a vase of flowers (if your animal companions will allow for it). Save the other altar tools and decorations for when you’re actually performing a working, but keep that space as a designated altar even when it isn’t in use.

Use a Drawer

One of the best ways I’ve found to avoid my felines’ penchant for destruction is to choose a table with a nice, deep drawer, and set up an altar in that. You can still have a permanent space, and all you have to do is pull the drawer open to get to work.

Remember to close it gently, though — you’ll keep your altar tools and decorations from rattling and knocking around that way.

Use the Floor

If having things knocked over is your primary concern, why not just put them on the floor to begin with? The fact is, having chairs and tables so far from the floor isn’t a universal thing — plenty of cultures around the world use low tables, floor cushions, or nothing at all.

Designate a space for a floor altar. Set it with a small accent rug and your altar supplies. Place a comfy floor pillow in front of it, and you’re golden.

Use the Outdoors

If your interior space is too thoroughly dominated by your four-legged roommates, consider working outside. It’s a bit less convenient if the weather’s bad, but outdoor altars are beautiful, functional, and, if you work closely with your local nature spirits, immensely powerful.

The only tip I’d offer here is to choose altar decorations that are resistant to walking away. Expensive statues might disappear on you, and shiny crystals may prove irresistible to the local bird population. Materials that aren’t durable enough might end up a bit worse for wear after a few rainstorms and a couple of rounds of sun bleaching, too. Largish stones, garden statuary, candles, and — of course — plants are inconspicuous, not likely to disappear, and can handle being outside.

Watch the Center of Gravity

Few things are as nerve-wracking as a tall, lit candle. This is especially true when that candle is in the same room as a cat. If candles are part of your practice, make sure to invest in some good, heavy candle holders. If you can make sure your candles are sufficiently bottom-heavy, they’ll be less likely to tip over easily. For this reason, I also recommend tealights and jar candles over, say, long, fancy tapers.

The same is true of any statuary or other decorations. Avoid choosing items that have a high center of gravity, because they’re much more likely to tip over if, for example, a very zealous boxer puppy wags his tail too close to your altar.

Invest in Some Museum Wax

Museum wax is what helps keep museum displays in place. It comes in several types, from an opaque, gummy material to one more like clear dental wax, and can help things stay stationary if they get bumped. The only caveat here is that it doesn’t work on an altar cloth — museum wax provides a tacky surface between two smooth finishes, so it won’t really help to keep your statues in place on top of fabric.

Know Your Poisons (They May Not Be What You Think)

So, we probably all know not to let our pets get into toxic herbs or houseplants. The ASPCA has a good list of plants that can trigger adverse reactions.

I remember watching a video by a crystal worker a few years ago. In it, they mentioned being guided by their intuition to charge a piece of cinnabar(!) using fire(!!). The reason I mention this is that, sometimes, the list of things we know we should keep away from our pets isn’t as long as it ought to be.

For example, cinnabar is an ore of mercury. Some specimens even have droplets of mercury on or in them. Metallic mercury is, itself, not that toxic — organic mercury compounds are far more dangerous — but inhaling heated mercury vapor is a super bad idea. Honestly, you shouldn’t even really handle cinnabar or wear it next to your skin. If you want to work with it, use gloves, keep it in a glass container, and definitely don’t let your pets touch, lick, or play with it. Definitely definitely don’t heat it up.

Some other gemstones contain toxic materials, like lead, arsenic, or antimony.

Plants and mineral specimens aren’t the only sources of a potential poisoning, either. Some pottery — particularly very old or inexpensive stuff — may not be food safe. This means that its paint or glaze can contain toxic minerals that might leach out if you use it to cook with or eat from. While this isn’t usually a super serious concern for altar tools, it can be if you have a pet who tries to sneak a drink out of your altar’s water vessel or steal your food offerings!

The bottom line is, it’s important to know what goes on your altar. If you have pets, it’s equally important to assume that everything is going to end up on the floor or in someone’s mouth eventually.

life

A Bicycle Built for Who

Some people don’t like the idea of adopting rescue animals, especially adult ones. They worry that they won’t be as trainable as a puppy or kitten — they might have all kinds of behavioral issues and odd quirks from their past home(s).

To be perfectly honest, I’m pretty sure Kiko and Pye were normal before we got them. (At least, I’m reasonably certain that Pye didn’t throw noisy tantrums if you neglected to sit next to him and eat cereal in the morning.)

I don’t know how Kiko could’ve survived otherwise. Her history indicates she was an outdoor cat — undersized, post-partum, a hair’s breadth from losing a leg to gangrene. Now, she taps my forehead to wake me up to watch her eat, will only drink out of a special pink teacup, requires smooches on the head at exactly 11:30 AM, and knows that the sound of me brushing my teeth means it will shortly be Cuddle Time. She won’t eat cat treats — her preferred snacks are strawberry yogurt and butter lettuce. She doesn’t like to walk through the apartment, either — she’ll launch herself face-first at my ankles, cry and hold up a paw as if she’s injured, and make big, sad eyes at me until I pick her up.

Her favorite thing, though, is the exercise bike.

I have a bog-standard stationary bike ever since my cardiologist recommended that I start taking short, easy rides to rebuild my endurance. I don’t know how, and I don’t know when, but Kiko made up her macadamia-sized mind that This Was an Activity of Buddies.

And so, she chubbles.

She sits at the edge of the bed, gazing up at me with her cartoonishly large, round eyes. She knows she has me wrapped around her little white paws, and all she has to do is wait patiently. If I fail to respond, she daintily taps at my knee.

Eventually, I will have to pick her up.

I always do.

I have no idea what she gets out of this. It’s a stationary bike. We don’t go anywhere. There is nothing to see but the bedroom door. She nestles herself into my elbow, flops her head back to mush her face on mine and give me her little :3 smile, and purrs. And she’ll stay like that until I’m done pedaling.

There’s no reason for it. She could be ignoring me, happily cuddling with my partner. The second she hears the telltale boop of my exercise tracker app, she pries herself away to chubble at me. She could be asleep, she’ll wake up. She could be in a different room, I’ll hear the strawberry bell on her collar jingling as she hurries from wherever she’s been hiding. She cannot get enough of turning me into some kind of incredibly inefficient one-person palanquin.

So, yes. Sometimes, when you adopt an older animal, they can be a little weird. Most of the time, it’s in the best way.