01.06.07: "Dolores"

She's a little diva of a dog.

The spiteful little girl and the quarter of destiny

As a little girl, I spent a lot of time with my grandmother. One of our first interactions (which my mom enjoys recounting) is when, giving me a bath as a slippery toddler, she tried to drown me. As she tried to flee the scene (she called it going home for the evening) I wailed my little heart out, wanting only to be in granny's dangerous embrace once more. As her namesake (my middle name is Bethine - pronounced "beth-eeeeeeen") and her only granddaughter, and her only daughter's only daughter, I was destined to be spoiled by this special lady.

My family moved to California when I was eight years old, in part due to Alaska's spiraling economy and in part because we would be closer to my grandma and grandpa. My parents thought it was a great idea to have built-in babysitters a strong support network living so close, and took advantage of it during the summers. My mom would rush us out the door and dump us, sleepy-eyed and bed-headed at my grandparents' house, where we would run around all day, hiking in the hills behind their house and drinking all of my grandpa's Dr. Peppers.

On one of these occasions, I was watching my grandma get ready for the day. She was dressed and was just putting on her jewelry when I spied a quarter in her jewelry box.

"That's a weird looking quarter, Grandma."
"It's a bicentennial quarter, sweetie. A special edition from 1976."
"Cool! Can I have it?"
"No, you'll spend it."

No? NO ? She never told me NO. It was preposterous - unheard of. Although my relationship with my grandmother is still good - we e-mail and talk on the phone quite frequently - I have never forgotten that forbidden quarter. Since that time, I have collected every bicentennial quarter I've come across and put them in a piggy bank. Only once have I spent one (laundry was really important and I felt guilty about it for days) and I've amassed more than $10 worth of these little babies. I have no idea what I'm going to do with them, but someday, I'll let her in on my little secret.

You said I was going to spend them, Grandma. Well... HA!

Home is where the Cat is

When I was a brand spankin' new divorcee (or nearly there anyway), I thought I had everything I wanted. I had a cute little apartment with wood floors and a breakfast nook, I had good friends who helped me get through the end of my marriage, I had the support of my family and I had an optimistic outlook on life once again. (I also had no money and a mountain of debt, but we won't talk about that.) Late at night I would curl up in my IKEA bed and fall asleep to the Amelie DVD playing on my computer (I am in love with the accordion on that soundtrack) and think there was no way it could be any better than this.

But soon, as is wont to happen, I began to get restless. I missed my big, ole alleycat, Bachelor, whom I had adopted from the animal shelter a few years back. I missed the warm weight of a purring feline in my lap as I sat reading a book or on my feet as I drifted off to sleep. Since my apartment didn't allow dogs, I knew that was out of the question, but darn it, I really wanted a cat.I started checking around at my local animal shelters and humane societies. I scanned the websites. I had interviews with rescue groups so that I could be clear to adopt when I found a cat I really connected with. I knew I wanted a Siamese, but after months of looking at every shape and size the breed had to offer, I was getting discouraged that I wouldn't be able to find *MY* cat.

Then one day, I checked the local humane society page as usual and I found the most beautiful, graceful, alien-looking creature I had ever seen. I called to make sure he was still available and I left work, sure that someone would beat me to the punch. I walked into the facility and was directed to the cattery, and there he was, even better in real life. I played with him, connected, and talked adoption with the volunteers there. But there was a catch. I couldn't adopt this beautiful cat unless I was willing to take on his buddy as well - a pretty little tabby colorpoint that was scared of everything. I told them not to worry - my heart was already set on taking the Siamese home. Time would heal everything and I had faith the little scaredy cat would eventually come around.

Three years later, that damn tabby is still scared of everything.