One of us developed a small rash - that itched madly - along the upper arm, right where it can be easily scratched. Not good, because scratching is bad and almost autonomic.
Not being fond of fond of prescription ointments and unguents, the decision was made to try a simple, old-fashioned remedy. Oil of cloves. Soothing, cooling, cocaine for cats.
Our two bengals went berserk. Something to behold, though once is quite enough. Maybe we should have known. Some years ago we discovered that the scent of throat lozenges, the ones with eucalyptus oil, could cause them to go from sleepy cats to bottle-tailed crazies in seconds.
That was nothing compared to what the scent of oil of cloves accomplished. Instant mayhem. Instant fluffy tails. Instant battle of the nine lives (eighteen actually, they were both high as kites).
Rubbing alcohol removed the oil, no telling what it did for the rash, and the cats came down eventually.
Catnip is for wusses. Real pusses go for clove oil.
They were a lot quieter today.
Showing posts with label craziness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label craziness. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Perhaps a mirror cracked...
On occasions, more frequently than I might care to admit, I feel like my writing isn't going nearly as well as I would like. Or I don't have the time to devote to it I'd wish. Or that I have to work, because writing alone won't sustain me financially.
Or simply that I have to work (Monday mornings are particularly bad for that).
On such occasions, the sculpture of the Weeping Buddha helps, or at least serves as a focal point for the feeling. I used to have it on my desk at work (now it sits near my writing computer) and, on being asked about it, would say, "Somedays, it's just like that."
Everyone seemed to understand.
And yet, and yet...
When I do feel like that, back at my home office where I also do my writing, I have two other sculptures that provide a different perspective. These remind me that anything, no matter how crazy it might seem to the outside world, is possible.
And so I continue to write, safe in the knowledge that all I have to be is awake to hear the story, and that it's OK to be quite crazy at times.
The title of this entry is from a poem I wrote much time ago.
The cracked mirror explained the many images that seem to make up my life - some even externalized like those above.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Or simply that I have to work (Monday mornings are particularly bad for that).
On such occasions, the sculpture of the Weeping Buddha helps, or at least serves as a focal point for the feeling. I used to have it on my desk at work (now it sits near my writing computer) and, on being asked about it, would say, "Somedays, it's just like that."
Everyone seemed to understand.
And yet, and yet...
When I do feel like that, back at my home office where I also do my writing, I have two other sculptures that provide a different perspective. These remind me that anything, no matter how crazy it might seem to the outside world, is possible.
And so I continue to write, safe in the knowledge that all I have to be is awake to hear the story, and that it's OK to be quite crazy at times.
The title of this entry is from a poem I wrote much time ago.
The cracked mirror explained the many images that seem to make up my life - some even externalized like those above.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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