My babies

I'm trying to drag myself out of the inertia that grief seems to have draped over me, but I haven't managed yet.  Reading magazines and browsing fashion week photos and Facebook are about as ambitious as I've gotten since my Dad died.  I did go out to take some pictures of the sun rise this morning.  Then as I looked at it, I wondered if my Dad could see it from heaven or wherever he is.  This of course made me cry.  That seems to be the way things go.  A little reminder, and here come the tears.
My salvation is buying new shoes or make-up, and my cats.  My sweet babies who let me hold them while my tears drip onto their fur.  Their purrs that make me feel soothed and calm.  If you have a pet, you know what it's like.  Not only are they entertaining, but they're often the only source of unconditional love that people have.
I've been blessed to find three baby kitties and all three have become lifelong companions.  I lost one of them last October, after 18 years together.  Her death was similar to my Dad's - I knew it was coming, but didn't expect it to happen when it did.  At least with her death I was able to hold her and talk to her before the vet put her to sleep.  I saw her looking at me, so I knew she understood that I was with her (although she was heavily sedated due to the continuous seizures that she'd been having).  Getting to say goodbye is really a good thing, a bigger thing than I realized.  I didn't get to say goodbye to my Dad, and that is one of my regrets.
Anyhow, until I can get more beauty and fashion topics posted, I thought I'd post pictures of my cats, the next best thing.
First is my oldest girl, Scully.  She turned 16 this spring.  She has a heart murmur, and her kidneys are starting to fail.  Kidney failure is one of the main causes of death for older cats.  You really have to know your cat's habits well in order to notice the symptoms of kidney failure.   If you catch it early, like I did with both Buddy and Scully, you can alter their diet and still have them live for several years.  Buddy lived for 4 more years after she was diagnosed, so I'm hoping Scully will be the same.
She's a tiny little calico/tortieshell.  I found her when she ran into the middle of a busy street in Atlanta. I was so worried that she'd get run over that I pulled into the turn lane and left my car running while I slowly walked over to her and scooped her up.  She was just as big as my hand, and weighed 1 lb. and 3 oz.  Although Buddy hated her at first (Buddy was 3 years old and didn't want to share me), they eventually got used to each other and were lifelong companions.  Scully missed Buddy very much after she died, and kept looking for her up to 6 months afterwards.  Scully is now my best buddy - she's always beside me.

This next picture is of my boy Max.  He turned 3 this summer, but he's still my baby because a) he's the youngest, and b) he's a little cat.  He loves to go outside and look around, chase bugs, and mice. When he's inside he's normally sleeping.  He loves to have his belly rubbed, too.  (My girls would bite me if I tried to rub their bellies.)  He's super-affectionate and cute as can be.

My youngest, Max.  I found him in a field beside the road 3 years ago.

My little man sleeping in one of his favorite spots

Max coming to see what I'm doing

This third cat isn't technically mine.  My Mom and I share him.  I moved from California back to my hometown a few years ago, and set up camp temporarily at my Mom's.  I saw this cat occasionally sneaking into my Mom's garage eating her cat's food.  Then one day when I called my cat, this boy answered.  He was an adult but he was thin.  He obviously didn't have a home anymore, so we took him in.  His name is Boy Kitty (see explanation below).

 We only had girls when he found us, so we kept referring to him as "the boy kitty".  It stuck.