Monday, September 23, 2013
Monday, October 25, 2010
'Feral Cats & Driftwood'
"Feral animals are the forgotten ones. They were not abandoned, their parents or grandparents probably were or they are the offspring of unsterilized pets or barn cats whose owners did not take responsibility for them. They were born in the wild and they do not trust humans. If they have had any interaction with humans, it is more often than not negative interaction and they are now afraid of us." ~Laurie Goldstein www.StrayPetAdvocacy.org
That is an accurate enough description of a feral cat in my opinion, and I don't think there has to be a long discussion here about what a domesticated cat is... it's a 'house cat'. It's that little fur ball that curls up in our lap, thrives on our attention, love, and care... and is dependent on us for it's basic needs. Most of us understand that; certainly if you are a cat owner, (or you are owned by a cat).
What about the one in between those two? The cat who is neither feral nor domestic. Perhaps it has come from a background that is 'feral' and now, because of good fortune... thanks to you, it has a home. Does it automatically trust you? Does it know that you can be trusted? How?
What if we apply that same principle to human beings?
I was raised by a wonderful woman, who loved me dearly as I loved her. She had a very difficult time trying to raise me on her own. We were extremely poor. She worked 'menial' jobs... that's what the family called them. I call it hard thankless labor. She died when I was young. I was forced from being in the safe environment that I had grown up in with her, albeit difficult... into a situation where no one really wanted the responsibility for my 'care', and I had no control. I was a domestic cat, who was suddenly without a home. Without the ability to provide food, shelter or basic care for myself... It was shocking, at least to me, it was shocking!
There had been no prior discussions about who would be responsible for me, and there was no one that was leaping for joy at the prospect of taking on a fifteen year old girl... so I went to live with my sister, who was herself a child... with a newborn. I learned very quickly that my new role in life was different. I was on the outside looking in from that point. My very existence became an issue at all times.
Of course I had shelter, but who was responsible for clothes? I had food to eat, but if there was a chance to go out to eat, did that automatically mean me too? Should I ask, should I assume... it became as confusing to me as it was to anyone. Then I began to feel more like the 'feral' cat. I had to live, yes... but I didn't have to trust. I wasn't about to become a 'lap cat'. It was painfully obvious that anything could go wrong, at any moment, and I would have no one. No one but me.
I was completely on my own, save living under my sister's roof by the time I was seventeen, and shortly after my high school graduation I moved out... on my own, at eighteen.
Driftwood -wood floating in or washed ashore by a body of water. That is the definition... but that doesn't conjure up the most positive image, whenever you know that the metaphor is coming. :) As an artist I find the true beauty in everything that nature has to offer, and driftwood is no different. I love it. I love it in it's natural state; painted, carved, whatever state it is in; it is still beautiful. It is wood that has either floated... or washed ashore!
I have only 'washed ashore' a very few times in my lifetime. I could count them on one hand, but I won't. Most of the time I drift........ I have never felt at home anywhere, since the day my mother and I left Our home. That was home. Our home. There has never been another to me. I hope for it someday. A place of my own. A place for me and all of my kindred spirits to wash ashore, and live our lives forevermore! Our home.
Driftwood comes into being by a much deeper recognition; rather than definition to me.
It is shaped by the very waters that it spends it's time in. Sometimes they are quiet waters; babbling brooks; where the water is cool and clear and soothing. Sometimes they churn, and take many turns as they meander along through woods; in mountains; all of the places that nature longs to show you. Sometimes those waters are vast as oceans, with waves that toss the wood from time to time. They rage when violent storms abound. Those waters are never stagnate though. You will never see driftwood in a pond. Those are called logs, lol :)
So these are the things that shape us then. They make us who we are; teach us about who we would like to become.
So who am I?
Am I a feral cat?
A piece of driftwood?
Perhaps there is still an artist's work to be done. To carve the feral cat out of the driftwood...
~~~Deb~~~ :)
Friday, June 18, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Sunday, May 9, 2010
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