RIP Sweet Jordan

“Ivanlee Cross the River Jordan” (Jordan)

Sept. 1, 1998 – Nov. 15, 2010

Jordan was born from champion lineage in Portland Oregon on Sept. 1, 1998. He passed away in the early morning hours of Monday, November 15, 2010 in his favorite sleeping spot on the floor of his human’s bedroom in North Georgia. At the time of his death he was being comforted by his special cat-friend, Twinkle and his human mommy, Becky Taylor.

Jordan was a very pretty boy, oh yes he was! His striking good looks and sweet personality made him the center of attention everywhere he went. Although Jordan knew he was handsome, he never let it go to his head. He remained an ever humble companion to his people throughout his years on earth.

Also, a very good boy indeed, Jordan aimed to please (almost all the time.) In the year 2000 he graduated at the top of his obedience training class. The teacher stated that, for his age, he was the most mature dog she’d ever seen.

Jordan’s hobbies included; eating, sleeping, waking his people at 3:00 a.m. simply to go outside and stare at the moon, lying on the front porch watching the snow fall, riding in cars, barking at nothing in particular, and napping in front of the fireplace. (Oh, and did I mention he loved to eat?)

He was an organizer at heart and always made sure the bathroom throw rugs were properly piled in individual heaps before he went to bed. Jordan liked things just “so-so” and took it upon himself to keep them just as he thought they should be.

Jordan had a very soft heart. He rarely ever chased cats, and even then, only chased those he didn’t personally know. He wouldn’t have hurt the proverbial flea.

Only once did he ever chew anything he wasn’t supposed to chew and never ever did he "go potty" inside the house, even up to his last day alive. (Well, maybe only a couple times)

Jordan did everything within his power to make his humans happy and proud.

He absolutely loathed lawn mowers and chased them every chance he was given. He took thunder and lightning as a personal challenge and tried to fend it off by repeatedly jumping at the sky, barking during storms. In true champion form, Jordan always emerged the winner,never giving up until the lawn mowers stopped and the storms moved on.

Jordan is survived by his three cat-siblings, Jasmine, Twinkle, and Skippyjon Jones. Jordan and Twinkle shared a very sweet, special bond.

He also leaves behind his human family, Walter and Becky Taylor, and "the boy" Adam David.

He was predeceased by his step-sister, Yeller Taylor, and dear friend (and partner in crime)Spidey-Marie Whitehead.

Jordan will be sadly missed by his humans but they find great comfort in knowing he is no longer in pain. He is undoubtedly having a wonderful time in doggy heaven, chasing bears and deer with Yeller and over turning trash cans with Spidey-Marie.

The family will have a private ceremony honoring the life of their beloved pet. No calling hours will be observed. Memorial contributions can be made to the "Send Jordan's mommy to a beach in Mexico" fund. :^)

Seriously now ...
Jordan,you quickly made a place for yourself in the heart of this "cat person" That place can never be filled by another. You were very much loved and will never be forgotten! I hope that in the end, you felt that love more than ever before. Sweet dreams pretty boy! May you enjoy eternal peace and happiness.

Becky Taylor
Nov. 15, 2010

What Should Have Been ...

Today is a difficult day. It should have been baby Luke's birthday. Instead of celebrating his birth, we are mourning our loss. He arrived too soon and was taken away only two weeks later.

The very unique circumstances surrounding Luke from his conception to the day he went away, made him all the more special to everyone who was fortunate enough to get to know and love him.

It almost seems like a bad dream ... a cruel joke. We were all blindsided by Luke's premature birth and death. Even when he arrived so incredibly small, he was very spirited and obviously a fighter. We never entertained the possibility that he would not survive. We refused to believe he would suffer any long term effects from his prematurity. He was a miracle. God had a wonderful plan and purpose for his life. We were prepared to sit back and watch that miracle unfold.

We did not get our miracle. We got a heartache, and an empty place deep within our souls that will never be filled.

Until a few months ago, we all expected that today would be Luke's birthday, but God knew differently all along. I suppose I could make myself crazy wondering ... asking "why"? and still never know the answer.

I ventured out this morning, driving in the rain and thinking about how both my daughters were born on rainy days. Luke should have been born this rainy day. Instead of making a simple trip to the grocery, I should have been making a trip to the gift shop to buy flowers and balloons and big "It's A BOY!" buttons for Luke's mommy and daddy to wear.

The run for groceries was otherwise uneventful, at least until time to check out and the cashier asked if I wanted to donate a dollar to the the Children's Hospital Fund. Without looking up, I said "No".

But then it occurred to me ...

"Yes ... yes, I would" I told the cashier. "Now that I think about it, I would."

He smiled and handed me a brightly colored air-balloon shaped piece of cardboard.

"We'll put these on display in the window." he informed me as he pointed at a blank spot near the bottom, "Sign it right there."

I took the pen from his hand and wrote LUKE! in big block letters, then drew a heart after his name.

Not exactly the kind of balloon I'd planned on buying for baby Luke today. I feel like he deserves so much more.

Hopefully the dollar I spent on that little piece of cardboard will go toward helping someone else's "Luke" story have a happier ending. That would be a good "should have been" birthday present, I think.

Unfortunately, it is little consolation for those of us who instead of celebrating, are mourning today and thinking about what should have been, but never really was to be.

Talking to Myself, Preaching to the Choir ...

I am fairly certain I am talking to myself here, and yet I continue to put words onto the screen like nobody's business.

Here I am, intentionally careful about what I say, lest I hurt someone's feelings or let any proverbial cats out of the bag. Let's just say I have access to a whole litter of cats in a bag right now and haven't said a word. No-sir-ee! It's been a real test of my discipline to keep my mouth shut concerning certain issues in recent months. I've done well, if I must say so myself.

And I will indeed say it! "I've done well".

But why? Why, when I am the only one reading what I've written anyway?

Given the distinct possibility that no one ever reads my blog, I will hereby give myself permission to ramble. At least for tonight.

I don't care much for the month of October. I never have. The onset of October means that all possibility of opening my front door and finding that a gloriously sunny summer day awaits outside, has passed and won't return for another eight months!

This was only made worse by the fact that my mother passed away in October, four years ago today as a matter of fact. October 27, 2004. What an awful, ugly night that was.

October finds no friend in me. It haunts me with a sense of gloom and doom around every corner.

How unlike "me" that really is.

Bubbly, happy-go-lucky, ever so optimistic me!

Well, not this month and especially not tonight. I've spent the day on an emotional roller coaster, never knowing from one minute to the next whether I'll be laughing or crying, venturing out, or looking for a cave in which to drag my weary self and wait for the dark clouds to pass.

I was such a blubbering fool a few short hours ago that I'm fairly certain my husband regretted even coming home from work. One minute I was sitting at the computer happily pecking away and the next I was sobbing uncontrollably, tears flooding down my face and onto the keyboard so badly I feared it might fry.

On the other hand, today's ride on the emotional roller coaster was actually an improvement over yesterday when I spent the whole day feeling so low I wanted to do nothing but hibernate. Today, there were a few "highs". That's a good sign, huh?

So, there it is! A glimmer of hope, a sprinkle of optimism.

Things are looking up. Maybe I'm on my way back.

This afternoon, after dragging myself first into, then out of the bathtub (yes, even that took more effort than I felt I could spare) I dried myself off and reached under the counter for the antiperspirant. Shaking the can, I lifted my right arm and sprayed.

It had an odd appearance. I wondered why. So, I sprayed some more, then caught the reflection of myself holding the can in the mirror. It wasn't antiperspirant I was dousing my underarm with at all. Instead I had liberally soaked it with a heavy dose of hair spray.

I realized I couldn't put my arm down, as that would surely cause it to be stuck to my side indefinitely, so with one arm held high, I walked over to the bathtub, picked up my wet washcloth and proceeded to wipe the nasty sticky mess away.

It reminded me of the time many years ago when Mom walked into the kitchen, opened the pantry door and took out the "Pam" non-stick cooking spray for a recipe she was planning to make. She was talking (as was almost always the case) and absent mindedly began spraying her hair with the cooking spray as she chattered away.

We all busted out laughing, which was her first clue that something was amiss.

Inspecting the can she was clasping in her hand, she started laughing too, then placed it back in the pantry and asked nonchalantly, "Does my hair look oily to you?"

Maybe that was my mother's gift to me today ... to have me do something silly that would remind me of her...

And if only for a fleeting second, make me laugh.