Cuteable!

Cuteable is a great place to go if you like the cute — kawaii, twee, whatever words you might want to use. Slightly to my own surprise, I like a whole lot of the things there. I’m not usually much for the cute, but she manages to pick out some awesome stuff that still qualifies as cute.

Here are a couple of recent examples (complete with where to get them):

And one last one…

…couldn’t resist sending something of mine in. :)

You may have noticed that some of the above pictures link to a selling site called Dawanda — it’s based in Europe but welcomes American sellers as well. I figured what the heck and opened a shop! It’ll have everything in my current shops but might open up my European markets a bit.

Well, one can hope.

Check it out here!

Back in the saddle…

…because I still have three cats to feed.

I knew the whole time I was making this one that I didn’t have the right song in mind. Rather disconcerting, I have to say; as if the music in my head were out of tune. I finished it anyway, and took a couple of pictures, and set it aside.

Which was a shame. It’s a pretty piece, simple but dramatic: Red coral, white pearls, black hematite. Done in a style that’ll work for both modern and renaissance wear, quite deliberately; I’m making enough money at SCA events that it makes sense to tailor things to that audience.

And that’s what helped me figure out what it was.

Skin white as snow, lips red as coral, hair black as night. And I have been poking around at Shakespeare.

My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask’d, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

Shakespeare, sonnet CXXX, and one of my favourites. Because really, who can live up to the legends? It’s better to be loved for who you are.

…but if you want a piece of the legend, there’s always this necklace.

More detail

Thanks to all of you who’ve commented. I don’t know if I’ll have the energy to reply to each individually; I’m running pretty low at the moment.

Taltos had been sort of slowly fading for a while — getting skinnier at any rate, though as energetic as always in running to hide. He was always afraid, see, and I never managed to convince him he didn’t have to be. I decided against taking him to the vet, because changes were it was just age, and adding the stress of vet visits and medication would likely negate any good the medications might have done.

I still don’t know if it was the right decision, but it’s the decision I made.

There have always been whole days when all I’d see of him was a pair of eyes under a table. He was always _afraid_, and I tried and tried and tried to teach him he didn’t need to be, and I never managed it. So I mostly left him alone, except to check on him every once in a while.

A few days ago he was fine.

Yesterday he ran past me into the closet — stumbling, almost dragging himself along, I went in after him immediately.

He still had the energy to scratch me up pretty good, but it was clear he wasn’t okay. His legs weren’t working right, his tongue was stuck partway out of his mouth and wouldn’t go back in. Stroke, or possibly a brain tumor that finally got big enough to push on the wrong things. I held him for a bit (and the fact that he let me told me everything I needed to know) and then went over to Tim’s and had a meltdown.

I knew he had to go. It was time. But he’s always hated the car, hated the vet’s; I was stressing him enough just leaving him in the bathroom, though he wedged himself behind the toilet and seemed somewhat serene with that.

Tim, bless him, made all the arrangements. I wouldn’t have been able to talk on the phone — could barely talk in person. I stayed in the bathroom with Taltos and tried to think of a way to make it easier on him. I got a syringe and got a little water into him, which he seemed happy about. And I got out the bottle of valerian and rubbed a little on his nose.

That seemed to calm him down a lot. I got him curled up in a cat bed without him fighting it, and he relaxed once he was in it. He didn’t cry in the car, didn’t panic at the vet’s.

All I’ll say about that was they let him go easy, and I’m glad I thought of something to help with that. I can’t bear to think if he’d been terrified.

Loiosh isn’t letting me get too down. If I get too depressed he bites me on the nose (“I trained him; he bit me”). Chocolate is being extra-loving, Samson’s being his normal hateful self but that’s fine.

I hardly ever saw Taltos but the place still feels empty. I miss him.

Here’s a much less Demon Cat picture:

Rest in peace, big guy. You don’t have to be afraid any more. Wait for me by the Bridge if you want — but don’t feel you have to. I’ll look for you there either way.

My big cat…

Taltos, 1997-2008