Help Very Much Needed

 Long post, huge ask, opportunity to be kind included.

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TLDR: help three souls find safe space.

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The story, in brief (yes, this is the BRIEF version):

Last year, I stumbled across and started following an account on Twitter.  It was a person and their kitty, homeless after fleeing a DV situation, living in a van, in Arkansas.

Before you lecture, I am aware of the dangers and perfidy of online accounts, and have done my due diligence.

I started following for the kitty pictures - he’s a floofy void wrapped around a bundle of mischief and love.

The human was/is in the midst of appealing denial of disability.  They are, btw, disabled but functioning beyond their limits because survival, but they pay a hearty physical and psychological toll for that.

They have struggled to keep their kitty and themself cared for.

At one point, they were rousted from what had been a property-owner approved parking/sleeping spot and had nowhere to go.  They risked arrest and loss of their worldly goods to go back and wait for kitty to come “home”, as he often went out to toilet and be a cat during the day, returning faithfully to the van after a few hours.  The person would not abandon him.

He returned, they collected him, and then they went seeking a new spot.

At the time, what must have seemed like a miracle happened - someone they knew offered a place, a tiny abandoned house on her property.  No power, no water, asshole neighbors who had vandalized it, but it was a roof and walls and if they wanted to clean it up they could live there.

So they went.

They cleaned.

And cleaned.

And cleaned.

There were struggles and misadventures.

Kitty discovers poison oak and Things In The Woods and had several vet visits, but he was happy to not be vanbound all the time.  Human felt much the same.

The neighbors have non-stop harassed them, even to the point of catnapping the kitty and damn near starving him to death.  He was gone so long, his human had lost hope that he was alive.  They nearly gave up, then.  Luckily, Bastet and Freya listened and responded, and he escaped and came “home”.

They use crowdfunding to get by, and they often go without to make sure kitty has what he needs to thrive.  They are exhausted and hurting and excepting a few online connections, they are alone.  I have donated and made Amazon orders, and Mom donated to their GoFundMe.  We both donated to help cover kitty vet costs because kitty!  Lots of other folks have helped, too.

They put on some much needed weight and strove the regain some strength and health while still jumping…er…stumbling…through the disability appeal hoops.

A few weeks ago, the property owner revealed that they had made some…unfortunate…choices, and now the land, main house (from which this person runs an extension cord, with permission, to power a refrigerator), and little abandoned house are being sold in advance of foreclosure.  The property could have been saved, but the owner didn’t want to make the effort.

So human and kitties (a second cat joined the mix, being looked after for a friend) have to pack up and get out, between unannounced showings and incursions from the harassing neighbors.

They’re struggling to make the van ready to live in again, and they’ve no notion where to go, now.

Meanwhile, one realtor has several times shown up unannounced, forcing the person to quickly crate the cats and leave because apparently a property can’t be shown with a person there?  And they’ve come back to find the cats terrified, spilled soda pop (not theirs, from one of the “guests”), papers and belongings riffled through and in disarray, and a urine…HUMAN urine!…puddle.

They’re dealing with all of this while also struggling with aforementioned disabilities and a new injury cause by property owner negligence and asshole neighbor fuckery.

So, yeah, cascading shitstorm.

The ask(s):

This person and their kitties need a safe, stable place to roost.  A parking spot would do, but I’m hoping someone has or knows of a room, a tiny house, hell, even a camper that they can live in, preferably no or low rent.  I’ll help pay whatever utilities they can’t cover.  It would be better for their continuing disability case if they could stay in Arkansas, but at this point things are such a clusterfuck that they are willing to move to another state and start over if needs must.  MMJ legal would be nice. Comment if you can help.

Donating to their survival fund would be amazing:  https://gofund.me/4103ceb3

Or, if you’re looking for a property for investment with resident guard kitties and their human keeping it lived in for you…I know about a fixer-upper that just came on the market…

Seriously, I’d buy the place myself if I had the funds…

It's What I Have to Give

Last night I did something of which my father would thoroughly disapprove. It was so much fun, I intend to keep right on doing it, too. Sorry, Daddy...but not that sorry.

I am, you may have noticed, somewhat fond of writing (primarily fiction, but also poetry and prose when the mood strikes)(and my blog, of course, which is as honest as can be because why would I lie about this stuff??). I have even fancied myself a Writer (of sorts), and offered my services as a freelance writer to assorted folks. I often write for friends who need resumes tweaked (if you think those aren't fiction, you're doing them wrong) or website content, or blurbs, outlines, and whatnot written about their various businesses, hobbies, whatever. In those cases, emphasize the "free" in freelance.

I don't mind, though - it helps keep me sharp, and I love my friends and family, even when they are cranky with me because I give my time away (unless I'm giving it to them).

So last night, I hung out at Borders near the Mall of Georgia (Dear Borders Corporate Offices, please don't ever close my Borders near the mall, because then I wouldn't have anywhere to contain the crazy...er...write my stories and drink tea, I mean. Thank you.) with BeBop. You'd have to meet BeBop to understand the scope of the woman. She's a whirlwind with a huge laugh. She's relentless, with a grin. She's...she's a force of nature she is!

Bebop created a charity - Troop BeBop, USA - which she runs full tilt, non-stop, with what I've come to believe is her characteristic drive and enthusiasm. She's supposed to be retired, but I figure she'll retire when we don't have any more troops to support...so, like, never. Her charity, you see, is designed to provide phone cards and personal care items to our overseas troops - men and women who can't just pop out to the Evil Empire to fetch soap, tampons, socks, and Slim Jims whenever they feel the need. She primarily raises these funds through coffee drives (Thank you, Mall of Georgia Borders - one more reason I adore you), rallies, and benefit concerts.

I may have also mentioned here and there that I am usually a hair past broke on a regular basis. Much as I would dearly love to donate a thousand phone cards to the troops, and socks, and bubbles, and tickets home, and world peace...I don't have those things, nor have I the dosh to buy the ones that are for sale. Heck, I don't even really have the funds to fix T's poor Jimmy so he can drive it again (and I'd really like him to be able to drive it again, because he keeps changing my radio stations in the van, and that's grounds for homicide, isn't it??). Dang.

What I have got are words. So many words. Hundreds, thousands, million of words, building upon each other into edifices of thought, feeling, communication. Dictionopolis has nothing on me. Taken individually, words don't mean much to the world, anymore. Just look at text-speech and you'll know what I mean. Used properly, though, they build bridges, bludgeons, and blessings, they bemuse, bewilder, and bedazzle.

Last week, we were discussing...something. She mentioned that her website's a mess (it isn't, really - it's a beautiful reflection of the vital, vibrant woman who built it with love, compassion, verve, and no idea how to design a website) and I mentioned that I've been dipping my toes in the freelance waters. She mourned the fact that she doesn't have funds to pay a writer or site designer (because every donation goes to the troops, all of her administrative costs come out of her pocket).

So I did the thing my father hates (but, really, I don't care) and gave away my time and such skills I possess to help BeBop out with a little bit of writing. It's a start. She's looking for donors and working on some sponsorships and things I don't feel comfortable revealing because they are hers - I'm just the writer, she's the doer - and she needed some begging letters written.

Initially, I offered to help write content for her site - notices about upcoming events, schedules, things of that nature. I could, if pressed, learn how to write a proper press release, too. Last night, she offered me the opportunity to help her craft some special letters asking for sponsorship. I wrote, we tweaked, and she was a happy woman. I believe we have begun what could become a fine working relationship, two people content with what they're doing to help service men and women remember why they're over there - wherever "over there" is - picking sand out of their...toes...sweating, freezing, aching, missing their families, and generally questioning their sanity on a regular basis while doing jobs most of us cannot fathom.

I haven't gotten to her site content, yet, but I will. Meanwhile, yesterday went from blue (I was having a rough day) to red, white, and blue, and I felt (for the first time in a very long time) that my words made a positive difference to someone. I believe that this is going to be a delightful (and, I hope, continuing) collaboration, and I'm happy to have something to contribute, a way to thank the people putting it all on the line so I can sit at Borders and write whatever I wish without fear of censure or worse from the folks I may be writing about.

Thanks, BeBop!

Be Still, My Heart

I think I found a new secret crush. Oh, wait - I guess it isn't a secret f I tell you, Internet. Umm...you won't tell anyone else, will you?

I've been reading Metro Dad for a while because I think he's brilliant...but this piece takes the cake. He's my new hero. I know he's married with an adorable Peanut, and I am married and have the Evil Genius, but I think we could make it work. Umm...as long as "make it work" actually means "I won't stalk him or be all weird and maybe I'll get to keep reading his stuff". Yeah.

Anyway, I am a little busy trying to find my poor, ragged sanity among all the dust-critters under the bed (I think it crawled under there whimpering, moaning, and nursing its wounds a few nights ago) and my flashlight doesn't reach all the way to the middle so I may have to take the drastic measure of sending the Evil Genius under there armed with only an antique french fry and shielded with a petrified circle of something that was probably horrible when it happened but is now only vaguely brown and crunchy - with a handle of braided dental floss glued on to make it easier to carry....pant, pant...so go check out Metro Dad while I get myself sorted out.

Meanwhile (don't panic, T, I'm not asking for me) does anyone know a good divorce or family attorney in PA who will work pro bono to help a man get his kids back before his horrid ex drives the poor mites right over the edge with her hatred, evil, and combined psychosis and narcissism (and their daddy with them)?? Cheers!