Today's Cat Talk, where we learn all about what family felines are and are not, is brought to you courtesy of my waning sanity. 
We've had some rather interesting discussions regarding the roles cats play in our family of late. 
On Father's day we became the proud owners of a scared and severely malnourished, ferrel kitten that showed up at our farmhouse. It was during a period of heavy, extended rainfall, and the poor little guy had taken refuge on our porch on some loose straw. 

Named Roscoe P. Coltrane, the Sheriff Deputy of Jolly Acres, he joined ranks in our household with our other cat, Scurvy. Scurvy, another rescue cat came to us the year we moved to Texas. He is ten and fluffy. Fluffy as in fat. But, those aren't words I like him to suffer hearing. We don't want to hurt his feelings, now do we?

And, so folks as we conclude our Cat Talk  I ask for your grace and prayers should you hear these things come forth from my mouth. I am not insane - yet.   
It's really just a matter of time when you have sweet, sweet blessings such as mine. 
Y'all pray. Pray real hard. 

Do you know the life cycle of a flea? Until two months ago I didn't, either. But, I am most assuredly familiar with it now. In fact, I now know more about fleas than I ever imagined I'd need to know. The one thing I don't know is how to quickly get them out of our new home. But, not for lack of trying. Let me explain.
We closed on our farm the first week of June. Being the enthusiastic new home owners that we were, we immediately set about working on the house. Every blessed square inch in the upstairs was afflicted with nail and tack holes. That meant an enormous amount of putty and sanding. While HoneyMan tackled that I worked on washing down cabinets. We were making good progress.
On the third day as homeowners, we were once more working on our new nest when Señorita Sassypants became worked up in a fit that was dramatic even by her standards. She was hysterically screaming, "Get them off! Get them off! There are bugs on me!"
Being the compassionate and sympathetic mama that I am, I glanced at her to see none, and proceeded with, "There are no bugs on you. Pull yourself together and get back to work."
She did not pull herself together. I was losing my patience as I couldn't figure out why she was so worked up until I lifted her pants legs and found her legs covered in fleas. 
We soon learned that we had an epic flea infestation. I'm talking pestilence of Biblical proportions just shy of a Charlton Heston meet and greet. 
We also learned that often times when one has an infestation they will be unaware of it until the fleas' host has been taken away. The former homeowners had multiple indoor/outdoor pets. It's possible they were unaware of the problem as fleas prefer animals to humans. But, take away their all you can eat furry buffets and they'll attack practically anything. And, attack they did.
We had an exterminator out the next day. And, two weeks later. And, again. The fleas were so  bad that we couldn't allow the children inside of the house. I was frustrated. I was angry. We were finally homeowners to a home we couldn't live in. It was a hostile environment that we more or less visited on a daily basis. So, I took action.
 

I was going straight to the source. After dressing in the appropriate gear I took out my anger and frustration against the flea empire by ripping out the carpet in room after room after room all by myself. 
Turns out ripping out carpets isn't that difficult. It's fairly straight forward, if not simple. However, it is hard on one's back and knees. And, it is dirty, dirty work. The silence and solitude of the house all to myself except for the occasional rant directed at the fleas was therapeutic. I was left with a great sense of pride in having done the job on my own. I am determined and stubborn if I am anything at all. 

Two days later we returned ready to work on our house. I assumed there might be a renegade flea or two still holed up in what they had mistakenly thought was their home. But, I was wrong. Oh, how I was wrong. The floors were down to the concrete slab and still the fleas. There seemed to be more than ever, and this time they were out for blood. Ours.
The house was bombed again. We also placed night lights in every room with shallow pans filled with soapy water directly beneath the lights. These were useful in giving us an idea of how many might be in each room. At night the fleas would jump at the lights and fall into the soapy water trapped.
It was apparent the fleas were not going down without a fight. They were fighting dirty. Fighting so dirty that I contracted bacterial pneumonia from all the nasties in the carpet while ripping it out. Did I mention just how dirty those carpets were? *Note* Ensure your mask is one created for the enormity of one's job. Clearly my mask was not up to the enormity of filth in this home.
It has been a month since I've ripped the carpets out. The house has been bombed a few more times. We've sprayed and vacuumed underneath the baseboards. The exterminator is set to visit next week for our monthly. We feel as if we're finally making a dent in their numbers. And, they seem to be knocked down to one room. Yay! Of course, that would be our master bedroom. Boo! But, it's huge progress, and I'll take it. 
Y'all pray. Pray real hard.

I've often said that I don't sit still well, or for long periods of time for that matter, either. I like to have something to do. I like for my hands to be employed in some fashion. 
Those aren't bad traits to have. Being active and useful are great qualities. I just made myself too active, too busy. But, I wasn't always that busy. 
True, I am a high energy person, but I remember a time when sitting in the sweet gum tree at my grandmother's, or the plum tree behind our house with a book was a priority. I loved taking walks, drives, or just moments to sit and gaze off in quiet thought. I was still an active person, but I was also actively making time for quiet time. 
As a homeschooling mama of three, quiet time is something of a rarity. We're talking more rare than the ever elusive green backed, purple polka dotted, ring horned whats-a-what. Yeah, that rare. It doesn't have to be, though. 
As I wrote in my first post back in April, we strive to live a slower life. Lately, though, it seems the harder we strive, the harder it is to achieve. Our life is in a place of fluctuation at the moment with renovations about to begin on the farmhouse, downsizing in our rental home during the renovations, and dealing with various other issues. It is a time of change. And, while change can be hard in the right here and nows, it can be managed. It can even be embraced. It's inevitable and I'm learning how to roll along with it. Maybe not always gracefully, but I'm learning. Every day's a new day, right?
One of the ways that has helped me to cope over this summer has been my morning quiet time for my devotional and prayer journal. Before getting online, (but definitely after pouring that first cup of coffee - because coffee) I sit down to my desk for my quiet communal. 
Prayer or meditation, whichever you call it, is the steady grounding I long for and need each day.  It can be hard to tune out the static and noise of the outside world. To go to that place of peace and recharging. But, once there it all begins to slow. The pull of the gravity of the busy loses its hold and appeal. The Creator uses this time to remind me that this fast life is not for me. There's something better. Much better.
I am reminded there are sunrises and sets to be admired. 
Songs of the rhythm of creation surrounding me if I will only retune my ears to hear.
There is a wide spectrum of emotions to behold on the faces of my children that need to be forever etched in my memory. But, I have to be present if I am going to be able to do that. 
Be present. Live intentionally. 
There is beauty in the stillness. There is grace in the dusk and the dawn. 
Seek it.
Extend it. 
Live it.