Two members of the coven attempted to do fire magic last night. Potato stayed to take part in the coven meeting, but she fell asleep. These cat witches.
Fantasy, Erotica, Horror
Category: Cats
I’m going to a big witch retreat today! (Also with polytheists, pagans, and magicians. All the magical folks.) I’m helping put it on. We’ll be dreaming and working and imagining big magic, hoping to move toward the healed world.
It’ll be a build-your-own-spell ritual, and one altar will hold tools and symbols for altar and shrine building. I’m collecting a bunch of symbolic objects for folks to choose from.
Apparently one of those is a cat.
Tonight is the night of the new moon, time of Hekate’s deipnon.
Do you know how important the ring finger on your left hand is, if you’re right-handed?
Or, to take another tack: Have you ever looked up cat-bite infections on the internet?
I love my Miss Onion-cat, and I have to say she is a hothead and an extremist. I heard her having a fight Saturday morning. I thought she might have caught a rat.
She had caught that deadly creature Crateribus plasticus, the plastic crate. Her claw was hooked into one, and she couldn’t get it out. She was growling and hissing.
This is Potato, my witch-cat. She’s not a familiar, not the receptacle for a helper spirit. She is a fully participating member of our coven, though she hasn’t taken the coven class yet.
Potato came to Samhain. She noshed with us beforehand as we noshed. She sat by the scrying mirrors as we scried. She took part in the divination.
This Samhain, we had a visitor who brought with her a pendulum and divination cloth that said, yes, no, maybe, and don’t want to answer.
Spirits and ghosts visit this time of year. I do think the veil between this world and the otherworld is thin now. Ancestors hang in the eaves, eavesdropping. The Snoqualmie tribe, on whose land I live, also traditionally thought ancestors came back this time of year.
This is my backyard a couple days ago, on a misty afternoon. I live in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, in Washington state, and often the bowl of the valley below my house fills with mist early and late. I’m on the edge of a wilderness, and my backyard looks like it!
This is one of my muses, sitting on top of some things I wrote at two different pagan events to inspire myself: “You are a Celtic witch” (because whatever my practice, that is my heritage), and a now very faded list: “To keep going; to have faith; to step forward into all I can become; to have patience with myself; to love myself and my work as it is and as it grows; to let go all that stands in the way.”