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Dewey Readmore Books, Iowa’s library cat

 

I owned the book Dewey for a few years now & “never got around to read it.” A few weeks ago at the library, I ran into an interesting situation, I saw it there in the audio CD section. Was it cheating to check it out when I owned the book? I checked it out, thinking I could listen to it when I putz around the house,  just like when I listen to pod casts.

 

For some reason, this was a good time to rea- hear the book, when I’m trying to recover from the loss of my cat. I also think had I read the book earlier, before my Bunn Bunn had problems, I may have even had insight on what to do.

 

Dewey Readmore Books

Dewey Readmore Books (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

I spent a lot of time online trying to diagnose her symptoms, translating her vet blood work results with online searches of parameters. I think searching any medicine we’re prescribed will turn us all into hypochondriacs. To this day, I get upset thinking that the cat meds worsened her conditions, possibly causing her seizures. I get angry, frustrated and I still feel helpless. I will always think I could have dome something more, but I then always have to think that I did more than anyone that ever knew her would have.

 

There are similar stories I heard about Dewey than I had with my Bunn, but after I was really happy that I had plenty of my own that were different, unique to me. There are plenty of cat books at the library and on Amazon that I’ll be buying in the months ahead, no doubt with similar stories.

 

It’s interesting how people’s stories about their pets are far different than anything Hollywood would lead you to believe. Cats apparently are only there to hiss and warn you not to go into an area. Dogs basically rescue people or are attack a guy if he dates in any rom com. But most pets, you just look at, share cuddles, feed and clean their poop. They sit with you when you get away from the world. They’re also the things we leave behind when we go on vacation, without a lot of thought.

 

There have been some writing books that have helped me out with some issues, for some reason developing schizophrenia is good for character developing arguments. Dewey gave me a couple of insights on writing about my cat. Listening an audio book also gave me insights. Descriptions  and the feelings they give have a lot to do with the voice of the reader. It’s like when you find out a script was written for an actor in mind. It’s tough, but rarely, I can pick out when a character was supposed to be an Eddie Murphy type. He was supposed to be in a couple of star treks and Ghostbusters. It’s easy to tell that Slimer was written for (later a tribute to) Belushi.

 

Slimer

Slimer (Photo credit: Tim.Deering)

 

Part of why I want to be an author is that I want something to last beyond facebook or twitter statuses. To be a writer, I have to consider eventually getting an e-reader, since I’ll have to research publishing for that media. It also scares me. I bought a digital camera before they were in every phone and after 2 generations, the family trusted Kodak brand took a dive. I alone may not have prevented it, but I contributed to it. I used to think it was cute when sci fi movies featured of of those old “book” things, but it’s really happening like so much other dystopic predictions.

 

Vicki Myron did it. She was able to tell millions how much her cat meant to her and what an impact Dewey had on a community that I wasn’t able to relate to before, being a city man. I knew farmers were getting ousted by industry, I may have known the depths. But it was another thing to have it described in detail over a decade while I was bar hopping and playing in my disposable lifestyle.

 

Part of why I want to write is to tribute my cat and those important to me, those that are no longer around but helped me thru so many things. I have been the life of the party in a few circles. I feel so far from that person now, but I’m able to leap back into it, the eye of the festival when I write about what I should have learned from those times.

 

I know, I need to write more. But I also don’t want to wear out my welcome by writing downer blogs also. It’s tougher to write with a 3 beer attitude when you can’t afford it. I do know that’s what people want to read, my crazy Vegas adventures. And I have to sit on a lot of things until a press someday shoots out a book I can hold in my hands and dedicate to the few of you for being there the whole time, and share the memories of my cat Bunn Bunn you don‘t know yet.

 

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2012/09/18 Posted by | Single malts | , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

My cat, Fuzzy

Owner’s blog, cat date 66292.29

I have a list of things to complain about. But I’m tired of all that. they’ll always be there. I read all kinds of things about how to deal with anger, frustration. I think of reams of rants, but when I look at my blank, white screen I fight to keep my nemeses at bay to limit their voices- their power- in MY journal. I never want to be an enabling sheep. I point things out. I already just deleted 3 paragraphs that derail me from what I want this chapter to be about. The shepherd has to prevail.

There are lots of isolated characters I’ve read and seen on film & tv, from the wise man, to the deserted man to mad scientist, to the guy in his evil lair. what a lot of them have in common is a pet they contemplate life plans with when there is no one else.

Let me start off with, yes I have owned dogs when I was young. Not much fun with the barking and the crap mine detail around the house. I was a dog person when I had them. Now I’m a cat person. Poop and pee in one convenient box! I know plenty of the dog and cat debates. I have owned pets in tanks, from fish to hermit crabs top lizards. I’ve owned caged pets, including a parakeet whose shrieks went right to my nervous system. I preferred the cooing of a finch I had. All of those pets have come and gone, but my cat remains. I’ve been pondering that “___ come and go, but ___ remains” quote a lot, trying to absorb and appreciate those second blanks.

I got fuzzy and his sister when I worked rides at a theme park, from a girlfriend’s parents house. They came from a littler of 4, the mother had over 5 different colors and patterns of fur, her name was Muffin. My g/f at the time named the small “runt” of the litter Bunny for some reason. We also got one of her brothers that I got to name, Fuzzy which made more sense to me and the name still went with Bunny’s. The other 2 were blonde boy kitties that remained at her parents court, outdoor cats. We took them as soon as they were weaned from their mother. I hope, looking back… Fuzz was black and grey stripes, Bunny was a mix of colors, greys, black, white and tan, just like her mother. I never saw the father.

We used to take them to the park in a basket, everything they did was precious. They scampered around the house when they were little, I used to enjoy hearing their little stampede around the condo, of course when I was quiet working on something else. You could hold one in your hand like a softball. We took them to the vets regularly for checkups and shots. The county offered a free voucher per pet and early on, we got them both spade and neutered. I remember that it took Bunn longer to recover, with her poor little radar dish.

I have blogged elsewhere about her brother and it’s in a file I can’t find, the blog entry lost in some server that GeoCities or MySpace was absorbed into something else.

It happened after I took a trip to Vegas, when I decided I needed to go look for work there. When I came back, I let the cats out in the front yard as I had done. The stupidest thing I did was let them out for progressively longer periods of time, trusting they would stay out of trouble and come back in on their own. Top 5 You Fucking Idiot time of my life award.

“SCREECH.” I went out front and a car was stopped. Bunn was inside. Her brother wasn’t. I ran out and thank the driver that he stopped to get out and consider what he had hit. He was even very apologetic. I told him to stay there, I was already running in the house for the kitty carrier.

I had a car at the time, so after carefully placing my wailing boy in the kitty carrier, I drove him to the vets. I remember guttural growling as I cried and drove with my right hand nuzzling his head in the passenger seat as I drove us, shaking and struggling to say comforting things towards the vets.

Our vet was in fact someone I worked with at the theme park, it was his “weekend” side job for fun. We worked on the park’s railroad together. He was there and the one I could count on to work on my cat as if it were his own. I cried and even called my mother, as I had before in an emergency.

A couple of hours into it, I had to accept some things, drowning in tears. No, I just wanted him to live. I’ve seen people take care of cats without all their legs. What was important to me was that I keep his spirit alive, let me love him longer.

The vet told me that he couldn’t realistically keep Fuzzy alive, his mind wouldn’t be fully there if he could. I really didn’t give a shit about what money I had to “borrow” to keep him alive. When I realized he most likely wouldn’t be in his state of mind again, I had to accept things and drive him home in his kitty carrier until he went to sleep for the last time.

I kept my hand on him as I lay, he smelled like blood. I told him how much we loved him over and over and happy memories we shared. I’m happy I took pics of them playing.

Bunn was confused, she would wander around. After he passed away, I just left him in the carrier until I figured out what to do the next day. I kept good thoughts and smiled thru tears. It wasn’t a time to debate God, it was a time to celebrate my boy fuzzy and if there was a spirit rising from him I had to let him see we loved him and how he enriched mine and Bunn’s lives. She approached him, smelled that he was… different and walked away. I cried for the 3 of us all night & the next morning, pretty useless for me to try to lie in bed.

I would up buying him in the front yard among some rose plants that line the front of the condo I’m staying in again, now a decade later. When we came back, I’d sit out front and let Bunn play for a while until she started eating the grass. I saw in a documentary about yard maintenance and all the chemicals they put into lawn care. It made her sicker than I thought all those years.

I meant to write about Bunn, but this needed to be shared again. I’ll write about happy times with her within a few weeks.

2012/04/16 Posted by | History 101 | , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment