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A life after my best friend died

My blog, posting date 120729.07:

Since my last blog, I’ve written many lists, 2 sided sheets, of my cat. Every time I do something and I have to remind myself she isn’t around, I write it down. It’s important to me.

I know I’m going to need to check out some books about grieving for a loss weds when the library is open again. This is the problem I’m having:

2 years ago I thought I could find a better job to improve my situation for the 4 biggest things in my life: my g/f, my kitty, our apartment & the city I loved. Today I look for any job, including shitty ones- just out of proximity, without any of the 4 biggest things in my life that were motivation. I don’t know how to think for myself.

I love my cat, it’s difficult to wake up and realize she didn’t wake me up for food, that I got 6 hours of sleep uninterrupted. I kept my list of things to do list very light for a week to mourn. I went out one day to just walk around, check out pet stores, look at trees, look for breezes to envelop me. I now notice every animal around me, birds, cats, people walking their dogs.

My fb and twit pages changed a bit. Like my computer’s desktop and screensaver, my cat became most of my avatars. I don’t have the frustration and anger to post my chicken little/ Don Quixote warnings to an uncaring friends list about how institutions are writing policy to keep them richer and us that don’t make $250K/ yr poorer. People don’t give a shit when they’re entertained and kept in a comfort zone of web phones, cable tv and adding to their hobby collection. Wow, frustration just made a little comeback.

I write with my cat looking over me in my mind. She would ask why are things this way? Why can’t I do things in my little world without these outside things hassling me? why don’t people learn with the facts right there? It’s a lot of what I ask myself, only I wonder why other people have their denial blinders on. We can’t do anything, wait for someone else to do something about it. Meanwhile those with suits deep in their protected offices do.

Monday, I’m going to have to leave the condo to go out to look for work again. I understand that I also have new opportunities that I couldn’t do before. My mother may be willing to help me with a bus ticket so I can check out opportunities in other cities, now that I could go someplace, say S.F. or L.A. or anywhere else. I can make a list of things to apply at or have friends that have a couch that needs holding down for a week.

I know I have to move on, but I feel guilty about it or I should at least continue honorably to tribute my Bunn. There are strange things I’m doing around the condo, most cleaning and basically some things I hadn’t done before and I question it. I do chores to keep busy and not dwell. but I question why I didn’t do them before, my cat didn’t keep me from doing these things and yet I feel an ounce of guilt of why didn’t I?

Before I got my cat, I had a lot of condo parties so I wouldn’t feel alone. I can’t go down that path again, mostly because the new neighbors and HOA would take issue even if I could get estranged “friends” to come over. As it was then as it is now, people would come over to trash a house for a party, but they aren’t here for me during hard times like now.

Books give me advice that’s hard to apply, I see it as a major part of the problem. It’s basically “go to what makes you happy, stay away from negativity.” I understand this and have seen it. I understand a bunch of excuses why people don’t want to spend time with me anymore. I’m not at my best.

But what happened to doing the work for friends or loved ones? Don’t leave someone just because they’re in the hospital with a new permanent condition. Show some respect. I’m always told to stay in there and help and I have done that for years, backed people up. Driving out in the cold on my motorcycle, buying tickets to their things when it cost me money when we could hang out for free.

I go thru the toughest shit in my life and everyone’s too busy. And you want me to come around when it’s x-mas so I can watch everyone trade presents when I can’t afford anything? People can’t do the hard work anymore and the bullshit is they say those struggling to get by need to when they are, we are- I AM doing more work already, than when I HAD a job.

So, I’m supposed to go on without, stay away from their negativity. I’m already staying away from mall/ China consumers and politically inactive. I’ve talked about zombie movies before. The world seems to have become this. You put your faith in someone or some institution. Then one day you find out they have someone on the side, or they’ve trapped steer in small holding pens your whole life. Everyone turns one day and I have to pack up my shotguns and wander in to the next town, suspicious of everyone until someone proves them self. Is that what stay away from negativity is? Is that what life is? I go to a lot of community events, as they are signs that people care while everyone else watches tv, internet, their phone- some screen at home.

The one thing I do realize now, for better or worse, I have to move on and I now can expand my horizons out of this condo again. By the time I can save enough to move out, I should be able to make peace with the kitty graveyard of 2 out front. I have Bunn & Fuzz in my heart and mind. they have to live vicariously thru me. It’s like McCoy with Spock’s katra inside him. My cats have affected me for the better and now I carry them inside of me, the last part of them to live.

For a couple of months, when I go out, I don’t just look for a job. Now I look for a place to belong. I look for a crew that laughs and is “good” together. In every movie is the wacky rag, tag crew. But in real life when you go to a business, everyone can’t wait to get the hell out and leave. I’ve had jobs that turn into that. Somewhere people have to want to be together, not with their back in the corner waiting for anyone else to turn zombie.

I don’t have love at home, now. Until I can afford to keep a pair of adopted cats, I have to find a support group that will welcome me, work or otherwise.

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2012/07/29 Posted by | Single malts | , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

I lost my poor, poor baby girl

Mourner’s blog, kitty date 120724.09

Sunday morning, my cat who let me share my life with her passed away. She shared her life with me. A lot of this blog is going to be things I cried out to the close people I talked on the phone with the past day or so.

You may think she’s just a cat, but to me she was my companion that accompanied me thru the struggle of moving 8 times, having 6-8 jobs, 4-5 vehicles, a few girlfriends and a couple of states.

It’s safe to say a lot of people have put up with my shit for 17 years, but she always got the better of me. No matter how mad I got for the mess she made, she would respond with rubbing her head on my arm or leg or meow at me saying “pick me up and hug me, please? Pet my back. Scratch the back of my head.” She disarmed me faster than any human could. And that’s a big lesson for me to learn about dealing with others for the rest of my life.

I sensed her time coming, but there were some things. I couldn’t afford the vets and even if I did, did I really want the vets to cut her up and drug her to something that wouldn’t recognize me anymore? I learned a lot from watching my mother and uncle dealing with trying to drag my Grandfather to convalescent homes, where they wouldn’t allow him his cigars and white port. His temper went up and health down. Eventually, they relented and decided to let him sit in his living room, watch tv and drink his “medicine” and smoke his cigars. Go out HIS way.

When I had to move from Vegas to protect my girlfriend from living with the unemployed I eventually lost her to her ongoing life while mine was frozen. No matter how many times I applied, no matter how many books I read on psychology, happiness, motivation, coaching, business, marketing, Zen Buddhism, and war stratagems, I could not get a job to save my life. That first month back to my mother’s condo snapped me into a reality where I didn’t have to remind my girlfriend what needed to be done anymore. I was relieved, but soon saddened by this. I had to learn how to shop at the grocery store by myself, without considering what we’d get.

I still had my baby girl. Whatever odds were against me that was compounded by being “out of state” even though I returned was made worse by month after month of unemployment. When my job search faded from getting Back to Vegas, it continued as I have to get work, to pay off a credit card, to get a vehicle to get me and my cat out of here, if not Vegas.

2 years later, my cat’s health was deteriorating. I knew how long I had her, but I had also heard cats could live to 20-21 and I was going to drive her somewhere with trees and grass she could play in.

In Vegas we developed a tradition of taking her to the drive in movies! We decided to go there for nostalgia and hell 2 movies for $4 each? It was a BONUS when I realized we could put baby kitty in her carrier and smuggle her in. Really, no pets? She could see the family of cats that lived on the roof of concessions that wandered around. We always worried they’d get run over. We always brought string cheese and Cane’s chicken for all the cats to snack on.

One time we even drove her thru x-mas in the park! Vegas is a great place for annual holiday events, but for kitty and my girlfriend, they let me forget about my problems with the holidays and the religions behind them and enjoy the pretty lights. “Look baby!” (There go writer’s tears.)

I have so many memories of my cat, I’ve been scribbling them down the past couple of days and will do so until I’m all wrote out. I always want to remember her how I remember her. 10 years goes by and you forget things and I can’t let that happen. I have to mind dump my memory on a media, a “hard copy” I can have.

I talked with someone recently about digital cameras/ pictures/ computer storage. It’s more convenient than film, but look how less permanent it is. One zap could crash your drive. You could lose your cell with all your pics. In fact it happened to me and the only thing I used my first cell cam for was kitty pics. There were a few I e-mailed to myself that I pulled later. You could post your pics online but I did that for 10 years, who the hell goes to myspace anymore? Who will go to face book 10 years from now? I gamble that word press was around for a long time and could be here until I can at least afford my own domain someday to transfer all this to. Even then, domain companies get bought out. Who knows. It’s why I want to write a book, so copies have a chance of being out there in the world after I’m gone. But the internet is even turning books into vcrs or Kodak film.

I want a physical photo album, physical pictures to post up at work or whatever locker I’ll have some day or god forbid my own office. Instant replaces longevity, another lesson the remote culture needs to learn.

I have more to say and I’m at the end of my page. I’ll write another blog and post it tomorrow, okay? Thank you all for reading this. Losing my baby makes me want to apologize to everyone, appreciate the people I love and thank everyone for the rest of my life.

2012/07/24 Posted by | Single malts | , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Senior Kittyzen Retirement Home

Owner’s blog, kitty date 66489.51

For the most part, I write a blog with the hope that someday you’ll come across it, share some comment love, follow it. The dream: regular commenter, blog interaction. But this blog is more of a reminder or a notation of some changes occurring. Things won’t be the way they were and this is something I get sad about.

Since I had to move back to condo de backup, whose complex name is literally “Downer,” my cat hos gone thru some noticeable changes.

According to some online vets, my cat is around 81 years old “in cat years.” My best estimate is she was born in 94, I got her after she was weaned from her mother, so 18 years “people time” as of this writing.

When we first moved back, she’d sleep on the foot of my bed by my legs like always. She immediately started pooping on the comforter, leading  to an elaborate hassle of taking it to the large washing machine at the Laundromat. I could wash the other sheets in the condo’s common washer/ dryer. There was stress in moving, and my nerves and depression were escalating as the situation was setting in for me, so that’s how I wrote it off with her.

We settled in and she stopped. There are 2 rooms to the condo and I eventually moved into the other room, rearranging everything because of the new asshole neighbor with a loud a/c hillbilly rigged to his window next to my (old) bedroom window. Also the booming home surround sound for their tv that let me know they weren’t watching PBS or anything above a PG-13 mentality.

Eventually in the new room, she started pooping under the bed and for a bit I’d put boxes and laundry stacks around the bed until I realized I couldn’t do it anymore. I put a flattened cardboard box as a baby gate in my bedroom doorway. I’m now a VIP area asshole. So now, she scratches at it reliably my 3rd hour into my sleep, whatever time.

She eats canned food more because of her older teeth, sore gums. I even sprayed water on her dry food and there’s a small window she’ll eat it. Think how you eat cereal. Not too crunchy to shred the roof of your mouth, too mushy and you don’t want to eat it. Dry food is just a backup she eats at unpredictable times. For the canned food, I feed too much, she won’t finish it. I refrigerate her food after I open it, so she may not like room temperature food anymore? (I’ve gotten to refrigerate unopened cans).

I’ve done good for canned food, in that I’m a big no by-product Nazi. And I know canned cat food no matter how healthy probably is run the same or worse than human food processing, which has scared me to mostly vegetarian diet. I’ll eat meat once a day, or put a small amount of hot link in my spaghetti, jambalaya, etc. If I feed her too less can, she’ll want seconds, scratching that cardboard partition. Getting out of bed at 4:00AM is like pulling yourself out of a swimming pool. Somehow your body weighs 60 more lbs. and leg over the cardboard baby gate.

About a month ago, it looked like her rear legs started getting weaker. I didn’t know if they were sore, numbing or atrophying. I tried to walk her around a large circle with the only cat toy she’ll still perk up to, the red pen laser. She even stumbled on her litter box, so I knew shit was getting real.

And one week, she started writhing around on her back. I thought she was playing but I soon realized she was thrashing around uncontrollably. I held her, tried calming her down. She grabbed my finger with both front paws, I checked to make sure she had feeling and grasp. I held her until she stopped thrashing. Her heart was pumping hard. I don’t know if it was a heart attack, stroke or seizure. She made no kind of yelping or even drooling, I was very worried she didn’t/ couldn’t even call out.

She wasn’t very active for the week after, very understandable. I petted her a lot, but I did more so after that. She likes the side of her head and chin scratched. Her legs seemed to improve. I have bought vitamin treats since, hoping that helps.

I’m pissed at my vet because I’ve taken my cat at least 6 times, blood work costs $200 each time. He prescribed thyroid medicine that’s $30/ month that I still get. But I address my concerns and my cat’s problems every time and my vet won’t commit to saying a damn thing and it pisses me off to go home after to look symptoms on the net after I spent grocery money for him to not say anything useful or not to “take care of” my cat. He just wants blood work money. So I’m recognizing some struggles we had with my Grandfather when dealing with his doctors and him taking his medicine. I’ve gotten to a good grove in smashing her kitty meds into a tablespoon of milk.

This is my cat’s retirement and I love her more than anything. I know I could load a backpack and look for work in San Francisco or L.A. without her. But I’m committed to her for life. She’s the love of my life, even more than myself. I’ve been treating my body like the Millennium Falcon, a vehicle. I’m working on that. And when I was at my most depressed, I couldn’t continue thinking suicidal thoughts partially because I knew no one else could or would take care of my cat in her final years like I could.  know she’s a selfish cat. I know dogs have more “service to humans” capacity. Her biggest selling point was pooping and peeing in one place and her seizure has affected her habits, she doesn’t care as much anymore. Her hair’s matted from lack of grooming she used to be obsessive about.

but still, I owe my life to her, so my priority is to maintain hers. She’s still my baby girl, and will always be.

2012/06/27 Posted by | Single malts | , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment