Faded Angel with Ragged Wings

When we got home on Monday night, we thought she was going to die on us right there. She was old, and had not been in the best of health in the last year or so, so I can't say it was a shock, but when you're used to being greeted at the door by a high pitched meow, and you come home to silence it's unnerving.

We spent the next couple of days making sure one of us was home at all times, never leaving her alone. She kept fading away, but never quite came to the end. She had just enough strength to drink a bit of water. Food was out of the question.

This morning, her hind legs all but useless, and her front legs having no fine motor control left, we had the hard talk.

It was time.

After a bit of discussion, we decided to try to have it done at home. I found Dr. Lori Gibson on line and asked her to come and put my cat to sleep. It took all I had to not start bawling over the phone as I made arrangements.

I took Sarah to work and returned home quickly, spending most of the time petting Percy, telling her that she was a good kitty. At about 10:30 Dr. Gibson came in and did what had to be done. She was courteous, compassionate, and excellent at her job. I hope no one reading this has need for her services any time soon, but if you do I highly recommend her.

Right after the vet left I called Sarah and started bawling as soon as I heard her voice. We talked for a few minutes, and then I hid in our bedroom and sobbed uncontrollably for awhile. After that, I went outside, and dug a grave.

It's weird digging a grave. I dug one for a fish when I was about seven, but that doesn't count so much I think (three scoops with a hand trowel, and I was done). This was frelling work, but work mixed up with a weird numbness that made it seem remote.

After that was done, I wrapped Percy up in an old towel, and placed the mouse that died on our back porch this morning in with her.

The mouse was weird. It wasn't there last night when I was taking garbage out, but there it was this morning. It's as if nature was presenting a gift for the once mighty hunter. I don't believe in the supernatural, but rather then tempt fate, I placed the offering with the body, and reverently placed the bundle in the grave.

Burying takes a lot less time then digging, so my work was short. I used an old cement porch support as a grave marker, and surrounded the grave with stones. I don't know why, it just seemed like the thing to do.

I now have to adjust to life post cat. Aside from my first nine months in Portland, I've never not had a pet. We're going to wait a while before we get another cat, to let Percy be mourned properly. It's going to be hard, but we'll make it.

Spiders and their webs

Spiders get a lot of leeway around here. We don't use poisons of any type, so they are our primary form of insect pest control (rodents stay away because of the cat, but I doubt she could effectively catch one anymore). The yard is pretty much free reign for them, and the non aggressive ones are welcome in the house as well.

There have been a few times when they've had to go. We've had a couple of hunter spiders charge us (despite the fact that were about 50 thousand times bigger then they are), and we shuffle those off this mortal coil. What is more frequent is the comedy and tragedy of web placement mishaps.

My favorite was the web built between the trees next to our driveway and the car from a few weeks ago. Some spider had spent the sixteen or so hours between my parking the car and driving the car away building a fairly intricate web, and I'm sure it was a great place to catch bugs, both coming off the trees and flying around the car. I'm sure the spider worked very hard, and maybe she was crest fallen when this indestructible force of nature (or giant web wrecking yokel, or whatever else spiders perceive us as) came along and nonchalantly backed the car out of the driveway to run out for cat food.

Bad web placement happens all the time: Across the back door, between the garbage can and the posts on the porch, on ceiling fans, on lawn mower blades, and hundreds of other tragic and/or hilarious circumstances. They should hold web building seminars, so thousands of lives can be spared, and millions more insect pests can meet their spidery doom.

Death of a Henchman (oh how we shall miss thee)

Do not watch this if you don't want to be spoiled for the entire Venture Brothers season:

Oh how we shall miss thee henchfriend. Your well foreshadowed demise was shocking, and hillarius to see. Our loss leaves us poorer in Venture characters, but richer in comedy gold. Rest well animated friend, rest well.

One less spot in the pit

I usually don't revel in the death of those with whom I disagree, but this time, I'll make an exception.

Yes, I'm sure he did some nice things and had a sense of humor, but his views on choice, gay rights, and the Arts were abhorrent. His contribution to the rise of Regan doesn't exactly win him points with me either

R.I.H Jessie, R.I.H

Weirdness, Death, and Change.

So, E. Gary Gygax died on Tuesday, which was the beginning of the oddness.

Gary Gygax was, for those that don't know, was one of the creators of Dungeons & Dragons. He built the platform that my imagination has been using as a spring board since the 80's, and while he hasn't worked on D&D in quite some time, he was still the grandfather that all RPG players and designers paid respect too. I shall miss his presence, regret the fact that I never got to meet him, and always remember him fondly.

My father used to joke that I was putting his kids through college. In a way I suppose I did, me and a million other starry eyed little geeks out there who loved to get away from reality a few hours at a time.

Goodbye Gary. We'll miss you.

In other news, my work schedule has changed. I no longer work until 10 on Fridays, and 11 on Saturdays. I'm opening both days now, which requires a whole new sleep schedule, learning a new bus schedule, and so on. It's worth it though. More time awake at home, and only one night a week of making arrangements to feed the cat.

The crazy was provided by some of the customers at BLB01 in the last couple of days. Some examples:

• A woman approached me at the info station and said she had just finished Three Cups of Tea, and said she was looking for something inspiring. Now, I haven't read the book, and am not likely to. It's not my cup of tea, if you will excuse the pun. She kept grilling me though, expecting me to magically pull a book title out of my ass based on no information. When I tried to pawn her off on the Red Room info desk, at which point she got snappy, and said "You don't read much do you?" I resisted saying "I do ma'am, just not the boring shit that you read", and pointed her in the direction of Eat, Pray, Love, and helped the next customer.

• The guy who bought $47 dollars worth of books with $2 bills

• The nearly falling over drunk guy asking for books in Spanish

• The woman who put what looked to be a sack of garbage in the bag check

• The two guys who came in to sell books that came in the wrong door, opted for an escort instead of going around, and when I did escort them, thought it was a good idea to leave a box right in front of the elevator doors so they could go back for it

• And of course, the woman who when given directions to the elevator, said "What the hell is a mezzanine?"
  

The Joker's First Human Victim

So as I'm sure you've all heard, Heath Ledger was found dead yesterday. He finished playing the Joker in the upcoming Batman film, The Dark Knight, and was apparenly suffering from insomnia as a side effect of playing what he had refered to as "He's just out of control -- no empathy, he's a sociopath, uh, a psychotic, mass-murdering clown"

They found some sleeping pills with the body. It seems he really wanted to sleep

I wonder what the expression on his face was.

It's just pickles, man.

One of the girls who works at the cafe I get my lunch from killed herself a couple of days ago.

I didn't know her very well, but I'd often see her walking around the neighborhood. She was a petite, cute in a pixiesh sort of way, and friendly, if a little spacey. We'd always nod or say hi when we passed on the street.

That and pickles were the extent of our relationship.

As I was leaving the cafe on the way back to work, I was thinking about pickles, and how I would be enjoying one shortly. I looked up the street and saw some people moving some stuff out of an apartment.

Just then I remembered that it was her place. I'd seen her go in and out of it several times over the last year, and had stopped to pet what I suspect was her cat dozens of times.

When I got back to work, still ruminating about the sad little part of the world just down the hill from me, I quickly handed Sadimac her sandwich, and went to get mine form the bag.

I pulled out the pickles, gave Sadimac hers, unwrapped mine, and savored it.

Misty never forgot the pickles. In fact, she'd put extras in from time to time.

I can only imagine what made her put a stop on everything at 21. Whatever it is it can't hurt her anymore, can't define her, can't fuck her up worse, or change her life.

Now, the people unloading her place have to deal with it, and that just makes it all the more tragic.