Re: my last post...not going there

Okay, so now the Repubs have nominated a woman who looks like what we think/hope the Voice Woman looks like! I'm a guy; that's the selling point for me. If I was a woman, I think the strategy would go "She's got the same plumbing as me, so she gets my vote!" I am just not going there, okay? Not up to it now. Probably not ever. Gagging on my own bile is not my idea of a good time.

Excuse me for feeling vomitorious about all of this, but it's a holiday weekend, and I'm going to have a drink or seven to avoid these thoughts as prudently and completely as possible.

Love that Voiceover voice...Not!

A special note from Me to the Creepy/Sexy Voice Woman who does the voiceovers for John McCain's ads.

Dear Ms. Voice,

I know you aren't really a sexy thang hanging in a bar waiting for me to buy you a Manhattan and have Wild Monkey Sex with you. I know all you care about is keeping Capital Gains Taxes low and deporting everyone with a goofy sounding Hispanic name. You don't fool any of us even if you do sound like an E-ticket ride.

Sincerely,

Me

Whispers

I put my cat Joe to sleep today. That is the correct phrase. I was holding him while the vet put a small catheter into his vein. I kissed him and whispered "I'll find you. You look for me, and I'll look for you." His tail beat against the table once--a sign that he was happy--and he fell asleep. Then he got the second shot and I held him during that too. I told him I loved him as well, but he didn't need me to say that again. I was always there for him, right to the end. He knew.

I have been unfortunate to have two cats die in the last nine months--my old friend Elvis, who was 12, in November, and Joe. But most of all I have been lucky--so very, very lucky--to know what it is like to be trusted and loved unconditionally, to have pets that kept my priorities straight, to watch something grow and mature and turn into something special, and know that I was a part of it. It is related to the happiness I get from my work, except that I played a far greater role in the lives of my cats than I do with students...although I feel proud when students succeed too.

My cats reminded me to play at all hours, to curl up next to someone you love, to recognize that running from a confrontation is perfectly acceptable, to occasionally drop the work and stretch out and relax...so many things. And, of course, I am sad now...but I also feel happiness and love and pride and duty. The sadness will pass one day. The other feelings will stay with me, always.

There is a thread of mortality that runs through all of this. Pets are not human, of course...but they are like children in the way that they become totally dependent on you. And, unlike our children, that we try to raise so well that they, one day, do not need us anymore...pets do not grow out of needing us. Maybe that's why, in the best situations, we recognize and give back that unconditional love and the cycle is so wonderful.

And why, sometimes, the hard choices must be made. We pass through the entire life cycle of a pet the way we pray we never have to with our children. And sometimes, decisions made out of love are the hardest ones to make throughout that life. We keep pets away from dangerous things that they, mysteriously, enjoy. We scold them and get angry when they make mistakes. We help them as they begin to get confused or weak. And we ask for the final shot when we think it is best. It is all done out of love. I think we hope that, one day, someone will treat us the same way. I held Joe and spoke to him with love in his last moments because, one day, I will be on the table, and I hope others will do the same for me.

Sad (for people that get the pet thing)

My cat Joe has been diagnosed with FIP (Feline Infectious Peritonitis). It's a horrible disease; by the time a cat is diagnosed, the disease is so far advanced that the cat is unlikely to live more than a few weeks or even days. My vet--who is terrific--sort of hinted that it would be okay if I wanted to have Joe euthanized immediately. But I didn't want Joe's last few days to be in a crate or cage. We're at home now.

I imagine my next couple of posts will be about, well, pets. I have a six year old dog, Daisy. Diasy is all about Joy and Happiness; she is the happiest dog on our planet. My previous cat, Elvis, died last November. Elvis was wonderful...as I told people, the life of a graduate student is often lonely and psychologically damaging in ways you sort of have to experience to believe. I was lucky; I had Elvis. I mentioned him in the acknowledgments of my dissertation. Joe will not have that chance, He is only 13 months old and will likely not make it to 14 months.

One person asked me why I was putting myself through this...why I didn't just let them put the cat down now to spare myself and the cat. I guess this is one of those non-pet people...the ones that just don't get it. There are millions of them, people that think of a pet as an appliance or can cut themselves off from the feelings of animals. You know these people; we all do. They usually start out by saying, "Look, I know pets have feelings..." but you can hear the "but" coming up and realize they really don't know or understand that at all.

I don't dislike these people. I just recognize that they are different from me. Obviously there are lots in my camp as well--the plethora of pet books and items (many of which my Mother gives to me as birthday/Christmas presents) tells me this. The popularity of Marley and Me shows this. I guess there are a lot of people much deeper in this camp than I am...I don't really need all the accoutrements that others need or want.

I don't need to be reminded that I love my cat. Joe can barely eat now. I scratch his head and give him Prednisone and put a plate of different varieties of cat and human food out for him--anything to get him to eat. He licks at them in a desultory way. What he really likes to do be is be with me. He sleeps under the covers, stretched out against my leg. He climbs on my chest and tucks his head under my chin and purrs. I pet his now thin body and make sure he knows how much he is loved and hasd been loved in his short time here. And he knows, he knows.

I Obviously Don't Get Out Enough

I turned 45 a few weeks ago. And I am slowing down. This was brought home to me by the story of Brian Scott. (You know a headline like "Golf Cart Driver Busted for Meth" is going to get my attention.)

So...let's review and ponder.

1) Loaded gun!
2) Bag of meth!

...which still leaves out that this guy was so fucked up that he got stopped for driving a gold cart badly. Think about it. Really, the gun and meth are the icing, as it were.