Laura

Something that was said at my father-in-law's memorial, in the discussions at lunch afterward, has been echoing for me ever since - because it is SO TRUE.

He was always, always about what he could do, and there were always things he could do and enjoy. He was one of the most active, doing people I have known.

He had health challenges, "disabilities," and while he never denied them, they never seemed to come up except rarely, either, and matter-of-factly then. He'd lost one leg from just below the knee, and while he could walk, he used a wheelchair or scooter much of the time, of necessity. He had poor eye sight.

My most vivid memory of the scooter is of him giving Drew, not yet a year old, rides through Walmart on it. As for his sight - it seldom seemed to be an issue, though I vividly remember borrowing his computer and needing help to dial the magnification back, once. ;)

What do I remember? I remember what he could do, and did. I remember an amazing (and happy) cook, a man who could often pick out the spices and flavorings in a dish by tasting it. I remember him playing "knock in the water" (Wii sports resort fencing) with Drew, and Drew's excitement at beating Grandpa, and Grandpa's astonishment. (Drew is VERY fast: the astonishment on the first bout is normal. Drew has knocked unsuspecting people off the platform before they realize the game has started.)

I remember polished rocks made into jewelry, and making a clock with a petrified wood frame. (Actually, that's a lie. I don't remember the clock at all. I remember him showing us the petrified wood, over Skype, with his face stuck in where the clock would go.)

I remember t-shirts with silly statements (sometimes profound, but always funny) on them. I remember laughter. I remember a back-and-forth debate with Drew where each claimed they were going to knock each other in the water the next time they played. I remember cookies. I remember hugs. I remember watching him cradle Ian, not yet a month old, so gently.

I remember stories of road trips, national parks, and casinos. I remember conversations about poker (though I don't remember the content, poker holding little interest for me other than as something they were enjoying). I remember his joy in having fresh oranges and grapefruit growing around them in Arizona.

I can still hear his voice. Whole phrases. And his laugh. His laugh was so big - when he was amused, it was clear. And he was often amused, being good at seeing the humor in things.

I think he very much lived in the moment, when he didn't need to be planning. And I think the moments were good to him - because he was good to them, and because he was focused on what could be done, what he wanted to do, what he was doing.

I will miss his laugh. And I will miss the fun of wondering what, when we next spoke, he would have taken up as the next thing to be doing.

The Cat Adoption Team has mentioned on their twitter feed how people feel about black cats, and the occasional black-cat story is made. Here's mine, but it doesn't fit in 140 characters.

When I was in fifth grade, we adopted a semi-feral little black shorthair kitten that had been near a friend's house. I'd wanted her brother - and we eventually got him, a black/white mix - but she was the one we were able to get hold of first and my mother loved black cats especially. And she turned out to be the better pet of the two (her brother was nice, but never fully tamed down).

We lived on a farm, and she was an indoor-outdoor cat. She quickly got named "Basta Ya!" (That's Enough!) or Basta for short. She was playful, full enough of energy for any two cats, and fun. And she would hunt and bring us bird bits. Ew. But she was a good huntress. And then, being an indoor outdoor cat, she disappeared.

We mourned. And some months later she came back, fat sassy and happy. We could only surmise she'd moved in with a neighbor for a while, who was now wondering where 'their' cat had gone.

This was the cycle for years. She would be there for a year or two, vanish for a number of months, and come back. She slowed down as a huntress over the years, but she started out a good snuggler and got better, and she had a very comfortable purr and head-butt. After about 10-12 years of age, she stopped vanishing and settled down to live with my parents.

When my mother was dying of lung cancer, Basta sat on the end of her hospital bed (in her room at home) most of the time, getting down only for food and water or to use the litter. Mom would tease her, sometimes, by bouncing her foot, because Basta often lay over it. Basta would wake up and look around, startled and out of sorts, then put her head back down and go to sleep.

After Mom died, the next night, Basta slept on the hospital bed. And then they took it away (it was rented), and Basta made Daddy cry - in the middle of the night, he heard her yowling. She was sitting in the middle of the room where the hospital bed had been, crying her heart out. He petted her, comforted her, picked her up and took her back to bed with him.

She lived six months after Mom died, and then she went herself; she was 21 years old, a venerable lady who still purred well.

She was one of the best cats I've ever known.

With all due respect to September, it has sucked.

Today, I went in to get the permanent crown put on my root canal. And for the first time ever, the lab had produced a crown that could not be made to fit. Yes indeedy, I came home with a fresh temporary, after going through another imprint process to send a fresh attempt to the lab. (And after having the tooth further ground down in an effort, ultimately futile, to make the crown they'd produced fit. He came very close, but it just wasn't gonna work.)

On the plus side, we got some fillings done. I now only have one more filling to be done. And this time the anesthesia did its job. The appointment was, pain-wise, a big nothing, including the un-anesthetized parts (such as attempting to seat the crown). It was just tedious as all get-out and ultimately fruitless as far as the crown.

Sadly, it probably helped my perspective a lot that we just had to have Babe put down yesterday. Dental aggravation that didn't cause actual pain was so not high on my list of woes, today, even as it was happening. I miss my cuddle-kitty. Though I can still, now, close my eyes and see her lifting her head just so, feel her fur under my hand. It helps. I know that memory will fade in time, not to where I don't remember it but to where I can't reconstruct it so perfectly. Memories do that to me. But hopefully the worst of the sorrow will fade faster, because right now it's like she's there, trying to comfort me. Maybe she is.

Apple is sleeping on the bean-bag chair right now (I'm working from home: my boss suggested it since I had a dental appointment over here in the middle of the day). She's still no lap-cat or cuddle-cat, but she's mostly feeling pettable today, without all the flirting and dodging she usually employs. That helps too. Periodically I'll lean back and just scritch her for a bit.

Kitty yin-yang icon because kitty hugs make life better.

This morning, when I was seated in my chair at the computer and brushing my hair, Babe came over and climbed onto the orange pillow that sits by my chair and in front of the writing desk. She wanted attention and I petted her as I could, but I mostly focused on brushing my hair (because once I did, I was going to go sit on the blanket-bed and cuddle her, and I wanted to get to that). She wandered into the area with my scanner, but I managed to sound-coax her back out and over to the blankets before resuming brushing. She wanted me, though. And I went over after that and cuddled her for a time on my lap, and then she wanted to be on the blankets but stayed right by me and I petted her and Scott petted her. She was okay. She was with us. At one point Scott played with Apple with a feather toy, and Babe got interested and played for a few seconds. Only that, but she still had it in her to play. I think she purred, but I'm not sure - I may be mixing memories of the day before.

I wanted so badly not to take her in. But it was time, despite the good signs. ( Symptoms and commentary, cut for those who'd rather not read it. )

Some photos of her that are more recent (some from the iPhone, not the best quality; others from my old Nikon, since the Samsung POS is in for service again). The pictures link to larger views of the same photo.

( Pictures, here! )

I hate getting mail to my parents, but I understand why I do: I had the mail forwarded, after all, to catch important mail after they died. The fact is it's all unimportant mail now, but I still understand how they got this address.

I do NOT understand how the ACLU got my phone number tied to Dad's name, however. After I got a telemarketing call from some agency they'd set on us (on him), I pitched a bit of a fit and was told they got the number from the ACLU. I called the ACLU and left a message explaining the circumstance, stating that my father was now deceased and had never lived at this phone number, and that I wanted to know how they got MY phone number tied to my Dad's name, as well as for them to remove it and update anyone they could that they'd given it to.

I got a call back, where they left a message (we've been playing phone tag), that the account was now inactivated, and as to how they got the number, it was on the account which was opened in 1989 so it must just be outdated info.

I called back and left another message, thanking them for inactivating the account, using the phrase "horse pucky" to describe their explanation (which is the KINDEST thing I could have said about it), and reiterated the circumstances, that no one in our family lived at this phone number until 2002 (well after the account was opened) and that Mom and Dad never lived at this number nor gave it out as theirs. I never ever had a call for them to this number until after they'd been dead a year and I still want to know how the ACLU got this number tied to that account, and I told them so.

I hate the ACLU, right now, strictly on the basis of the personal stir of emotions and the crap-ass story they gave me. Idiots.

I do not like getting mail for my Mom and Dad from corporations. Junk mail to them is disheartening to me (especially because we are now, for the repeat offenders, at the "call and talk to someone" stage as they are ignoring the "deceased return to sender" notifications).

But the most recent one is actively annoyingly STUPID. Most of these companies are just blindly forwarding people and either not getting or not processing the returns: annoying, but understandable. One of the latest, however, KNOWS they are dead.

The IRS wanted to make sure Dad knew he could file for his stimulus check. Let's see, social security was notified of his death, and the last return for him & mom was filed last year with both marked "deceased". The IRS apparently compiled their lists from all the folks who had filed in 2007. Couldn't they reasonably have removed the ones whose filings indicated they were dead?

Since it's a one-time thing, I'm throwing it out. Hopefully I don't need to say anything to them at all to avoid future mailings, at least. But argh. That's just stupid. Your tax dollars at work, people! Wonder how many mailings went out to dead people whose heirs didn't need the info, and what it cost.

Today, the mail contained a lot of things for Scott's attention (including a lot of bills) and three things I've put in my pile.

One of those is a kicker check. Oregon has a policy that if income from the income tax exceeds the estimates, you get a kicker check refunding the difference (percentage basis across all tax-payers). So we now get the kicker checks from 2006. And thus, I got one for my parents. Necessary, reasonable, but sorta heart-breaking. I wish Dad had been alive to get this money and do something with it. Maybe a conference or a camping trip or...who knows.

The other two just aggravate me. Two issues (Nov & Dec '07) of a magazine I have no interest in, addressed to the former owner of this house. Let me note that we have owned this house now for over five years and have never received this magazine here, in her name or otherwise, before; we haven't received any mail for her/them for several years now. Approximately: wtf?

In order to complain on their web site, I must either provide MY full personal information or HER full personal info at my address, neither of which pleases me. Thus I must wait until Monday and call their customer service line (which, after an aggravatingly-lengthy phone tree, said that if I wanted to speak to a representative, I had to call back when they were open; not unreasonable, but really annoying after you've just had to navigate an almost-impenetrable phone tree, and wtf, no voice mail?).

Oh, well. The cats are being cute and fairly well-behaved. The Christmas tree looks lovely. Scott and I played WoW last night and for a bit this morning, for the first time in so long it's ridiculous, and it was fun. The magazine is just a nuisance (but you gotta wonder why they start now...). And I'm going to have a decadently scented bath later, just for the relaxing in. Sothere. :P

When I said "Basta Ya, lady, that's enough" - it just seemed appropriate. Basta Ya was her full name, "That's Enough!" is the translation. It was given her as a kitten when she was hyperactive. She was a great huntress in her middle years. But 21 years, as sorry as I was to see her go, are a good long run for a cat. That is, in the end, enough - in a very different way than we first said it to/of her.

We will almost certainly get another cat. Babe is being very cuddly and affectionate, she always is, but even moreso. I think she needs a companion, when we're at work, and I like cats. As my allergies are behaving (in general, they're being brats this week), I think this would be good. So Friday we take Babe into the vet. Kitty needs a diet, but she also needs to be tested for the nasty diseases like feline leukemia. They were indoor-outdoor cats. I didn't worry about them exposing each other - they'd lived together four years in the same conditions. But if she has anything, I want to know, so I can choose a cat with the same disease, rather than a healthy one. I doubt she does, and I'm hoping it's all good, but I want to know first. That will take until next Friday...and then it isn't long until our GenCon weekend. So, probably Babe will be an only cat for a month or so before we start seriously looking into finding her a friend. The local no-kill shelter is my source of preference, in particular because I'm hoping they'll let me foster the chosen cat for a few weeks to be sure they get on, before adopting. I don't want to take a cat in and then find they need to go back, and not have a place for them. I doubt it will happen, but....

The Harry & David fruit shipment this month is peaches. I will be so glad when this fruit thing ends. They have a habit of showing up the day after I buy fruit! There's a Harry & David store a half hour away, or I can order online, if I want to get specific stuff when I choose. Not that these aren't good. They are good. They are just - here when they feel like it. So today I find a recipe and make something with peaches in. Probably cobbler. We'll see.

I no move. As I type this paragraph, Babe has her head on my shoe, paws wrapped around it. And her back half sprawled over one of my bare feet. I no move. It would disturb the cat. (She's gonna be disappointed when I have to go deal with laundry, or cooking, or something, isn't she?)

Yesterday, my order from Sidhe Creations came in. More perfume oils. (I encountered the woman who does this via BPAL decanting, so was interested to see what she came up with.) They smell nice in the sample vials. I do not know if they smell nice on, except for one that I tried. My allergies are acting up something fierce. I think it's the heat, the time of year, the fact that we have a flowering plant in the house right now, all that.

I was so sad to sleep in/wake late this morning. For two weeks, I have not slept in because I have been up at six even on weekends, to give Basta her medicine. I am not sorry that I get to sleep, but waking late, on a weekend even, hurt. It will stop hurting in time, probably fairly soon, since that pattern was only the last two weeks.

The friend who cat-sat while we were on vacation brought by a card, and a catnip plant, as a memorial for Basta. So...as a memorial for my sweet lady, we will encourage the remaining cat to tear the house apart? *laughing* Seriously, it was very cool and oddly appropriate and I think Babe will appreciate it. I just find it faintly humorous. Which is good; something to laugh at is good.

I was out at my parents' house on Friday, and I saw one of the 'kittens' (not any more!) from last year, at least, I assume he was. He came up on the back porch (outside), but fled when I went out - too wild to approach. A tan-brown-black tabby, elegant, not too lean. He looks like he's been eating okay, so the lack of food in their/our barn has done him no harm. The prospects for a wild cat out there aren't that good, but I wish that one (and any others) the best of luck. Not much else I can really do for them....

Suddenly I need to figure out what I'm reading next. No more Harry Potter; the sequel to The Assassin King isn't out; etc. Bah, humbug.

Mom almost never posted, over at pheontoo, but she read. Rarely did she even comment. Her userpic was an image of Basta. (Semagic says userpic is not a word. That's funny. I think I'll tell it that it is, though.)

And now I post this, disturb the cat who is still on my foot, and go get stuff done around the house.

To those I vanished on, my apologies. Basta's breathing was not-right, so we took her to the emergency vet, which I hadn't exactly expected to be doing tonight. We were there maybe 3 hours and it felt like forever. She had fluid on her lungs, which is usually either heart disease or cancer, according to the vet. They put her on oxygen, then drew off the fluid. Based on how it looks, he thinks it is heart disease - which is good; that's the treatable one, of the two. Basta's 21. I wouldn't put her through the treatments for the cancer, but the heart disease is much more probable that we can extend her life comfortably. That's only a guess at this point, the workup on that won't come back until Monday, I believe. She's staying overnight on oxygen while they monitor her (and then wean her off the oxygen), and see how fast the fluid starts to build up again. He'll check some other stuff (kidney function, for example) that affects treatment for heart problems.

She's 21. It's not like it's a total shock that something would come up. And yet it is, because she seemed relatively healthy so recently. I'm just glad it doesn't look (tentatively, based on his impressions) like cancer. I was so very, very afraid that it would. And I think losing this cat, who spent so much time with my mother in her last days, that way, would hurt even more than simply losing her will when that happens.

Think good thoughts for her, please.