is this it

I learned that the mea­sure of a man is his abil­ity to stir-fry bok choi hearts.

That High Fidelity is the new (500) Days of Summer.

That it’s nice to be needed.

That I still won­der if I’m forgotten.

That it’s not so much that I don’t have any­thing to write about, but noth­ing ever seems impor­tant enough to put down on paper nowadays.

That I say oh my god a lot.

That food poi­son­ing is like a lax­a­tive for both ends.

That I’m allowed to miss her.

That it’s okay to think oth­ers are cute too.

That I’m doing the whole Swingers thing with Lisa, where she’s try­ing to con­vince me I’m a big fuck­ing bear.

That I can’t read signals.

That it doesn’t mat­ter whether or not you’re invited, as long as you’re happy where you are.

this same flower that smiles today

I find myself resigned to someone’s care. It’s not an easy kind of con­trol to relin­quish, but lately I trust as lit­tle as pos­si­ble in the future and do my best to go along for the ride. As the old poem goes; be wise, strain the wine, or as Zorba would put it, “DON’T BE DELICATE”. I didn’t plan on liv­ing for­ever anyway.

On a cold night, we keep the only promise made, one of those small won­ders that still make me believe. I fit some­where between needs and wants, tem­po­rary relief and long-term side effects, class and home­work, nib­bled lips and bit­ten tongues.

in a field

 

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some day i'm gonna find it out

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Over-stimulation is a sling­shot moved by the force of com­pany for the sake of self-distraction.

cat in window

 

And yet I’ve never felt so alone. The nights are filled with absence, which I try to mol­lify with indul­gence. It’s okay for now cause I know I’ll be okay some day, when it’ll be safe to be alone with my thoughts again.

Byron

Kitties are impos­si­ble to resist when you see them in every other viral video doing some­thing hilar­i­ous or clever or just plain cute, and my plan to wait until life set­tled down a bit before adopt­ing another one was as dif­fi­cult as the inten­tions were noble.

I’ve had Byron for about a month now, and he’s already been a great com­pan­ion. He hasn’t warmed up to sleep­ing with me at night, but he fre­quently sleeps in my lap, and fol­lows me around the house, even going so far as to lie on the bath­mat to watch me when­ever I’m mak­ing a nice BM. He also rarely stops mov­ing, which makes him espe­cially dif­fi­cult to pho­to­graph. Like Dolly, he can be quite a vocal cat, and will meow repeat­edly when he knows he’s about to be fed or if I call his name.

cat on a couch

 

I can tell he’s already grown in the short time I’ve had him. It’s always fun to see how all the parts of kit­ties develop at dif­fer­ent rates; right now he has big ears and a full tail, though his big mitts are more likely due to his breed. His face is also quite mature, though it isn’t par­tic­u­larly strik­ing or unique.

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rose coloured veil

Thank you for friends from Scotland and moon­cake from Hong Kong.

Thank you for guests and hosts and holidays.

Thank you for friends like Lisa and Flight of the Concords.

cat on lap

Thank you for healthy kitties.

Thank you for mov­ing base­lines and dub­step wobbles.

Thank you for locally grown beef and sig­na­ture sauces.

Basia Bulat at the Ottawa Folk Festival

Thank you for inspi­ra­tions and front row seats.

Thank you for British sit­coms, old and new.

Thank you for cheeks and daydreams.

friends playing Magic: The Gathering

Thank you for new friends and Magic nights.

kitty considerations

It’s been four months since Leonard died. I remem­ber going to bed that night, con­stantly turn­ing over my pil­low to find a dry spot, sob­bing so much I couldn’t fall asleep.

The necropsy showed that he had a mas­sive liver and kid­ney infec­tion. My vet excused his lan­guage and said, “Shit hap­pens” when I asked (per­haps with a quiver in my voice) what I could have done to pre­vent it.

Soon after, he sent me a card offer­ing his con­do­lences, and said it was a plea­sure deal­ing with some­one who cares so much. It was prob­a­bly the best thing any­one could have done to assuage any feel­ings of guilt. That fact that Leonard had a stub tail with no signs of scar­ring makes me sus­pect that he was the runt of the lit­ter, likely born with a weak con­sti­tu­tion, but that doesn’t stop me from always feel­ing like I could have done more.

He was always so affec­tion­ate, almost to the point of being overly so. Every morn­ing he’d rub his nose on my face until I stirred, which would be extremely aggra­vat­ing if it weren’t one of the most seraphic ways to be woken up.

I remem­ber him sleep­ing with me one bright after­noon. Dolly decided to nes­tle her­self in the crook of my arm under the blan­ket, and Leonard soon joined us, though he decided to curl up on my neck instead. It was the per­fect nap configuration.

I’m still glad I had him, as short as our time was. It sad­dens me most to think that I never got to know what he’d be like as a mature cat, whether he’d keep his play­ful­ness and extro­ver­sion into adult­hood. At the very least, Heather and Sergey, Aaron and Trolley, Darren and John all got to meet him before he died.

Leonard at the Humane Society

I took this pic­ture of his Humane Society pro­file before head­ing over to meet him. They named him, “Elvis”.

I’ve been check­ing the Humane Society web­site for male kit­tens avail­able for adop­tion ever since. I recently found one with the right details and a goofy face too, but I don’t think I’m ready for another cat yet. I’m not sure I could han­dle it if the next one hap­pened to die so sud­denly as well. But I know that soon enough I’ll be itch­ing to adopt again, and that the idea of hav­ing another cat in my life will pre­vail over any worries.

Scotland, Day 7: Edinburgh

It’s slow going in the house of mirth. We’ve been explor­ing parts of Scotland every day, so we decided to take a day off to watch acclaimed British sit­coms and movies. I’m so happy here. It finally feels like I’m on vaca­tion, as Dennis likes to remind me when I say I shouldn’t eat any more ice cream. Where else does some­one keep my dishes delight­fully warm in the oven before serv­ing me? Luckily, Dennis is also some­thing of an accom­plished key­board player. Jamming with new peo­ple, learn­ing their unique strengths and the sound they can get from their instru­ments, is always more fun than I can describe.

Funny to think that we’d only met once before at Aaron’s wed­ding five years ago, and kept in touch from across of the pond. Introverts like us never for­get those kinds of con­nec­tions, cause it’s so rare to find a per­son to whom you can eas­ily talk for hours. He lives the same life I have now, the same life I see myself hav­ing many years into the future. Even our cats are alike.

conservatory

Dennis had this con­ser­va­tory built as a room where he could lounge dur­ing the day. The poly­car­bon­ate ceil­ing lets plenty of light through and keeps the space bright and warm and sunny and I’ve decided that I need a room like this.

When the sun sets it can get quite chilly, so then we move to the main room and put the fire on.

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The Short Life of Leonard the Cat

The hard­est part was putting away his food bowls, and that ter­ri­ble sense of final­ity that he’d never be eat­ing from them again.

Spending so much time at home meant Leonard was in my com­pany for a large part of the day. I’m get­ting used to his absence, but I still miss the lit­tle guy.

I had a bunch of ran­dom footage and I never knew what to do with it, includ­ing a few moments from the first time I let him out of quar­an­tine into the rest of the house. When he died I kept watch­ing the footage over and over again until it sort of pieced itself together into this small vignette of a kitty who lived with me for less than three months. I hope they were happy ones.

Goodbye, little buddy

The vet’s office called this morn­ing to tell me Leonard didn’t make it through the night.

I’ve been bawl­ing ran­domly since. Uncontrollably1. I haven’t cried like this since I was a kid. I sup­pose it’s the shock. I always expected Dolly to be the one to go first, and not for many years at that. I know I’ll be alright, I just need time. It was such a big deci­sion to adopt another cat, and I jumped on it cause I wanted one so badly, and I made all the prepa­ra­tions, and nursed him back to health so many times, and now he’s gone so suddenly.

John’s been talk­ing some sense into me. I blamed myself for not going to the vet sooner; maybe there’s some­thing he could have done, maybe being on an IV ear­lier would given him the strength to recover. But I did what I thought was best at the time, and there are count­less maybes in life, and there’s no way of know­ing why he died because the tests weren’t fin­ished. It could have been some­thing con­gen­i­tal, which seems likely con­sid­er­ing he was sick most of the time.

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  1. I’m so glad I work from home. []

sick kitty

Leonard has been fight­ing an upper res­pi­ra­tory infec­tion for about a week now. It was prob­a­bly his third since I got him a few months ago. Each time he couldn’t smell so he wouldn’t eat for about two days, but even­tu­ally he’d recover.

This time he didn’t eat for an extra day, and I noticed he was get­ting lethar­gic and dazed. He wouldn’t raise his head when I walked by, or fall into a sleep so deep that he rolled onto his side. Even when he was sick, he’d still purr tremen­dously if I picked him up, but even that stopped and he’d remain limp.

I’ve heard sto­ries of cats not want­ing to die in pub­lic places so they go some­where quiet to pass away. And when he started crawl­ing under my bed to sleep — which is a very unusual spot for him — I started get­ting worried.

Leonard on John

Leonard meets John.

So I took him to the vet right away. He started dete­ri­o­rat­ing quickly between the time I called and the appoint­ment. By the time I got there, his front paws were buck­ling when I tried to stand him up.

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And I shall call him Leonard and he shall be mine

I was going to wait to see how his per­son­al­ity devel­oped before set­tling on a name, and for a while I was call­ing him Serge (after Gainsbourg) cause he was almost overly affec­tion­ate, con­stantly paw­ing me and rub­bing my face with his. Eventually, I real­ized it’d be impos­si­ble for a cat to live up to such name­sakes, so I went with my first choice, which was Leonard. It has Leo in it, which is per­fect for any­thing from the fel­i­dae fam­ily. I could never call him Lenny though cause “Lenny Cohen” sounds so wrong to me.

Leonard the cat on Dolly

 

I love cats with goofy faces, and I can tell Leonard has a bit of one already from the way his cheeks puff out. I also like my cats fat cause there’s more to hold when they decide to crawl into the cov­ers. As novel as it is to see how tiny Leonard is in com­par­i­son to Dolly, I’m look­ing for­ward to see him putting on some more weight.

Unfortunately, Dolly’s per­son­al­ity has changed. She’s a bit less affec­tion­ate, less vocal, and more sickly; I’ve been deal­ing with per­pet­ual res­pi­ra­tory infec­tions and eye abscesses ever since I brought Leonard home. I’m won­der­ing if she asso­ciates being mis­er­ably sick with the arrival of the new kit­ten. Her mater­nal instincts seem to kick in when he lies next to her, and she’ll try to lick and groom him, but he doesn’t seem to like it much and they end up fight­ing. Hopefully, he’ll grow into the habit.

stability or stagnancy

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I’m liv­ing a drama-free life.

John used to tease me about my drama, con­vinced that I loved it because I always seemed to be cre­at­ing it. But drama is just a by-product of the strug­gle when you’re dis­cov­er­ing your­self and try­ing to become the per­son you’re meant to be. It’s never an easy path; oth­er­wise, you’d already be that person.

I don’t have bad days any­more either, but I can’t tell if it’s because I’m han­dling things bet­ter or if I’m not chal­leng­ing myself enough.

And now that there’s no more drama, it feels like I’m fin­ished. Like there’s no next step for me to take and nowhere else to go, because I’m here. All that’s left is to enjoy this existence.

That’s not to say my life is with­out a touch of inner insta­bil­ity. I still have mem­o­ries, thoughts, lust, and love, and they’re enough to fill the mind for an entire day. But now I know everything’s gonna be okay.

cats in sunbeam

 

Now that I’m work­ing from home full-time, I barely step out­side. Living like Foul Bachelor Frog, cause yesterday’s pants are today’s pants if they have the belt in them. There’s noth­ing for me out there. It’s never worth the trou­ble any­more. I’d go out if I wasn’t so con­tent in my com­fort­able home with two cats and every­thing I need to sing or write or create.

I’m just won­der­ing if I’ll ever get tired of this.

new kitten

Adopted another kit­ten from the Humane Society (and I wasn’t able to wait until the new year). When I went to go see him at the shel­ter, he jumped into my arms, started purring, and wouldn’t stop nuz­zling my face. Even if he was any less cute, there’s no way I could have left him there.

He’s exactly what I was look­ing for: four months old, neutered, male, with a stubby tail. Cats with stub tails from shel­ters usu­ally have their tails cut short because they’ve been run over by a bike, or caught frost­bite, but on him there’s no sign of scar­ring so he was prob­a­bly born with it.

I’ve yet to name him cause I want to see what kind of per­son­al­ity he devel­ops first.

new kitten

At this point, his res­pi­ra­tory infec­tion led to sores and he was bleed­ing from him nose. That’s why he looks sort of sad and groggy.

When I got him, he had an upper res­pi­ra­tory infec­tion and was infested with fleas. I kept him sep­a­rated from Dolly for more than a week, but she still man­aged to catch both. Now she’s really grumpy and sick, and he’s com­pletely over it. She also feels huge, because the lit­tle guy is so small right now.

He likes to sleep by rest­ing his chin on my cheek, or lying right across my neck. I’m cur­rently try­ing to change his sleep­ing pat­terns because he’s still a noc­tur­nal cat and gets up in the mid­dle of the night to lick my face. And because he’s a kit­ten who doesn’t know any bet­ter, he thinks Dolly is play­ing with him when she gives him a swipe in annoy­ance. There haven’t been any real scraps between them yet. More of a play­ful fight­ing, where Dolly gives as good as she gets.

new kitten

He tries to sleep with her all the time, and Dolly is usu­ally just too lazy to move away. I’m pretty sure this has helped her get used to hav­ing him around.

His tail isn’t buried under Dolly’s fat — that’s how long it is.

I won­der if I can be as good as Tiana and only write about him once a month the way she does with her son. But cats grow up so fast; they reach adult­hood in one year instead of 18, so I’m more tempted to record him as much as pos­si­ble when he’s so small and cute. I just don’t want to be a mommy blogger.

UK Detour: Day 16, Ullapool

We suc­cess­fully wrapped up prin­ci­ple pho­tog­ra­phy the pre­vi­ous day, which freed up the next for get­ting b-roll footage. This was also the day we had to make the 12 hour drive back to London, and after all was said and done, this jour­ney began at 4pm.

It was just me and Mike on the way back, shar­ing more and more our­selves, as we dis­cov­ered that exhaus­tion makes the best inter­ro­ga­tion tool. We kept each other awake for the entire drive, though I started hal­lu­ci­nat­ing by the last hour. By the end, I think we knew each other bet­ter than some of our own friends.

baby crab

Found this baby crab on the beach, hid­ing in an oys­ter shell, and small enough to fit on the tip of my finger.

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On adopting a second cat

  • Me: I’ll prob­a­bly get another cat when I get back. Not before January though.
  • John: NOO.
  • Me: Why not?
  • John: Cause then you’ll be a crazy cat person.
  • Me: Three would be bor­der­line for a sin­gle per­son, four would be def­i­nite. But I’ll only have two anyway.
  • John: Why do you want another?
  • Me: It’s not like I have any­one in my life right now. Cats fill that void. They make good company.
  • Me: Okay, maybe I’m already a crazy cat person.
  • John: I’m glad you’ve started lis­ten­ing to your­self when you talk.