I don’t want to say “Goodbye”

by on December 9, 2022 at 2:05 pm
Posted In: Cats, Uncategorized

Neither does Clark, but he’s letting us know that it is time.

He’s eating less and less. He’s just about given up on the kibble, which is available any time of day from the automatic feeders. He had been ravenously eating his wet-food dinner, and then barreling his way toward everyone else’s dinners, gulping down the leftovers. He used to start howling at us an hour before dinner time, demanding we get off our lazy buts and serve him.

 

Tonight, dinner time came and went, and I didn’t notice until it was already late. He wasn’t waiting in the kitchen. He wasn’t screaming for his human servants to hurry up. He was sleeping in David’s office.

 

I carried him upstairs to the kitchen, gave him one of the Solistic cans – extra goopy stuff. He didn’t even finish his own, let alone go after anyone else’s.

 

I always wish that just loving them hard enough would be all they need, but eventually they all have to leave us no matter what you try.

 

He came into the shower tonight and waited on the bathmat, as he always does. He likes to get scritches and ear-rubs while were nice and clean. I gave him the best I could, got down on the floor and gave him some more. He purred, and used my hand as a pillow.

 

He sleeps at night pinning my legs. If I stay up too late, he’s on the bed waiting for me. I told him not to worry about me – I’ll be okay; he doesn’t have to stick around suffering for me. I don’t think he believes me. I’m not sure I believe me either.

 

It’s not fair – but then nobody ever said life was fair.

Three years he’s been with us, a part of our family. It’s not enough time. It never is. Never.

 

When David and I come upstairs after watching TV and start to get ready for bed, one of the traditions is kitties get Churu. Misty and Clark are the big cheerleaders of this event, ensuring that we do not forget. Tonight, Clark was waiting on the bed, asleep. I thought about skipping it, not wanting to tax him with getting up. Misty was not about to have any of that bull, she let me know it was Churu time. I brought Clark’s to him on the bed, where he was looking up, but not quite having the energy to get up. He lifted his head and lapped up the treat from the little dish I put before him, but the effort took a lot out of him. I brought him a little bit of water on a saucer plate, because he likes to have a drink after his Churu, and he drank from that, then rested his chin in it, too tired to hold his head up anymore.

We can’t save him. We can’t fix him. All we have left is letting him go.

Tomorrow I think we will call Dr. Dawn and talk to her about coming over to help him find rest. I don’t want to go to sleep. I don’t want tomorrow to come. But I can’t just watch him suffer and slowly fade.

I love you, Clark, formerly Wolfe, and Piper, the relay-cat who made it from Beverly Hills to San Diego. Mr. Megafluff. We knew we wouldn’t get a whole lot of time with you when we adopted a 14-year-old cat, and we almost got a whole lot less when a couple months in you had big masses removed from around your abdomen, but you toughed that out and stuck around as long as you could. I am so grateful for the part of your life you spent with us.

I will miss your paw reaching up to touch the back of my leg whenever I am preparing food in the kitchen.
I will miss your harsh and demanding yowls for food, both when I am unaware that dinner time has come around (even when it hasn’t quite yet) and when I am in the process of serving it (too slowly).
I will miss you waiting for pets when I get out of the shower, even though I used to think that having you get your fur all over my wet ankles was kinda gross.
I will miss you leading me toward the kitchen, looking back over your shoulder every few steps to make sure I’m following properly.
I will miss the way you used to try to steal David’s food when we were having dinner, or ice cream.
I will miss the way you refuse to cuddle where my arms can reach you to pet you at night, but instead sprawl across my legs – especially if you catch me sitting up in bed reading, getting comfortable and pinning me in a position that I couldn’t possible stay in to sleep (though a couple times I tried, rather than move and risk you going to sleep somewhere else)
I will miss the way you used to sit on the chair next to David when we were all at the table, and spread yourself so your front paws were on his lap while your hind paws were on your own chair.
I will miss your face and the way so many people thought you looked uncannily human in your expressions.
I will miss you being always underfoot in the kitchen, making it dangerous to step backward. Or forward. Or any direction, really.

And I will cry sometimes when I think about you and feel the pain of the hole where you used to be, as I am crying now. It’s going to hurt like hell and leave a scar – just like the one you gave me on my foot when you bit so hard I had to go to the ER because you were just done with my trying to get the tangles out of your fur.

And sometimes when I think about you, I will smile, because you were a beautiful blessing to have in our lives.

Sometimes, probably for the next while, I’ll do both.

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Advice to Artists

by on February 5, 2021 at 8:56 pm
Posted In: Uncategorized
Give yourself permission for your creative works to suck.

Everybody sucks when they’re just starting out. But you’re not doing it because you started out already a master, you’re doing it because you love doing it.

Keep at it, and you’ll get better.

Rather than looking at someone else’s art and comparing it to yours and thinking “wow, mine sucks” which is not constructive, ask “what are they doing that I’m not?” and try to find one thing that is different and something new for you to learn.

Then experiment! And don’t be afraid to go crazy here trying all kinds of things. Many of them won’t work! That’s fine, that’s expected. That’s how we learn.

Also, when looking at your own art, even and perhaps especially the pieces that you hate because you can’t get over how terrible you feel it is overall, make a list of things you DO like about it, things that worked out great, things that you want to keep doing again in other pieces.

The more you play around, the more you’ll surprise yourself with things accidentally coming out awesome. Focus on that, dissect why it’s awesome, and promise yourself to do more of that. With time, those things will come out awesome on purpose.

When you get stuck and feel like you’ve hit a plateau, and even though you are practicing all the time you don’t feel like you’re getting any better, actively look for new ways to improve:

  •  watch other artists stream so you can see how they do things
  •  watch youtube tutorials
  •  find art classes you can take (no matter what your skill level, there is always more you can learn!)
    •  If you’re still in school, take advantage of the art department while you’ve got it
    •  otherwise, there’s lots on the Internet, like 

      drawabox.com

  •  experiment with something way out of your comfort zone
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Happy Groundhog Day

by on February 2, 2021 at 2:55 am
Posted In: Uncategorized

February 2nd is a special day, when the weather is prognosticated using marmots, and since woodchucks are rodents, I suppose that makes this a form of myomancy. 

The prediction is based on whether or not the whistle-pig sees their shadow. If they do, because the skies are clear, that means – confusingly, that there will be six more weeks of winter. If they don’t, because it’s a cloudy day, that means spring will come early. 

Historically, the most famous of the Marmota monax meteorologist, Punxatawney Phil, has come down on the side of more winter more often than not. While probability might expect a coin toss 50-50, the reality is that in New England, it’s still gonna be winter for a while no matter what the skies are like on the one day a bunch of humans scare a rodent out of their burrow in front of crowds and lights and cameras. 

February 2 is also Imbolc, which is the cross-quarter day midway between the Winter Solstice (the middle of winter) and the Vernal Equinox (the actual first day of spring, when the subsolar point crosses the celestial equator into the Northern hemisphere), so it’s not really possible for spring to begin on Groundhog Day.

I don’t care. Groundhogs are cute, and a bunch of people freezing their butts off in the wee hours of the morning over a ceremony that is nonsensical is absolutely my favorite thing.  

There is no better holiday. 

I’m up stupidly late (again. As usual) but not yet so late that Phil has made his appearance in Punxitawney. Still another hour to go before that should take place. 

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