Goodnight sweetheart

The tough assed kitty breathed her last on Wednesday. As reported last week, Maggie was a terminal case, but she'd bounced back so many times. This time it was just a little too much to ask her to come back again, and it was time to let her go with a little dignity.
You really knew it was over when we got to the vets office and opened her crate (which like any good cat, she hated), and she didn't even bother coming out of it. The fight was well and truly gone from her. She did have a couple of strolls around the vets office, but no happy leaps from surface to surface, just unsettled anxiety from being somewhere she really didn't want to be.
When the time came, she made a couple of her trademark meows as the injection was given, and then she was gone. As she laid there, I was struck by just how lovely she really was. Her fur was so soft, and just beautiful. I feel horrible for Debbie, who has had to say goodbye to several of her furry friends so close together.
Maggie was a talkative sort, whose varied utterings actually sounded like she was discussing things with you sometimes. I know I had more than one conversation with her.

It is going to be a lot quieter in Ms.B's office, without her feline visitor there to give an opinion, or take a short stroll across the keyboard at a crucial moment, ensuring that the e-mail says "%Um)gaLIHWBySu" instead of, "I'd like to paint the shutters green"

Goodnight peanut. Love ya.

Through a glass, darkly

Scattered thoughts on the general condition, through the lens of being awake at 3:30 in the morning. It ain't pretty, folks.

Beautiful loser: Heard this song the other day, and it got me to thinking- Is it ok for someone to think of themselves as one, or is that a trifle narcissistic? Is it a label that can only be assigned by a second or thrid party. And if that's the case, isn't it a little nasty to refer to someone you know well enough to call a friend as a "loser"? Perhaps it's mutually exclusive, and you lose the "beautiful" part, by being aware of the "loser" part? Or maybe you're not such a loser, if you realize the grace and dignity involved in the "beautiful" part? This is what laying in bed being overly analytical will get you, by the way.

Letting go: Why is it so hard? Rationally, I think 99.3% (a scientifically made up number, I actually pulled directly from my ass to this webpage) of people know when it is time to let go of things, or perhaps maybe they know when it is futile not to, yet it never really seems to make it easier, does it? I suppose that's what mourning and feelings of regret and loss are all about-an inability, or unwillingness to let go. Boy that was deep. Watch out Freud, I'm gunning for you.

Satisfaction: The time honored question remains. Why can't I get no? If someone had told me at 16 that the refrain from what in my mind is the greatest R'n'R single of them all would ring true to me at 48, I'd probably have answered "well what's the fucking use then?" Oh well, I try, and I try...and I can't get no

Tough ass kitty

Sometimes, like me you think you've had a bad day. Then you find out yours isn't so awful.
Hang in their Mags-It IS Friday!

Made a trip last night, ostensibly to send this fine piece of feline creation to her final resting place. Only she didn't want to go just yet. Maggie has a few tumors, and has had surgery to remove it once, but ultimately what ails her is fatal. Last night, after shopping at Target, her owner and I returned to be greeted by blood all over the place. Vessels in her nose had erupted from the pressure of the tumor, leading her to spray blood every time she sneezed...which was often, because her nose kept filling up with blood.

After some deliberation, it was decided to take that long last car ride, to say the final goodbye. But Mags is a bit tougher than that. By the time we'd arrived at the clinic, she was full of vim and vigor, playing with the vet, jumping from the counter to the floor and vice versa...soooo-she was given some nasal spray to get the bleeding to stop, the vet said it was likely down to a week or two before she would start to actually suffer, but right now, she was probably good to go.

Maggie rocks, and truly does have nine lives. The thought that it was all a con in order to get an extra can of salmon and some Fro-yo hasn't escaped me.

Old dogs, new friends

OK, so on Saturday Miss Butts and I loaded off to the Columbia area to pick up the rescue's latest and greatest. And I do have to say she is something else.
Karli is what is known as a "whitely"-namely, her fur forgot to turn red, or black, or fawn, and just stayed white. So, you have a snow coloured corgi, which takes a few minutes to get used to if you're familiar with the breed, though she certainly draws comments about how pretty she is and so on.

Anyway, Karli has a whole heapin' helpin' of health problems as it turns out. She has mammary tumors, bad hips, she was loaded with ticks (thank you Ms.Moore for disposing of those) and she also has the single worse case of death breath I've ever encountered. The dog's teeth are absolutely rotting in her head, and as a result, her breath can melt glass from forty paces. My boy Vinnie has a bit of a pooh eating problem, and frankly in comparison to hers, his breath is that of a fresh spring breeze. Oh, and she has a urinary tract infection too...

Enough of what is WRONG with her. It has to be said, she is gorgeous. She is gentle, she's house trained, and she likes to stick close to people. Her first night here she stayed in her crate, but after seeing how well she seemed to be housetrained, I figured a little gamble with letting her sleep in my room wouldn't be too bad. And it wasn't, though she gave me a scare this morning, as I couldn't find her. Turned out she'd nosed her way into my closet, and sacked out in the back on the old shoes.

Oh one other thing-she isn't going to be bullied. Vinnie tried her on, and she bared all six teeth, and let him know that she'd gum his butt if he pushed his luck!

And on a mildly related side note. If you're ever in Columbia Missouri, and you're looking for a place to grab lunch and have a beer, you could do a lot worse than the Flat Branch micro-brewery. Though you should also note that they do expect you to put money in the parking meters, even on a Saturday, damn it!

Oh, and not that I'm begging (or even, not that I'm not begging. I ate my pride quite some time ago, on a toasted wheat roll, with just a dab of peanut butter), but Pet's Second Chance does accept donations. She's going to cost a small fortune to fix up. Everything from a dollar up is appreciated. :-)

http://www.petssecondchance.org/donate.html

Bitterness Rising

Unfit to live in - just about fit to burst
Like the banks of a swollen river
As bitterness does its worst
Working on your feelings - eating you all up
But you have to shake that shit to move on
And let love carry you on up

It's just bitterness rising - taking you off
Bitterness rising - you gotta shake those feelings off

My once stated goal to be the world's most bitter man may yet still be attainable...

Oh well, a nice wallow in the unfairness of life, the universe and everything is pretty much a normal occurrence in everyone's life, and it's my turn.

I think I'm gonna go eat some worms :-)

Vacant, room available...

Off for a week of booze, food, and beach, in Florida, the land of sunshine and sharks.

Quick observation: Watching a little "Palladia" on the boob-tube-Do The Fray actually suck as bad as I think they do? I'd heard of them, but until this morning, had avoided hearing them. What a bunch of silly twerps, obviously drunk with feelings of their own self-worth. As long as I'm being abusive, I'd like to insult Shinedown. Lord are they just about useless, non-descript repetitive garbage. They could be The Fray...or any number of crappy, carbon copy bullshit inoffensive, non-creative garbage.

Back in the day, myself and Mr.Boston would regularly opine to anyone that would listen, that it was better to try something different, and fail miserably, than to just recycle the same old crap that everyone else does. And lord knows The Fray, Five For Fighting, Theory Of A Deadman, Shinedown, Nickleback, Daughtry (whose musical cred isn't helped by having a disturbing resemblance to Vin Diesel) and just about every other "new" artist I've heard in the last xx years who do well to keep that in mind.

Jesus, I'm old...

Shake Your Groove Thing

A dilemma in regards to proper etiquette:

If you are at a movie, concert or sporting event, and you need to move down the row to go to the restroom or perhaps concession stand, is it best to stick your butt or your crotch in people's faces? Is it optional, depending on who's sitting in the row you're going down?

As long as I'm discussing convention, yesterday I went to the outdoor pool, and bore witness to some of the odder behavior I've seen in a public place for some time. Not one, but two independent cases of Mr.Speedos making spectacles of themselves. I mean, as previously observed, anyone that wears speedos and is not named "Spitz" or "Phelps" is obviously a delusional twit anyway, but these two guys took great pains to separate themselves from the pack. The first, after completing his afternoon swim (which didn't appear to be an Olympic calibre performance) proceeded to engage in an exercise routine at the poolside, which involved lots of push ups, and sticking his butt in the air. We observed that this display would certainly have been easier, and more comfortable for him to perform at home, instead of on hot, rough concrete, and could only surmise that he was either homeless, stupid, or hoping to provide entertainment to the pools' various social commentators. As it turned out, this man was a mere piker. A warm-up to the main event as it were.

The second Mr.Speedo (or Beard-o as he shall now be known) was astonishing. After completing his non Olympic performance (At one point I was swimming in the lane next to his-my fat ass passed him, and rest assured sports fans, my swimming style is more akin to that of a wounded manatee than a dolphin), Beard-o proceeded to launch into a series of contortions worthy of a sideshow at a cheap and seedy circus. This clown was performing yoga, in his speedos, again, on hot rough concrete, right next to the pool, as if he were on a stage. Which I suppose he was. Lord knows, we couldn't quit watching. It was fascinating to watch the intent look on his face as he turned himself into all sorts of bendy positions. He was a torso twisting, toe extending, one leg balancing machine. I was half expecting him to launch into a one person interpretation of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake at some point.

And what made it even more amusing, was the guy's over all appearance. His facial hair stylings were those of an Al Queda agent, bent on some form of Jihad. Imagine a depiction of the Prophet Mohammad in speedos, and you're getting the picture. Outstanding public theatre!

Tubthumping

Thought for the day: What if I got knocked down, but just didn't bother getting up again? Would that be so bad? Maybe the view is nicer from the floor? And if I'm only going to get knocked down again, why not just stay there on the floor, and make the best of it? Lord knows, according to the song, I'm drunk as a lord anyway.

I would write a handbook for how to be a better slacker...except it would take more effort than I'm willing to invest.

Hey you, I want to be your boyfriend

Oh yes boys and girls, let us hearken back to those glorious days, when power pop ruled. I think a part of me will always be stuck in 1978 and 79. All this incredible, wonderful, finger poppin', toe tappin' music was just flying out. Unfortunately, here in St.Louis, it couldn't get on the radio, as it was choked out by disco on the top 40 stations, and Rush/Triumph and a lot of other very very bad music on K-Shit 95.

Which reminds me of K-She's stupid polls they used to do, in which their loyal listeners were to fill out their fave three songs so that "Real Rock Radio" could favor us with a 'countdown' on whatever holiday weekend was coming up. Quite predictably, the top three, in varied order were: "Stairway To Heaven", "Layla", and "Freebird". Me, I always dedicated Elvis Costello's "Radio Radio" to our good friends at K-SHE. For a modern rock station, they sure didn't believe in playing any. I can flat out tell you that no new wave, punk, or even U2 got played through the mid-80's. Too 'edgy' is all I can guess.

Anyway, if you want some ear candy, direct your browser (and PC speakers) here, and then just click around...

A waist is a terrible thing to mind

It's sad, and it's true. The mind is the first thing to go. Time to tell a story on myself.
Just got home from work, and as per usual, let the dogs out to take care of their business. I went downstairs to throw a load of laundry in, and upon coming back figured I had better let the furbags in, as it is about 100 degrees out. So I do...and as Simon runs in, I notice he has a rather large "hanger on" sticking out of his poopchute. So, without thinking, I quickly step out into the middle of the yard, and call him back out in the hopes that he will run out before the poop falls off his backside and on the kitchen floor. So far so good, huh? Did I forget to mention the part where when I threw the load of laundry in, I thought I may as well wash what I was wearing?

The neighbors just have to love living next door to me, I tell ya. Opal was nice enough not to say anything as I quickly ran back in the house, but I'm sure she has to be wondering what I've been smoking, drinking, swallowing or injecting.