It Never Rains But it Pours

More bad news, as if Sunday's wasn't bad enough.  Allison's grandmother died this morning.  She's been unwell for a while, but it was still a surprise.  I haven't talked to Allison in ages, actually.  I've seen and talked to her mother, little sister, and brother more recently than I have her.  It still hurts.  Actually, hurts isn't the right word.  It just made me a little more numb, a little sadder, a little less enthusiastic (though at this point, I am on the negative side of neutral about my homework) about forcing my brain to study.  I am enduring these last three or so weeks until summer vacation, because the show must go on.  The why is irrelevant, it simply must.

And I suppose that I am okay, or at least, the most okay I could be in the midst of things in my life right now.  And I am sorry if that is vague, and if you are wondering what news I got on Sunday, but I am not ready to say it, even to you lovely people who read my blog.  Aaron knows.  Alyssa knows.  And I haven't really talked to anyone else this week, about anything, really.  I suppose the term would be preoccupied, if you wanted to describe my mental state right now.

I also have a headache.

On the brighter side, tonight I am going to sign a contract that will give me a place to live next year.  So that's good.  Also, it's beautiful outside.  And I'm wearing a skirt that I really like that swishes when I walk down stairs in a way that makes me think of the way cuttlefish move.  So life is kind of okay right now.  And the weekend is so close.

[I'm pretty sure I'm okay.]

A little peak into my emotions

The things inside of me right now are distinct and are not mixing together at all, so I am going from happy and excited to sad to slightly worried and back.  Happy and excited = BBC miniseries (North and South is really, really great, and I want to read the book now).  Sad = Well, this is a bit of a longer story.  One of my dad's former pupils was hiking on Mt. Fuji two weeks ago and went missing.  They've held out hope that he would be found alive, but today that hope was gone, as he wasn't in any of the shelters, and there is practically no way that he is still alive due to bad conditions.  And it hurts.  It's really, really sad, despite the fact that we know he's in heaven.  And I don't know if my parents know yet (they probably do), and it will really hurt my dad when they do find out.  So basically I'm a bit sad tonight.  Slightly worried.  I don't even know what I'm worried about, or if I do have a vague idea, I don't want to say it because it's probably nothing, and will get resolved in the next day or two.  So yeah.  That's a little peak into my emotions right now.

I'll say

7/17/11

I guess this is goodbye

it snuck up on us so fast.

I'll see you sometime later,

maybe, perhaps.

But even if this is for life,

this parting of ways

and saying goodbyes,

I hope you know

I will grieve you

the day I hear of your demise.

I will cry, or at the least feel sad,

burdened for several days.

This was too soon,

I'll say. It wasn't meant to be this way

I'll say. I haven't seen you in years,

I'll say, but I still will miss you

more now that I know you are no longer here

on this earth with me.

You are gone, and I will remain

and even if we meet again some day

in some place far different from this place,

I will still mourn your passing now.

For you touched my life

in tiny, miniscule ways

I never was aware of

until you were gone.

Memories of a cat (1999-2011)

The day we got the kittens, I was so excited. We were going to get two, one for Jesse and one for me. James wanted a dog, so he wasn't getting a cat. We piled into the Duke-mobile and drove out of town on a perfect summer day, the red paint and flames shining in the sun. We drove out into the country, to someone my dad knew from somewhere. I think it was one of his students, or something like that. We got there, and picked out our kittens, one called Mittens, a tortoiseshell colored girl, and a black boy kitten, who's original name I can't remember. We were so excited. The first day, we walked around with the kittens in pouches in our shirts, and all of the neighborhood kids came running to see the new pets. They climbed up onto our shoulders and fell off, delightful little bundles of fur.

Within a year, their personalities had developed. While they were siblings, the black one was far more adventurous and daring, while the tortoiseshell was cautious and timid. After waffling between several names for each of them, we began calling them the names my father called them, Fraidycat and Stuporman. They had some adventures the first year or so we owned them. Outdoor cats, they would get into tussles with other cats, and once they both went missing. Turned out they had been brought home by one of the neighborhood boys who was worried when he saw them playing by themselves in our yard, none of us in sight. Another time Stuporman went missing for several days, and we eventually found him eight blocks from the house. While they were very different, they loved each other and always ate together.

So when Fraidycat was killed by a speeding car, Stuporman mourned her for several days, always looking around for her when he started eating. But then he adjusted to being our only cat, and life went on. Over the next eight years, he had a variety of adventures and mannerisms. When he was a kitten and then when he was a mature cat, he hated being cuddled, but Fraidycat didn't mind it. So when Fraidycat died, I had no cuddly cat. Stuporman liked eating blueberry pie; I was shocked when I gave him a little bit and he lapped it up, asked for more. He liked to lie in the middle of the street, staring at nothing. This habit gave him his name, in fact; acting like he was in a stupor. This habit also ensured that he would get hit several times, but he always survived it, once even piercing his tongue with his own tooth.

As he got older and began to be an old cat, he got thinner and more ragged, but also happier to be around people. He would play with a bit of string, or a piece of a plant, and he was continually trying to sneak inside, in the hope of a nice nap in a comfy spot (once we even found him inside James's big bass drum) or a treat from the fridge - a bit of meat or cheese or a bowl of milk. He had the loudest purr when he was happily drinking milk, or when he was sleeping up in the garage attic and you came searching for a book and stayed to pet him. You were in his home then, the place where he could relax and be cuddly.

He liked to sleep all the time, like most cats. He had different spots around the yard that were his. Several places under the bushes, in the garage attic, in dad's Model A, next to the side door, and his newest spot by the stairs under all of the day lilies. He had the loudest meow, a croak that brought up thoughts of crows. He always made sure you knew that he was hungry.

He never wore a collar, always managing to maneuver out of it until we gave up putting it on him. He got stuck up in the trees a couple of times, chased up there by dogs, and would sit there, glowering down at the dog and everyone else with his baleful stare.

And as I became allergic to cats, he, in the way that cats have, decided he really like being near me, and would rub himself up against my leg. When I went off to school, he would sometimes lie in front of my door until someone noticed him and put him outside. And yet, when I came home for the weekend, he always acted like "You're home? So what? Feed me."

Occasionally when he was younger he would get stuck in the garage. When this happened, he would jump out the window into the dog's area and then get out that way. But sometimes the dog would get him. One time, my mom, responding to a ruckus in the night, found Buddy cornering the cat in the doghouse. They were sworn enemies, and Buddy would always go after the cat, continually forgetting that he always got hurt. Another time, mom found the cat in Buddy's mouth. Stuporman was hissing and scratching and Buddy had this confused look on his face. He didn't know what to do next. But as they both got older, began to get some white hairs they both mellowed. Stuporman began to go inside Buddy's gate when we went in to feed the dog before feeding him. He would watch my dad put water in the goldfish ponds, twenty feet from any exit. The dog and cat would occasionally be only two feet from each other and ignore each other. Other times when Buddy was feeling feisty, he would lunge toward the cat, who would leap up, howling and meowing. But they were friends.

I'll say

I guess this is goodbye

it snuck up on us so fast.

I'll see you sometime later,

maybe, perhaps.

But even if this is for life,

this parting of ways

and saying goodbyes,

I hope you know

I will grieve you

the day I hear of your demise.

I will cry, or at the least feel sad,

burdened for several days.

This was too soon,

I'll say. It wasn't meant to be this way

I'll say. I haven't seen you in years,

I'll say, but I still will miss you

more now that I know you are no longer here

on this earth with me.

You are gone, and I will remain

and even if we meet again some day

in some place far different from this place,

I will still mourn your passing now.

For you touched my life

in tiny, miniscule ways

I never was aware of

until you were gone.

RIP Dr. Bowman

RIP Diana Wynne Jones. I didn't read many of your books, but I absolutely adored Howl's Moving Castle. You will be missed.