A smaller “we.”

Still here. Still broken. But the days keep flipping by.

Max, following the sun.

Max, following the sun.


Today’s my last “Summer Friday” from TNP for the year. I love summer so much and it feels like this year it slipped out from under me. I have to blog the Virginia Beach trip. That’ll be a temporary fix.

I had a massage at Hand and Stone today courtesy of my nephew. He’s a savvy baby that way. Then I bought some futility cream at Ulta and an iced chai from Starbucks. Now we are out on the balcony (trying to ignore the cigarette smoke from one balcony down — I am finally wearying of apartment living) but it’s a smaller “we” than I’m used to. Just the dogs and me. We’ll get by.

The vet called this afternoon. I knew what the message was about so I let it go to voicemail. I’ll deal with pickup another day. As much as I joked about Charlie being the Last Cat, there are probably kittens in our future. We have to get our own place first, though. This is the first time I’ve been in compliance with the pet rule since I moved to the Dee-Luxe apartment in the sky. Yes, friends, Charlie was an undocumented cat. Technically, Ollie should have been the secret pet but you just can’t hide Ollie.

On a lighter note, I believe I one of those people with the Margaritaville gene. It’s not officially been mapped yet, but it’s the gene that makes you inexplicably enjoy Jimmy Buffet after you hit 40. I can’t explain it! He used to depress me to death. Now there are fins to the left, fins to the right and ARRGH I can’t help it! I blame the SiriusXM trial that came with the new Jeep. I found Radio Margaritaville. Now it’s one of my presets in the car (along with WM’s 19 country music channels) and I also stream Buffet-like music channels at home. And thus begins the midlife crisis. At least I’m not gambling or playing bingo.

Have a lovely Labor Day weekend!

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I miss this.

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Goodnight, Charlie.

This morning our cat Charlie passed. He was seventeen. He was my baby-meow, my boo-bear, my boos.

Sleeping.

Snoozing on a crinkly bag yesterday. This is the last photo I have of him.

We spent Charlie’s last summer lazing on the balcony with him when the sun was out and snuggling on the sofa at night. He spent his last full day sleeping on a crinkly plastic Target bag, which is probably the best day he could have asked for. In retrospect he slept a LOT yesterday and didn’t climb on the sofa with us. I should have noticed.

This morning he was asleep in the bathroom next to his litter box. This was odd behavior. When we woke him up, he climbed into his litter box and his legs gave out. We took him to first vet appointment this morning and he told us that he exhibited a textbook case of pulmonary embolism. (I thought this was the same as a stroke but I’m wrong.)

He was a very good sport.

This picture makes me smile. Charlie was a very good sport.

The heartbeat heard through the stethoscope didn’t match the pulse the doctor felt in Charlie’s femoral artery. There was nothing to be done, and the vet told us he was likely in pain that couldn’t be addressed, so we made the best/worst decision. He was our last cat (for the near future) so we left his carrier behind to be donated.

I was only 24 when I took him home. And he was seventeen! I should be thankful for such a long time with him, right? I should be happy that he had a life well lived, right?

Charlie was seventeen. And we are heartbroken.

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Friday 5: Old and Grumpy

Happy Friday!

At TNP sick days can be rolled over into vacation days, and vacation days also roll over into the next year. Suffice it to say, this is the first full 5-day week I’ve had in a while, and I feel it. The world is in shambles (after the last few weeks of news, that asteroid can hit us any minute now), my friends are dumping buckets of ice on their heads, and I received my first birthday card yesterday. It’s from the local Hallmark store. Sigh. So it’s fitting that this week’s Friday 5 theme is Old and Grumpy.

1. What’s something you have a grumpy old person’s attitude about?

Your nine-month-old goes to daycare, not “school.” Graduating daycare/preschool isn’t an accomplishment – it means your child is literally too old to stay. Your dog might enjoy staying home more than being taken to the farmer’s market/town festival day. Pull your pants up. If you’re on a bicycle, stop at the stop signs. I don’t care about your momentum, and I’d rather not have to wash your guts off of my car. Marijuana smells awful and is still mostly illegal, by the way. Formula-fed babies are just fine. If you’re over 2, pants with words on the behind are tacky. (Disclaimer: I still own a pair.) The best time to leave the Magic Kingdom is right before the fireworks start. Dinner at 4pm is fantastic!

Oh, just one?

2. What is evidence of your not being a completely grumpy old person?

April, 2014

April, 2014


3. What’s something in your wardrobe that might qualify as old people’s attire?

These are my slippers. I'm wearing them at 6:30 on a Friday night.

These are my slippers. I’m wearing them at 6:30 on a Friday night.


4. When during the week do you tend to be your grumpiest?

Tuesday mornings. Mondays aren’t bad because of the adrenaline rush of getting back into the routine. Tuesdays suck.

5. Who in your family is most often in a bad mood, and who’s most often in a good mood?

Ollie is most often in a good mood and WM is most often in a bad mood. Usually I demur on answering those questions, but WM actually volunteered that answer.

Tomorrow is BeadFest! Sunday is NOTHING! Tonight? WINE.

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