Spike!

Squeeky!

Finally

I found a man to love

Backin' mackin' & attackin'

I'm going after a new bachelor degree.
Yes, it is "bachelor," not "bachelor's," believe it or not.
'cause you can't go straight into an M.S. in Computer Science in the States, folks.
Web. Design.
Yeah, that's right.
But, I'm still an amateur. So, bear with me. Critique me. Learn WITH me, not AT me.
Oh, wait, that's LAUGHING.
Ha. Ha, ha.

---

Anyhoo (what a stoopid woord), I have a boyfriend & insurance exams to pass & college courses & hamsters (long story) & career & car payment (I love my RAV4) & so much to talk about but so little time to type.....
....... & awareness that nobody reads this 'cept for me and maybe a few unlucky Googlers, but if everyone else gets to revel in his/her narcissism -- SO DO I.

I can't emphasize this enough

This is not one of my tattoos.

On the table

So now it’s Dante and Savannah . . .

Did someone hex my cats?

Seriously, folks, this is getting ridiculous. Dante has a urinary tract blockage that's kept him hospitalized since Friday, and Savannah apparently cut her tongue on something and started digging at the side of her face because it hurt. So, now her left cheek and ear have been scratched completely raw and bloody. She's had a steriod shot, and she's on antibiotics, but it still looks GROSS. And, she doesn't want to eat because her tongue hurts. She's gone from 7.4 lbs. to 6.8 lbs. in the last month. I'm trying to get some Vitacal down her throat, but it's not easy.

A-a-a-and then there's the thing with Dante. Yes, he took after his brother Snickerdoodle and blocked. Woo hoo. Struvite and calcite crystals apparent in his bladder. Yanked his catheter out twice by rolling around and around in his cage. Great.

Dead cat, sick cats, old dog, school crap, work. I don't even want to get up in the morning.

Oh, and tomorrow is my birthday. 29 years. Happy friggin' b-day to me.

The gods themselves

Report: New Zealand man tries to buy snack with pot
Man accused of handing pot to court security
May 20, 1:53 AM EDT

WELLINGTON, New Zealand (AP) -- A New Zealand man who offered to pay with marijuana when he did not have enough money for a snack was caught by a police officer who overheard his unusual proposal, a news report said Tuesday.

Wade Churchward, 28, went to a service station on March 22 in the capital, Wellington, where he picked up two packets of M&Ms candy and some potato chips, the Dominion Post newspaper reported.

Churchward, who had been drinking, began snacking on the goods while standing in line at the cash register.

But when he reached the cashier, he realized he did not have enough money, and instead offered a container with 0.042 ounces of marijuana and a pipe for smoking it.

Churchward failed to notice a patrol car parked outside and a police officer standing behind him in line - who promptly arrested him.

He pleaded guilty Monday in Masterton District Court to possessing marijuana and to several unrelated charges, the newspaper said.

Masterton police prosecutions section staff were unavailable Tuesday to confirm the details.

Churchward was released on bail and will be sentenced on July 3.
Marijuana possession is usually punished by a minor fine in New Zealand.

© 2008 The Associated Press.

Stevie-bob is gone.

Yesterday afternoon, Stevie-bob’s breathing became labored. I rushed him to OSU, and he was taken back to the ICU, but nothing would stop his respiratory arrest. His poor little heart was just too weak. Before they could bring him back to me in the exam room to say goodbye, he went into cardiac arrest. He died while being held and petted by an intern and a tech that had been working with him on previous trips to OSU and to Capital Veterinary Emergency Clinic over the past two weeks, so he felt safe and happy. He was purring and “mushing” with his paws up until he stopped breathing. Five years was too short, but we got so much out of that time.

I’m so grateful for these past two weeks I had to come to terms with his terminal illness (hypertrophic cardiomyopathy). I thought I’d have at least a few more months with him, but I lived in the moment with him nonetheless. This past week, had he rallied and seemed to be back to his old Stevie-self, playing with toys, running out the back door when I let the dog out (and being caught immediately and carried back in), hanging out with Dante, eating with gusto, getting into the trash when dinner wasn’t enough, and cuddling in his favorite chair. And, of course, being petted and snuggled by yours truly. The last picture is Stevie-bob “singing” yesterday morning after breakfast. Even with Snickerdoodle and Dante yowling sporadically, it’s so quiet without my Stevie here. He loved everyone and everything. He even got over his fear of dogs eventually and accepted Whiskey as his “buddy.” Stevie-bob didn’t hold grudges, didn’t hold back from exploring and playing, didn’t hold back affection, played with the “little boys” when they were 2 months old and he was a “big boy” at 6 months, and took life as it came. It sounds trite, but it’s true: we can all stand to live a little more like Stevie-bob did.

For five years, the universe chose to perceive itself through a little gray-and-white fuzzball who grew into a handsome, cuddly, feisty cat. Stevie-bob is gone, but he’s not gone. That’s Soto Zen. Read up on it.

Be kind to animals. Be kind to each other. Be kind to yourself. Thanks for taking time to read this.

-Bez-

And you thought I was nuts?

This woman went to her crazy place and lost her way back.

When little Stevie-bob is in an oxygen chamber...

... you find out who your true friends are.

He has hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, and we're going to the cardiologist again this morning. He might have a few years, a few months, a few weeks, but nothing like the 10+ years I thought we had left. He'll be in heart failure the rest of his life.

I discovered this Sunday when he almost died. Everything was fine, then suddenly he was convulsing and spewing up fluid from his lungs. He was blue on the way to the emergency vet clinic. If I didn't live 2 miles away from one, he'd be dead. He had minutes left.

He still has a mass that could be clotting in his heart. If it breaks free, he'll die slowly in horrible pain unless I can get him to the ER in time. He'll likely still die, but at least he won't be in agony. No matter when it comes, I hope for sudden death. No thromboembolism, no CHF. I don't want him to suffer.

I'm giving him injections of Heparin three times a day. Someone has to be home with him at all times. And that is where the "true friends" thing comes in. It's amazing how many people have stepped up to help me or simply offer words of support.

"It's just a cat. You have more." Oh, really. Don't you have more than one kid? Oh, only one? Well, you can have another, can't you? That's harsh? Damn right. Fuck you. They're my babies. Sorry if you haven't any compassion for living creatures who can feel pain.

He purrs and makes "happy paws" while everyone pokes and prods him. He purrs and purrs.

Stevie-bob is dying

Today, my little Stevie-bob collapsed and began frothing at the mouth. His lungs are full of fluid. He might not make it. He's at the emergency clinic in an oxygen tent. It's probably his heart. He was playing and purring all day today, then suddenly...

I feel empty, but my head is full.

After weeks and weeks, down to hours and hours...

... I finally got a new set of wheels. Now I need to get a ramp for my dog. The costs just keep adding up, I tells ya.

RIP Little Girl 1991-2008

Date: Wed, 23 Apr 2008 07:48:54 -0700
From: admin@bezumiye.com
Subject: Little Girl
To: anyone@anywhere.com

My family's 17-year-old cat, Little Girl, (who was my cat while I lived at home from age 12 to 18 and then part-time until I graduated from college) lost her battle with renal failure and heart failure yesterday. Mom thinks LG might have gotten some of the poisoned food last year, but that was because Mom was trying all sorts of different foods to try to get LG to eat because she was losing her appetite, so who knows which came first. Last January (2007) we took her to the vet, and LG was diagnosed with kidney failure and heart problems. At that time, Mom decided to support her at home rather than doing dialysis or something that would stress her heart even more by scaring her - she feared car rides and vet visits more than any cat I've ever seen. Some of us might go further with medical interventions with our own pets, but Mom did for Little Girl what she has asked us to do for her. That's just how my family is.

My brother kept her water fountain clean and full of cold water, which kept LG drinking on her own up until a few days ago. We've probably given her every brand of cat food or human food during the last year to keep her eating, in addition to giving her a high-calorie, high-vitamin nutritional paste. Mom gave her a low dose of aspirin per the vet's suggestion to combat LG's joint pain. On Monday, Little Girl stopped being able to walk at all - she was too exhausted and was having neuro symptoms like twitching and jerking - and stopped eating or drinking. The earliest we could get a vet appointment was yesterday evening.

When I saw her last night at the vet's, she looked horrible - down to about 6 pounds from her original 16 a few years ago, unable to walk, having trouble breathing, completely unaware of what was going on around her. Her legs were swelling - a sign of congestive heart failure. The vet was surprised she'd made it more than a month from her initial visit in 2007, let alone more than a year. She was just too sick for any treatment to make a difference or give her any quality of life, so we made the decision to end her suffering. She's now buried next to our dog Sparky, who was her best friend until his death in 2000. She was a feisty, spoiled, cranky thing, and she'll be missed. But I find comfort knowing that she had a very comfortable life surrounded by people who loved her.

-Bez

Going somewhere?

Check this out.

My finished tattoo

You can see my finished tatt at myspace.com/thrillvuture on page 3 of the Naomi album. Here it is unfinished so you'll know what to look for.

So many things

Things to write about
The power of the written word
The power of the TV judge
The power of the CNN HLN commentator
The power of 10 to the ninth

But until the gavel comes down
Silence

Yeah, I've been slackin'

... and that's pretty much all I've been writing about.

This might make up for it.

I'm not dead yet

New job
New meds
New hair
New major

What's next?
New eating habits
New stainless steel appliances
New counter-tops
New vehicle

But no new cats. Dear God, no more cats.

So I'm friggin' lazy and

• uninspired
• un-creative (except in making up new words)
• drained
• pressed for time
• suffering from a cold going on 3 weeks now
• needing clumping kitty litter for the kitties who won't use the pine stuff
• hating my job
• needing some sleep

What are YOU gonna do about it, huh?

I got yer thanks right here, pal

Happy Tofurky Day!

All is well

Just busy.

I finally got something done

My Naga Kanya tattoo is finally finished! I'll post pictures when it heals.

They never write, they never call

That's my lawn cobra. You know how people name pets based on physical attributes, like a Persian cat named Fluffy, or a freakin' ugly dog named ... Ugly? Well, this is Deadly. Deadly the Lawn Cobra. He's made of concrete and painted gold, bought at a roadside shop off state route 23 in the middle of nowhere. And yes, his tongue is red.
Now, I realize that he isn't REALLY "deadly" since he's not technically alive. But don't tell him that. I don't want to hurt his feelings. Someday I'm going to make him little outfits, like the ones for those stupid goose statues. "Dress my goose." Where's "Dress my cobra," huh? It's discriminatory, I tells ya. He could have a Santa Claus costume with a little hat. I can't make shoes for him, what with no feet and all. But maybe a tail warmer. I think he's a cross-dresser at heart, so I can put him in a frilly Easter dress in the spring. I don't think he'll mind.

Bloodletting

This spring, there was a new face among the feral cats my mother feeds at the rural township office where she works evenings and weekends as the elected fiscal officer. He would dash in and snatch food after the other cats finished eating, running off into the dense scrub surrounding a nearby property. Soon, he became less timid. Then, he became downright aggressive. The six-cat colony moved to a barn next door. Only one, Daisy, dared to cross the little gray-and-white cat's path. In fact, she downright ignored his hissing and posturing while she leisurely snacked at the feeders.

When Mom finally trapped him so that we could have him neutered and returned to his reign of terror, we decided to name him Grayguy. As he recuperated in my parents' garage, he didn't cower like a feral cat. Instead, he meowed and rubbed against the bars of the cage. After he was released, it became clear that this was no feral cat. He had been socialized at one point, then unceremoniously turned away from the only home he'd known. Wandering through the countryside, he probably never had a mama cat to teach him not to cross the road in front of cars. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

When my mother would drive up to the feeding stations in the rear of the property, Grayguy would come running to rub against her legs. He followed her around from feeder to feeder, tugging at her pants. She would stop and pet him, then set off for home. He often ran after the car, as if begging for her to take him home.
I spent months looking for a suitable foster home. Given his aggression towards cats - and his unknown FeLV/FIV status, for that matter - I wanted to get him into a home where he would be the only feline. Neither my mother nor I could take him, given our own living situations with multiple cats. None of the foster homes for the animal rescue/welfare organization I work with were open. I hoped that he would be safely inside before the winter.

Yesterday, I got the call that every rescuer dreads. A township trustee found a tiny, bloody body crumpled in the middle of the high-speed main road in front of the township building. As a farmer who is by trade familiar with death, he assured us that Grayguy's unceremonious end had been instant. Our little Napoleon was buried behind his beloved shed, close to the feeders he had claimed months before.
Sometimes, your best isn't enough. You tell yourself that you've saved so many... I still see his face, looking up at me trustingly while he rubbed against my legs, pleading with me, "Take me home!"

Mom and I talked last night. The other cats have begun venturing back. Grayguy had a good life, short as it was, eating all the other cats' food, chasing birds, greeting visitors. The end was quick. Painless. That's my mom, always rational.

...

That is, until she got to the township building for the evening feeding, and only Daisy was there waiting. No little masked bandit, scheming for his take. That's when she cried. Me, I started when I got the call, and I haven't stopped since. Sure, there have been breaks. I'm holding it together at work. But then I get home and see my little gray-and-white Stevie-bob, and it all rushes back.

In the end, it comes down to eight little words.

I tried.

He died.

Time heals.

Goodbye, Grayguy.

जोबुलितिस

Everything I type is being converted to Devanagari. I can't figure it out. The title should read "jobulitis," which isn't a real word. At least, not until I made it up two minutes ago. But now it's in another freakin' alphabet, and whatever that says probably doesn't mean anything in Hindi, or any other language written in Devanagari script, for that matter. Dude. Tragic.

Iron sharpeth iron.

"Do not suppose that I have come to bring peace to the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword." Jesus, Matthew 10:34

You know, there is some scary shit in that there book.

I'll write more later, okay?

I been bizzies, aight?

In the meantime, enjoy theses lovely satirical pieces.

Who's listening?

Who's reading?

Let's talk about starting school over again.

Okay, not "over again." Just "again." Getting my computer science B.S. in addition to a psychology B.A. Hoping to finish by 4/2011. Going on to a master's in computer science.

Will we have a big yard before Whiskey passes?

I'll either find him dead or hold him while he dies. That's reality. Reminding myself to live in the present & love him in the moment. Hugging my sweet pup as his tail wags, wags, wags. What a wiggle-butt.

Don't get me wrong. I love my cats. But worry times eight?

Oh, right, the number eight. Savannah turns 8 in May. Bece might be even older. When will they go? The younger ones could go first. A stroke. Diabetes. Cardiac arrest.

Or will it be me?

---

Penelope sits with her tail curled coyly around her body. Abandoned in an apartment complex when her owners moved. Probably bottle-raised... she doesn't know she's a cat. Cat etiquette is alien to her. She angers the others when she's just trying to escape.

They don't read her cues. She doesn't give the right ones. Pets are like their owners, their owners like their pets.

Oh, I apologize, not "owners," "guardians."
They are my children. I am barren. Not biologically - emotionally.

Drunk blogging. Why drink? Fear. Loneliness. Alienation. Going BACKTOSCHOOL.

---

Saw a movie last night - "Cursed." Christina Ricci acting her B-movie best. What happened, girl? Give me some "Ice Storm" already. Joshua Jackson. Werewolves.

I miss Buffy. Watching "Drive" for my Nathan Fillion fix.

Using too many gerunds. Is that what those damn things are called?

[whatwouldhappenifyoujusttyped?]

Yeah, that's right, a shout-out. Shout-out for common sense, for an awakening, for Gay Wa D. A traitor by any other name smells just as

---

They thought I was going to be a writer. Bez, the future English major, the one whose books would hit the Top 10. Did I disappoint? Perhaps. But most of all, I let myself down. Is that why I mourn? Why I eat? Why I lie? Why I lie there?

Can I ever let a man touch me again? It wasn't me with the - you know who. Inked up to his neck. Beautiful boy. Traumatized girl.

Ricci. Lolita.

I am sensuous, although all today's models don't match me.

Renaissance woman. Resume. Editing.

Too many periods. Speaking of which, I'm on mine.

Will I ever be able to close my eyes without expecting to open them, unable to move, with that thing on top of me? That slime mold masquerading as a man?

Will I ever love? Who will love me back?

Meow. The cat lady has a name: Eleanor.

---

Stephen King. Skeleton Closet. "Do you love?"
[theratstheratstherats]

Tidbits

• I told my mother about my tattoos.
• What the fuck was Imus thinking?
• I'm leaving for Massachusetts tomorrow on my Very First Business Trip.
  
• I found a cat that had been hit by a car when I was in The Sticks to take my dog to my parents' house so my brother could dog-sit and now her name is Moxy and she's at one of the board member's houses & she's going to the vet tomorrow so they can fix her leg.
• Where am I going?
  

I can't sleep

My dog never seems to have insomnia.



Whazzup wit dat?