9 December 2020

I tried to be upset with myself over the weight I gained between mid-July and late November, but the most I could do was shrug. It didn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. The only thing that mattered to me was not gaining anything else, lest I creep back over a number on the scale I swore to myself I would never see again.

There was no epiphany type moment where I puffed out my chest, hands on hips, and declared “I SHALL DIET!” Diets of the fad sort don’t really work for me; common sense does. I went back to counting calories, 1200-1400 a day (because I am not beating myself up if I go over that 1200 every now and then) and…that’s it. I re-started tracking my food with My Fitness Pal, and nothing else.

I stepped on the scale yesterday…and was down 12 pounds. That tells me a lot of that weight was water, but there’s still a little fat loss in there. It puts me only 3 pounds from where I was, which is fine. I’m still 35 from where I would like to be, the weight where I was the most comfortable, but I’ll get there or not, and my life will go on just fine.

I really only have two reasons I want to get my weight down: 1) I want to be healthy and getting more fat off will help with that, and 2) I want to be able to wear a really tight t-shirt and not be self-conscious about it.

No, for real. That t-shirt thing is a motivation. I don’t need washboard abs, I just want to be comfortable.

I’m ready to get back to work, and have pounded out 15 pages of the next Wick story, I’m ready to eat better, and I’m ready to move a little more—yesterday the pain cave was set back up in what used to be my office (and is, technically, the dining room though no one has ever dined in there. Unless eating a few cookies while I was at my desk counts.) The pieces are all there, I just need to fit them together.

Rower, bike, squat, treadmill...should probably plug that treadmill in if I want to use it

I’m still not sure what format the next Wick stories will be published in. I’m not worrying about it now. I just need to get back to work, finish the things planned before 2020 went to shit, and then give weight to the idea of moving on to something else. I have the good fortune of an understanding editor and publisher, so there’s no pressure.

But for sure, I’m not ready to let Wick go, I may never be ready to let Wick go, even if I just tell his stories online and save print for other things.

 

7 December 2020

 

 

More than once, I had Buddah's teeth sunk so far into my arm that I'm surprised I don't have little toothy scars near my wrist and forearm, tattoos pocked by puncture marks. Often, if he didn't get what he wanted, he attacked. We never hit the cats because we're not assholes but I did wag my pointy finger at him, and by his reaction you'd think I'd popped him across the face or something. Most of the time he was calm, normal, and nonthreatening, but holy hell...upset him and pay the price.

Me, anyway. Not so much the Spouse Thingy.

Sometime after I posted this 9 years ago, I changed how I approached him...no matter how wound up he was, I decided on extra gentleness and tried hard to not freak when he acted like he was going to attack (though to be fair, there were still a lot of times I had to get help from the Spouse Thingy because I was cornered, even just a few months ago LOL.) He needed to see me as Mom Cat and not competition for the alpha slot, I think, whereas Max just needed me to be there.

It didn't take long for him to decide his favorite thing from me were kisses just between his ears. And in the last couple of years, he somehow trained me to find him at lunch and bedtime snack, where I would then carry him to the kitchen, placing kisses on the top of his head along the way. If I forgot, within 2 steps he pressed his head to my mouth to remind me. On those short trips around the house he became BooBoo more than Buddah, and I think he liked it.

He started sitting in my lap more (unless the Spouse Thingy was there, and ST was definitely Buddah's person) and purred. I don't honestly think he purred much until he was 12-13. Every now and then he wanted to snuggle with me, and he learned how to ask for what he wanted (treats, usually) without throwing a fit. 

This memory popping up on FB reminded me of why some people were so surprised that I was truly heartbroken when he died. He was Satan wrapped in fur, wasn't he? Did you even like him?

He exasperated me sometimes, and I did question his intelligence more than once, but I loved that little monster. His moments of terror didn't erase his moments of sweetness and child-like personality. We accepted that each cat picked their person; I was Max's and the Spouse Thingy was Buddah's, but that doesn't mean they weren't both just as important to me.

I miss those little head kisses and catering to his want of being carried to his snacks. And I still feel cheated on his behalf, he should have had more time; I don't think that feeling will ever go away.

I'm really going to miss his "help"while I work...and I'm finally ready to get back to work.

 

4 December 2020

 Oddz-N-Endz #857,231,820x42

Okay. So.

I have had, at various times, more than one friend who has the same name. At one point my editor and a friend had the same name, which was fodder for a bit of confusion at times…and I would give anything to have that confusion back, as my friend passed away far too young. I still miss her. I’m still feeling stabby on her behalf.

Most of the time it’s not a big deal…unless one of those friends happens to be extremely well known, to the point of damn near being a cultural icon, and the other is this nice, sweet soul who already has to deal with having the same name as someone famous.

And sometimes that spills over onto social media, where other people with whom I am acquainted note the friends’ name and assume it’s the famous person…who, if you pay close enough attention, occasionally comments on my posts. Their FB account is locked down pretty tight, so they show up in my number of friends but not on the list. Which is neither here nor there but it popped into my head and I typed it out, and I’m not going to backspace because I am that lazy.

The point…sending me private messages to get me to put you in contact with said famous person is not going to work. Yes, you can see that name on my friends’ list (unless they locked it down, too, which now that I think about it they’d be insane not to) but that doesn’t mean it’s who you think it is.

Confusing much?

Just…don’t try to message them thinking you have an inside track to someone well known. If they wanted to be public, they would be public, and there’s other public social media you can join and perhaps connect with them there. I’m not going to pass along messages, not going to get you autographs, not going to show them your novel/screen play/artwork/blog address.

Sound mean? Maybe. I don’t intend to be. But a few people have harassed one friend believing it to be another, and that’s not fair.

If you have a friend who happens to know someone well known…let it go. Don’t use them.

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Speaking of FB.

There’s that whole “Memories” thing, giving you a glimpse into old posts. I generally like it, and I appreciate it now more than ever because it’s showing me tons of posts I made about Max and Buddah. Yet I’m kind of reticent to share most of them because I don’t want to inflict compassion fatigue on my friends by overdoing it.

2015...no idea how this happened.

But other than the shit-ton of memes I post, a lot of what I tossed up onto FB has been about the cats. So most of the memories FB shows me is about them.

If I post more than what feels healthy…I apologize up front. I still miss the snot out of them but am gradually reaching that point where I smile instead of tearing up when I see pictures, but I still tear up a lot. Most of those pictures on FB make me laugh, so I’ll share the ones that whisper to me. Y’all can scroll past if it gets to be too much. I’m honestly not trying to make you sad.

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And on the cats front…no, we are absolutely not getting another pet for a while. My gut says a couple years. The emails and PMs telling me I’m wrong and we’ll buckle because we need cats, and the ones that claim Max and Buddah will send us more kitties are not especially welcome right now and are actually a bit hurtful. So please stop.

We’ve discussed this over the last few years knowing they were getting older, especially as Max declined. He required a hell of a lot of care in the last year to year and a half, and we were tied to the house. That’s not a complaint; I would gladly had done it for years to come for him and for Buddah. But we’re now at a point where (once COVID-19 is in the rear-view mirror) we can travel pretty much on a whim. If we want to fly down to Anaheim on Tuesday morning to go to Disneyland, we can. If we want to spend the day in San Francisco, we can go without obsessing over how the cats are doing. Las Vegas? Sure, why not.

Yes, we could have hired pet sitters. But if the worst had happened while we were gone, I never would have forgiven myself. By staying home, sticking close, we were able to give them the time and attention those old men deserved. There are zero regrets about that.

But now that they’re gone…I want some freedom. I don’t think it’s selfish. So please stop telling me I’m getting another cat soon.

A year from now, I may change my mind. But for now…no.

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I think I’m done Christmas shopping. Which means, of course, that I will find a dozen things between now and then that are perfect for someone…and I will totally get them.

Poor UPS guys…

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Done decorating, too. Christmas threw up in our front room. Shame no one will probably see it.

29 November 2020

Chad has been a friend of Max since he was two years old, and a font of sticky-person views on life and cats, why cats are the most awesome of every animal out there, and he had quite a bit of advice for Max on how to deal with having a little brother like Buddah.

I know he's not alone in his wish. Max lived with an absolute certainty that one day he would marry the Doctor, and run off in the TARDIS with her. People pulled for him, and wanted invitations to the inevitable nuptials. 

Of course Max was going to marry her. Max was Max. He got what he wanted.

The idea that he didn't get that broke Chad's heart, and a few others, I'm sure.

So I'm going to tell you what I told Chad this evening: I'm positive Max did get what he wanted. He just didn't have a chance to tell us about it.

Look, we have to remember, the Doctor is a Time Lord and has all of time and space to play with. She can swoop in, whisk you off on a long adventure, and have you back where you were a minute later with no one else the wiser. There was an evening not too long ago when I walked past his bedroom and saw him curled up on the chair in there, yet a minute later when I went past again, he was gone. He wasn't on the chair, nor the sofa, nor the love seat, and he wasn't on the floor.

Now, I assumed he went to the litter box, but I checked and he wasn't there. There was an odd noise behind me, so I turned back to his room...and there he was, on the sofa, taking a bath.

I didn't think much of it at the time, but he did seem awfully content for a cat who had not gotten the flavor of stinky goodness he wanted at dinner. He seemed happy. He stopped licking long enough to glance up at me, and when I asked him where he'd disappeared to, he answered by returning his attention to he nether regions.

He was not in the room when I looked; there was no where else he could have gone without me seeing. So where was he?

Deep in my heart I know.

I bet you know, too.

28 November 2020

 

Oy. I weighed myself for the first time since the middle of July, I think, and I was not happy (yet not surprised) by the numbers screaming back at me.

I stopped keeping track of the pounds when Max started on his roller coaster and other than racking up miles for the Great Cycle Challenge in September, I haven't been nearly as active as I was before. I was getting some miles in, but not with the intensity I needed and not as many as I normally would have, and I honestly did not care.

My focus was on the cats, not on myself so much, and especially after Buddah died I just didn't care to pay a lot of attention to what I ate and how much. I doubled down when Max died.

Straight up, I don't care about the weight. It's not something I'm going to beat myself up about, because kummerspeck is a real thing and I think kinda necessary to function when the worst hits. But it's also time to get back on the bike, back to tracking food, and to get what I gained off, and then some.

For the record, it's 15 pounds since July. 

I just need to get those off plus a few bonus pounds before I see my endocrinologist in June. I mean, she would understand, but my self-competitive streak will not want to get on the scale at my appointment unless I'm a little lower than I was last June. I'd been on a pretty decent but slow loss of body fat and I have a goal in mind. It's just going to take a little longer to get there now. I'm giving myself today and tomorrow, mostly because there's cookie dough in the fridge to be baked and I damn well want some, and cinnamon rolls to bake in the morning if I wake up before the Spouse Thingy goes to bed.

Still, it's time to get back to taking better care of myself.

The switch flipped for me last night, I think, because Max's ashes were ready for pickup, and he's now home, resting in his TARDIS next to Buddah. It's time to reach for a greater sense of happy.

A friend asked me what I thought I'd blog about from here on out, given that a lot of what I talked about was my cats.

I don't know.

So...we'll see.

I'm almost ready to get back to work; I probably would have today, but instead I'm decorating for the holidays, and my goal is to make this place look like Christmas threw up all over the house. I'm not sure we'll decorate outside, but inside? Hell yes.

This year has sucked so freaking hard...but maybe the rest of it doesn't have to. 

I will miss the little furballs and I doubt I'll make it through a day without tears for a while, but...it's time to be happy and just enjoy things, and be grateful for the time we had.

20 November 2020

 

“Quiet has weight; it has a heartbeat; it carries sounds that once were and amplifies the soft sighs of footsteps now gone. It draws attention to empty corners, little nooks that will now gather dust, and it wraps around memories in a grief-painted ribbon. It echoes at night, steals sleep, and begs to be filled with things fingertips will never again touch.”

 ~Me, at 4 am on one of the many nights sleep evaded me this week

I have an adult-life-long history of insomnia. It’s usually one or two nights of being awake until 3-4 am, followed by several nights of almost normal sleep, but this last week has been brutal. I’m getting roughly 4 hours, and not all at once. I know it’s largely owed to grief; I’ve had pets before and been there as they’ve left us, but I’ve never been hit this hard by their loss.

I don’t know if it’s because we lost Buddah and Max so close to each other, or because it was Buddah and Max, but I feel it so much more this time.

I hear the quiet. I find myself listening for paw steps in the hallway. Every time I go past Max’s bedroom I glance in and I automatically look to the one spot he seemed to favor. When I’m sitting in the living room, I find myself looking to the right, to the other room, to the places he lounged most often. When I walk from the back of the house to the front, I catch myself looking to the top of the Tardis, where I often saw little black ears poking up.

I have no expectation of seeing them. It’s habit. I’m so used to listening for the cadence of paw steps that tell me if Max is heading my way and is fine, or if he’s limping his way to the litter box. Creaks make me turn my head because they sound like Buddah tracking litter-dusted paws across my desk and up the bookcases. And at night, my brain expects the sound of Max in the next room, on the back of his sofa, his paws scraping across the wall, waiting for him to begin singing because it’s night and that’s what he did.

It’s not like I’ve forgotten they’re gone. But the listening is a habit, and one I don’t think I’ll shake soon.

That habit has amplified the quiet. And the quiet has amplified the insomnia.

It’s a process. I’m fine. It’s one of those get through it to get over it kind of things, and I know there’s place I’ll reach where the quiet won’t feel so big.

But…it also makes me dread losing a person, because if I’m grieving this hard over cats? I don’t even want to go there and can’t imagine how completely horrific it is for those who have lost someone especially close to them.

New rule: no one else dies before I do. And since I intend on sticking around until I’m so old I fart dust, they’re stuck here for a while.

15 November 2020

Questions asked over the weekend...

Will you get another cat or two?

I'll never say no...but it will be a couple years, I think. We have never been pet free, not even when we were first married. So...39 years of pet, and we both grew up with them, so really, I don't have a memory of not having furry friends around. And while one might think that's all the more reason to adopt another soonish...we made the conscious decision a few years ago that once Max and Buddah were gone, we would wait a couple of years.

Maybe it's selfish, especially knowing how many dogs and cats are in need of a home, but we truly, deeply, need a break.  Max and Buddah were the heart cats, the ones everyone who has ever loved an animal deserves to have, the ones whose presence was so big that its absence carries weight and volume.

And it's no secret...in the last few years, Max was a full time job. Especially in the last few months. In the last 18 months or so, we were tethered to home, never gone more than 3-4 hours, and since July we wouldn't leave him alone for more than 2. He needed and deserved that time and attention and I refused to begrudge him any of it if I could help it. 

But we're tired, guys. We need time of our own, not just to heal, but to be able to explore. We miss being able to wander somewhere without planning too much. A day in San Francisco. A spur of the moment trip to Disneyland (when it opens again.) Not cutting lunch short with DKM because I have to get home.

There will surely be another furry friend in our future, but it'll be a couple of years.

Are you donating all your cat food and toys and stuff to a shelter?

The Boy gets first crack at the food. He has two cats, and his mother-in-law has cats, and my heart wants to feed them first. Most of the toys were so far gone that they're not donate-able--Buddah murdered them gloriously--and the cat-scratcher built by the Man is still here. We're not sure where it will go.

But...because we got Buddah from the local SPCA--and they rescued him from a kill shelter--we will make a significant donation in his name. All the royalties from the sale of Interview With a Pest will be donated once the quarterly statement comes out. And before Max died, my editor and I were already discussing a special edition of Bite Me, and if it becomes a reality, the royalties from that will be donated as well. That's not a guarantee, though, so if it falls through, we'll do something else in his name.

And for anyone concerned about Max's annual Christmas toy haul...that will go on, even if his books stop selling. I'll set aside some cash every month, and we'll still do it every December, but now in his honor and memory.

Did you ever figure out what will happen to the Wick books?

We'd already started on the next one, and it will be finished eventually. I can't imagine my life without Wick in it, and it's a way to keep a piece of Max close to me. But what format that will take, I don't know. No Matter The When was a nice capstone to the chronicles, and it could end there, but... I'm not ready to let it go.

The stories might wind up in print, or online if I can figure out a way to protect them from theft. 

As to the name they'd be written under? I am really not sure. We started adding my name to the covers with (I think, I'm a little fuzzy right now) the Return of the Wick Chronicles as a just-in-case thing, but in my head they're still Max's books and probably always will be.

What about Ask Max?

There is no Ask Max without him...and I will miss it horribly. I don't know if y'all realize, but he actually sat with me every week as we read and and answered questions. Sometimes he was on the arm of my chair, other times he was on the loveseat nearby, but always present.

Are you okay? With losing both of them so close, I am worried about you.

I promise, I am okay. I don't think I've gone a day without crying since Buddah died, nor an hour since Max died, but fundamentally, I'm all right. I think the Spouse Thingy is, too.

We were blindsided by Buddah's death, and I still feel like he was cheated out of a few years he was owed, but I understand that he was an old man, too. He made it to 15. He and Max lived longer than any other pet I've had the honor of being owned by.

With Max...I had time. We first thought he was headed out a couple of years ago, but were given a graceful buffer thanks to thyroid and kidney treatment. When he boarded the Old Man Rollercoaster in July, we knew we were running out of time with him, and we've had all that time to spoil him as much as he would allow, and we began a very long goodbye then.

That goodbye intensified when we got his cancer diagnosis last month, so we weren't as surprised as we were with Buddah. We're shattered, make no mistake, and it will be a long time before I go a day without tears, but guys...Max made it very clear on Friday that he was done and he wanted out. There were no doubts; he gave me that look, the one that said, please, I want this to stop, and as hard as it is, that look was a gift.

Did they really make peace or is that just a blog kinda thing?

They really seemed to make peace. And they became gentle with each other, especially over the summer. I think they both knew what we didn't, and were intentionally careful with each other. 

Guys, Max had not been on my bed in about a year. Even with a step up, he just wasn't comfortable getting up there. But a few days before Buddah died, I found them napping there together, fairly close, and in Buddah's last few days we saw them drinking out of the fountain together. They touched noses. It broke my heart, but I heard what they were saying to each other. Mostly, you drive me batcrap crazy, but I love you.

What can I do to honor Max and Buddah?

Do good in the world where you can. That's it. Find your Thing, even if it's something small, and do it. Because of Max, we were able to make some fairly significant financial contributions to causes that matter to us, and we'll find a way to keep doing those things. I will keep shaving my head for children's cancer research, I'll keep riding for food banks, cancer charities, and I'll keep walking. 

Max was snarky online but was so freaking loving in real life, and I always thought that were he human, he'd be the one rolling up his sleeves to do the dirty work. Kids would have mattered to him; feeding people would have mattered to him. He would have done--quietly--whatever he could to make things better.

If you want to honor these guys, be a light that the world needs. 

It doesn't have to be huge. It just has to matter. Even tiny things add up to something big. Like two kitties who lent their names to important causes, and because others followed, their tiny flames turned into a giant light.

Just do good. Be kind.

Above all, be kind.