All Things Profane and Sacred

So, I had a big long angry post all written up on stupidity in government, but then I decided that I don't want this blog to turn into an emotional release for all my pent up frustrations, so I junked it. Emotions have been running high for me, which is funny since I'm supposed to be spending this time "relaxing." Instead I'm feeling less and less like ever working at a job again. Not out of sheer laziness (I think), but more out of a desire never to interact with stupid people, government or bureaucracy ever again. I'm fantasizing about an Idaho retreat, complete with barbed wire, armaments and goats (I like goats). Unfortunately, I need to have some income at some point in the next few months, and I can't think of any job I could realistically obtain without dealing with one or more of the above (not the wire/arms/goats, but the stupid/govt/bureaucracy). This is especially brought home to me by the state of my teeth-I badly need to get my wisdom teeth out. Teeth=money=work=:(

Okay. Well. All this is just some bullshit way of talking around what is really bothering me. See, my kitty friend is 17, and for the last few years I've become more and more reluctant to go in to the vet because I knew that eventually I'd get the talk. She's lost a lot of weight and tests have been run and diseases ruled out. The last few days she hasn't been eating, so it was back to the vet. The problem is her front teeth-they are about to fall out (she's already lost her back teeth), and the vet can't do anything because she's so old they can't put her under. So now she's eating liquid food and hopefully when the front teeth drop out she'll be able to return to canned catfood. But the vet told me that the basic underlying problem is just old age, and that I needed to start preparing myself for the inevitable, and thinking about what to do with her. And I don't know, I went in to pick up more liquid food for her today at the vet's and there were a whole bunch of people in with their kittens getting the first round of shots and I guess it was just hard is all.

I've had the Sadie Mae for just over 7 years now. I was her third home-the original owner was a dumbass who though he was going to get rich quick breeding Persian cats, but didn't realize how horrifying a cat in heat is. The second owner was a guy I worked with who was looking for a home for "Emily" (her name at the time-pukey yuk). He had some sort of bullshit excuse for wanting to give her up, I can't remember quite what. I remember driving back home with her bright blue angry ewok eyes fixed on me with glaring hatred (she hates driving). I remember how she would curl up in the sink of my studio apartment-this weirdo alien cat. She's such an odd little thing-alternatingly demanding and aloof. If you scratch her hind quarters she'll wave her head back and forth ala Stevie Wonder while licking the air.

Arrgg. I've always had a hard time letting go. I don't know why this should bother me so much. I know we all get older and eventually die. I know that part of having a pet is saying good-bye when they finish their short trip through life. I just don't like it is all. Not one bit.