Ahhhh, selling one's home...what a lousy, annoying pain in the ass adventure it is. Today, which is a Saturday, we have managed to have 2 couples (and two agents) wander through our house and I actually put on one of my nicer faces to them, rather than the one that I actually feel: Annoyed, irritated, depressed, aggravated. I hate doing this. I really hate it. But I am doing it anyway. And tomorrow, another group is passing through. I wish this would just go away. I find it to be so inordinately inconvenient I want to scream. But again, I am doing it, no matter how aggravated the whole process makes me feel.
Yesterday we looked at some apartments in the Bronx. Now that was somethiing that could have thrown me into a serious depression! They were awful, except for the last one - a gorgeous two bedroom place that was open and airy. The only problem was that it was simply too much money, and in our quest to downsize and actually save money, this was not the place for us. The other two were such disasters the work that would have to go into them would have been too much. So now back to the drawing board.
So why do I hate this process? It's simple. Real estate agents are rude. They are always late, but don't call to say that they will be, and when they do finally arrive they have an attitude - like I am supposed to cow tow to their wishes. I cow tow to noone. DD is good though - he sets limits and boundaries with people and doesn't put up with their crap at all. A good thing, although I am sure that most of the real estate agents around here can't stand him. Oh well. Not our problem.
But, we are selling...and so we continue with this process...one that used to invigorate me, but now only serves to make me pissed off like hell.
Today it is snowing here - a major N'Oreaster, as they call it. I had taken today off anyway to deal with some issues with my car -I particularly needed my snow tires put on, my car's fluids checked, the battery, as its light kept coming on.. - things I was putting off indefinitely and for no reason, as if winter wasn't coming! I should have done it sooner, but oh well, c'est la vie. Looking outside now, I am so glad I did stay home. It is awful outside, but it is really pretty. But pretty or not, I hate the winter. UGH. Lovely to look at but gross to drive in, and I especially hate driving in it when it is like this.
Life is going well, thankfully. My cat Dinero, the one I wrote about in my last post, seems to be doing better. He is on the antianxiety drug Elavil now, and that has helped some of his peeing issues. However, he is still tense around the other cat, Ginger, during the day (when his drugs have worn off), and I have seen some peeing, but not nearly as much as before. The vet thinks he should be put on the drug twice a day now, so we will embark on that soon.
Work is fine, Dream is fine and the other cats are also doing well. The holidays are upon us very shortly and we still haven't shopped, put up our tree or anything like that. This is typical for us! But that's fine, too. No stress. No Mess. It is just us, afterall, although we will be spending 12/27 with some friends - a post Christmas dinner and sleep over, and already have plans for New Year's Day.
Life is good.
I wish all of you a most wonderful Holiday and a great New Year!
For Dinero, with all my love, I love you forever and more than you will ever know or understand. You taught me that there is a bond between a human and her pets that cannot be explained, and for that I will be eternally grateful. I will never forget you.
Dinero...Boo...Boonie...Barf Man...Ass Man and now, Piss Man...once a joke but now a serious issue. Dinero, my 10 year old, beautiful grey and black tabby with the largest, saucer sized green eyes...Dinero,
You'll say, "Well, it's only a cat.." and yes, it is only a cat, but he is my cat, my favorite cat of all eight of them..the one who woke me up each and every day, the one who came running up the steps to my bedroom the first night we moved in to this house, jumped into my bed and curled into my arms, completely unafraid of the ceiling fan moving above the bed. Chili cowered downstairs, terrified of all the new smells and the movement of the fan, but Dinero? Nooo, he was okay. He knew he was home. He made himself right at home and declared this space as ours...or his, but then it didn't matter. Chili cowtowed to him, and I went along with his protective nature.
I got him 10 years ago to keep Chili company after I moved up here from Belle Harbor when I left Bruce. My college friend Wendy and I went to the local mall and on a whim we went into the local pet store to look at the animals. I hadn't intended on getting a cat that day, but I did soon after I met Dinero. The store clerk showed me two cats that day; one was Dinero and the other was his brother or sister, as they were similar in coloring. But Dinero was the liveliest and the friendliest of the two, and when the store clerk handed Dinero to me, he climbed up on my shoulder and clung to me. I realized I had been picked and not the other way around. We became fast friends and constant companions.
When I brought him home he was so sweet and friendly to Chili, but she hated him on sight. For a year she barely "spoke" to me, but Dinero ultimately won over her heart. They became great friends and were always together. Though Chili was not the type of cat to sleep with me regularly, Dinero did. Every night we curled up together in one big ball; he tucked his body around my arm, and I slept on him, sort of...he was like a pillow. As he grew larger, we had to modify our sleeping arrangements, but he was always beside me, and always woke me up each and every day. He still does.
He was a good cat and a clean one, as well. When I was slow in changing the litter he let me know it was not to his liking by leaving a dump next to the litter box. I would come to learn how fussy he was about that, and try to be more diligent in my efforts at changing the litter. He had a tendency of barfing a lot, so he was called Barf man...that moniker stayed until Dream came along and Dinero would beg him to rub the base of his tail, thus Ass Man. He was affectionate and sweet, always. Every night he meowed to me that it was time for bed and waited for me by the steps so we could go upstairs together.
When Muffin came, and then Checkers and Snowball, it was Dinero who accepted them readily. Chili hated them all and spent most of her time hissing and growling at them, as she still does now, 5 1/2 years later. They all know she is sort of a pill and a bitch and basically leave her alone. The only one she could deal with was Dinero, her old buddy. He was great with the new cats, especially Snowball who adored her big brother, and she followed him around all the time. Sometimes, they all were curled up together in one, big multicolored fur ball...all of them, except Chili of course.
Snowball got pregnant September 4th, 2001 right before 911. Checkers did the deed (and was promptly neutered after the kittens were born and he started sniffing around their mother for another romp in the hay), and on 11/04/01 three kittens were born on our bed. Dream presided over the birth while I was fast asleep. When Snowball had her kittens, Spaz, Snowball and Ginger, who are now 4 years old, Dinero was really curious about them, and accepted them, too, but the dynamics of the household changed completely when they arrived. At first, before the kittens, there were 5 cats who were unrelated to each other, and they worked pretty well together, even with Chili who was at the height of her bitchiness then. Now, at 14 she basically stays by herself, but there are problems...she is a target for the others at times, the younger ones, who are too stupid to realize she doesn't want to play their games. Anyway, once the kittens were born, we now had a real feline family, and Snowball, their mother, let no one near her babies except Muffin, who had assumed the role of Auntie to the "kids". Only she could discipline them. Only she could swat them. If Dinero or Chili did, it was war. And war arrived when the kittens grew up and matured.
I don't know when it started, this feline war of territory and power, but I started noticing that more fights were occuring with Dinero and Ginger, the youngest male (of three males) and the youngest kitten. He is huge; a beautiful orange and white fluff ball with the tiniest meow (unlike his sister Spaz, who is tiny in size but has a deep meow and growl), but he is an instigator. He pushes the envelope and sometimes will swat Dinero or maybe Chili, and while Chili will growl and hiss, she will run for the hills. But Dinero won't. He will go after him, and then, from the depths of the house, Checkers the father, Snowball the mother, and Ginger's sisters, Spaz and Shadow will miraculously appear from out of nowhere and rush Dinero. They encircle him, all watching him...none moving..except Snowball, who will strike at him with all of her maternal instincts. Dinero's hackles would rise, as did the hair on his back and tail, and he'd hiss and spit...and then slowly turn away..carefully moving away...he was livid.
This has gone on for years now...maybe 3, as soon as the kittens grew into adult size. They still were their Mommy's babies and as much as she would grow annoyed with them (including Ginger and Spaz as they would want to suckle her, especially Spaz), no one could hurt her kittens. No one. Especially Dinero. Muffin got away with the disciplinary actions in front of Snowball and Snowball just sat there, non plussed by it all. If it was Dinero? He'd be dead.
One day, maybe two-1/2 years ago, Dinero came into my office, climbed on my desk, and shot a huge urine spray right into my stereo speaker. I was shocked as he had never done that before. Never. I was angry, but figured it was an isolated incident, but it wasn't... in fact it got worse; he sprayed walls, suitcases, chairs, computers, stereo equipment, live electrical outlets to the point we almost had two or three fires here, or the potential thereof, everything..clothing, especially expensive clothing and ...I can't think of what else, but it is everywhere. We'd clean frantically before parties to get rid of the smell (which, ironically, was not that bad considering we have 8 cats)...Dream was getting increasingly more frustrated...Dinero ruined his computer by pissing on it so much the inside frame and motherboard has rusted. He sprayed my computer too, but I didn't know it...but it was as bad as Dream's. Dream said that we had to put him down and all I did was yell...this has gone on for a year now...this quandary.
I have taken him to the vet this year at least three times - in the last few months - to see if anything was physically wrong with him. He is in perfect health. For the past three days he has been given Elavil, an antidepressant, and it completely spaces him out..he is no longer Dinero...just a shadow of himself. And yet, he is still pissing..even with the antianxiety drug...he is still pissing. Tonight, I caught him doing it again...on some outdoor furniture we have stored inside and on an old painting of mine stuffed against the wall. He was coherent enough then to do it. And then I realized it was over, and it has to be.
He changed somewhere along the line, my boy. He changed and grew meaner..he started attacking the other cats he never attacked before...Last Friday night he attacked Chili with such viciousness I was stunned. Other times it's Muffin, his feline girlfriend, or maybe Shadow...he has attempted to bite Dream, and even with me, when I am playing with him, he gets rough..wild...I wonder where my boy went..what happened to his mind.
And so here I am, distraught and crying, and smoking (after 5 days of not smoking) again...and I feel sick. Really sick. I can't do it..but I have to.. I have to...I have to say goodbye.
I don't know how. Or if I can.
I deleted my scathing post about family, because a) I was over reacting, flipping out, tired from my day, cranky and bitchy....b) I am embarrassed about all I wrote and how mean it was, and c) my family are coming to my birthday party.
REMIND ME WHEN I ACT LIKE A MORON AND GET CRAZY NEXT TIME. I AM AN IDIOT.
MY APOLOGIES TO ALL WHO WERE SUBJECTED TO MY MOMENTARY LAPSE OF SANITY. I AM SO SORRY
Last night I had every intention of staying up to watch two shows that were airing on the Fox News Channel about the recent murder of Taylor Behl, the Virginia college student who was missing for a month, and a revealing news release about one of the Kalpoe brothers implicated in the Natalee Holloway case (I personally believe she was either raped and murdered, or abducted into a sexual slave ring in some foreign country. It HAS happened.) Apparently he had made some sort of confession that the Aruban authorities were not too happy with, and I was curious about what he had said. Unfortunately, I was so exhausted from the work week and prepping for today's real estate "open house" I completely passed out on our couch and didn't get to see it. All I recall now is some vague, one eye half opened conversation I had with Dream about some triumph he had with his online Bridge game (of which he has become quite the expert! Amazing! His mind is amazing) and I fell back to sleep...until I woke up at 2:00 a.m., ate some Vegetable chips (called Terra chips), drank some juice and headed back to the couch.
I've been up since 6:30 this morning - I am wide awake and bushy tailed, as my mother would say; I've already fed the cats and have the dishwasher going. I have some chores to do before we leave today at 12:00 noon to go to the Depot Theatre to help Dream finish building a set he has created for a friend's show. I have to change the cat litter for the people coming through and finish laundry, maybe do some vacuuming and stuff like that. Last time we had an open house all I did was cry the day before --I really don't want to sell the house, but with my knees I have to. But today, I am resigned...and full of piss and vinegar.
Anyway, even though I missed those shows I keep thinking about how insane everything is in this life. From the insanity of the recent hurricanes in Louisiana and Texas, recent earthquakes in Guatemala and Pakistan, the influx of illegal immigrants (most of whom are my neighbors, as an aside), the weird weather here in NY, the war, the bird flu pandemic worries, etc. etc. I think life is CRAZY now. Let's talk about the weather, first. It has been dry as hell in NY until Friday when it started drizzling and became an overnight deluge through Sunday morning. I am worried our pool will burst. Over the summer, which was an exceptionally HOT and humid one, we didn't have all that much rain. An occasional thunderstorm yes, but not repeated deluges. It happened only once this summer --a MASSIVE deluge --in June, I believe, where it rained soooo much virtually all major roads and highways leading to Westchester where we live were closed due to MASSIVE flooding. It was so bad the authorities redirected traffic to the side roads (their only choice), which were also flooded (and by that I mean a foot of water, not an inch or two) and it took me 4 1/2 hours to get home. The traffic was INSANE. You really couldn't move and it was basically "bumper to bumper" traffic; we inched along at a snail's pace. Cars were stalling out after cars went through yet another foot of water --mine almost did at least 5 times, or cars were abandoned by the sides of the road...and for me, I almost ran out of gas until miraculously one gas station appeared in the distance and I was able to get gas finally. Most of the stations were jammed. Global warming? Yes.
There's the war, and the FEMA Katrina fiasco, the Bush administration, judicial choices and decisions I think are redirecting us to a more Puritanical time, which is sad and scary; there's the bird flu pandemic concerns, and other health-related issues --all things I won't discuss here, but I do have my own opinions about them that I will keep to myself for the moment. Besides, it is far too early for me to pontificate about them now. There is the persistent threat of terrorism and the recent news alert that NYC is yet again a potential target for terrorism on its subways. I knew that "it" wasn't over after 911 happened 4 years ago. Why would it be? Terrorist cells are everywhere and we are either blind or stupid to think it's over or that we can capture everyone. We can't. I just hope nothing will happen here. But don't even think I will ride a subway again. I hated them before 911 happened and I hate them even more NOW. I'll drive or walk to the city. Okay, the walking part isn't true....my Baaaaaaaaaaddddddd.
But that is not why I write today.. I write because I think people are crazy now, and I wonder what is wrong. Think about it. There are so many nutcases, nutjobs, pedophiles, murderers, stalkers, kidnappers and the like roaming our streets, our cities and our countrysides today, and I wonder what the hell is wrong with these people! Where did their brain switch off and become crazy and sick? I know, I know..a lot of these things are "family of origin" issues, and it's sad. But it's filtering in from everywhere now...it's not just confined to large metropolitan areas anymore as it was when I grew up. It's everywhere; a Carribean island, in Idaho, or Iowa, or Virginia, or Missouri...California, and a thousand other places.
No one is safe anymore. Not young girls and boys, their mothers, fathers, or relatives..you have to worry about going to the grocery store now, and make sure no one is hiding underneath your car. You can't flash someone to turn on their headlights when coming from the opposite direction because it is viewed as a gang threat. You can't drive calmly anymore because you are dealing with the constant threat of road rage. Give someone the finger on the road who has cut you off and you may be taking your life into your hands! People have died here as a result of that. I think of the missing or murdered girls and young women, and boys and men too, and wonder why? What happened? Why is it that in the richest country in the world none of us really is safe anymore? You have to be on guard every second of the day and if you aren't you are in big trouble.
Growing up in NYC taught me to be on guard and to develop a highly sensitive alert system of my surroundings and the people within it. I travelled the subways for years and people left me alone. I learned to adopt what I have called my "New York City Attitude" look...a look that said "Leave me alone, asshole." No one bothered me except for the occasional asshole who decided that humping my ass on a crowded train was the thing to do. One time I let a guy on a really crowded train (where you are packed like sardines and breathing in everyone's odor, which is gross) and he decided to hump me from behind. I remember I kicked him so hard in the shins he smacked me back and I did the same to him, screaming loudly that he was a total asshole! I have watched hoodlums pick a man's pocket for his wallet on the subway, and right in front of my eyes, and I was shocked. I wanted to say something but I was terrified that they knew I saw it in action and worried I'd become a target. I wanted no part of it as I knew I could not fight 5 big guys. To this day I regret that.
I have been out on NYC's streets late at night; driven home by cab drivers who were so crazy they scared me to death with their rants and raves, or their diatribes on gay people, immigrants, or whatever came to mind. Once I actually feared for my safety and got out of the cab sooner than I had to and walked the rest of the way home. It was 4 a.m. and a few people were on the streets then. Oddly enough I felt safer with them than that crazy cab driver. I have met men in bars when out with friends and wound up wandering the streets of lower Manhattan with them, ALONE, but felt safe. I think about this one night when I did that years and years ago, when I was in my early 20's. I was sick as a dog when a girlfriend called and urged me to come out and hang out with a bunch of our friends in a funky bar in lower Manhattan. It wasn't the Village (i.e. Greenwich Village), but more of an industrial area so you have an image of it. It wasn't all that busy, but there were a smattering of bars around so in the evening hours it was populated. Anyway, I went, replete with my tissues and cold medicine and had a grand time with my friends. I wound up dancing with this nice guy all night. We had the BEST time as he was a fantastic dancer, and we really clicked. He was handsome too, and very respectful of me, which was a rarity then and rarer now! I had something of a crush on him, and he me, but we just laughed and talked. When my friends left I wound up staying with him and his buddy until the place closed. My friends were worried for me, but I sensed I was safe. The three of us wandered the streets of New York completely alone - not a soul was around - and neither one of them laid a hand on me, thankfully. They got me a cab, and though I never saw him again, he periodically stopped by my apartment and left me wonderful and silly notes that made me laugh. Would I do this NOW? No way. No way. 
I would be too scared.
In College, like in Virginia with the Taylor Behl case, there were the requisite "townies" that hung out on campus. The townies were the local guys who hung out with the students basically. They drank and partied with us, and on occasion the women would get involved with one of them. I hung out with one of them and wound up having a brief fling with him. He was funny as hell, but nuttier than a fruitcake but I slept with him ANYWAY. What a moron I was! I didn't think about what I was doing then --that year was a very sad and bad year for me -- so I just did things without thinking. I regretted it then, I regret it now, but I was lucky, thank god. Would I do it today, if I were in college? No way.
No one is safe anymore.
It scares me. All these things really scare me in some ways.
Our lives are no longer innocent, really. Kids are subjected to things they shouldn't be subjected to at all; adults are inured by the daily influx of life's problems and turn a blind eye to things they see, only to wake up when tragedy strikes. They cry. "I didn't think it would happen to me or my family!", but here's the thing... it does, and it does no matter what you do to prevent things from happening. Now that is really sad and pathetic. And scary. You can NEVER LET DOWN YOUR GUARD. I don't.
Dream and I have a system whereby I call him each day I get in to work. I used to find it annoying because I grew up in the City and was pretty "streetwise". I could handle myself, and certainly didn't need him to mother me like that. Hell, I was all over NYC when I was in my teens and twenties. But now I appreciate his concern. Everything is so nuts now I appreciate the value he places on my safety, and likewise I do the same with him. We check in to make sure all is right in our world. When I get into my car for my daily 1 and 1/2 hour drive to the Bronx where I work and in a neighborhood that really is dangerous and sucks, I immediately lock my door. I trust no one. I assume nothing. I don't stop to aid disabled drivers. I don't stop to give people change when they are collecting money for some cause. I keep going. I hate the fact that I have to do this everyday. I hate the fact that I just can't go about my business and not worry about some thing or some one. But I do. I wonder why the world is like this, and why it appears that things are so out of control in everything that surrounds us. I wonder why we have lost our innocense and if there ever will be a safe place to go in my lifetime or if the madness that seems to be going on everywhere will ever stop.
You know what? I doubt it.
As they said on the TV show Hillstreet Blues (1980's cop show)
BE CAREFUL OUT THERE.
I've been lucky. Ok, I have been DAMN lucky..my body is basically the same way it was when I was younger (add about 25 lbs; I was toooooo skinny), and I still am somewhat toned, although certainly not the way I used to be. And that is OK. One does change when they get older; things shift and droop or drop a bit, and it really shouldn't be a huge cause for alarm. It is just the passage of time. I call it Body Wisdom.
I have friends who are OBSESSED with their weight. I don't mean slightly obsessed - I mean OBSESSED, CONSUMED, HYSTERICAL if they've gained a pound or two, or three or ten or maybe even twenty. I had one friend (key word here is: HAD --we aren't friends anymore, Thank God.) whose sole focus in life was her weight. Every time (and I mean EVERY TIME) she gained weight, she would become hysterical that she didn't weigh 115 lbs as she did when she was 15 years old. Well, who the hell DOES at 50 and two kids later, I ask? She expected to, and she would go on and off Weight Watchers like it was going out of style. It drove me freaking nuts to hear her whine about this. I could be hanging off the end of the latest rope I was hanging on, and she would call to cry about how she gained weight. OY! I was nice about it, but I'd roll my eyes towards my head because it really was....annoying....and sad, terribly sad...that she was consumed by this. She never could accept herself and probably never will.
I have another friend who still is trying to convince me that she REALLY IS A BLONDE (with lighter hair than my own dark ash blonde) even though I have photos proving she was a brunette. Blonde, Brunette, Redhead..who cares! It's just a color. Hell, I have this three inch streak of pure white hair in the front of my scalp (right side) that is VERY noticeable. I love it because it is so striking and people often ask me if I dye it. I don't. It's a family trait. Once every 2 or 3 years I do go on a higlighting binge, or I will perm my hair, but generally I prefer to go au natural.
Am I as thin as I used to be? God no. Thankfully. I am heavier of course, but I don't look anorexically thin as I did in high school or college. I have a shape now as opposed to being gaunt and far too angular for comfort like I was then. At least I have boobs, now. Would I like to be thinner? Sometimes, but I don't go on crash diets and starve myself. I eat differently and any pounds I have start coming off naturally and slowly. I should exercise more, and not just because of weight, but also because of my knee arthritis and things like that.
Yes, things fall, and yes things droop...but here is the thing...I feel more beautiful now than ever and it is because of one tiny thing....
SELF CONFIDENCE
and that is the bottom line.
After my tearful missive from this morning, and after I went to Physical Therapy for my knees, and getting my sad sack nails done (or rather, the tips removed), and trimming my hair a bit...and cleaning (lots of "ands" here) and laundry for tomorrow's "Open House", I decided to use this Black Light thingamajig I had gotten from this company that makes a product called "Urine Off"... HOLY SHIT
And YES I write that in caps
MY FRIGGING CAT HAS PISSED ALL OVER THE GODDAMN WALLS THROUGOUT THE HOUSE -- OKAY NOT ALL OF THEM BUT MOST!!!! OH MY GOD! JESUS! YIKES! AND OTHER EXPLETIVES TOO...IT'S ALL OVER THE PLACE! 
To say that I am annoyed is an understatement.
Excuse me while I scream!
ARRRRRGGHH!
I know you are probably wondering why someone would even write about their cat on their blog, but I must, because I now face the real possibility of having to put down my favorite cat of all of our 8 furry babies. Dinero, my sweet love, my best boy, my alarm clock cat, my sweetheart...has ISSUES with a capital I.
I got Dinero almost exactly ten years ago after I had moved to Westchester County when I got separated in 1995. I got him (or rather he got me --Yes, he PICKED me in the Pet Store that day I visited and we fell instantly in love) to keep my older cat, Chili Bean, company while I went to work. Dinero was utterly adorable and such a personality it was hard to resist him. He was vitally ALIVE, friendly and sweet and we became fast friends. He was my sleeping companion then, as he is now, although it is much more crowded with Dream, and 5 or 6 other cats sharing the bed with me, with the exception of Chili who sleeps downstairs. Chili hated him instantly and she didn't speak to me for a year. I am not kidding -- underneath her fur Chili is a person and she glared at me, or walked away from me as if she were saying "Harrrumph! I don't approve!" She didn't, but eventually she got over it and the two of them became close friends. We lived happily ever after.
When Dream moved in he brought Love Muffin, his adorable little Maine Coon girlie (I sound sick in the head, I know) and Dinero fell for her. They became boyfriend and girlfriend, minus the sexual activities. They were always together, grooming each other and curled up in fur piles. It was, of course, cute and irresistable watching the two of them, even though I was completely overwhelmed by having 3 cats. Two was enough! Chili was as she always was --annoyed but she grew to tolerate her. Muffin was smart enough to stay away, and she and Dinero hung out together, sort of like a couple. Had they not both been spayed or neutered their kittens would have been gorgeous.
When Dream and I married, or right before it actually, he had picked up two more kittens, a male he named Checkers because of his coloring, and a female named Snowball, because she was pure white and possessed the face and blue eyes of her Siamese father. Later, she would become mottled in coloring, reminiscent of her Tortoiseshell mother. She and Checkers adored Dinero and Muffin (who was sort of the mother figure to these two cats) and they all hung out together. Because my life was so completely nuts at that time --meeting Dream online in March 2000 and marrying that September, I forgot to get them spayed and neutered, and lo and behold, a year later, just before the awful events of 911 - in fact it was Labor Day weekend, the "deed" was done and Snowball was pregnant. On November 4th 2001, 3 adorable kittens were born on our bed while I was asleep (Dream presided at the birth); 2 females and a male. We named the girls Spaz (because she is "out there"), and Shadow Dancer, and the male was named Ginger because of his orange and white coloring. We were one very big happy family. I couldn't give the kittens away though now, in hindsight, I should have. Everyone was neutered and spayed immediately, thank god.
Chili was annoyed, but she had learned to accept everyone and steer clear of them all. Dinero was fine for a while; that is until Ginger matured and became one very HUGE cat with an Alpha male personality exactly like his own. Ginger's dad, Checkers, was not an Alpha cat and he just was mellow...he went with the flow. But Dinero and Ginger would go at it...hissing, growling and tormenting one another. I am not sure if Ginger was merely playing and learning the ropes of "catdom" but something happened between the two of them, and it has become a quiet, scary war. Naturally, if Ginger and Dinero have an issue, Gingers parents and two sisters surround Dinero to protect their son and brother. Nothing happens, but the tension is bad.
Dinero is monumentally angry, stressed and upset, which is understandable. This is IS house and this young interlopper is creating havoc in his life. His reaction? He is urine marking everything..walls, computers, clothing...anything on a vertical surface really. Lately he is peeing ON horizontal furniture, like coffee tables and end tables. I could go on. We are freaking. We try to keep up with the cleaning (which is especially important now that we are trying to sell the house) but it is endless...there is pee everywhere. What is amazing is that for the most part it doesn't smell (ironic with 8 cats), but when he hits areas we aren't aware of it is bad.
I took Dinero to the vet Thursday to see what is going on. The MD is treating him first with antibiotics to make sure there isn't an infection, but he does suspect that it is because of Ginger and the stress Dinero has because of him. Already this morning, even with the antibiotics, he has peed on horizontal surfaces (normally marking behavior is on vertical surfaces) --our coffee table and Dreams laptop computer case, and in the bathroom, as well. I was so hoping that maybe the drugs would help, but I am not so sure. I have to call the vet Monday to tell him what is going on, and still continue with the antibiotics. Next on the list of things to do is to perhaps put Dinero on antianxiety drugs, which may help but that isn't a guarantee. And after that, if all else fails, I know I have to have him put down. The thought makes me feel sick and guilty, but it may have to be done.
You have no idea how much I love this cat. I know it sounds crazy and sick, but my cats really are my children simply because I never could have children of my own. When Snowball was pregnant and would sit on my hands (if I was lying on the couch) I could feel her kittens kicking and moving about. It was the closest thing I would ever come to feeling what it would be like to carry a baby. I am crying now, because that is so true... a feeling I have never known, and certainly never will, not at this point as I approach 50. So putting him down means, to me at least, that I am killing one of my own.
Maybe he is sick and we don't know it. Maybe that is what all of this is and it is compounded by behavioral problems. Maybe, at 10, he has lost a piece of his mind and is simply senile or maybe just nuts, and it makes me sad...he is such an integral part of the family.
What is sad for me is that I can't reach him psychologically. I know you are saying "Sweet Pea, he is a cat and doesn't understand you." But that isn't true. In my experience, and especially with Chili, I know it is possible to have an innate communication with animals. I have communicated with her psychically and by talking to her. Once, several years ago, she was getting very thin and acting out all over the place. I told her that I was considering putting her down, but that I didn't want to do it. I needed her to calm down and just chill out, to relax...to try to eat her dinner and not be so mean. An hour after I said that, she climbed into my lap and purred. And that night, for the first time in 10 years, she slept with me. Since that day she has gained weight and is calmer. Call me nuts, but I believe it is possible to communicate with them.
Dinero, on the other hand, is less of a person than she is, and definitely more of a cat. In the wild that sweet boy would be a fierce hunter and he would be the lead cat for sure. Communicating with him is difficult. He doesn't hear me really, and it frustrates me.
And so, this is my sad tale of woe. I adore him, but maybe it is coming to the end...an end which will break my heart more than anyone knows.
Thirty years ago I lost my mother to lung and bone cancer. She was 52 and I was 19. Five years after that my father died after a lengthy illness when I was 24, and then POOF! There I was, an orphan, or some kind of variation thereof. I was not alone per se; I have two older siblings, but they had their own issues to contend with and I had to learn how to grieve and grow on my own. It has been an interesting experience and I can safely say that I survived and thrived, but the journey has not been easy.
Several months ago - I think it was in May - I joined a motherless daughters group online at a fairly popular site. I had gone there not to grieve with them, since much of my grief work had been done, but to help others understand the new path they would be taking. I knew that I could offer a window into just what it is like to go through 30 years of your life alone and without your parents by your side; to experience all the myriad joyful milestones in your life alone, as well as deal with the painful things we all inevitably experience without their counsel and support. Ironically, it would turn out that the group would help me heal those areas that still remained raw but hidden within myself. It has been a gift and a blessing for me in ways I never imagined.
At the time I joined the group the 30th anniversary of Mom's death was fast approaching. Additionally, the anniversary date was falling on an especially busy time for me at work --Commencement week and day - and I am the person in charge of the logistics for that event. I am normally tense during that time of year given that there is so much to do, but on that day I was more nervous because of its obvious symbolism: I had lived without my mother for more years than I had lived with her. No one knew what I was thinking about beyond the scope of work, and I sailed through the day with a smile and loving moments of reflection for the mother I so missed. Somehow I had survived through 30 years of turmoil and pain, and managed to do well for myself, in spite of it all. Another year had passed and I would continue to go onwards and grow....
30 years...Wow. So much has happened in those ensuing years since Mom and dad's deaths (his took place in 1980, or 5 years after she died in 1975); I have grown, matured and have become successful in life, even though I never managed to work in my original field of choice, which was painting and drawing. I married twice, divorced once and found my second husband, Dream, online 5 1/2 years ago. I couldn't be happier. I've won some, and lost much at times, including my first and only pregnancy with my first husband ; a painful experience that revealed my serious infertility issues and for which I embarked upon a fruitless 2 year medical journey that still did not give me the child I longed for. I learned how to allow myself to be a childless woman and mother outsiders to fill that gap within.
Virtually every single milestone event in my life I ostensibly went through alone, even though I had my older siblings, assorted aunts, uncles and cousins with me. The only event a parent attended, which was my father, was my college graduation in 1977. All else I celebrated without them. I wonder how I got through those days at times without completely giving in to the grief I still felt, but I did and I know they would have been proud.
It isn't easy at times. There are times when I really need to speak to both of them and hear their answers in return, rather than imagining their responses. And yet, I learned how to wind my way through the assorted difficulties in life with grace and ease.
All the tools one needs to grow from DO rest within ourselves. Sometimes it takes an especially tragic moment, or a few of them, to realize that you CAN heal; you CAN grow and you CAN survive and thrive, if only you look within.
And so I have, and it is lovely.
Last year around this time I was pretty bummed out about turning 49, and I obsessively worried about what this BIG birthday year would bring - 2005 would be the BIG 5-0 birthday - and I was worrying about it a full year ahead of time. Okay, I am not always normal, or cool, calm and collected and I am - or was - a big worrier. Give me something to worry about, and I will do it with style and aplomb most can't even muster. I think that's a result of assorted "family of origin" issues, but I digress... Anyway, I dreaded turning 50 and thought I was old. I was going to be 50? How the HELL did that happen? I still was a kid! I still was figuring out what I wanted to be when I grew up! Hey, wait! I am a grownup! Where, oh where, did the time go?? I was perplexed.
I had heard or read that for women turning 50 is a "wonderful time of transition..a time of new growth...new opportunities for change...a new level of confidence..." Meanwhile, I thought whoever wrote or said that was totally NUTS and needed to be institutionalized. I DIDN'T feel THAT WAY. I thought my life was over. I had no dreams or visions for my future at all, and couldn't even think of them, which was kind of sad given that I have an active, intelligent mind and ALWAYS could visualize my future before. I was STUCK and immobilized inside my heart and spirit. It was like my brain flatlined and was blank. I thought my life would continue to be one big, fat, boring routinized existence like it already seemed to be.....get up, make coffee, feed the cats, shower and dress for work, drive to work, deal with the maniacs and the bullshit at work, leave, drive home and deal with the maniacal head cases on the road who drive 95 miles an hour in the SLOW lane (and who, in my humble opinion REALLY NEED THERAPY FOR ROAD RAGE -especially in NYC- and REALLY need to go back to driver's ed because they scare the daylights out of ME!), make dinner, feed cats, pay some meager attention to hubby (which I felt hugely guilty about since he is so amazing!), and then, HIT THE SACK and start all over again. I felt drained, sapped, exhausted. I kept asking ,"Is this all there IS to life?" Ugh.
One day, while sitting in front of my computer crying, I was so depressed I really wanted to end my life. Sounds dramatic, I know, but at the time I was feeling decidedly dramatic, bored, sad, confused and all the rest that goes in between. I thought of my mother whose life ended from lung and bone cancer at the age of 52, and I wondered how she felt at this age, before her cancer was revealed. I wondered if she felt as confused and despondent by it all as I did, and I was frustrated that those answers would never come. I hated everything and everyone, especially me.
My body was changing, too. Because Mom has been dead for 30 years and my aunt, Mom's sister, is dead as well, I really had NO ONE with whom I could question the physical realities of perimenopause and menopause. My sister, who is my dad's daughter from his first marriage, sailed through it and had no symptoms when she went through the change. Meanwhile, I already had anxiety and panic issues (which started about 7 years ago but have all but subsided now thanks to sheer hard work and willpower on my part), and I was pissed off that my passage would be like this...anxiety ridden. Meanwhile, I still get my period regularly...I was confused by being in between perimenopause and menpause.
Though I am gifted with looking younger by a good 10-15 years than I actually am, I started noticing the subtle changes that come with age. Though I am still somewhat slender, things have drooped or sagged a bit and I am not as slim or toned as I once was. Exercising would help of course, but I couldn't motivate myself to do it, and I just put it off like I do with most things that have to do with health (including quitting smoking, which is a whole other ball of wax that I personally should KNOW better than to do in light of my mother's death from lung cancer). The white hair I started to get at 21 was moving further across my scalp. I actually liked it though, but I could see it making its mark more so than before.
I think what bothered me most was that I had no energy and I was tired. I started getting more an more aches and pains, courtesy of the fibromyalgia I was diagnosed with about 6 years ago, and the terrible knee arthritis I was diagnosed with (in both knees) in July. I was tired and drained almost all the time and couldn't STAND IT. I have always been an active person --I typified the image of the consummate New Yorker --walk fast, talk fast...run, run run! Go! Go! Go! And yet, I was dragging my tushy behind...feeling like a turtle or a snail...trudging along...lumbering s-l-o-w-l-y. It drove me nuts. I felt like a shadow of my old self. And soooo, I was depressed and forlorn for that which was....
Here I had it ALL --a wonderful 2nd hubby, Dream, who is my biggest fan and cheerleader and who pushes me to press onwards when I get down in the dumps; I have an important job and make decent money; a loving family, lots of dear friends, and 8 cats who are wonderful..annoying at times, but truly dear to me..., I have a gorgeous home I love, and despite some terrible tragedies and misfortunes in my life, I HAVE SURVIVED...I lived to tell the tales.
And yet, I felt I had nothing. A sad thought, I realize now, and so untrue.
One day last summer......actually it was June 3rd and it was the 30th Anniversary of my Mom's death, and also happened to be our college's commencement day (and for which I am in charge of all logistics).... the blackness lifted from my heart and soul, and I started to sing again, (inside of myself) like a glorious songbird. The blackness in my heart had turned to gorgeous, golden sunlight. I realized that I had survived both Mom and Dad's deaths (which occurred 5 years after Mom's), and that I had accomplished most of what I had set out to do so many years ago. While I had not gone into the arts to be a painter/illustrator as I had planned, I had managed to become an accomplished and successful administrator at a college in NYC, coordinating huge college events AND television and movie shoots with competence and intelligence. I had lived through terrible fertility issues and come to accept that it was okay I didn't have kids --I could "mother" others as I always had done, and could still fulfill my maternal instincts by doing that. I had survived a divorce from my first husband and learned to thank HIM for the years we had together; for the things he taught me during our marriage, and I could forgive him and me for all that went wrong. I could send him off into his new life with a new wife and wish him well, as I always will do. Being with him enabled me to meet my darling 2nd husband, Dream, a man I never would have met had I not traversed the rocky roads of my first marriage or the pain of the divorce I had initiated. Being with Dream is a shining light in my life, and I feel blessed.
I have had failures both personally and professionally, and yet I stood up after failing, dusted myself off and learned to keep moving forward. I've lost close friends due to unresolved issues and problems I chose to ignore during the friendship, and it's okay really, I have finally come to realize. Letting go of them and their toxicity has freed me and given me a voice I didn't know I had. I am alive for the first time.
So now I GET IT..50 IS a wonderful time of transition for women...it is a blessing and not a curse as I had thought before...It is a gift and a treasure.
What I can say now in all honesty is this:
TURNING 50 IS A CHANCE WHEN WE CAN REALLY "OWN" OURSELVES AND BE WHO WE WERE FULLY INTENDED TO BE IN ALL OUR MYRIAD MYSTERIES AND BEAUTY.
Now, isn't that amazing? I think so, and I am loving it.
Back later....
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