Caterwauling

Still here.

Broken in pieces.

But now

Broken in peace

I don’t have enough to share

So I pray you

Find yours too

And give it

To those who most

Deserve it from you

I’m back! Never left, though. I’m guessing there’s a handful of you who didn’t leave, either. Thank you for being a friend. Or an unfriend. Or a block.

Since we last spoke, I had a pretty good 2018, minus losing my Kadie and having the landlord sell the condo out from under me. But I live in a nice, top-floor unit now. And I get to borrow kitties from the people in my ever-shrinking circle.

My newest love.

2019, I hate to write it off because it was filled with lots of joy until Aug. 3. But I went from having a wonderful person who couldn’t wait to wake up and see me every day to having a troll (not him) who can’t wait to wake up and see me from her 17 social media accounts. That I know of.

It’s OK. She says I was convenient. Easy. But I think she got it backward. I was the challenge, the conquest.

She likes to tell me I was nothing. That I am nothing. That I’ll never be anything. That she is everything and so much more. That now I HAVE nothing. And she’s SO SAD about that. Yawn.

I should share all the screenshots with two tweets, one of her claiming to be caring and compassionate about people who are alone, and the next calling me a delusional, lonely victim who is planning a Disney wedding that will never happen.

We know who’s the real delusional one here. I just hate that the precious few original words she has to offer the world are only crafted to poison herself and others against me.

So when I wonder how I could say and think cruel things, I look at all those screenshots.

And I forgive myself for responding characteristically to uncharacteristic insults.

I don’t think it was that I wasn’t enough. I think I was too much. He would have to move mountains for me, ultimately. Maybe he would have.

I don’t believe in bad timing. We make our own timing. Goldilocks here thinks what we had was just right.

We had a good run. I just wish it ended better.

I thank him for the friendship and all the heart-to-hearts and fun times we had. I’m sorry that I have to see all the details of that time splashed across 17 accounts. Well, sorry that he does nothing to muzzle her or protect me. Or himself. Her tweets and posts under her real name are more bonkers than the ones from the fake accounts.

Yes, I’ve cried oceans. Not over him and certainly not her.

I cried them for the girl who put her heart on the line. Cried for the man I saw beaming and grinning and frolicking with me.

I will always have a special place in my heart for him. For anyone who made me happier, better and stronger. Even if most of that strength wells from the tough times and not the better ones.

In any event, what I learned through all this was that I was stuck. Comfortable. The obstacles that used to annoy me in my path, I started to accept. Because I had someone who made life fun otherwise.

And I can live with rejection. We tried to stay friendly. I wanted him to see what he walked away from.

Then this particular troll dragged me to spiritual rock bottom.

I went against my values a lot in the last fiscal quarter and punched down as she punched up at me. It was easy. But not rewarding to walk in her shoes at all.

Belittling and gaslighting everyone she’s ever met is her sport. One I cannot compete at.

Coming up with witty comebacks or simply struggling to stay silent and watch her embarrass herself (and us) has drained the life out of me.

He picked that. I didn’t.

My 2019 was the best of times and the worst of times. My 2020 is set to see me hanging out with Gatsby-esque types and enjoying the good life.

I still have to work for it. But I’m looking forward to moving to a place where being alive doesn’t feel so much like work.

On this New Year’s Day, I shed my fear of what bullshit awaits. Today, I look eagerly toward what joys the world wants to send my way.

And I accept those joys with an open heart and open hands.

Trolls gonna troll. I’m gonna roll.

I invite you to watch me shine. Because, as sure as the sun rises each day, this Dawn is only going to become more brilliant.

To my road trip buddy, my baby girl, my pumpkin child, my Halloween kitty, and the entire heart and tail of our home …

Your momma had an amazing 15 years with you at her side. (Rather, weaving between her ankles, leading her to the fridge to implore her to give you a scoop of Grandma’s homemade chickie-chickie salad made just for you.)

Each day started with you scratching my open door at 5:25. I would feed you, go back to bed … and then you’d come scratch the side of the bed to ask for more. And if I dared stop by the bathroom first, you’d follow me in and implore with those big green eyes to hurry up, Momma!

You had a huge appetite till the end. Every day, Grandma would text me what you wanted me to bring home. C.R. Chick’s was your favorite. But you never said anything but OMG NOM to Texas Roadhouse salmon … Five Guys cheeseburgers … Junior’s cheesecake … whipped cream of any sort … whitefish salad from TooJay’s … Shrimpy Shrimp treats … fettuccine alfredo from Olive Garden … Grandma’s homemade mac-and-cheese that no one was allowed to eat but you … Grandma’s “toona” salad made just for you (and you’d get SO MAD if I’d take a teaspoon for me) … the list goes on.

That was from your birthday. I kept the receipt. You and Grandma also shared your beloved Chicken Piccata.

We have most of those foods in the fridge, but without you to eat it now. And cream cheese, which you leapt onto our highest counter to eat off my omelet this summer. How’d you do that?!

If only that and love were enough to keep our baby with us, you’d have outlived us both.

We always served you first. But you’d go trip Grandma and tackle her and push your face in HER plate. Then after you ate her food, you’d finish yours. Crazy cat.

For years, you ate your supper (and ours) on the center couch cushion. But lately, you preferred your privacy. Sometimes you’d still hop up to grab a piece of chickie or cheese and take it to the floor to nom.

You stopped hopping into our beds, too. Grandma missed the days when you’d “back that ass up” into her bed after she was situated — you did that for 10 years! You could still jump but mostly chose not to.

But you were the same ol’ “fighty-bitey Hisseroo from way back” till your last week on this earth. You met me at the door every day, looking for my offering, like always. And you led Grandma to the fridge at every opportunity. Even if you didn’t want to eat once you had it. But Grandma’s magic chickie-chickie salad did the trick every time.

Your last day on this earth was Monday, Sept. 17. The day before my Gram’s birthday. (I always suspected she took over your body sometimes — you two were so alike.)

Mom and I knew something was off from the get-go. You woke me up, like always. But you didn’t ask to eat. Instead, you threw up and went to rest on your towel. I wiped you down without you blowing your bangs, as you normally would.

Oh how I hated going to work. I rained hugs and kisses on you and hoped to be able to do that again. Then Grandma texted me at work around noon. Not with a food request but rather the “come home as soon as you can” message I’ve dreaded. Which, sadly, was late as usual. But not TOO late …

It felt like I hit the lottery when came in and you were waiting for me on your towel by the door. You haven’t walked me to the door to say bye for a few weeks. But you’ve almost always been just inside it, complaining if I come home too late but always glad to see me.

Monday night, though, you didn’t notice my empty hands. Or you just didn’t feel like tripping me to show your disapproval this time.

The hoomins did decide to order your beloved fettuccine alfredo. When I returned from OG, you just knew that bag was for you! You perked up and led me to the kitchen.

But as our stupid OG is, well, stupid, so I had to go back to get your correct dish.

When I came back home, you looked so tired, like “Where you been, Momma? I got places to go.” But you still went to your dish that looks exactly like you. Grandma cut up your pasta and blew on it to make it cool, but you turned up your perfect pink nose at it. You tried but couldn’t eat it off my finger, like you forgot how to lick or chew after your wunchtime whipped cream and cheese that you devoured.

I even picked up tiramisu because you never missed dessert and you love mascarpone. (You love ALL sweets!) You showed more interest in that, but then looked sad because you couldn’t figure out how to eat it. You laid your head down and tried to sleep.

It was about 9 p.m. now. I lit a white candle and cast a protection spell, to give you a peaceful night. I don’t know if the neighbors left town or what, but I got my wish.

Normally I would sleep too, what with loud neighbor nights and early morning feedings with my Kates. But, I had put off a work project for too long … I HAD to finish it by Tuesday. So I worked on my laptop just a few feet from you, and you kept a watchful eye on me.

I am so thankful for that, because I would have missed you leaving this world.

You always struggled with affection and we have the scars to prove it. Especially Grandma — she couldn’t go 10 minutes without kissing her Kates. But lately, you’ve been collapsing in our arms. We knew it was a sign, but we loved that you finally let us love you.

We call this “Kates’ House.” It’s all you, top to bottom. You have several feeding stations. Your cute porcelain kitty bowl in the kitchen. Your red “Treat Seat” by the dining room table. And treats go in many other places, too: Your conch shell rug outside my room. Your pink paw cooling mat by the sliding glass door. Your pink mat in my bathroom. Your towel inside the front door. Your cat hut that looks like you. And of course your buffet of water, dry food and pate behind the couch, because you like to feast in peace.

You loved to snooze on the paper towels Grandma put in front of your dish. Those were there because you ALWAYS prefer to pull your food out of the bowl and eat off the floor. So there were always fresh towels for our Kates.

As you lay on your paper towels Monday night, Grandma came over to cover you with your pink beach towel. You got up and walked to your plush shell rug and collapsed.

You were the perfect little burrito baby in your towel. But that wasn’t you. You HATED being constrained. Kadie from a week earlier would have shredded that towel. This Kadie was staring at the wall and not moving.

Grandma knew, Kadie. She knew you were ready to go. And she would be damned if you were going to do it alone.

Grandma picked you up and took you to the couch and held you like a baby. You complained a little about that, like you always have about being loved, but you rested your head on her shoulder and didn’t resist.

You did cry once or twice — I had NEVER heard you cry. Hiss and howl and meow “Love” and “No no no”  and “Otay otay” and “Momma,” sure. But never this.

Your passing went as well as it could have, at home with your family. At 9:59 p.m., Grandma said you peed and I said this is it. Your eyes opened wide and you tried to howl twice, but no sound came out. I wish I could know who or what you saw just over my shoulder that startled you so. Later, when we talked about that moment, Grandma said you didn’t want to leave.

In that moment, I loved that Grandma got to be the last loving face you saw. You girls spent the last 11 years together while I worked and shopped so you girls didn’t have to work or worry. I loved even more that you waited for me.

I was beside you, holding your paws and thanking you for being our kitty. A while later, Mom said it felt like your spirit left your little body, the one that had traveled the entire East Coast with us. She said you felt so light all of the sudden.

Moments — or maybe it was hours — later, the litterbox rattled. We realized we would never hear that sound again. Maybe that was your sign that you were free.

I was reminded of how you and I used to dance to “Moon River.” I don’t know why it was that you loved that song. But you’d croon along. You knew you were our huckleberry friend …

“Wherever you’re going
I’m going your way
Two drifters off to see the world
There’s such a lot of world to see
We’re after the same rainbow’s end
Waiting round the bend
My huckleberry friend
Moon river and me.”

Rather than remembering the two of us on a road trip, I thought of you and Maddie — scampering around the Rainbow Bridge with your angel wings.

I asked you to remember me. I might have asked you to take me with you. Grandma might have promised to come take care of you. And we prayed to the heavens to let us see our girls again.

Grandma and I took turns for hours holding you and loving you and telling you what a good girl you are. We did that while you were here, so I don’t think there were any unspoken words or actions.

I just hope you know how very much you were adored. And maybe that you were glad you found your way to us, too.

I’ll say it again. Good girl Kada. Kadie Marie, cute as can be. Kadie Did Kadoodle Bug Nestor. Our little black kitty girl. Bunny. Kadie Kat Bar. Beanie Baby. My baby. My sweet baby.

Watch over your Grandma, Kates. You and she were my everything. She’s all I have now.

We kept you in our arms till well past noon. Your little body wanted to get cold, but you were awash in hugs and hot tears.

I made the mistake of taking you to Peggy Adams around 2. Incompetent. You deserved better. I should have taken you to Deerfield myself, where they sent you on Friday. But I felt you’d been through enough, and being in the car for 40 more minutes — the car without the working AC — was just dumb.

Although amazingly, the AC worked for the entire drive to West Palm with you. I think that was Stewie’s way of honoring our beloved backseat driver who always Houdini’d her way out of even the most-secure carriers to sit on the armrest.

Walking out of there without you was the worst. THE. WORST.

The cat I’ve hidden in duffel bags and inside jackets to sneak through hotels …

The good girl who always knew when to be quiet in elevators so as not to startle the other guests …

The little Howly Bear who let you know where she was in the house or car at all times …

The girl who purred while she ate …

The tail who followed us everywhere …

Not with us for the first time in 15 years.

It’s dumb that now is the time I finally took a week off work, to grieve your passing and be here for Mom. I should have taken time to enjoy you more while you was here. I should have stayed home Monday, your last day on this earth.

On Friday, Grandma and I drove to Deerfield, to find you. We got to Paws & Cherish and were so glad we did. They knew exactly who Kadie was — the little black kitty girl — and said you had just arrived. I asked them not to send you back to West Palm; I told them I’ll come pick you up myself.

A technician came out to hand paperwork — YOUR paperwork — to the receptionist. He didn’t say it but he didn’t have to. Grandma knew. You were really gone. She later told me, “Kadie knew her Mommy was there.”  I hope you knew, baby bird, that I never wanted to be apart from you in the first place. I still can’t believe our road trip kitty had to take this journey all by herself.

We haven’t had a trip in a while. And I’ve been feeling terrible about that. Between the car and the apartment hijinx, your health starting to take a turn (not to mention Mom’s health), and my job hijinx of the past calendar year, we missed Christmas and birthdays and all the things we used to do.

But no matter what, you made life happier, Kates. You filled it with love and purrs and hugs and companionship and pretty pink things that cover every square inch of our apartment. Now we see fluffy pink kitty-shaped clouds — two of them at a time, like it’s you and Maddie — and we’re either crazy or blessed to see a sign that you’re OK.

I’ll never forget you, sweet girl. Thank you for loving us. We will love you forever. As long as we’re living, our baby you’ll be.

Bye, Furrlicia ….

It’s when you’re caught between two lovers that you see how different things can be.

Forget whether it’s better to be loved or feared. My question is do I want to have someone who desires, or is devoted to, me? And I don’t want to have to pick.

That moment when both your boys are somehow at the same place and in the same room with you.

And they are naturally being their affectionate selves toward me, having no idea how deep my connection is to the other.

Guess it’s lucky that me being generally hug-repellent is a known Thing. I’d be in worse trouble if anyone could read me with any measure of accuracy.

I should be mortified but I’m loving this.

Ever find yourself perfectly happy with the perfect person and someone else shows interest (in me, to be clear) and turns your entire world on its axis?

Well I keep getting billed for this site. Might as well use it.

I think the last we all spoke was when I was between two job offers. I had taken a Faceypages poll amongst the non-tRump voters (because I only wanted folks whose judgment I trust) whether to stay or go.

Overwhelmingly, everyone said RUN LIKE YOUR HOUSE IS ON FIRE.

One random voice I hadn’t even expected to pipe up said stay. I owe her a thank-you. BIG TIME.

I had presented all this to my boss at the time, for all of the five minutes that I reported to her before SHE left.

And she’s like, ya know. Maybe that lone voice has a point.

I woke up the day I was supposed to confirm I was leaving. I said OK, I’ll stay. I cried the WHOLE DAMN DAY.

But … the crying stopped. It really did turn out OK.

And even if it hadn’t, I’m still better off.

My second suitor just had a layoff.

Read: I would be OUT ON THE STREETS AGAIN had I gone there.

I would love to know whether he feels terrible that I would have given up what turned out to be a pretty great gig, only to be fookayayed up one side and down the other without a trace of lube in sight, had I accepted (and taken him up on) his offer.

This has messed me up seven ways to Sunday.

I mean, I am SO LUCKY and I know it. SO lucky.

But honestly, if not for my friend/neighbor-type Kim planting that wee seed of doubt, I would have frolicked right the fuck into a horrible situation.

And really, if not for my then-boss pounding my worth into their heads where I’m at, I wouldn’t have had the choice in the first place.

Thank God. Just, thank God and the angels and my spirit guides and my ancestors and whoever guided my hand when I sent the email where I said yes to the dress and no to the rest.

Girl power, man.

And Hillary voters.

We know what to do. 🙂

No I didn’t lose weight. But my friend count is down by five. YEAH! Love it when the trash takes itself out. Now if those who blame Obama and Hillary for the orange asshole’s policies would realize that it’s spelled T-R-U-M-P, I might regain a little faith in humanity. Or, at least, in spell check.

Editor’s note: I wrote this 2018/05/13. Not sure if it will retain that date when I hit publish. My webhost is asking me to migrate my data and suggested putting up a new post. So I am putting up a new “old” post that’s been in draft mode since I think it’s OK to acknowledge this very cool thing that’s happening.

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Ah, Taylor Swift. Never stop writing about your life at the exact same time it applies to mine.

Has it been a month already since I blogged behind the curtain? I write blogs in my head almost every day. I miss the actual blogging that I haven’t done since March.

But then I think of the one who analyzes every word — and misinterprets every last one of them to fit his own twisted narrative. What is sad that there is actually more than one. And none can leave well enough alone.

Maybe I’ll slip and hit publish. Or not. Honestly, having exactly zero connection to him … and to a whole bunch of others … has been sort of heavenly.

I have plenty of friends who have noticed their lost connection to me here. But it seems there are plenty more who get their gossip this way. And every goddamned one of them thinks that any vague statement I make is about them personally, rather than as a collective.

Yeah, maybe I WON’T hit that publish button after all.

In any event, the quiet has been good for me. Met a nice boy and figured if he hit the Google online jackpot, he’d land here and I REALLY didn’t want to have any recent posts up here. I might or might not have Googled him and learned a whole lot too. But to be fair, I did stop when I learned enough.

It was mostly good stuff, though. Interviews he’s done, articles he’s published, a book (!) he’s shopping around. I found me a literate one!

I did stop the Googling, though, because it’s not like that. It’s cool. It’s fun. It’s light. It could turn into something or it couldn’t. And I know it will be fine either way.

That’s a little different for me. There are people I’ve never written a syllable about here because I was SO HOPING they were everything I’d been waiting (a very long time) for.

Now, enh. That tick-tock of the biological clock is abating. I’m turning 44 (!) next week. It would be a medical marvel if I not only could physically bear a child, but imagine myself wanting one even now.

I know he has other entanglements. As do I. But I don’t think enough to trip either of us up.

He’s pretty. God, I do find some pretty ones. Likes a good sexy car too. Liberal. Voted for Hillary. So basically, “my type.”

I don’t know that it goes any deeper than that. But to quote the immortal — and newly inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame — Jon Bon Jovi, “Don’t bore us; get to the chorus”:

“Is it cool that I said all that?
Is it chill that you’re in my head?
‘Cause I know that it’s delicate (delicate)
Is it cool that I said all that
Is it too soon to do this yet?
‘Cause I know that it’s delicate
Isn’t it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it?
Isn’t it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it? Isn’t it?
Delicate.”

“Write the ache,” my playwright friend says.

I went six weeks without writing here. Perhaps due to lack of ache. More likely, due to not wanting one.

Today I turn the age that coincides with the number of the last legitimate president this country had.

It’s been a week of celebrations and sugar skull themed gifts from my beloveds.

A week of royal wedding themed treats and new restaurants and a well earned (half) day off.

A week of wine and the world’s best cake and key lime pie.

The only thing that would make today better would be an indictment from the Mueller camp.

I’d love to say I want to write more, but I really don’t. I was inspired at a young age by the Transcendentalists, that the unexamined life isn’t worth living. But you know what? Spending less time examining and more time enjoying it ain’t so bad.

Seeya on the flipside. Maybe.