Through the plight of last week with Sugar's death, the one thing that helped me pierce through the grief was the idea of adopting another cat. There was the expected feeling that I was somehow being disloyal to Sugar. But I pushed on through it. The silence of her absence had been deafening, and I knew I would never find a cat to replace her, just another furry critter to love.
I'd already had the day off on Friday, so I took a long walk to the SPCA. The volunteer at the front greeted me, and showed me to the halls that housed all the kitties. Being that it was a Friday during the day, there were few to no visitors, which boded well. I was surprised at the number of kittens they had; the last time I'd been there only six years prior, there were only a few. I went from each hall to the next taking notes in my phone of the cats I wanted to check out. I knew I wanted an adult cat, preferably male, since the legends say they are more docile. Surprisingly, there were only two or three adult male cats. In the last hall, I found a cream white tabby with an orange stripe down his back named Shazaam. When the volunteer guided me into his room, he did all the adorable things cats do that are cute...gently pawing, rubbing up against you, laying on his back like he wanted to play.
It was a done deal.
I breezed through the adoption process and out we went. The volunteer told me that when she got the carrier out to put him in, he went straight in. We got home, and he explored every nook, cranny, corner, and surface of the pad, all the while weaving in and out of between my legs. It's been a week now, and I'm happy, though there are still occasional pangs of sadness. It may still take awhile before I feel like he's truly mine, but we'll get there. I got Sugar's ashes back on Friday, and the grief sprung anew. The gray and white tabby with the Elizabeth Taylor eyes I'd once held in my hands now reduced to a small wooden box.
That same Friday, I headed out with Roze to Kokkari for Greek eats and such. One of the other things that had kept my spirits from sinking like being in the Swamps of Sadness last week was the news that she'd gotten a new job. I'd texted her the other day how amazing it was that things had changed for both of us quite significantly in just the matter of a few years. She, who'd been an intern at one job, then a staffing assistant at my job, now going on to be a central exec at her new job; and myself, who'd promoted up and seen an increase in salary I never thought I would.
Last Saturday, Mr. Alterhausen and Maybelline came into town. We did Puccini and Pinetti, which was nothing to write home about, but which I'd always wanted to got to strictly because it looked cute. The second trimester-y silhouette of my figure remains a reminder of the trans fat-inspired grub I downed there. Then it was off to Martuni's for drag queen-esque drinks, piano tunes of all sorts (heard Cher's "Believe"--true story) and the bartenders with bad attitudes.
Plans are in motion to do Vegas for Christmas to see Petula, Jo, and family. I'm having Lavern flown up for good measure as I think it's not been since the '90s that we've all been together for the holidays. I'll have to leave Shazaam with the cat boarder, which makes me a little heart palpatation-y. But even my ice cold heart and solitary-minded self needs to be around loved ones from time to time before I start feeling like the pathetic protagonist of some Christ-awful Hallmark channel made-for-TV holiday movie. Sheeeut...
