Sugar the Kitty Cat

A little over six years ago--which feels like a lifetime ago, though it clearly isn't--I adopted my cat, Sugar. J Co was living with me at the time, and one of the provisions of her moving in was that I wanted to get a cat. My roommate prior to J Co had one--in fact, that was the primary reason I'd chosen her as a roommate. And I had not had a cat since childhood, when my mom and stepdad divorced and we moved and had to give away our two cats and dog. So after having been pet-less for over ten years, I went with J Co to the SPCA one Saturday morning, and took a gander at the kitties they had available. The place itself is like the Hilton for pets. We went into one cat's suite, and it immediately hid away from us. Then we looked at a feral one, and although it was sweet, Mr. Alterhausen had sufficiently instilled in me the danger of owning a feral cat, so I shied away from the idea. When we got to the door of Sugar's room, the little bio on the front started off saying, "Sugar wants you to know she has a little spice." What we would later come to find is that this was code for the fact that she was a mildly sheisty animal (though a shiesty animal who would own my heart in due time). There was also a rope tied around the door knob of her room and linked to one of the floor fixtures. The volunteer assisting us with the other pets had to ask a staff member to join us in our meeting with Sugar because she was a "level four". (I would later go on to create a MySpace page for Sugar, and this was the password.) At level five, they euthanize. You get the picture. But in any event, we walked in and were met with an adorable little tabby with bright green eyes, one of which was a bit wonky. She was immediately sociable. The SPCA staff member revealed that the reason for the cord on the door was that she'd gotten out a few times. Clever kitty. At one point, she latched her teeth to my finger, and I just left it there before she released. The staff member said I had responded favorably. She went on to say, "This isn't the kind of cat you can hold on your bed and pet..." but J Co and I were already sold. We wrapped her up, and took her home. That night, on my bed, we watched the Emmy's together. I was gently petting her when she suddenly whipped around, bear-clawed my hand, and drew blood. For awhile, J Co and I were kind of afraid to pet her before eventually realizing that she could and would be sweet, but only on her own terms. It wouldn't be long before I realized that instead of being our cat, Sugar slowly transitioned into being my cat in that I was the only one taking care of her, emptying her litter box, and buying her food. I eventually moved her food- and water bowls into my room, and J Co eventually moved out. That was just one of a handful of changes that transpired for the next six and a half years. But Sugar was the sole constant. I would get home, and she would be there meowing at me, demanding attention, and then just gazing at me from atop her cat tower. When I would lay in bed, she would join me, often licking me like a dog. I considered her my familiar, and believed she would live a long, long time. After all, I had been feeding her the damn expensive Science Diet food. But Sunday night, I awoke from a nap, got a drink from the kitchen, came back into my room, and saw her laying there motionless. I flew into a panic, checked her eyes and heartbeat. I called the emergency vet line, and was told they were way out on Irving Street. I rushed to get ready, and tried to find something to put her in, but I realized after my initial panic abated just a little that she was already gone. She was only eight years old. I put her little body in a box, texted my boss that I would be working from home the next day, and started to look for burial/cremation places online through tears. When I tried to sleep that night, I kept waking up, and a new wave of grief would wash over me as I would realize she was gone. I kept thinking I was hearing her meowing and thought she may have just been in some sort of coma. I dreamt that she popped out of the box, but that her throat area was missing, but that she was otherwise fine. Maybe that was what was wrong with her. I'm still trying to figure out what it was. I'm still pissed at myself that I didn't take her in for a check up just because I was trying to save up to pay off a credit card. When I called the cremation place the next morning, I couldn't even get out my name without getting all chocked up. I got a fresh towel and wrapped her in it. Her bright green eyes were beginning to fade and roll back into her head. In one of the saddest moments of my life, I taped up the little box she was in in preparation to give her over to the place. I resisted the urge about twenty times to open up the box again just to see her one more time. I knew I would just see a decaying shell of my once fluffy little angel. The man came, and I handed her over. The house has been agonizingly empty ever since. Her cat tower sits near my window. Her food bowl still has a few bits of food, and her water bowl is half full. I put the hair rollers out of place since I won't need to wipe off cat hair from my bed anymore. I was in a daze yesterday, and just took a long walk around the city, and had a few crying fits at home. I got into work this morning, and dared to listen to music on the way there, even though I knew that just one sad song would set me off. It was the very first one that came on: "Remember" by Groove Armada. I just wanted to concentrate on work when I got there, which helped distract me. But when people would come up and console me, a fresh set of tears sprung up. My room, my beloved sanctuary, now houses her memory, and it hurts to be here. Everytime I instinctively move to do something that I would have normally done for her--like refill her water bowl when I get home, leave the closet door ajar so she can get to her litter box, or turn the radio on before I leave so she doesn't feel alone--it all comes slamming back at me. Death sucks. I just want the sadness to go away without having to wait for it to naturally abate. I had just been thinking over the weekend how everything in my life has been going so swimmingly for the past few years (fuck, I just got a nice increase a work), and that something crappy has to hit at some point or another. Humans resisted the first version of the Matrix because it was idyllic, and our instinct informs us that life is not ideal. So although some people wait awhile for the grief to settle, I have Friday off, and am taking the opportunity to adopt a new cat. In my mind, there is a big welcome sign for the new kitty who I will take into my life, as I did Sugar, and whom I will give all my love in the same way he or she will. No one can ever replace my precious angel, true, but the love goes on, and so does life. I hope I see her again on the other side.

New Year's cleave

Gosh, this blog has gone to the birds. Instead of having to actually write something, I enjoy the immediate satisfaction of a quick, random thought on Facebook met with many "likes" and multiple cheering posts in response, all that give you a warm, buttery feeling. But I initially started this blog off as an online diary for amusing record-keeping purposes, and it's fit the bill, I tell ya.

So let's review 2011:Many things remained quaintly pleasant, which is a good way to describe my life even now...even though it sounds somehow stale. When you get called "faggot" and "homo" through your formative adolescent years, struggle through your 20-something years to find yourself, and then finally come to a place in your 30s that's a good place, that's a good thing.

Two people in my life, who were really quite unbelievably sweet, died rather unexpectedly. My Uncle Jake, one of the few decent, good people on my biological father's side of the family; and a treasured acquaintance, Denelle. Not to give another plug to FB here, but their profiles both remain--Uncle Jake's by his wife, and Denelle's by her partner, and parent of their son. It's nice to go back and visit their pages when the mood strikes me.

I went back to NYC and took my mom with me, her first trip there. It was an awesome feeling being in a place where I can treat her to that kind of trip, in the same way that New York is an awesome place. "Empire State of Mind" has become our song. Both the rap version with Jay-Z and the solo piano piece with just Alicia Keys, which you should check out if you've not.

Mr. Altherhausen and Maybelline came in to town and stayed at the Mark Hopkins, and we did the Osha and the Top of the Mark with great abandon the last week of December. New Year's eve was not spent at any club or party nor at the Pier's, but with L-Ha dog-sitting at her boss's posh pad in Pacific Heights--and I wouldn't have had it any other way. We had a grand time chatting it up, bashing Whole Foods, and toasting to Kathy Griffin and Anderson Cooper.

I've made a fortified effort this past year to pay off my credit cards before I make any other major purchases or take any other vacations, and I'm practically there. That mild conservative Republican instinct in me that I'm trying to keep at bay has me watching where my money goes, ya know?

This year will see me half way to forty...but so help me God, I will have found a way to not look it.

Cheers to 2012, Hillers!

Divis

I left work early yesterday for a doctor's appointment, followed by a haircut appointment. The salon I go to, and have gone to for well on 7 years now, is in the Castro, and I take the 24 Divisadero bus from the location where our old office used to be to get there.

The route goes through a fairly typical SF street, full of shops, restaurants, and apartments. Tascha once said, "Divisadero is a pretty happenin' street", which I openly laughed at, since it had always reminded me of the baleful task of going to and coming from work.

My first trip through Divis on the 24 when I was a faun-ish 22-year-old, I wasn't prepared for the ups and downs of the small hills, the cricks and cracks of the ancient-ass street. I had to stand pretty much the whole way, and being the high-strung young 'un that I was at the time, I strove to stay stick-still and not bump into a soul all the rollercoaster way to work my first day.

In the four years I lived in Ingleside, and then the Castro, and took the 24, I couldn't have given a rat's behind about the colorful stretch of winding SF street. It was just transitional background that couldn't have mattered less.

Yesterday, with time on my side and an actually seat on the bus, I enjoyed the chance to take it in without feeling rushed: Thai restaurant, comic book shop, gas station, health food store, butcher, used CD store, bar, Popeye's, school for the hearing impaired.

None of that sounds exactly galactic, but it's the revelation of actually paying attention to something that's always been there.

Princess Toadstool

I bought a big new red suitcase over the weekend in preparation for NYC. I resisted buying an equally fruity luggage tag out of fear of it being a bit excessive, but now regret it, as my MO is to make sure no one hauls off with my suitcase at the airport, and the red color and polka-dotted luggage tag could have jointly assured that.

I enjoy having my very own special mug. I'm not talking about my face, I mean my coffee mug, which I use for tea in the evenings before hitting the hay. It's like a big, warm hug.

At some point you lose your interest in certain things, just as certain people become less interesting. An apt cue to move on.

Chest ruts bloating on an open pyre

Lavern and I are going to NYC in April! I've been dying to go back since I went for the first time in 2007, and it will be her first time going. We are doing it as tourist-y as possible, the double decker bus, tour of Ellis Island, and the requisite musical (I'm thinking "Promises, Promises" featuring Sean Hayes, but primarily because of the "Turkey Lurkey" number with which I'm obsessed on the YouTube).

Last Sunday was a charming holiday din din at the Osha with L Ha and Team Christy where we gossiped, drank, ate, and I dared Team Christy to give our burning hot Thai guy waiter her number (he's been stalking her ever since). I'm thinking, new tradition. We then walked our way to Union Square and took pictures in front of the big Christmas tree like fucking tourists. Endearing.

My Christmas wish this year is for all children to collectively have laryngitis for a week so they can't speak/yell/scream.

Tanks

Hannah invited me to her family's Thanksgiving, but I had to decline. I told her as much as I'd love to go and meet her clan in person, it would feel awkward, like I was the weird, gay roommate in a clown costume who'd randomly shown up. Her mother expressed that she'd really wanted me to come, and I told Hannah to thank her, but reiterated my position. At least it's nice to be wanted.

The optometrist put my left contact under a microscope to discover there was a hairline crack right at the edge of the cornea. I had looked the contact over up and down, but not seen a thing, and had thought that my eye had gone all wonky, so it was actually a blissful revelation. Moreso, a new one has been ordered that my insurance will cover, so I can stop feeling like I'm living in a dream world with that rank fogginess resulting from having only one good contact on.

The grandmother of my youngest sister, who is my half-sister but whole nonetheless, died a few days ago. She was a very sweet lady, and my sister was very close to her and her grandfather, who also passed away about a year ago. She realizes that her grandmother is in a better place, which, as much as it is a cliche to say, is actually the truth of it. Death is but a door that leads to something else.

Pop! Pop! Can you hear me?

It was an immensely fun Friday night at the End Up with DJ Hawthorne at the helm, all prompted by the promise of LG being in town. My newly svelte and newly blond buddy from the East Bay came with a brother and sister pair, the former of which sat down with me for a spell and spun some story of being clairvoyant. I entertained his somewhat entertaining speech for a bit before he had to potty, and followed along with the intention of waiting for him when he got out. But the music was amazing, true classic End Up, soulful/diva house shiz the likes of which I love. So I danced around like Mary at the end of "Party Girl" until I was pooped, and headed home around 3:00.

Saturday was supposed to be the Love Parade, but luckily I'd gone online to discover the day event had been cancelled. Pity, as I do love boys in hippie/raver attire.
But I met up with Mandy at Osha instead and soaked in the summery day with Thai appetizers and caprihinas.

My new roomie Hannah and I have plans to do the sushi place down the street some time next week, which will be a fun, month-late welcome home dinner for her.

I want to get a bunny, but I'm afriad Sugar will kill it. Plus I'm not too keen on the little bullet poops they leave everywhere.

Hannah bought this amazing aloe vera plus green tea handsoap that is like aromatic heroin. I am addicted to the smell of it.

It's all about adding lemon juice to your water and having some cottage cheese everyday.