Dancing with Myself

Wild Cat, Redefined

What happens when cat's go bad?

Remembering Beauregard

Lisa made a shrine for Beauregard.

Within the shrine was a small book with each page spelling out the letters in his name.

The detail was amazing.  The pictures within the bottle caps were of Beau.

These pictures do not do justice to this beautiful and loving tribute to Beauregard from Lisa.  I would love to wax eloquently on how touching a tribute this is, but I'm not sure that's where my head is tonight.   Sometimes we just go through the motions.

Beauregard Remembered

Has it really been a year?   You were a good friend, Beau-Beau.  I miss you.

Remembering Beauregard

This week-end was tough on me in an unsuspecting way.  I kept encountering Beauregard.  There's the corner of the wall where he would rub his face.  I moved the sofa to vacuum and there was a huge mass of cat hair.  Two tiny little things that caused a huge rush of emotion. There was cat food found in the boxes packed away for the past two months.  There was even an unopened box of cat litter.  Beauregard had toilet issues.  He would only use a certain kind of litter.  I changed once without asking him about it and ended up replacing 600 square feet of carpet.  He was not a nice pussy.

He was, however,  a good friend and companion to me for the twelve years.  We had a unique relationship.  I molded him, he molded me.  For twelve years I had the best audience a person could want.  He listened to everything I had to say.  Things no one else seemed to want to hear.  I could rant and rave.  He was like a zen master in that he judged not what I said nor did he judge me for saying it.  Lest you get the wrong impression, he also had plenty to say to me as well.  He talked all the time, and he didn't care if anyone else was listening or not.  He said what he felt he needed to say.  If our civilization ever progresses enough for us to understand the language of cats, I will then know what words of wisdom he was inculcating into me.  I will always remember, "mew mew mew mew! mew mew, mew.  Mew!"  I'm sure those are important truths in the world of cats because he repeated them to me constantly in the sweetist little voice. 

I did find a suitable resting place for his ashes.  See for yourself.

Style was a big part of who Beauregard was.  The cat had class. 

Beaux Beaux. 

Bye bye, Beau Beau

1993-2005

Beauregard wasn't quite quick enough tonight and Piggy caught him.  He died in my arms.  His heart failed him, not his courage. 

I'm taking a time-out.

This is Not About Me

I do not think cats are smart. I think instead that humans are stupid. I am not alone in the world with either thought.

Friday Cat Blogging

(Just for you, Michael.)

Beauregard still hanging in. He's up to about 9 lbs. At 12 years, he's about as much fun as any other old man his age. He's grumpy, complains a lot, gets up in the middle of the night and isn't happy unless everyone in the house knows he's awake and up. I think he needs a hobby. Maybe a nice mini. schnauzer puppy?

Sleeping with Cats

VIking Zen has a very funny post about cat-induced insomnia.  If you've never visited her blog and you have a minute or two, stop by and commisserate with her on her sleep deprivation. 

I also sleep with a cat.  For such a small creature, he takes up a lot of bed.  Sometimes I think he makes choices just to annoy me.   For example, my "side" of the bed is the left side.  That's the side with the least grief to get to the toilet in the middle of the night.  It's my house, it's my bedroom, it's my bed, I think that's fair. 

Beauregard has decided that's his "side" as well.  We're both older males, so we both generally go pee in the middle of the night.  I try to do this without actually waking up.  Climbing over Beauregard annoys him just enough, so when he gets back from his middle of the night pee, he climbs back onto the bed and then stands on my chest for a minute and stares me awake.  I open my eyes just enough to let him know that he was successful, and just as I'm about to bark, he moves over and settles on my right, knowing that I've already been up once and am not likely to go twice. 

I commiserate with Viking Zen.  Totally.

Remember Me?

There haven't been any pictures of Beauregard for awhile--not since he was so sick.  He's doing much better these days.  He's put back on a couple of pounds and his coat is much healthier looking.  He's changed somewhat since his near death experience.  He's more clinging than he was before.  I don't mind that too much. 

What's in store for the week-end?  I've got three parties on Saturday.  Tim's having a Guy Party while Amy's at the all-gurl baby shower.  The guys are going to hang out and smoke cigars and scratch ourselves inappropriately.  This will be the most unlikely bunch of men for that as I can imagine.  That's in the afternoon. Saturday night is more complicated.  Leif and Susan are having their Glogg Party with lots of Swedish tidbits, beginning at 6.  Simultaneously, Victoria is celebrating an important birthday beginning with a champagne reception at 7, followed by dinner and dancing.  That's a black-tie affair, so I'm going to wear my kilt.  Then I'm through for the week-end.  Oh, and Monday is a holiday.  We observe Martin Luther King, Jr.'s birthday.  The forecast is promising.  No rain expected before next week. Y'all have a good week-end. 

Reprieve... for the moment

Beauregard was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism and not with failing kidneys. The headline in tomorrow's paper will read, "Beloved Pet Wins Reprieve, Owner nominated for Drama Queen of the Year." Beauregard has had a close call and he's not out of the woods yet, and I haven't let myself off the hook yet either. This time I'm lucky. Next time, and there probably will be a next time, I hope I respond a little more quickly.

I am humbled by your heartfelt response to my anguish. Along with your good wishes there was information to help me put the experience in perspective. I felt powerless. Information helped me to understand my relationship to the crisis. I moved quickly from being the victim to being the one who makes decisions and choices. My thanks to all of you.

Now, Buddha takes many forms. Today, I discovered that CBeck is back. He's been on hiatus. Probably drying out somewhere. Anyway, I goes over to see what he's up to and he has a picture of a wild looking, wide-eyed cat with a link to this story. It certainly lifted my spirits. Thanks, CBeck, I needed that.

And from my friend Mark, I am sent this. It is so twisted. It's like a cosmic message from my real people on the other side of the universe.