Quigley

It happened on December 13. Just three days ago.
We never would have guessed it would happen so soon.
Quigley, our dearest little gray kitten, passed away as I saw my first snowfall this year. He was not even five months old yet.

He had an incurable disease. We're not sure exactly which one it was, it was one of two fatal diseases, but we had no idea. Apparently it was hereditary. His little kidneys were taking up far too much room in his tiny tummy, a tummy that I adored from day one for it's silver and white smooth fur and bright black dots. He would have starved to death, and felt much pain before dying in a few days, so we made the choice to put him to sleep before the disease took him on a more painful journey.

But dear god, we had no idea, even when the facts must have been right in front of our faces... he hadn't grown much at all. He was thin, and still so small at 5 months when he should have been plump and round. In the last two weeks before that night of the 13th, we had noticed he was rather sick, but we thought it was a cold. Something that a batch of antibiotics and a few nights' sleep would cure. Even when we took him to the veterinarian's office, we had no idea that we'd be carrying home the cat carrier without him.

Because he was still so loving. Even while he must have been feeling so weak, he still ran to the door like a puppy when we came home. He would jump on the bed, a high high bed, if we called for him. He liked to be carried around all the time and would cry if we left. We figured that sick cats, really sick cats, just hid all the time. We didn't know that he waned to spend the last days with us, to make the most of the short short time he had left...

Quigley was a special cat. When we got him, he was so happy to be out of the small cage teeming with other cats that he pranced about for hours on his skinny little legs. At that point, his eyes were bright and happy. He played for hours every day. He loved a dog toy best of all, a toy that was larger than he was. He'd wrestle with it on the bed, and if we tossed it off, he'd go fetch it and come dragging it back up. He liked being in my shirt and being with me all day, no matter where I was. He squeaked so cutely, and ate voraciously. He loved everyone who came the moment he saw them, and everyone loved him...

He was the dearest cat in the world, and I wish I could have seen him grow up to be a cat. I wish we could have had years together, where I could have really gotten to know his personality. I want him to have been so big he'd make my arms ache when I held him, and for him to annoy me in the kitchen all day long, begging for attention or treats. That'll never happen now, and I know it.

I love him still so much it hurts... I know I always will feel this love and the pain. But what eases his passing, to me, is that I know he died without ever knowing fear or betrayal. He died only knowing happiness, and trust for all humans. He never knew anything but the warmth of loving arms and gentle fingers. He said goodbye one last time with his habitual kiss, he loved kissing and touching noses, and his eyes, which were half covered with the third eyelid, seemed to say that he loved me with all his heart too, and that it wasn't our final parting. We'd see each other again, in so short a time. But mostly there was just that love.

And so he must have died, on that quiet December night, where the snow fell so gently and meteors fell early the next morning with a brilliant light. I like to think that God was celebrating to receive back the perfect little animal, and giving the world some beauty to replace the light that Earth had been depleted of.

To him, it must be that he just drifted off to sleep and woke up in a brighter, beautiful place where he doesn't feel that awful weariness and that cold. He's in heaven, and he's waiting for me, I'm sure, and I know that when I get there, his face will be the first one I'll see, and the first kiss I get will be from his healthy, non-leaking little nose.

Quigley, I love you. I miss you. I'll see you again, one day, probably far in the future, but nothing can convince me from the belief that we will be together again.


Rest in peace.
August 19, 2010 - December 13, 2010

Milky

Happy nineteenth birthday Tatyana!

I know you won't see this, but I thought of you today, and I think of you often.
You were a good friend, the best, in many ways.

Well I won't go on and on, but here's a bit about Taty.

I called her Milky
(I was her Cake)
She is a Scorpio
She is a GREAT friend
She was the kind of friend who stayed up all night
to work on a project
for all the little crises that occurs in a teenage girl's life
or for no reason at all
She had thousands of songs to suit any occasion
She would dance in the streets
She loved dangly earrings
and shirts with no arms
and bright bright things
She's the kind of friend that you can trust
after 3 years of not talking
to she'll hug you the same
with her strong skinny arms
as if you'd seen her yesterday.
not to ask questions
not to accuse
she accepts you as you are.

So thank you for the days, the memories
My dearest Milky Tatyana
You deserve the best birthday
I wish you many more to come, each better than the last.

My Day

I suppose money grows on trees
technically, it does, that is
Usually though, we're short of money...
Except on payday- joyous payday
when Kevin gets paid.

Walking down the street is a glorious new thing
with money burning in your pocket
glowing bright green
or the slide of the credit card, cool in your hand
as you pay for things you've wished you had
the glow of spending is as good as the thing
in your shopping bag.

Today I spent spent spent
I went mad at the 99 cent store
a bloodbath of money poured from my pockets.

a wicker basket to hold fruit
two little plastic pots
and household staples
a weeks worth of groceries
a glut of fruit, enough for a colony of flies to feast on
and fall back drunk
so many raspberries
Gala apples, Driscoll strawberries glowing red as rubies
Bosc pears in subtle glory
waiting for ivory teeth
to sink into their crisp juicy flesh.

I bought and bought and bought
and we lugged the things home
We cleaned out our pockets and we cleaned out the house
But the house gleams now
The things in place
And every day our apartment seems more ours
I push the dark thoughts away and it's not hard
because finally, finally
I have a home.



Ps... having a bit of money to spend doesn't hurt either xD

Happy Birthday Dorian

I forgot to mention, that sometime this week four years ago, my first cat Dorian was born.

She is here right now, licking my hand as I type this.

So happy birthday, dear Dorian. No cat, no pet could ever be as dear to me as you are.

Onion Soup

I made onion soup
because that's all we had in the house;
onions
and a bit of milk,
some butter, salt, pepper
a bag of carrots.
I remembered a recipe from one of those
colonial diary books for little girls
I still had the book
I scrounged in the box of forgotten tales
and fished it out
I chopped the onions
three yellow, one magenta
four carrots, orange, diced
a chunk of butter, and plenty of salt
enough pepper to give it flavor
some oil and bacon fat
I put it all in the bubbling milk
until they all became soft
that's for supper
scroungings, leftovers
for us, the poor young couple
I hope it tastes all right!


I also made some corn fritters, they taste divine.

Sundays

Sunday afternoon around 5pm
I'm sitting on white rose sheets
with the windows wide open
chicken soup bubbling on the stove
i put a pound of chicken, sliced fine
with onions, potatoes, carrots too
and more stuff to make it divine
soon the fragrance will waft through the rooms
and perhaps drift out the house
someone will smell our evening soup
and perhaps walk faster towards their home
or maybe just stand, cause it stoked a memory.

Today we woke up at 6:30am
before the moon had completely left
I had a good spell, I guess
usually I'm awake nights, and fade at dawn
like those faraway stars
They are so beautiful so distant
But I want to be a singing bird
to greet the morning in.
I've had enough of sleepless nights
feeling alone unloved and wanting more.
I want to worship the sun
and get things done
oh that rhyme was terrible
but it's true, I swear
I want to change
I want every day to be like this
cooking together, in a house
freshly cleaned
the cats warming in the light
and just laughing
enjoying life
and saying good night
just like today
this sunday.

Kevin

Since I talked of my dream about Kevin, I guess I'll talk about the real Kevin.
Kevin and I have been dating for over four years now- kind of impressive, if you consider we started dating when we were fifteen.  Sometimes I think we clung together merely for sheer stubbornness, and laziness.  I'm not a very optimistic person, as you might note. 

We started dating right after summer school, the summer before sophomore year.  We really started talking the last few days of health class.  He had a horrible buzz cut and wore clothes that didn't look too clean, even though they were washed, and he had mild acne, and ugly skin colored braces, but despite all that he had bright brown eyes that were innocent and kind.  Plus he was tall and confident and loud, which was something I was not, so perhaps that might have been the first attraction for me.

Our first date was at the movies, we watched Accepted.  Our first kiss was awkward, the second was wonderful.

And so the years passed, with many a story, both of us changing of course, but somehow we only grew stronger for having the other around.

He was, and is, the most patient boy I have ever met.  He stayed with me through my years of depression, remained with me through my odd relationship with a gay best friend who I had been desperately in love with before we met, and was rooted firmly like a stone against the storms of my emotions.

So basically, I love him very much.  And he loves me, what's more amazing.  :)

Dream

On my mind:

I dreamt a disturbing dream yesterday.  My grandmother's old brownstone apartment is in real life a four-story faded reddish brown brick color with showy green cornices and black painted iron fire escapes.  I dreamt in one part that it was being restored and renovated to gloriousness, though perhaps restored isn't the best word for it.  There was never really a time where that building would have been gorgeous, as it was originally a chicken farm.  I used to imagine, when I was living there on and off again throughout the years, that the ghosts of fowl would cluck pathetically at me, but of course it was just my imagination.

In my dreams, everything was being bricked, every wall, with expensive goldish brown bricks, full of light and splendour. Not sure what that means, but it was quite beautiful to behold!  Everything seemed much more glamorous somehow.

I also dreamt that I married someone who was not Kevin.  He reminded me of my fifth grade crush, Jonathan, a pale freckled boy, tall and with dark red hair and a thin friendly face.  I don't know why I married him, but we were setting off for a life together and planning to live in that restored building?  We had loads of expensive stuff, and we seemed quite happy... except I thought of Kevin with a sad heart.

But then it either flashed forward after our honeymoon or whatever, and I was pregnant.  I gave birth in my grandmother's house to four tiny eggs, which my mother opened to reveal four miniscule doll-like babies.  She carefully tore the placentas off, and I tried to make them breathe.  But they would not come to life.  I asked my grandmother to tell me at least, what gender they were, but she said they never had any.

It seemed to darken then, and the happiness from the beginning, all the bright colours seemed faded, and all I could think of was Kevin.  I was walking in a gloomy light to a big building where there were huge black cars and a swimming pool, a grungy place, yet obviously belonging to a rich man.  Of course it belonged to Kevin, and there he was with long bedraggled hair and a hardened face that had no love or recognition for me.  It hurt, and when I woke up it made my heart hurt.

I remember in the dream we made love in the pool, and on the ground, and I felt nothing but overwhelming sadness and the water was clear dark aqua green, kind of like the background color of this blog, and reflected my emotions.  I walked down from the building through the long steps, except it was somehow a fire escape.  I almost fainted down the fire escape, but Kevin ran to catch me, and I remember wondering if he could love me again?

Nighttime Endeavor

It is 5:42 am here in New York.  I'm sitting here typing, waiting for the rice to cook, because I am hungry and desire a makeshift Korean meal.

Yesterday in the evening, Kevin and I set out to get Quigley to the Friendly Ferals house for his second round of FVRCP.  It was a coldish autumn evening, and me in just leggings and a charcoal gray hoodie, with a cat carrier bag slung over my shoulder.  We got lost along the way- we thought we got off at the wrong bus stop and walked around for ages, across the highway and down those winding walkways, with just a chain link fence between you and the night sky.  Most of the lights were off, and it was a gloomy feel indeed to see below a train track and dark trees on one side, and on the other side blaring cars with bright yellow headlights rushing to their destinations. 

Of course I walked moaning about my hunger and tiredness after a point, as I am unhappily the sort of girl who can't take discomfort with grace.  We walked by Panera and Five Guys' Burgers, and passed a Trader Joe's- which has some of the tastiest chocolate with walnuts I've ever tasted, but we couldn't buy a single thing, as we thought we had no money.  There was a mixup with Kevin's check and that meant trudging along with an empty belly.  I don't know how the hobbits did it.

We finally found the house- it was mere minutes away from where we got off the bus, of course.  Quigley took his shot manfully, and we checked our account at the nearby Chase at the inlet mall.  Gleefully it allowed us to have $20- we ate delicious fries and garlic knots, bought fresh and hot at the delightful brick oven pizzeria a few doors down.  We couldn't eat inside, what with us having a kitten, so we took the box of food and dined wonderfully in the warmth of Chase bank. 

It was embarassing when people walked in, to withdraw money or whatnot, but it was worth it to step away from the chilly air and just enjoy :)

Beginnings

I can't believe I'm starting a blog/journal/diary again.  Not to be boring and predictable, but I was the kind of young girl who would rush out to buy a Hello Kitty notebook from the nearest stationery store when in the midst of a sudden inspirational burst. 

I'd sit down at my chipped white painted desk and scrawl out pages (this isn't as dedicated as one might think, the pages were usually tiny and my handwriting quite on the large side), and I'd write and write.  This would only last a few days at most, and the journals were then tucked away in dusty corners- I was a messy girl 90% of the time, I seldom had any urge to clear up the mounds of tossed clothes and teetering piles of old books- very rarely would I get bursts of dangerous cleaning storms.  Same for religion- that came in despondent moments while living in Astoria.  Same goes for yoga and diets.  You can sense much about my character from this.

But I digress.  I haven't really written in years.  Surprising for a girl once declared 4th most likely (out of five) to be the next Shakespeare in her middle school graduating class.  Note that our graduating class consisted of maybe 60 or so people, and that ought to tell about my writing ability.  :)

Blogs are so ... narcissistic in a way.  I don't know who's going to take the time to read what is likely to be a huge mound of self pity or a dazzling flash of ego inflation.  I guess I'm just lonely again, and this is the closest to social interaction I'm willing to go for.  Plus, I just want to write.

Writing is really the only thing I was pretty decent at (I'm better at reading), and I'm in one of those contrary moods where I want to defy that horrible dinosaur of an English teacher that made me silence my pen for these years.  I exaggerate, of course, nothing but my own hand stilled the pen.  But it was part of the reason I suppose...

My boyfriend says I dwell too much on the past, and it is so very true.  I do want to get over that, I do want a bright new future, but I think here perhaps I'll try yet again to quietly pick over my life so far.  I've made many beginnings, oh so many, that if all my hasty beginnings of diaries, friendships, and journeys were to be gathered in a pile, it would be about the size of a four story building... but I want to try again.

Surely making a start is better than not trying at all.  I hope the patience of paper will beckon me, and keep me this time.