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Memories

September 02, 2005

ph_sep_waywewere.jpg

I wrote this post a day ago, but my internet connection tanked and I was blog-less for about 12 hours. So... pretend it's yesterday ~

Over the past days, viewers have been so kind to send their condolensces for the passing of my beloved Mrs. Watson. Some have also passed along links to blog entries about losing their pets... I haven't had the time to read every one because believe it or not, I've been working on an animated memorial Flash presentation on DVD for my recently deceased step-grandmother. Coincidentally, Mrs. Watson departed this life just a couple weeks after Cathy did. There's too much dying go on.

It doesn't get much worse than losing your favorite fluff ball and having to work on a project that requires you to listen to Barbara Streisand sing "Memories" over and over and over again. Every time I tested the animation and had to listen to the music an assortment of feelings washed over me, including ~ thinking about how awful it would be if it was my mother who I was memorialzing, which only made me cry all the harder, coupled with imagining Mrs. Watson's face superimposed on every picture that flashed up on the screen. It's comical, really ~ at one point I started singing along with Babs. I've heard the song so many times, I know it by heart, and by god, it's WONDERFUL!

Scattered pictures... of the meows we left behind... meows we gave to one another, of the way we were. The orchestra swells, my voice cracks, I stop to blow my nose and run into the bathroom to spray Nasonex steriods up my nose.

I was crying for my cat, my step-grandmother, the future loss of my mother, the loss of every single cat who has pussyfooted in and out of my life, and of course, I was mourning the ultimate and inevitable loss of myself. We all know it's coming, and every death we experience reminds us we could be the the subject of the next flash memorial animation.

So, you can see it's been a regular ho-down in my apartment the last 3 days.

I haven't had much time to even watch the news, I've been so detached. This evening, I finally sat down for a good 40 mintues and watched CNN and was horrified by the death and destruction in the gulf. It feels like something has slipped, and the world has shifted off its foundation. Hundreds are dead in Iraq, leaving an ocean of flipflops behind in a stampede. Oil is at an all-time high. Somebody, PLEASE cheer me up!

And then came the comment from Betsy, offering her condolences. She pointed me to a post on her blog about the death of her cat on New Year's Eve. I clicked the link, expecting ... well, I don't know what I was expecting... after watching the news, I was ready for the worst-case-scenario of pet death stories. What I got was an entertaining and wonderful post which I now pass on to you.

Thanks, Betsy... I needed that.

Posted by vincent at September 2, 2005 08:04 AM

Comments

You're right. There's way too much dying going on. I played that song with my highschool band. Thanks for the reminder.:-)

Thankfully I don't have any dead pet stories to share. I had a cat named Pokey. Since I had never heard of that name for a cat, I wondered if there was another cat with that name.:)

Just to let you know, I'm the same person who writes at http://www.xanga.com/soulfulwriter.:)

Posted by: Diana at September 2, 2005 09:34 AM

Great post on Pokey! I'm glad to see you are chipper enough to Photoshop cats onto DVD covers, Q...that's a good sign:)

Sometimes when I pat Echo - and she bites me (she is so obviously Mrs. W's evil twin) - I have a pang for my dear Spirit, who went gently into that good night. Literally, she walked off into the woods one night after weeks of chemo (yessss, I'm with Betsy: "CHEMO for a CAT??") and just never came back. Knew it was her time, I'm sure. I didn't know it was, though, and called her for days.

She was a sweet girl...she would have let my kiddiewinks pat her.

All our love, sweetie,
Tam & the crew

Posted by: tamara at September 2, 2005 09:42 AM

Is this the dear Mrs. Watson that ripped her claws into my veil while you took my portrait? Could be. She was the impetus for a great wedding memory. My hairdresser found the holes in my veil and was stupid enough to tell an emotional bride that her veil had a hole it. Launched me into irrational tears that would not stop flowing. Until some New York transplant in the salon came up to me and said "honey, I'm a wedding planner. All Alfonzo needs to do is spray that little hole with hair spray and it works like glue-the hole will vanish." So working behind my head, Alfonza repaired the hole. I stopped crying. Years later, one of my bridesmaids said. It was all a lie. The lady made it up the whole bit about hairspray glue so the hysterical bride would stop blubbering!
God bless that New Yorker! God bless Mrs. Watson.

Posted by: Cheryl D at September 23, 2005 11:16 AM