Good Grief

I've debated whether or not I should plague my readership (however small it may be) with what is undoubtedly the most difficult thing, emotionally, I've had to struggle with in my short life. I have decided that I definitely should. It is my blog, after all. And you don't have to read this post (although I think you should, because everything I write is gold, naturally).

Friskies has been my friend and confidante since I was 10 years old. Although I was the one who got to choose her rather unfortunate name, I never personally took it upon myself to claim her as my cat. She, however, took it upon herself to claim my bed as hers and so our relationship grew. She watched (actually, maybe napped is the better verb here) while I awkwardly made my way through middle school, high school, and puberty in general. When I came home from university she was always there, ready to provide cuddles and gentle indifference. She got kicked out of the room the first couple times I kissed a boy, and she dutifully stood guard at the door until she was welcomed back. Soon after a somewhat resentful chirp and some annoyingly slow stretching and chin-rubbing on the threshold of the door, she would reliably be right back in her middle-of-the-bed station, purring as though she were part 1969 Ford Mustang, muffler-free.
The only time I've had to deal with anything bad happening to her was when she was six or seven and she had to have a small operation to remedy a bladder issue. Now I have to deal with something of a more sinister nature. She has become increasingly rotund through the middle and bonier in the shoulders and hindquarters. Not long ago her appetite started dropping off, so I made an appointment with the vet. I took her in on Thursday and, after having x-rays done, I was told that there was a mass of some kind in her abdomen. It could be either a tumor on her spleen that has just become very large or a tumor that has formed around her intestines, making digesting food difficult. The former possibility is what we are hoping for, because spleens are superfluous organs for cats. The latter is, in most cases, inoperable. Either way, she is in pain. We won't know exactly what the problem is until an ultrasound is done. Hopefully that will be tomorrow.

So this situation is, understandably I think, the only thing I have been thinking about since Thursday. I've had a bit of time to mull it over and get used to the idea of her not being around anymore, although that is obviously the last thing I want. She has been my friend for so very long and I have been so lucky to have her in my life. In fact, we've been friends for most of my life. Normally not a particularly sentimental person, I am surprised by how many things trigger an emotional breakdown for me. On Friday at work before my shift, I was reaching into the cupboard for a mug. A co-worker came into the kitchen and said "Hi, how are you?" and I burst into tears. He was completely stunned and said, after a pause "Can't find a cup?". I then exploded the whole cat story onto him and he stood there, very kindly, listening to me, likely thinking "Wow, that new girl sure is a fruit loop". I doubt he'll ever ask me how I am again!

Friskies has an ultrasound tentatively scheduled for tomorrow, although I haven't a confirmation heard from the vet's office. She is barely eating anything and today I had to actually place her in her litterbox for a pee because her energy is so low that I was afraid she might not make it. She is definitely not herself. It's a very sad thing to witness, the slow decline of one of your best friends. I don't give a fuck if people think I'm crazy for calling her my best friend. They obviously, and unfortunately, have never had the incredible experience of becoming close with an animal. It sucks that I have to make these kinds of decisions now, and deal with this overwhelming sadness, but if this is the payment I have to make for the unconditional love I have received from her throughout her entire life, I think it's more than worth it.
Please, friends, keep positive thoughts for Friskies in your mind. If you're the praying type, I'm sure she'd appreciate that too.

My Cat (Again)

I received an email this morning from PetSmart. Before you rush to conclusions (I'm not really sure what conclusions you'd rush to, given this information, but sometimes I like to cover my ass [other times I like to leave it bare, obviously]), I'd like to give you some background information: I signed up for the frequent shopper thingie at PetSmart, where they give you a keycard thing that they swipe and, supposedly, you get a discount for shopping there frequently (sorry for the long sentence and the absurd amount of brackets/parentheses contained therein). I have yet to see this discount, but I will continue to shop there when it is convenient for me. Given that PetSmart is a huge chain that is soaking up the pet merch money from the other small pet supply businesses in town, I only shop there if I know they have something the other places don't. I just like to support local businesses, y'know?

Anyway, I was talking about Friskies... Um... I forget... Oh yes, I got an email this morning from PetSmart about nutritional supplements for cats and dogs, and I'm not sure what scares me more: how excited I was about PetSmart now carrying GNC pet vitamins, or how efficient PetSmart's marketing tactics are.

Yesterday I spent more money than is defensible on food for my dear feline. I justified this by the fact that she is getting older and creakier (she is 13 and I remember when we got her, so that makes me feel old too) and she needs good quality food so she doesn't die so soon, and she is also fat, so she needs special low-cal food, and she needs cranberry extract because she has pissing problems from time to time. Maybe I feel like I have to buy her love because I feel guilty about keeping her indoors.

In summation, I fucking love my cat.

When the Boyfriend's Away...

I will play! Today GP is doing some former-law-student thing down in Metchosin and I felt like I'd be a third leg (is that a thing?) if I went. So instead I stayed here and unfortunately none of my friends (you jerks) could come play with me, so I went solo for the day. No big deal, it turned out to be a lot of fun to be out on my own on a sunny day.

(Aside: Friskies just came and sat on my lap and now she's purring her head off. Ugh... SO EFFING CUUUUUUUTE) Here is a picture of me loving her:
GP and I went and looked around Cowichan Bay yesterday for a little bit, but we got there too late and all the shops were closed. So today I took it upon myself to go back and do my own little investigation. In particular, there was a cheese shop I had my eye on looking into and I sure am glad I did. I'm sure if you've ever been to Cowichan Bay you know the one I mean. It's called Hilary's Cheese Shop and Deli (or something like that) and it's got various gourmet delights. I could've bought the entire showcase but instead I bought some French Port Salut, my granny's favourite cheese (it's kind of a creamy cheddar), and some Spanish Valdeon, a very strong blue cheese with a crumbly yet creamy texture. Goodbye P90X diet...

On the subject of blue cheese, I am so very glad I'm one of those people who can stomach an exceedingly strong one. When I asked the woman in the shop what kind of cheese "that one" was she kind of hesitantly explained its origins and asked me if I'd like to try it. "Of course!" I said, thinking everyone who works in a cheese shop likes blue cheese. Apparently that's not so, but the taste was delicious. It's good there are people like her because if the world was only populated with blue cheese lovers we wouldn't be very special. She was almost reverent when I told her how much I liked it and kept going on about how it's the "strongest cheese we have in the shop!". I am such a freak that a co-worker of this lady came over and asked me if the cheese was a gift. Thinking back on it, I'm not really sure if that's a compliment. What a crappy gift to give someone, "Happy birthday, here's a six dollar wedge of cheese that smells like armpits." I guess it would be a good gift if it were given to someone like me... Hint hint.

I really wanted to visit some farms today, as I just found this website: http://www.islandfarmfresh.com/ via my friend Amy. It's a list of all the farms in Southern Vancouver Island, which is pretty cool. I think it would be more fun to do that with friends though. Any takers? Instead of visiting farms, I went to the Old Market just south of Duncan because I know they have tonnes of local strawberries right now. Needless to say I bought a basket and it's very hard not to run to the fridge right now to grab a couple. There really isn't anything like gulping down a juicy farm-fresh strawberry full of flavour but not sweet like anything else. In fact, I can't wait to have my own garden so that I can grow my very own strawberries and eat them warm from the sun. Failing that, I'll just have to find a neighbour with a prolific berry patch, like my brother and I used to do.

When I got home I cooked up a delicious meal for myself, which included a couple of these tasty morsels:
What are they, you ask? Well I'll tell you. They are feta cheese with lemon, mint, olive oil, and a little bit of spicy red pepper all wrapped up in a piece of grilled eggplant and they are SO IMPOSSIBLY GOOD. So fresh, so smoky, so slightly spicy and coolly creamy. I have to thank dear Adrian again for Nigella's Forever Summer because that was where the recipe for these came from. Let me tell you, this is a summer recipe if ever I've tasted one. Originally there were ten little babies, but I admit I uttered the phrase "You're too small, I have to eat you" to two runts. Later, two more (sadly for them, happily for me) found their way to my stomach, but there are six awaiting their end in the refrigerator because I couldn't bear to pass up the praise I know I'll get when GP tastes these. Plus, I have a feeling this is one of those recipes that profits greatly from a sit overnight if that's possible. You should buy Forever Summer or get a friend who is as great as Adrian and will buy it for you even if, like Adrian, his reason for buying it is because "she just looks so sultry on the cover, caressing those tomatoes".

I tried making protein bars today. All I can say about that is: dismal failure. I'll keep trying and post my successes (if any) here. I'm not so sure I'll be trying too often unless I find a foolproof one; protein powder is expensive and, therefore, screwing up is too.

Now it's very likely I'll knit, or keep reading The Vegetarian Myth. Who knows? The night is young!

What is fair?

My friend Shelder recently posted this article on her Facebook: http://www.bclocalnews.com/news/95973419.html and my friend Liz commented on it, expressing her frustration that someone who goes and rapes little girls in developing countries only gets twelve years in prison. I agree with her, that a 12-year prison sentence doesn't seem long enough for someone who has done something so atrocious as taking advantage of people who are, no doubt, the most vulnerable in the world.

This got me to thinking about an article I read in the local newspaper (when I was washing windows, as it happens, because I use old newspaper instead of paper towels). Turns out the article wasn't as old as I thought it was: http://www.bclocalnews.com/vancouver_island_central/cowichannewsleader/news/94192384.html . It's about a man in the area who killed someone's cat with a broom handle. Read the story if you want more information. What got me was that he only had to serve thirty days in prison. THIRTY DAYS! That's less than Martha Stewart got, and this guy took a life! Needless to say, I washed the window with the mugshot of this awful guy, making sure I really put some elbow grease into making a hole in the paper with the Windex and the wiping. Maybe as a (GP says overprotective, I just say doting) cat mother I place more value on the life of a cat than other people do, but jeez. I would place the severity of this crime with AT LEAST that of the rape of a person. Seriously.

I was talking about this with GP because it obviously had an effect on me (besides making me even more lovey with Friskies). As a lawyer, he tends to know a bit about the penal (ha, funny word) system. He agrees that it doesn't really seem like long enough, but it's as much (or more) about rehabilitation as it is about punishment. The more likely a criminal is to re-offend, based on past criminal behaviour, precedents, studies, and other evidence, the longer they have to be put in the slammer.

I guess that makes sense, but damn, how could anyone ever hurt this?