Her love was of the type more quietly known than externally expressed, like a
1950’s father who knows best- the type who loves you with spankings
and admonishment, but keeps a job he hates so that you can go to
a good college and get a job you might hate and
support your own family someday.
If she were a 1950’s father, she’d have drunk heavy-bottomed
tumblers of a thick whiskey, and her stories would be told best
by the clinking ice cubes left behind.
Her love was restrained and curt, as if she were a
1950’s housewife who never left her home without a hat pinned on straight and
matching bag and shoes and when she kissed you, her lipstick
never rubbed off on you because her mouth barely grazed yours. Her kisses
could be counted on.
If she were a 1950’s housewife, she would never add salt to your food, for
fear of the hypertension you might someday suffer from. It would be bland
food, with kind intentions. She believed in living long.
Everyone loves in a unique way. Of all the people in the world,
she chose me
to love in hers.
Our oldest cat is named Pies, and she recently turned 17. She is still holding strong and is, I believe, no more crotchety than she was as a kitten, because she has always been a crotchety cat. Pies is a classic grouch, happier to scratch you than let you pet her, but she has her moments. She sleeps on me every night, and is the most loving animal one could ask for… in the wee hours of the morning, and only then.
Pies was a rescue kitty– she was found in a trash can with her mom. At the time I got her, when I was scarcely 18, I already had a kitten, named Maddles, who has since died of lymphoma. Maddles was queen of the house, and always kept Pies in check. When Maddles died at age 11, I thought Pies would suddenly spring out of her shell and develop a stronger/more loving personality, but that never happened. Pies remained as introverted and unfriendly as ever, and she remains as such to this day. She has no health ailments to the best of our knowledge, and though a little slower than in times past, is still fully mobile and spritely. I love her dearly because we have spent so long together, and because I’d like to think that those middle-of-the-night loves are indicative of her true, deeper self.
Initially named Ivy, which then evolved into Ivy-Pie, then I-Pie, then Pies, she has been Pies for close to ten years now, and it’s a name that always confounds strangers. There is no hidden meaning behind it; of all desserts, pies are far from my favorite. It’s a quirky name for a quirky cat, and it fits her well. So here’s to you, Pies, in all your wonderful, crotchety, beautiful glory. You are as well-traveled as a gal could be, having lived in nearly twenty homes on two coasts. You’ve seen me through relationships, roommates, and careers, and you’ve meowed begrudgingly by my side through all of it. Ace and I love you to pieces, Bill always wanted you to be his girlfriend, and Chessie and Mama LeeLee are doing a damn fine job of putting up with your persnickety ways. We hope you decide to stick around for another 17 years, because life just wouldn’t be the same without you.
P.S. We REALLY appreciate that you stopped peeing on everything a couple years ago. Keep up the good work, please!
I haven’t blogged this week because I was out of town for a couple days when my Grandma died. I will be doing a blog in remembrance of her as soon as I scan in some photos, but wanted to share something cute in the interim.
My kitten Chessie enjoys little more than snuggling into a good load of freshly washed laundry. As soon as I dump the bag out onto the couch, she runs and jumps right in and becomes a purr factory. It makes for the perfect excuse to leave the laundry there without folding it for a few hours, which is a win-win for me: photogenic cat poses adorably, and I get to procrastinate my least-favorite chore.
Surely there will be more laundry-loving pictures of Chessie in the future, but this is my compilation so far:
I haven’t blogged in nearly two weeks because our beloved cat, Daizy William, was dying. We had a home vet, another home vet, and finally, a three day stint in an emergency hospital. Bill died on Saturday, March 24th, at our home in West Hollywood. He waited until we picked him up, gave Ace one last meow goodbye in the car, then passed in her arms on our balcony (next to plants and flowers he loved) hours before we were scheduled to have him euthanized. It was a whirlwind of supplements, medications, force-feeding, clean up, etc., leading up to that day. Bill survived a full two and a half years with chronic renal failure as a healthy boy before getting sicker, and was one of the sweetest, most well-behaved cats I could ever hope to love.
One person in this situation who helped make it more manageable was someone we never even met, the vet who was scheduled to put Bill to sleep. He died while I was on the phone with her asking if we could move our appointment to earlier in the afternoon. We didn’t know how to tell if he had died, and she walked us through where to touch and check. The vet’s name is Robin Holmes, and her business is called Gifts of Peace. She gave us the info for the pet mortuary while on the phone, was flexible about scheduling, and had a very gentle demeanor.
The mortuary is called Guardian Animal Aftercare and they were also incredibly kind. They picked Bill up that afternoon, and he was ready for us the following day in a lovely little cedar box with a plaque. The man arrived at our door with a basket and blankets, giving Bill’s send off a much warmer feeling than the bag or box I was fearing they’d bring. He was solemn and sympathetic, and the people at their office the next day were warm and understanding.
Bill’s legacy lives on in my brand’s Buffalo Bill Cowboy Kale Chips, where his face graces the label. If you are an RnR customer, please enjoy our snacks in loving memory of him. Bill’s easygoing nature touched everyone he met, especially those who got to watch him lounge on his back. He had a beautiful, regal demeanor, and Ace referred to him regularly as a politician– specifically, a Republican one, given his affinity for watching Fox News with Ace’s former office mate.
Goodbye, Bill. We know you’re still here with us, but the pain of losing you is immense nonetheless.
As anyone who knows me even vaguely is glaringly aware of, about a month ago I adopted a kitten. I named her Chessie, after she had a brief stint as WorryFace due to her high, slightly uneven eyebrow situation, and she is the closest thing I ever want to a baby. Why anyone would want a kid when they could have a good looking kitten is well beyond me.
Chessie is a great model, and I’m looking forward to being the best Stage Mom I can be. She likes to put her paws on things like they are her friends, and so began the Chessie and Her Homies photo series. I hope you enjoy these Instagram pictures of the sweetest, cutest kitten around.
And a new one, from today. For some reason no matter what I do it refuses to be the same size as the others, so I am leaving it extra large because it’s extra cute.