2022 and 2023 were some of the most difficult years of my life. After Lyra and Jones died, it was just me, Brook, and Flora Sweet. Brook and I rested and for a little while and were grateful, and felt terrible to be grateful, that we didn’t have to give any beasties pills and subcutaneous…
A different kind of triple threat
I don’t particularly believe in any kind of deity; a true agnostic, I don’t know and am generally not worried. But shortly after returning from the Azores last October, where we went to celebrate Brook’s 50th, I very much wanted to scream at the sky, “STOP FUCKING WITH US!!!!” (As a still somewhat repressed east…
Jones
We once had a cat named Jones. She was also known as the fat ninja, Bustopher, Sweet Baby Jones, Miss Jones, Jonesy, Queen of Slatterns, Idly Bethesda, and Numpkin. Either she was my familiar, or I was hers. She was the love of my life. It’s been about six weeks since she died; the hurt…
My little love
A few years ago, I realized that I was Lyra’s person. She and her kittens had been with us since 2005 and the babies all clearly had their preferred humans, though they desperately loved us both, of course; Lyra didn’t have a favourite for most of her life with us. She was clearer on her…
A quiet house
We’ve lost our Lyra, the tiny feline ragamuffin picked up with her kittens and sent to the pound to be euthanized. We’ve lost our Jones, one of those kittens and my familiar. (Or, I was her familiar; it amounts to the same.) In 2005, I was doing some volunteer research and writing for a Toronto cat…
The Sir Arthur T. Quiller-Couch Potato Society
July 8, 2022. The second Friday in July. One week after Canada Day. Four days into my new job. Four days after American Independence Day. 3.5 weeks till my birthday. The sun was shining that morning, and B. and I had enjoyed a fortifying bicycle ride in advance of sitting down in our home office…
Insomnia reading redux
I spent a goodly portion of the latter half of my PhD staying up all night, every night storming through books fully unrelated to my dissertation. I’ve been dancing a weary turn with insomnia since 1986 or so, when TV ended every night at 1am and the internets were barely a gleam in William Gibson’s…
Jam and Idleness 
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