In Memory of Shifty

Many thanks to Daniel for picture no. 3

Shifty

We did the best we could. I have to keep telling myself that.

After two weeks of drama pusscat didn't get better. The meds made him throw up even more; by 9pm he was very weak, dehydrated and unable move around the house. This is what cats do when they're terribly ill - they go into the darkest corner of the house and sit there waiting to die. It was difficult pulling him out of his little house to give him a hug; his muscles would tense up as I lifted him onto my shoulders. He was suffering and it was time to let him go

~

"It's not fair", I hear myself selfishly saying in between tears. Death has always been a huge issue for me. Daniel has been very strong in this; he had to hold me in bed and continually reassure me that everything was going to be okay.

Puss was a fighter who lived life the best he could. We talked about how he used to sit on my bed in the sun, lie on my lap when I had dinner, sit on the windowsill to watch the birds, scratch our sofa to sharpen his claws, rest in front of the fireplace to warm his tummy...

But also how we used to hug in bed and he'd appear out of nowhere, meowing loudly as if to say "where's MY hug???" He was such a ratbag. A princess. But we had good times together; he trusted us, we loved him and he loved us back. He will always be our boy-o.

We were by his side till the very end, holding him close to us. I am going to miss you so much, Shifty. I have always, always loved you.



Shifty, aged 4 years
26.08.08, 2300hrs.

Small

Let's face it. The Olympics makes you feel small. Big buildings. Superheroes who do insane things in the name of a thing-you-hang-around-your-neck. And today with gay Australian diver Matthew Mitcham winning gold for diving, it makes me wonder if I've achieved anything spectacular?

I'm already 22 but I haven't done anything inspiring. I can't operate a drill, don't know how to dance, can't cook, can't play instruments, hopeless at sports, hopeless at writing, socially incompetent and mildly retarded; I can't seem to do anything special? I can't even remember the names of the people I meet, or of movies I've watched, or things I've read.

So I'm brain dead too :/

This is not a beat-myself-up post. I see people around me doing great things, including the olympians (which I have come to hate) and I wonder if I'm merely leaving footsteps while other people leave dents in society?

I'm confined to my room most days. I don't have many friends. Any spare time is divided between TV, daniel, Packrat, internet and sleeping. I have meaningless conversations on MSN, can't develop a social circle, don't have any spectacular achievements in uni, I don't fucking read books, have a fluctuating academic track record, am neither favoured nor hated by my peers; really, I'm just sort of mediocre...

...because I want myself to be?

While other people are making their mark in the world I'm walking along at my own pace doing absolutely fuck-all, and then people wonder why I feel insecure? I'm surrounded by greatness!

Or am I blind towards my own? I feel so small, confused and retarded that it isn't funny.

Back

The pusscat is back. The incompetent vet only suggested a liver biopsy after day 5; she already knew it was a liver problem from day 2 but chose to play the hit-and-miss game, trying out a range of treatments that didn't work costing us our life savings.

We couldn't go through with the biopsy - no cash! We stopped short of putting him to rest and luckily we did because he perked up, allowing us to bring him home. He looks much better now but we still don't know what's wrong with him. That motherfucking cunt vet put him on a cocktail of medications and he is starting to regain appetite which is comforting.

But how long before he becomes too ill to be saved again? This is a form of mental torture; I feel we are delaying his eventual euthanasia at a time when I'm already fragile from uni amongst other things. As long as the cat continues to eat and purr I console myself he's alright, but at the back of my head I'm already preparing myself for a return visit; hopefully that will happen in many years, not weeks.

Puss

He's fallen sick over the weekend and we've sent him to the vet. While I'm freaking out about the vet bills, Daniel is freaking out about puss. I'm letting money get in the way of my emotions because I know I will miss this cat when he leaves us

But after 6 days he's been there I'm starting to see that money isn't the most important thing to have

This is not the first time he's been critically ill but it is the worst. His liver enzymes are critically high; bags of saline, antibiotics, ultrasounds and a shot of Cortisone later and puss is not getting any better. We've made the tough decision to put him to sleep.

I hate the fact I get ritualistic about everything. I want puss to get to play around in our home for a little while longer. I want him to eat his favourite food. Sleep in his favourite house. Spend the night curled next to me while I'm in bed, nudging me all night. I want him to catch his spiders, claw the carpet, do his little meow to say 'hi', and climb up onto my chest when I'm having dinner just to rub his cheek against my chin. I want him to do all that before he goes

But time is running out; he's rapidly deteriorating and I sincerely hope not in too much pain. I don't want the last person he sees to be the vet; I want it to be me and Daniel. I want to have a chance to say goodbye. I want him to know we love him very much. I want it to be perfect.

And in the middle of these idealistic and selfishly thought-out scenarios I see myself unable to accept him leaving. Death has always been a big issue for me, but tonight I need to be strong, to hold Daniel's hand in mine and go in with a strong heart because Pusscat must never know that I'm weak, emotional and afraid; all the qualities that even he as a cat has never had.

Attention

There's something about my Manhunt profile that has attracted a lot of attention in recent days. All these bottoms; they're messaging me in the dozens. I don't think I've changed any of the texty stuff so it must be the new pictures of me in a head harness?

Either way, I'm enjoying the attention. I think.

Week 3

Time is moving quite quickly. Judging from the amount of work I'm handling after only 3 weeks I'd say I'm doing pretty horribly. But no despair; I usually pick up at the end of semester when I gorge on powerbars and my brain is in hyperspace (from alcohol/drugs?).

My boss has been pressuring me to take up more work because she needs to meet her own targets. So she offloads it to me hoping I'd lap it up eagerly like I've done in the past but now I'm like mehhh. I hope she still gives me work though. The other day she called and the line got cut off as I entered the City Loop on a train; she thought I went into a fit and slammed the phone on her. Bless her, she's so cute. We're okay though.

I've started to develop a horrible back problem from hunching in front of my laptop. Work is interspaced with 3 hour sessions of Packrat, goss column reading and cruising. I'm constantly being distracted by the *ping* of a message on Manhunt because it gives me more internalised validation than my work. Most of the time it's a false alarm but occasionally I get the odd guy with a nice tight arse nice face.

I bought some Korean honey waffle cookies for Daniel and he wolfed it down in under 4 days. Next time I need to get those coconut ones instead (he hates coconut) so I can have it all to myself.

Stud

I've taken out my tongue stud.

Aside from excessively worrying about the increased risk of STDs, I'm also sick of removing it, brushing it, playing with it, chipping my teeth and having just about every top wanting me to suck them off.

There's a little hole on my tongue where my piercing used to be, and I must admit I feel quite naked without it.

Day

I am afraid of getting old.

It's raining heavily, I'm tucked into the pile of work in front of me eating the most unhealthy snack known to man (instant noodles). It's cold but I refuse to wear warm clothes so the heater is working overtime.

At the other end, he's fast asleep in his bed oblivious to all my activities. Manhunt to keep me company because 'just looking' calms me down, how weird is that. But tonight the people are either rude wrinkly weird hairy fat, or a combination of these. I am a bitch.

And I'm afraid I will one day be like them - rude wrinkly weird hairy AND fat so it's unfortunate I'm starting the day with this mindset; in the evening it will just be me, the cat and dxniel in the comfort of our suburban apartment with the heater on full blast and cheesy TV shows blaring on the TV, tucking into cake to celebrate me

As of today I'm no longer 'just legal'.

Cheers to me.

MIFF

Watched a movie called West 32nd, a story about Korean gangsters (who speak American) and lawyers (whoever thought the two were compatible). Dxnixl's choice so it had violence blood and all the gory scenes he loves. I had a hard time adjusting to the cinema seats that were built for midgets... and when the movie finally took off my sleepy mind was busy doing other things (well ok some of the characters had nice shoulders). So I don't really know if I enjoyed it?

It was weird.

On a different note, the launch of the Beijing Olympics was a load of shit. Seriously... children in ethnic costumes holding hands and smiling?? I don't think it was an accurate depiction of a people slaughtered and culturally 'reconditioned'. I won't even start talking about the self-glorification and in your face display of power.

I kept hoping there would be a terrorist attack and a plane would crash through the stadium, killing everyone. That would have been so much more fun (hey, great publicity!), don't you think?

Hotham

Had an unexpected (albeit pricey) reprieve at Hotham. Taking a wrong lift took me to a string of black runs with 60 degree slopes; I was scared so I took my skis off and sat at the edge of the slope overlooking the creek 100m below.

My mistake to down those 4 extra glasses of water. With bladder pressure building I could've pissed in my pants if they weren't rented. It was freaking scary; this slope had gnarly trees surrounding an impossibly steep path with packed snow and skiers going at 10590871908kmph past me. And I won't even PRETEND that I'm novice.

It wasn't cold enough so I started getting moist under the layers. You know how you sweat and plastic sticks to your skin? Well that. Whoever thought making it waterproof INSIDE OUT was a brilliant idea needs to get his/her head bashed against a wall. So I start stripping down to my tank top (seriously it wasn't THAT cold), attracting the curious onlookers who sneer at me. Bloody hospitality.

While I'm busy thinking of an escape plan it starts snowing. Gorgeous. But I quickly discover that snow actually makes you WET. So putting on my Parka I reseal the moisture in, this time COLD moisture fuckk so I'm left doubly uncomfortable, scared like a chook and in desperate need of a piss...

So running out of options I cling onto my skis and slide down the full length of the slope on my fat butt. One of those rare occasions when I'm glad I'm slightly fat.

~

Seriously how do angmohs go about being filthy? Genetic or learned behaviour? Our lodge had a dishwasher but these people, obviously crippled by their whiteness, had no intention of scrubbing their plates and utensils BEFORE putting them into the machine. And coincidentally I was in charge of *dishes* for the day. What joy. Scraping day-old minced beef and pulverised I-do-not-know-what from forks/spoons/plates is a GREAT way to end an already terrifying day at the snowfields.

I'm not even going to mention what I saw on the floor after that. Kinda makes me wonder if all that money spent was actually worth it?

More skiing tomorrow. I will be careful to read signs this time.