On Lost Love, a Year Later

They threshed the field's long golden grass while I was gone this last week. Now all that's left is a wild turkey picking through the leavings and just below the fence, a tangled knot of Queen Anne's lace.

Everyone complains that the summer heat came too early this year without realizing that summer is here. The new green leaves of spring trees deepened and darkened into baked green - a hot, kiln-fired color. The final blooms on the magnolia turned a waxen buttery color, and the petals hang heavy and limp. Only after a rain does the melting Southern heat relent, turning briefly to a mist that rises from the road, the smell of ozone and wet burned things.

It's that sudden oppressive heat that descended when we weren't looking that reminded me of year ago: a surprisingly mild evening, late twilight, cool enough to go outside without losing your breath. How we walked slowly through the grass that felt fleshy and alive. And then the next day that came with merciless heat, even in the earliest hour of the day, when we pushed ourselves into the car with death at hand.

Who could breathe in such humidity and tears? The hot damp flush of despair rising up my throat, staining my neck, my cheeks. Who could avoid choking on thick air and salt water?

Who could forget the bright clear light that slanted through the windows, the dry, dead wheatness of the grass, the fervent green of the trees that he must've seen just before he closed his eyes?

Who could not wish, even a year later, for a gentle twilight and cricket song to soothe the sadness of missing him?

Dear Kudzu:

I miss you today. I always miss you on bad days. And lonely days. And days like today that are just restless with some sort of frustrating energy that beats you all day long until you want to turn on it and demand what exactly it wants from you.

I saw your sister Mischief over the weekend, and I petted her with my eyes closed and pretended for just a moment that it was you. That was sort of a mistake because it made me twice as sad when I opened my eyes.

Big things seem to be on the horizon. I'm not sure what they are, but I can feel them looming ahead, shadowy and indistinct. Whether these specters of the future are friends or foes, I can't say. And right now, I think of them like The Knockers. Which reminds me - be glad you weren't here for Dillon's recent proclamation that "The Darkness lives in the birdhouse" in our bathroom. I'm guessing it moved in after you died.

Even though this is a letter, the kind you would expect to be filled with updates on every detail of life, I'm not going to update you on anything vexing because I know you wouldn't ask me to recount how I don't quite really totally completely live in my house yet. Or the state of my love life, which is questionable...like something you aren't sure whether or not it's gone bad. If you were here, I'd hold out my love life and say, "Smell this" and gauge your reaction. And if you made that face you used to make when you forgot that you hated the smell of toothpaste, I'd scrap it and declare my celibacy forever.

I can feel myself doing stupid things right now - things that don't make any logical sense. Things that I know I'm going to wish I had stopped - like when you know you shouldn't eat any more but you do and then you sit in miserable bloated pain for an hour. I'm going to be in miserable bloated emotional pain before all this is through, and it would be so much more manageable if you were here.

I hope you are well, growing fat on the green tips of spider plants and watching over your me.

Love,
Ashley

2010 in Words

And if you need the *rest* of the story...read the letter.

Dear 2010:

Let me begin by saying I had high hopes for you. I wanted to give you a chance to be the Year of Great Things. But you made your choices and became the Year of Disaster instead. Even though you're in the death throes of your last week, I'm going to lay my litany of complaints at your door. Because I deserve to have my say.

Kudzu's illness and subsequent passing shaded the whole year. From February when I first noticed his weight loss to March when he first went to the doctor to June when he finally lost the fight. Pretty much the whole of you, 2010, was spent enduring the decline of my sweet furry friend or mourning his death. That's a lot of kleenex.

There was the house I bought in February that I still don't quite absolutely live in full time, a fact I lay entirely upon your doorstep, 2010. And just to add insult to injury, I remind you of the delightful $800 water bill that resulted from the running toilet in the guest bathroom and found its way to my mailbox the week after Kudzu died.

And speaking of that week, heartbreak just heaped on heartbreak when I once again found myself in the general vicinity of Singledom. My poor heart, already in shreds, took another hit when The Barrister and me parted ways. At that point, I pretty much emotionally flat-lined.

Just when I thought I might stop living every second on the Verge of Tears, I found out that a dear friend from high school had taken his own life. I felt guilty for failing to be in touch with him more recently than I had. And I felt his absence profoundly. Even as I worked to verify that the rumors were true, I knew their truth in my heart. He was gone. I struggled through the service and the drive home, filled with questions that had no answers.

Your July also brought my 31st birthday, a rather pitiful affair. A mere two weeks after Kudzu died, after D.'s death and The Barrister and me disintegrated, and I was not only getting older, I was alone. Until the end of the month when I was briefly kind-of-sort-of stalked by a loose-cannon photographer.

The next month, there was the news of the final demise of The Old Job and STGD suddenly finding himself unemployed after more than a decade of faithful employ. Even though I'd heard rumblings of its approach, the actual arrival of The End made me more sad than I anticipated. Somehow, it was like the last crumbling of the life I once lived.

In September, I was mistaken for a pregnant woman. Kill me now. And my pregnant friend Hilary gave birth far too early and had me in a vigil of prayer and concern. On a bright note - though don't think you're off the hook, 2010 - little Aubri is doing just fine.

By October, I was over you. Not over all the havoc you'd wreaked on my life, but totally. over. you. Dunzo.

Unfortunately, you were not through with me. Why else would I have suffered through not one but two embarrassing setbacks on the road to romantic recovery? I mean, really, 2010. Was the humiliation and EPIC FAIL really necessary at this point in the year? I guess you figured a time when I had no dignity left was as good a time as any to send me down into the dumps.

And finally, December arrived. The light at the end of this 12-month tunnel of darkness. But just to get in your last one-two punch, you decided to claim another friend of the family, sending me to the funeral home mid-month. And you managed to even taint my beloved job to the point that I was desperate for a vacation by the time the holidays rolled around.

In closing, I would like to bid you not adieu. Or farewell. Or even good riddance. I prefer instead to bid you get the hell gone and don't ever show your face around here again.

Love (yeah, right),
Ashley

With a Little Help from My Friends

More than eight months ago, I bought a house. What started out as a euphoric step forward, an amazing accomplishment, metamorphosed into a disastrous albatross around my neck just weeks later. Kudzu fell ill, and suddenly, life was on hold until he recovered. But he never did. The weeks ticked past, marked by visits to the vet hospital and a winding road of tests and treatments that all failed to be the bright feathered hope we sought. Instead, he went to rest in peace, and I found myself residing in a world of shambles.

A ghost of myself after his passing, the thought of moving seemed a cruel and inhumane expectation. To take a leap of faith without my boon companion hardly seemed possible. Not then. Not for the foreseeable future.

The heat of the summer descended, oppressive and stagnant. I muddled through the days of heavy air and stifling temperatures. I checked the mail. I made lists of things to do that I never checked off. I made excuses. I dodged people I knew would ask too many questions. I proposed move-in dates that came and went as the summer waxed on toward the fall.

But the air cooled, and something inside me felt less dead. Something inside me felt less like the world had ended forever, and that bright feathered hope that never came for Kudzu came for me. And I started moving things. Slowly. One thing at a time. Boxes. Pictures. Books. I unpacked and found places for things. I stocked the shelves of the stubrary. I bought a comforter set for the guest room. And suddenly, it started looking less like a disastrous albatross and more like somewhere to land when the dust settled.

This weekend, I spent the first night in my house. But I didn't do it alone. There were the email chains between girlfriends in which they cheered me onward. There were the tasks my parents stepped in to help me with - finishing touches on Thursday. And there were the dear sweet people who came to visit, who gave me a reason to be in my house for the first time.

I will treasure this picture forever. For the support they gave me. For the affirmation they delivered that the house was, in fact, coming along swimmingly. For the laughter that filled its walls while they were there. For the hugs that comforted my faltering moments. For the sheer force of love that gave me the courage to take a step toward tomorrow when it seems like yesterday will never let me go.

There is so much to be mourned still. For what I lost. For the beloved friend who is gone. But there is much to be celebrated. The goodness of those in my life who believe in me, who champion me, who were willing to shack up on my couch and give me a reason to stay.

A Few Words on These Days

So We Meet Again

Last night I dreamed of being in a house that wasn't mine. Someone with me - a friend, someone I knew - said to me, "There's Kudzu." And I said, "That can't be. He's gone." But when I looked, he was there on a quilted white oval bed. I walked over to him and picked him up. He was still light, like he was when he was sick. But he seemed whole. I draped him over my right shoulder, cradling him against my body like I always did. I rubbed my cheek against his head and stroked his soft, sleek back. I felt his weight - light, but meaningful. Significant. He was warm. And he purred gently, vibrations I could still feel echoing in my chest when I woke up this morning.

Dear Kudzu:

Today didn't go very well, and I should like to tell you about it. A lot of folks have been asking questions about why I haven't moved into my house yet. After all, it has been six months. And very few of them seem to understand that it's more complicated than just the accumulation of days.

They don't seem to understand what it will be like to live there and know that you will never be looking out the dining room window when I get home. You will never look out the french doors onto the backporch and chitter at the squirrels leaping through the trees. You will never be curled up on the other end of the newly covered couch (yes, Mommy finally got rid of the brown strips) while I watch TV and you stretch and roll and make little sleepy kitty noises. And even though I know all these nevers, there is still the ghost of you haunting my mind and casting a shadowy ephemeral version of you in all those places and making my heart hurt so bad it feels like it will never stop.

So you can imagine how I felt today when some well-meaning people were giving me grief over not relocating yet. And you can imagine that fine line, that sharpest point that pierced me and caused me to start crying -right there! - and make everyone uncomfortable with my tears. You can imagine how mortifying it was to struggle for composure and for it to continually slip through my tear-soddened fingers. And then to have to excuse myself and lock myself in the bathroom for a few moments and not only feel the pain but the embarrassing conjecture of what was being said in my absence. Returning to my place, I valiantly put on the face of normalcy but as soon as I was able, I was the first one to escape. And even when one of the guilty parties tracked me down and apologized, I could feel the tears rising again and sought shelter after a mumbled, "It'sfineI'mjusthavingahardtime."

And you're not here to make it better. There is no silky black fur or soft gray underbelly to comfort me. There are no intense green eyes. No small fuzzy paws. You are gone. And I know it. I know, but some days, the knowing just breaks me.

Today was one of those days. And I know you can't be here to make it better. But I just wanted you to know. I wanted you to know that I miss you and I still love you with all of my heart. And I hope that right now, you're curled up in the shape of a "C", breathing softly and dreaming of me.

Love,
Your Mom

Dear PenMen: Contemplations on Everyonceinawhile and Other Moments in Time

Seeing as how we might, at this point, be the only ones reading each other's blogs, I figured it was okay to directly address the two of you. Plus, I had this feeling of wanting to write, but what? And then I thought I could just write what I would tell Pen and M.

It's raining here right now, and while soothing, I find this greatly disappointing because I need to mow my lawn. I was all geared up for it, too: The First Mowing. But I know if I actually do that after the torrential rain (accompanied by copious thunder and lightning) that I will have wet grass stuck to my ankles and big clumps of grass clippings to dig out of the bag. That seems like not the experience to have for The First Mowing, and so I will think of my ever-growing lawn as a verdant carpet instead of an overgrown grass pouf to ease my conscience.

I finished reading this book last night that was so good - one of my indulgently trashy romance novels. And sometimes, they're just like reading candy - totally empty calories that go in and pass through with no real nutritional value. But everyonceinawhile, I find one that's more like...designer candy. Still no real nutritional value, but something extra luxurious about the indulgent experience. I think it could have to do with the fact that Mom and Dad went to see Anna, and I was blissfully alone and slept on the couch when I got home and then woke up and read and read and read - skipping dinner - until I finished. That's the kind of reading one needs to do everyonceinawhile to really fortify the soul.

Yesterday was a fantastical, magical day at work. Everyonceinawhile, a very great while in fact, the stars align in this way that you get exactly what you work so hard for the other 3oo-some-odd days of the year. To get a story in the ACRONYM Today is something of a Holy Grail of PR. And then, to find out later that the pitch you made to a certain other nationally renowned publication like FOUR-BES, actually got picked up, too? Well, it just doesn't get any better than that. Except that it happened to be my three-year anniversary with the company, and The Linguista and I went to my favorite Mexican restaurant and drank frozen margaritas at lunch.

The Exotic is getting so close to her due date, and it's starting to make me a bit sad. What will I do without her calming presence in the office? She does yoga so I don't have to, and she offers me zen-by-proxy when I need it. I think I will feel spectacularly off when she's on maternity leave.

I am, however, excited about the next couple of months, which are rife with the kind of adventures I never have. On Monday is David Gray/Ray LaMontagne, the dreamiest of dream concerts. I'm taking one of the Big City interns with me, and it will be delight. And then we will enter the string of weeks from September to October when I have something all the time rather than everyonceinawhile to keep me occupied. Like a trip to D.C.! Mountain Day! Dallas to see Joel McHale with my Texas Twin in our Texas office! Valle Crucis! Company retreat! Oh my! Plus there are two volunteer events on my calendar in September and one in October, plus dinners and drinks with friends (yes! friends!). At times like these, I feel like...maybe I'm doing a better job than I think of carpe diem and not letting the fact that I'm not exactly where I want to be on The Great Life Continuum keep me from doing things that make this place on it so much better.

Despite the rain, I think it's time to pack the Rav and take a load over to My House where I will clean the bathrooms and dress them nicely with the bathmats and matching towel sets I purchased last week. And then I will stand back and contemplate that I could actually be moving soon in a way that is good and comfortable. And then I might be able to think about new companions for my sad heart - still so hard to let go of Kudzu, but so clear to me that I need that comfort from the four-legged varietal.

Wishing you both everyonceinawhile days.

xo,
Ash

Promises, Promises (31)

- To post soon (about something besides Kudzu)

- To move

- To reflect upon meeting the one and only Mendacious

- To be older

- To get my passport (for Mendacious)

- To write more poems, essays, letters

- To think about tomorrow

- To take a break

- To call

- To wear a dress

- To go to bed

The Truth

Right now, I miss Kudzu so much I can hardly breathe.

Requiescat in pace, Kudzu

My dearest, my most beloved Kudzu, may you rest in peace.

May you rest knowing that you were loved to the greatest depths of the human heart. May you rest knowing that you were and are cherished.

May you rest knowing that your constant companionship warmed even the loneliest, the most sorrowful of hours. May you rest knowing that you were light in a dark and sometimes unkind world.

May you rest knowing that your presence brought joy, comfort, happiness, peace. May you rest knowing that you were all things good (even when you were bad).

May you rest knowing that beyond pet, you were family, as much my lifeblood as anything. That you were my very heart.

May you rest, fully restored to your gray fuzzy bellied glory, with no scars or marks or patches to evidence of your illness.

May you rest knowing that you will never have to endure my picture-taking ever again.

May you rest after your long and hard-fought battle. Having been so brave and true, holding on for so long for me, so that I could accept that it was your time.

May you rest knowing that I never wanted you to die, except that one time you ate my blue merino wool J. Crew sweater (and even then, not really).

May you rest, weary traveler, from all those thousands of miles on the highway between here and North Carolina that would have been so much longer without you.

May you rest, knowing that you will never have to be stuck in the car with me in the McDonald's drive-in in Leland, North Carolina while I have a panic attack over the holiday weekend traffic.

May you rest knowing that you will be remembered in repose on the windowsill, on the kitchen towel, under a blanket nestled against my stomach.

May you rest gently purring or making sleepy kitty noises as you slumber. With your snaggletooth hanging out.

May you rest with my gratitude for having never eaten my eyeball as I feared you would.

May you rest having served me well with the greatest devotion and loyalty - no matter what mistakes I made in life.

May you rest from leaping onto the cabinets, the countertops, the bookshelves, the bed with sprightly grace.

May you rest with an endless supply of spider plants whose leaves you may nip to your heart's content.

May you rest from strewing toilet paper from the downstairs bathroom into the kitchen.

May you rest, never to be forgotten.

May you rest, my darling. May you rest from exhaustion, from pain and from this namelessness that has consumed you.

May you rest in the hands of the Heavenly Father who made you.

My dearest, my most beloved Kudzu, may you rest in peace.

The Word's Goodbye, But I Can't Say It

I've been a (raving) David Gray fan for over 10 years now. It all started for me like it did for most of us on this side of the pond when White Ladder exploded on the American scene with "Babylon." But over the years, I discovered the treasure-trove of pre-Ladder work, from Flesh and A Century Ends to Sell, Sell, Sell and my beloved Lost Songs. Plus, Gray put out three studio albums after Ladder.

Even more than Coldplay, David Gray has been the soundtrack of my life over the last decade. Albums and songs surged to the forefront at varying times with the words and music crafted for highs and lows. For love and lack thereof. For times when in the place "where we can shine" to the place "where the eye don't see no color." Like a cheap therapist, David Gray has soothed my soul on many occasions - long, desolate, never-ending car rides, stricken with grief, heartbroken.

And just like at the Coldplay concert, I heard one of his songs for the first time - from just four rows away from the one and only David Gray. I had thought it would be "This Year's Love" that would bring tears to my eyes or when he sang "As I'm Leaving." But instead, I was surprised when the song "Freedom" went right through my soul. And as I listened to it over and over (and over) again since then, what wasn't surprising was that it was a song for right now. For this state I'm in. For this place I live.

Take your eyes off me
There's nothing here to see
Just trying to keep my head together
And as we make our vow
Let us remember how
There's nothing good that lasts forever

Time out on the running boards
We're running
Through a world that lost its meaning
Trying to find a way to love
This running
Ain't no kind of freedom

Feel the touch of grief
You stand in disbelief
Can steal the earth from right beneath you
And falling in so far
They know just where you are
Yeah, but there ain't no way to reach you

***
It's time to clean these boots
Fold up these parachutes
The word's goodbye, but I can't say it
The end is close at hand
I think we understand
There ain't no use trying to delay it

***
Fasten on my mask
I'm bending to the task
I know this work is never finished
But if I close my eyes
I can still see you dancing
Laughing loud and undiminished

I love the last line of the song, the bittersweet hope of knowing that I will be able to close my eyes and see Kudzu undiminished - dancing across the floor on small, sure feet, eyes alight with love and mischief.

Thank you, David Gray, for the 497th reason that a world without your music would be less bearable.

House Cat (Reposted)

This post initially appeared on Smartini as a response to a prompt to personify our pets I remembered it when I was paging through entries on kudzu jungle about Kudzu. And, aside from being a spot-on characterization of Kudzu, I thought it terribly ironic that the Zu has become his own diagnostic mystery.

***

He's sardonic. Dismissive. He's going to tell you like it is - even though you might not like it. He's smarter than you, and there's nothing you can do about it, and he's going to be in your face about it every chance he gets. It's not unusual for him to turn tail and walk away while you're in mid-sentence, as though he has neither the time nor the inclination to hear what you have to say. And if he stays, and you say the wrong thing, he just might cut you off in the middle and tell you what he thinks - and he's probably right. There are a thousand reasons why you should categorically really not like this guy, except - except he's irresistible.

Dearest Kudzu, so like Gregory House, MD. Cantankerous and beloved. Soulful eyes with a pinch of cutting intellect. Plus, Hugh Laurie is Australian and does a technically perfect British accent that reflects the aristocratic tone in which I imagine Kudzu might say something like, "That's not your color, but I wager you're going to wear it anyway."

He's always thinking, and he's always one step ahead of you. It's exasperating. But you're so glad he's around because - despite all his sometimes-prickly ways - he's really quite lovable. You must accept that on the outside, he's going to sass you. He will do as he pleases and the consequences be damned (because he knows that in most cases, he can escape the consequences). He's going to be independent and pretend he doesn't need you. But deep down, you know he does.

At the end of the day, no matter how many times he's scrambled out of your arms or away from your cuddles, he's going to come up to bed and settled down at your feet. He's predictable like that. He may pretend he wants to go, may act like he doesn't care. But he does. You just have to accept the facade and look for what's beneath the fur - the beast has less bite than he lets on.

Hover:

An intransitive verb

to waver
As between life and death. Between numbers that show increased and then diminished red blood cells. The equation never balancing out. Always faltering between where it should be and far worse.

to linger uncertainly in a nervous or solicitous way
I lay in the floor next to him, observing the rise and fall of his breath. I touch his fur lightly and feel his warmth. I watch how he moves, looking always for his untroubled agility, light steps, inherent feline grace. I study his eyes. I note the color of his tongue, how much he eats, his insatiable thirst because of the steroids. The near constant scrutiny exhausts me and makes me restless.

to remain suspended over a place or object
Holding in the heartbreak most of the time until it ekes out, slides down my face, trembles on the edge of my chin, holding until the salted weight is too much.

to move to and fro near a place
We shuttle back and forth between home and the hospital. Work and the hospital. The waiting room and the exam room. The ICU and the outpatient services. The ongoing rotation of doctors and residents and students who carry the thickening file from the front desk to the discharge desk.

We drive back and forth between my parents' house and my house. We move furniture, small boxes and mow the lawn. We flutter through the rooms briefly and then depart, leaving a hollow echoing shell.

to hang, fluttering in the air or on the wing without moving in any direction
At times in this endless free-fall, I force myself to stop thinking about any of it - the lack of answers, the mounting expenses, the mortgage I'm paying on a house I don't inhabit - and I coast. I gather him in my arms and hold him so that I can absorb his breath, his heartbeat, his purr, his sleek black fur. I hold him and we stay there in that moment with no yesterday and no thought of tomorrow. Only warm, weightless safety.

to fluctuate around a given point
Life is driven by Kudzu. The times we must administer his medication. Leaving work every evening and coming directly home-do-not-pass-go to spend time with him. Fitting myself in the spaces where he lays - by the water bowl, snugged up to the vacuum cleaner, on the old coffee table in the spare room. Bending myself into the small spaces just to be close to where he is.

to be in a state of uncertainty, irresolution or suspense
No one knows why but suggests the answer may lie in the bone marrow, that deepest place where we have looked before and found nothing. The doctors want to invade again and look for those terrifying diseases that will give a name to what is sapping his strength. But I'm not sure that I can. I'm not sure that I can put him or me through that.

We go to the doctor again on Tuesday to check his red blood cell counts. And they will give me too little information and want me to make something of it. To decide what to do next. Which gamble should I take? And does it matter, when I feel like, in the end, that death holds all the cards? My next play is a faceless card, gripped tightly, being pushed toward the table with fear, hovering there, unable to let it fall and finish the game.

Miscellany & All That Jazz

* Today I bought a pair of sunglasses at the same time I bought underpants featuring characters from Cars for Dillon. I felt compelled to explain to the cashier that they were for my nephew because I don't have a kid so these aren't for my kid that I don't have, but instead, I took a deep breath and reminded myself that no one cares but me.

* I bought a house two month's ago that I'm still not living in because I can't move Kudzu at the moment. It's now serving as the world's most expensive storage unit.

* Dillon asked me yesterday why I wear glasses. He found it delightful that "my peepers don't work right." I'm pretty sure I set him up to say that to a stranger in an embarrassing manner before long.

* As I've unpacked items at the *new* storage unit, I've found pictures from 3, 5, 10 years ago. And no matter how recent or distant from present, they all seem like lifetimes ago.

* I'm wondering if it would be taking advantage of the intern to allow him to mow my lawn. He says he likes yard work, and I'm pretty sure that I'm not gonna.

* I've had a spate of Facebook invitations from people I obviously went to high school with but of whom I have absolutely no recollection. And I'm pretty sure I'd remember someone who went by "Jeff Bo."

* Lately, I've dreamed a lot about travel. It reminds me how reluctant I am to take the time, spend the money, make the leap. And so I just stay put and dream.

* How long does it take for water to go under the bridge? I mean, are there just people/relationships/occurrences that you have to let go? But let go in a float downstream unresolved kind of way? And not in the we can be friends kind of way?

* Is it worth it to keep the big fat box of skinny pants? Or should I just accept my fatness.

* In my office of eight, five are women. In the last six months, one got married, and three are engaged. One is pregnant.

* I want some banana pudding.

* Kudzu is in my lap and purring, and I don't want to move him so I may just sleep crooked on the couch.

* I am stupidly excited that the AP Stylebook finally relented and made "website" the correct spelling over the historic "Web site."

* One of my favorite clients took another job in another state. I won't miss the mild sexual harassment, but I will miss a client that curses like a sailor and laughs at my jokes.

* I named a microbrew by a local brewery in town. It's one of my greatest professional accomplishments.

* Lately I've encountered people who remind me of my hopeless quest to be a cool kid and the hopelessness of it. Because, let's face it, there will always be cool kids. And I will never be one of them.

* Friday I ate a blood orange "handcrafted popsicle." I'd like another, please.

* One of the signs that Kudzu's anemia might be worsening is if his tongue gets pale. I never thought I would have such a high per diem of saying "His tongue looks pretty good."

* Right now, my mother's cat is asleep on my right toes - just the little one and the one next to it. His breath is tickling my foot.

* Reese says "hi" in the most charming manner - just a sing-song "hiiiiii."

* I have to go to bed now and pretend that I'm going to get up early and make it to work even before I'm supposed to be there to catch up on work. I have such a good imagination.

The Mystery Cat in the Magic Hat

When I took Kudzu to the vet more than a month ago because he seemed a bit lighter, I expected a little chat with Dr. G about how he might be slowing down a little. Maybe sleeping more. Eating less. Followed by a suggestion for some sort of vitamin supplement.

I did not expect to hear heart murmur, severely anemic, blood transfusion, emergency room.

I did not expect to find myself shuttling across town to the university hospital anxiously murmuring, "It's going to be all right" - more to myself than to him.

I did not expect to have to surrender him overnight for all sorts of acronymic tests - PCV, CBC, CT, X-ray.

I did not expect the next morning to bring vague possibilities of ehrlichia, multiple myeloma, feline leukemia and their associated grim prognoses.

But I did. I did hear those things and feel them and then stand on the sidewalk outside, draped helplessly over The Barrister wailing like a heartbroken child until my mother very quietly pulled me away and strapped me in the car.

I did not expect for the anemia to worsen, to have to give permission for a blood transfusion, for a bone marrow test, for sedation.

I did not expect to see Kudzu's coat reduced to a patchwork of smooth gray skin - on his forepaws, both tapped for IVs; both shoulders (the first bone marrow test was insufficient); his belly for the ultrasound; his back leg and the pad of his foot.

I did not expect his beautiful clear green eye to cloud with a corneal ulcer. Or for the inside of his leg to be shredded by an allergic reaction to the antibiotics.

I did not expect for the trips to the vet hospital become routine. I know how to get the parking pass during school hours to show that I actually have a patient and not a student trying to score a good space. And how you have to walk down to the end of the hall and get a token to put in the mechanical arm at the exit.

I did not expect the sight of Kudzu wandering a little clumsily down the hall wearing the plastic cone - his magic hat - to become commonplace. To become so acutely aware of every time he licks (don't touch the wound!).

I did not expect to still be hearing "inconclusive" in regards to his diagnosis. Not after the multiple CBCs, ultrasound, X-ray, infectious disease panel, bone marrow aspirate, antibody pheresis. Not after two weeks of antibiotics and three of prednisone. At least we've bid adieu to the cancer diagnosis.

I did not expect to pray so hard for a number closer to 30 - the number that says he has adequate red blood cells.

But I am. We go back to the vet hospital on Friday. And they will sedate and take a blood sample and apply some acronyms. They will test and search and score. And I will pick him up and they will tell me what clues they've gathered about the Mystery Cat.

And I will take him home, talk calmly to him in the car as though nothing bad is happening. And he will wear his magic hat. And I will pray that it helps him grow little red blood cells.

Things That Are Not Helpful

Dear Seemingly Well-Meaning Acquaintance:
It really wasn't necessary for you to comment on the photo of my chronically ill Kudzu with tidings of your cat who had the SAME symptoms. Who also had a blood transfusion. Who also DIED. I'm not sure if Emily Post wrote on the acceptable things to say to someone who's dearest, most darling, most wonderfullest love is ill, but, lemme tell you, this ain't it. You are not the cat's meow.

Signed,
MyCatIsNotGonnaDie & Hisssss (from Kudzu)

How to Be Late to Work (or Perfecting the Art of Piddling)

* Note that your cell phone memory card is full. Look through and delete 10-12 text messages from your phone.

* Overhear the new Kate Perry video on VH1. Stand slack-jawed in front of the TV and watch.

* Decide today is the day to experiment with accessories. One necklace or two? Long or short? Should I wrap it around twice like a choker first?

* Pet the cat.

* Get inspired to put all the shoes in your floor back in their boxes.

* Realize that you've been standing motionless under the hot shower for an undetermined amount of time, possibly in another dimension.

* Contemplate the outfits that you could wear but don't want to wear.

* Make a list of CDs you've been meaning to buy.

* Snooze.

* Try on sample lipstick from Clinique. Decide it doesn't work and wipe it off. Be reminded that you've been thinking about buying some fingernail polish. Ponder whether or not to just wait for spring.

* Lose your keys. And your cell phone. Where did you put it after deleting those text messages?

* Leave your lunch on the counter. When you go back inside to retrieve it, give in to the compulsion to also fix a travel mug of coffee.

* Be me.

The Professor: A List

* Has broken his nose ELEVEN times wrestling and playing football. I have only broken my nose once, and it was without a doubt the worst pain I've ever experienced.

* Also thinks that Heart of Darkness is a putrid waste of paper - just slightly ahead of The Good Earth.

* Nearly vibrates with hyper energy - like, his general frequency sometimes makes me tired.

* Has a pet peeve about people who have names that are nicknames - like Jack. He says no one should be named Jack because they should be named John and called Jack. Jack is probably my favorite boy's name.

* Told me about reading a book about cats in a store downtown and finding it really interesting. But not interesting enough to get a cat. We all know how I feel about my cat.

* Thinks that my laugh is charming - which is good because I laugh a) a lot b) loudly and c) rather forcefully.

* Totally adopted my fries-with-feta habit at The Grill.

* Am wondering if he should get his own blog label?

* Had a stuttering problem as a child and endured a lot of speech therapy. I've never heard crisper "t's."

* Called me a "pretty gal" tonight - as in, "I like to be able to buy a pretty gal dinner." To which I responded, "Did you really just say that?"

* Is a connoisseur of beer. My favorite bar downtown is a beer garden, and I feel hopelessly inept ordering after him.

* Somehow ended up in a conversation with me about bra sizes tonight? How does this happen to me?

* Owns a pretty impressive house with grown-up furniture in it. Like matching grown-up furniture.

* Has not read Harry Potter. I know, I know. He's getting a pass for a few months, but he better get on it.

* Is very patient about my disdain for academia.

* Knows I won't go out with him on Tuesdays because of House and Fringe.

* Really wants to take me out for Indian food which has me envisioning myself as Ben Stiller in Along Came Polly.

* Thinks I am infinitely wise about pop culture and music. He was so proud watching SNL a couple of weeks ago and recognizing The Killers.

* Sat with me on a bench tonight and let me tell him why I'm obsessed with Twilight...and that I'm not good at arguing, prefer the path of least resistance and that I might have to call my parents and tell them I'd be later than I thought. And he thought all of that was okay.