grief - Cursing Cats and Other Curiosities

So this is what’s happening with me.

Posted on June 11, 2025 | by cursingcats.com | 2 Comments

I wanted to text my friends to let them know my drama cause I know it’s unhealthy to just bottle shit up and die.

I also wanted to send my brother in law and sister in law a very abridged version so everyone can keep my mother in law from asking me about it.

Then I thought, I’ll just post my trauma! Link the friends and cut it down for the in laws. I’m so smart!

First we gotta background this shit.

So like two years ago (maybe less?) my dad almost died from an infected ball hair. He’s super diabetic cause he doesn’t take care of himself. And then when his doctor was like, “you a diabetic.” He literally told us all “you’re not really a diabetic until you’re on insulin.” So naturally, he ended up needing insulin. But he still never took care of himself. And diabetics don’t handle infections well. So he ends up hospitalized for an unknown infection. It took days to find because I guess no one looked at his balls. Which, fair, makes sense, really.

Anyway, he almost died. And my family was insistent that someone needed to be with him 24 hours a day. So shifts were arranged via group texts.

I live 90 miles away with a full time job. Not to mention I don’t even like that bastard, so I’m not taking a shift.

Then after, I think, 2 months in the hospital he was sent to a super posh rehab. Like live music in the cafeteria and golf having rehab. But apparently, he needed multiple visitors per day because he thinks we’ve abandoned him.

Did I mention I hate this bastard?

So for months, I’m getting multiple texts PER DAY making arrangements to baby him (his dogs even visited every day). And my mental health is suffering and I’m just becoming enraged at the lengths everyone has to go through for this son of a bitch.

So I vent to my brother’s wife. She tells me, they (my siblings) fully expect me to help so if I’m not going to, I need to let them know and to be asked to be removed from the chats. That’s reasonable.

NOTE: While venting about this my brother yells at me that SOMEONE’S IN THE HOSPITAL! Keep that in mind for later.

So that’s when my family disowned me. It was very hard but I accepted this was the price of mental health. Later, I made up with my brother because I like him. He was more chill once things settled down. Also, he’s hosted the last two Thanksgiving’s and I’m the only one in my family who showed up. Well, one sister was at the last one. But considering they live within sight of his house on the same block, fuck that.

So now we’re up to this year. My father still won’t take care of his health. He won’t do stretches or try to be more mobile. So he can’t put on socks. So he just wears his old shoes without socks. And gets a blister. His girlfriend notices it when she’s taking care of him and cleans it up. Then goes to work. Comes back the next day and it’s clearly red. Yep, infection. So he goes to the hospital. Infection went to the bone so they amputated half his foot.

Now remember how I said note my brother’s anger at me bowing out last time? Well my brother’s family wouldn’t be involved this time. They haven’t seen him in over a year because he disowned THEM. Yep. Even though they took care of him when he was dying. And my brother’s wife is venting about how angry my sister is that they aren’t helping and I was just like “welcome to my side. The side of the evil assholes.” You give everything and it’s not going to be good enough. This man won’t even talk to MY NEPHEWS.

Ok, you are mostly caught up.

Last month, so less than a month ago, husband and I go down there for my nephews highschool graduation. My sister and dads girlfriend are the only ones taking care of him because literally everyone else on earth hates him. You see any friends? I don’t.

Sister says he’s doing really bad mentally so I begrudgingly go by to say hello. He was very weak and frail. Can’t get up or down by himself. They have to take him to the toilet. Really nursing home territory, but you tell my miserable sister that. Anyway we did our due diligence. Which oddly enough, means we had seen him more recently than my bro or my other sister.

Semi relevant – last week was OTHER sisters birthday. So I called. Good God, what a mistake. Stuck on the phone for two hours and just sent me into a complete mental spiral downward. SHE LOST HER JOB! She finally had a job and an apartment and she lost it and can’t afford her rent and IM THE ONLY ONE WHO KNOWS THIS SHIT STORM IS COMING.

Very dark place mentally. Husband is my rock though. It’s not my business. Stay out of it. Maybe just never talk to your sisters. Reasonable suggestion.

Back to dad. Now we’ve known that he needs 24 hours care and my sister and the girlfriend have been doing it. If they can’t, they have to hire a nurse or sitter. Sister has posted this drama all over social media. But she never asked for help or money. My brother’s wife even offered to go clean her house or dog-sit for my sister. But she wouldn’t help with dad because dad kinda hates her whole family.

Then last week (I just checked my phone, so not even a week ago), sister texts that she’s hiring hospice to help with dad. Good. They need some help. Everyone texts that their condolences blah blah.

BTW, no one even knows other sister is unemployed and should probably be helping out…

Then she sends a very long text about how heartbroken and beaten down she is that all of this has been on her shoulders and we’re all pieces of shit and she’s spent her savings on dad and blah blah.

I mean, fair for me, but you never asked for help much less money from anyone. Also, you don’t have to be the one taking care of him. Let his girlfriend do it. Or better yet, a nice nursing home! Somehow you are the entire codependent triangle AT THE SAME TIME. Rescuer – Victim – Prosecutor. Like I’ve been in therapy 20 years trying to break this triangle and you just like made it your triforce. Well done.

Well, my brother’s wife shot back that she’s reached out to help numerous times, just not willing to help directly with dad. That was that.

So this whole time sister has been slapping this drama on social media and how she’s all alone in this. Hell, my fucking mother in law even asked about it last weekend.

Like I’ve tried to explain “disowned” to her for two years but she just doesn’t get it.

Then yesterday, I happen to hop on Facebook. I don’t do that daily anymore. (Note, my brother isn’t even on Facebook.) There’s a post there by my sister tagging my father announcing that he is dying. She’s tagging him in it so his friends that wish to say goodbye can come do so.

What the fuck? You just not gonna tell anyone?

So I screenshot it and send it to my brother’s wife cause I ain’t calling my crazy sister. She’s in jury duty so she sends it to my brother and tells him to go over there and see what is going on. (They haven’t seen Dad in over a year as were dads wishes). So I call my brother and I tell him about how I knew he’d been in decline but when we saw him he was perfectly lucid and to let me know what’s going on.

So they (brother and his wife) call me last night. Yep, he dying. Well, maybe?

Apparently, this weekend he just started to decline rapidly and they don’t know why. But he’s on hospice so it’s not like he’s going to the doctor. They have him in a hospital bed and he can’t get up or move. You can barely understand him. They think he’s got days. His girlfriend says it’s like he just doesn’t want to live anymore. He won’t eat. They’re having to change his diapers. He’s in tons of pain. Apparently, he’s confused and asking for people who aren’t there.

So…

Um…

What do I do here, exactly?

They invited me to stay at their place if I want to come down this weekend which I suppose I kinda have to. Like not for that asshole, dad. But for my siblings. I love my brother.

My sister will hate me no matter what and she needs someone to hate so OK.

They said I should call my sister (I’m the one who told THEM but I didn’t call my sister who told Facebook he’s dying but not his family). I called. She didn’t answer. I texted. No text back. Actually, last week I texted her after her text rant that I wanted to send her some diamond art coasters that is a very mindless zen art project she could easily pick up and put down. Never got a reply. I’m telling y’all, hates me. I told her I’d try to call again today. I’ll do that when I get home and have husband support.

As for visiting, I don’t know? I mean… I guess? Husband thinks the best thing to do is follow brothers lead. Husband also points out that we don’t even know what things will look like this weekend (as in how fast is he declining?). He could also just be like this for years, who the hell knows?

Brother thinks it will be soon though. So like I guess go down and take his favorite cake (since he apparently won’t eat). But like we’re just gonna be there awkwardly standing around? Will he even recognize us? And hate will be oozing from my sister.

I just don’t know. What a cluster fuck.

I asked them if we should call other sister (WHO NO ONE KNOWS DOESN’T HAVE A JOB) and none of us wanted to do that. Even brother was like “she’ll see it on Facebook.”

Oh what a fucked up family situation.

IM IN METAL DISTRESS. TELL MY MOTHER IN LAW I DON’T WANT TO BE ASKED ABOUT IT. This is not the time to try to explain these crazy ass dynamics to someone who hasn’t figured out what a carb is for 8 years and doesn’t understand that they hate me.

So this is 85% of my brain capacity right now. I’ve got stress tummy. I’m just trying to get through my day. Do I call? Do I visit? I DON’T KNOW. What gets me judged as least evil, I guess?

And everyone always says I’ll regret not forgiving my father but even if I were capable of that, it’s kinda too late. And I ain’t anywhere near that. His chances died with my mother.

…Or maybe when he killed my dog, Smokey, and laughed about it, there was just no coming back.

But he can never make amends to my mother and I hate him more for that than anything else.

UPDATE: Oh fuck me. Ok.

*C is the miserable sister taking care of dad.

*J is the loser sister who doesn’t have a job.

*H is my brother’s wife.

I just talked to H. C texted J to ask why she wasn’t visiting. (Also, somehow they know she doesn’t have a job). J asked why she needed to. C says he’s dying. J says she might come tomorrow.

H calls J. J says she doesn’t have a job and doesn’t have gas money. H says she’ll pay for her gas, she needs to see dad. Then…

J goes on a rant about how C’s stress is more important HER stress (it is). And says she might as well just drink antifreeze and let us smell her body.

H was like, I just didn’t even respond.

How do you even begin to explain this shit to anyone?

UPDATE 2: Welp. I’m here. Brother called at 3am and said the end is nigh. So I came down.

Unfortunately, J is here too. She won’t talk to anyone but I guess the antifreeze thing didn’t pan out. Which , really? You live in an apartment and don’t take care of your car. You don’t have antifreeze. You’re too lazy to go get it and too broke to buy it. What a stupid suicide threat. And also, you live in an apartment, we would just get a phone call after they cleaned up your biohazard ass.

Oh my lord, how could you even begin to explain these dynamics to anyone?

I came for my brother. Also, no one can say I didn’t come.

Fox News is on the TVs. So that’s fun.

I activated my support network this morning. I’m not sad, but I God I gotta keep the crazy out.

Fucking Life BS

Posted on June 4, 2025 | by cursingcats.com | Leave a Comment

First, I would like to start off with a fuck you to Facebook who wants me to update this fun frivolous photo of my dead mother laughing with a funny pool float she bought during her last summer on this Earth.

Also, work sucks. You know, status quo, now. We’ve met about half of our “must eliminate ” quota from this fine government regime. Only 323 more positions to eliminate. They’ll all take the buy out, right? Right? Even though literally no one is hiring right now? It’s totally gonna be fine.

Also, I called my sister for her birthday. Man that put me in a dark place. Like just threw me back into that born-and-raised Codependent Life. I resisted any urge to reach out to any other family. To try and hedge against the tsunami coming. To warn them. To yell OH MY GOD WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN? To gossip.

I do feel that codependency guilt. Like a lot. I’m not OK. But my husband is giving me strength to keep my mouth shut and stay out of that business. Not my business.

But like isn’t it? Now I’m just feeling even more guilty about all the BS shoved on my family. But like, they don’t HAVE to pick up the bullshit. If anything, my brother and his family proved that this year. They were shunning my cold heartedness last time dad almost died and babysitting him 24/7. They have completely abstained this time. So like, it can be done by not JUST me. SIL is talking about how sister is mad at her for not helping. Yeah, welcome to my world. Y’all sure judged me last time. See how it is?

Ugh. Family trauma. Dead mom. POS dad keeps almost dying and now needs 24/7 care but only his girl friend and one sister are taking care of him and they’re drowning. And of course very resentful of the rest of us.

And now the rest of this other sister bullshit is coming at them and they don’t even know it’s coming. ONLY I KNOW.

I mean at least no one’s gonna ask us for money. Husband got laid off and the entire US wants me to lose my job and y’all voted for it. So nope, we poor. Keep off the lawn.

Speaking of lawn, there was a turtle in the yard today.

That is all.

Jack’s Offerings (and Mom)

Posted on October 31, 2024 | by cursingcats.com | Leave a Comment

So tonight is All Hallows Eve, AKA Halloween. The Eve of All Hallows or All Saints Day in the Christian tradition. A time to celebrate and remember those who have passed and visit their graves.

There’s also the theory that it’s just a Christianized version of the Gaelic festival Samhain. To be fair, the church did realize that people didn’t want to give up their holidays so they made a lot of them Christian holidays; so probably true. Samhain (the end of harvest season) is a transitional festival. It marks the end of the light and the transition to the darker part of the year (when the days are shortest). Therefore, it is believed to be when the veil between this realm and the next is the thinnest. Parties are held with offerings to appease the Fairies who would fuck you up. Disguises to trick them. And places set at the table for past family members to visit.

All Hallows, or All Saints Day is tomorrow. Then All Soul’s Day on Saturday, November 2nd, wraps up the three days of Allhallowtide. There used to be 8 days, according to the Catholic tradition, but in 1955 they were like “fuck that, it’s 3.” Catholics make it up as they go along. However, some faithful still believe you earn plenary indulgences for visiting cemeteries and praying for the dead during the octave of Allhallowtide. And what is an Indulgence? No, not a Reeses pumpkin — according to the Catholic church, an Indulgence is “a way to reduce the amount of punishment one has to undergo for (forgiven) sins.” Totally makes sense.

Sorry, I got distracted. Allhallowtide, and particularly All Soul’s day also coincides with… wait for it… Día de (los) Muertos! AKA the Day of the Dead in English. And how do we celebrate this holiday? Leaving favorite treats, images, and items of our loved ones out in remembrance of them.

So basically, if the dead are gonna visit, it’s now according to multiple cultures.

So you know how some people get the warm and fuzzy feelings that their dead loved ones are with them? Yeah no, I’ve never gotten that. So WE’RE GOING ALL OUT, BITCHES.

That’s right, we have an ofrenda. No, those are not Mexican marigolds (AKA the Flower of the Dead), but I did grow these merigolds myself from seed!

Mom, I got out one of those cute heart plates I used to leave your coffee on. And the very used cutting board you gave me from that Pioneer Woman set. If you visit and know where the yellow measuring cup/dish from that set is, let us know.

I tried to get you one of those amazing apple streusel muffins you loved from Panera, but the lady said they haven’t sold those in years. The world has gone to absolute shit so I’m not surprised. I did, however, get the blueberry streusel and I’m pretty sure you’d like it too.

I grew these marigolds in my pumpkin patch! You’d have loved my pumpkin patch. And I know you are so proud of me. Have you seen my new body? Like the stomach and the boobs? I look good! You’d be amazed. Also, I’m pretty sure you’d love the art of the tattoo I’m still working on. I did the red poppies for you.

And Jack — you sweet sweet adorable biggun — my precious — my fuzzy — my spirit animal — my soulmate — WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN? I’m dying here. I miss you much more than is rational. I still cry that you are gone. My snuggle buddy! Oh how I miss you. And your polka dotted belly. I fear I am forgetting you. It sounds stupid, but having a new cat — sometimes I’m afraid I will forget you and how you were. Sometimes I wonder if you were as snuggly and lap cat as I remember and then I look at photos and yep, you were always in my lap. My precious. And I remember when I came home, I’d pick you up at the door and you’d stretch out full length and stretch out your back legs as long as possible and look over at husband and purr like “yeah, she’s mine.” And what I miss the most, your good night wishes. Bedtime is when I miss you the most. You always followed me to bed and waited until I got settled to smash your paws into my breast bone and purr while I petted you and wished you goodnight. Then, when you knew I was settled and not going anywhere, you’d go downstairs and hop on the counter to see what noms were to be had. Oh we heard you, you never fooled us.

Speaking of, not only do you have your favorite banana toy — I made icing JUST FOR YOU. Husband asked why there was cream cheese and butter on the counter and I said it was for you and I’m pretty sure he thinks I’ve lost it. Half cream cheese icing, half butter cream. Your favorite. I already ate some so I know it’s delicious. Yes, I made a little extra for me to have on toast or something. And fuck it, eat the merigolds and pumpkins if you want. You’ve earned it. And the gingerbread house! It’s absolutely covered in icing. Have at it, buddy.

Seriously though, sometimes the only way I can cope with the absence is to think of you and mom sitting together sharing a biscuit or an apple streusel muffin together while you wait on me. We know she shared her breakfast with you every morning and you loved her for that. And I never minded. I thought it was adorable and sweet. Oh how you loved when mom visited. BREAKFAST! Well, here’s yalls muffin. Enjoy.

And Jack, come give me some purrs, please. Just a little snuggle.

If husband had an ask, he’d probably ask you to tell Louie to stop biting him so much. It’s kinda hilarious, but I know it hurts too cause teeth are sharp. *sigh* Louie can never replace you. Yall are nothing alike. Maybe that’s good. I don’t know.

May the scent of the merigolds and the love from my heart bring you home for just a little bit. I miss you.

Oh! One more thing! Mom, YOUR COFFEE! How can you an Jack have breakfast without coffee!? I’ve got pumpkin spice coffee too! I’ll make you a cup right now before I head off to bed. Dang, I might have to dig out the Keurig. It’s cool, it’s yalls ofrenda.

Sweet dreams and Happy Halloween. I love you.

Mom, take care of Jack for me.

UPDATE: I did add mom’s coffee after I posted this:

A St Patty’s Day Miracle!

Posted on March 17, 2024 | by cursingcats.com | Leave a Comment

So I found myself looking for four-leaf clovers today. I needed to wait outside, and I like to find them. Plus, Saint Patrick’s Day! I did well. Once I found five, I was like well, fuck, I gotta make it seven for the holiday. So I scoured. Number seven was elusive. I had left number one on the steps and was sure it would have blown away before I got the seventh.

I was in my PJs in the front yard on a main road. So I wasn’t comfortable leaving my yard to be the crazy lady on the side of a four-lane main road in her pajamas looking creepily at the ground. I mean, my own yard is enough already. I’m still the insanely weird lady — but like, on a leash. “She’s keeping to her own yard” – ya know? Even though there are MASSIVE patches of huge clovers over there. So like, my hunting area was limited.

I was thinking to myself how I can only do this because I’m really good at patterns. I think others could if they cared to. It’s like those picture puzzles online with a ton of 8’s or something and you have to find the 9. People love those, but they don’t apply it to real life. Don’t look at the clover patch as plants. They’re all equilateral triangles. They’re all perfect 120 angles between the leaves. Just a bunch of triangles. Now find the square. It’s quite simple. I’ve spotted them from the second story of a building before, no lie. Find the 90 degree angles. With practice, they stand out as abominations.

I’m quite good with patterns. I’ve always been focused on pinning the repeats in wall paper, fabrics, carpets. How small is the repeat. It’s quite elegant how some of them work the repeats. Very interesting to break it down to the square they are repeating. You have to break images across the square to hide it well. I’ve never created my own patterns, so there’s still a bit of mystery in how they do it. Anyway, it interests me. And after a few decades of practice, you get very good. Hence my magic power of four-leaf clover spotting.

I was about to give up with my six clovers. I was thinking how I could never find any of the more elusive clovers. The fives, the sixes, the seven leaves — they wouldn’t be as obvious in the way I find them. No squares, no 90 degree angles. And then…

There she was. My seventh. With five leaves.

Amazing. In my 41 years I’ve never found one above four. Ever. And I look. This one met my pattern — it looks like a four leaf from the top — but there’s a little baby runt leaf sticking straight out of the top. I had husband come look immediately. How special! I took a video to capture it. These are actually stills from the video.

You know, it was a bit sentimental. I haven’t done a lot since mom died. I mean, I’ve done a TON – but there are things I didn’t care to do. I used to decorate for EVERY holiday — I haven’t decorated for Easter in 4 years. Back in 2020, I actually bought a very cute leather journal to keep my four leaf clovers in. I put Jack’s foot print in it. I kept my clovers in it. There’s butterfly wings. There’s even one clover that mom found after searching with me. I made her sign it. I didn’t stop right after her death. There are clovers from 2021. But nothing from 2022 or 2023. Well, I had found a few and stuck them in my little tiny notepad to dry, but I hadn’t bothered to mark the dates or put them in the leather bound journal. It wasn’t fun anymore. My happy book wasn’t happy anymore.

This year I went out and found four a week or two ago. That’s when I noticed the lack of two years in my leather book. I put the clovers I had pressed in, but obviously I could not date them. I think what caused the resurgence was Louie’s one year adopt-aversary coming up. It’s time to add his foot print. It made me think of the leather bound journal. It inspired me to go find some clovers. And today I had thought about it but wasn’t going to. But then K needed to pick up something she’d loaned me. So I was out in the yard waiting as to give it back quickly. No need for them to have to come in and get it — they did loan it to me back in October and I hadn’t returned it yet. So I decided — why not — I’ll look while I’m waiting. Then I got to the must-find-seven.

And I did. But there’s more than JUST the five leaf. I needed a new book to press them. I’ve been using a tiny 3-inch composition notebook I got for free at some convention or training or something. The pages are too marked with dates and wrinkly now. They did a horrible job of pressing the four I found earlier this month. So I thought of a journal. I’ve had it for almost 4 years. I’ve kept it as it was sentimental, but never had a use for it. I knew it was a gift from my aunt-in-law. But I’d forgotten the circumstances. Just that it was thoughtful of her to buy it for me because it’s Star Trek and she knows I like Star Trek. Well, it’s hard backed and I needed a journal to press clovers so I grabbed it.

The card she included was tucked inside. Ahhh. It was a gift from when mom died. She had been thinking about me and saw this journal and thought I could use it. That’s why I’d kept it. It was so sweet and thoughtful of her to buy it and mail it. She wanted me to know I was in her thoughts. The time wasn’t right to use it when I got it. But now the time is right. I think of moms clover when I hunt now. She was so proud to find one. And today I was so proud to find my first five-leaf.

There’s a warmth there. A time to move on a little bit more. Kinda like a sign, if you believe in those things as I do. Louie has been helping to heal my heart of my loss of Jack. And now he’s brought back my clovers and a sweet memory of my mom. And the cherry on the cake is the journal given to me to try to ease my grief a bit making a simultaneous appearance.

Maybe it’s God. Maybe it’s mom being impressed with my overwintering of last summers plants, rescuing plants I normally would have let die to nurse them back to health, and now seeding my own plants for this summer.

I’m stepping into my destiny. Not some awesome destiny where I get a sword and a birth right. Just a tedious one where I stop letting plants die every year only to replace them. One where I nurture the sick plants back to health. One that has me out in my yard in my PJs looking for plants. Maybe one were I grow my own Halloween pumpkins.

I’d kinda rather have a sword.

Death and Dreariness

Posted on May 8, 2023 | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment

I need to post here more. I need to set up and email account that will auto post for me. I have things to say, just not easy to get them here. And when I get off work, I just want to zone the fuck out.

Tonight, I checked on the GoFundMe for Aric and Samantha “Sam” Hutchinson. A little over a week ago, they were in an accident right after their wedding. They were on a golf cart driving away from the wedding when a drunk driver hit them. She died at the scene in her wedding dress. To be honest, i was checking to see if he died too. Last I checked, he was in critical condition. Looks like he is home recovering. Abso-fucking-lutly tragic. If I were him, I’d never have wanted to survive.

Death has been on my mind. Obviously reading something like that just kills you. But I had a better death-related happenstance last week. I’ve always been bothered by Robin William’s suicide. Not just a little, severely bothered. I’ve been suicidal. I had an excellent plan. Thankfully, I decided to give psychiatric medication a shot before I called it. But I was there. As they say in the Princess Bride “at worst I’ll kill you in the morning.”

So like I know that darkness depth of loneliness. I’ve always been so troubled that Robin freaking Williams killed himself. Like that happy man who everyone loved — if he couldn’t make it, what chance have we? He could have called ANYONE and we’d have been there for him. So it’s just always weighed heavy on my heart.

By happenstance, I came across this article by his wife (link). He was dying. He had Lewy body disease, not that he knew the name of it at the time. It had taken away his mental health. It had taken away his genius. His activeness. It had taken everything from him. He knew he was dying and quickly at that. He had a lucid Saturday with his wife and they had a wonderful day. She thought he might be getting better and then he killed himself on Monday. Tragic, of course. But he went out on his own terms. The state he was in was tragic.

But finding out that he wasn’t alone. He had his wife with him until the very end. And that it wasn’t a pit of loneliness. He was just speeding up the dying process. He was diagnosed by his brain. One of the worst cases of the disease ever seen. Half his dopamine receptors were completely gone. His entire brain was infected. He knew it was time.

And that lifted a heaviness I had. I know thats weird. But it did. I always mourned how he must have felt to do that. But knowing it wasn’t like that — it brightens my heart. He knew how loved he was. It wasn’t that. It wasn’t depression that took him. And he wasn’t alone.

RIP, Robin Williams. You are missed by many.

Also, K2’s mom was talking about how her mom had morbidly completely planned out her funeral to a tee 20 years before she died. So I’m about to post about that. I have a funeral plan. I think. Gotta run it by the husband. How much are life sized weeping angel statues?

Black Hole

Posted on March 11, 2023 | by cursingcats.com | Leave a Comment

I still miss Jack more than anything. You see all these bittersweet comics like this one where your pet is still with you:

But they’re not. They’re gone. I WISH I could imagine he was still around. I would love to see movement in the corner of my eye and think it was him. Or feel a ruffle on the bed and think it was him. I don’t get that though. I haven’t got that at all. I would absolutely love to be the bat shit crazy cat lady that thinks her dead cat is still around. I wanna be that crazy person.

It would be so much better than the emptiness. Just the void. Today I left a hamburger bun on the counter and had the reflex that Jack might get it. But before I even finished the thought I just was filled with the emptiness that no, he won’t.

Delusions of happy thoughts

Posted on January 12, 2023 | by cursingcats.com | Leave a Comment

Today was my last day at my shitty job. They read me out a little early so I got home around 3:45. Mr C took a nap, but I had to stay “up” for the AC repair guy. After he left, I decided I wanted a nap too. I set my alarm for an hour and a half so I wouldn’t sleep too long. I ignored my alarm. Mr C got up to go fetch him some dinner and I stayed in bed kinda 75% asleep and 25% awake. Maybe 80/20. I miss Jack. Obviously, sometimes I think about getting another cat when I’m ready. So I was thinking about looking at cats. I have a long weekend between jobs as I have Friday off and Monday is a government holiday. I thought maybe mom could come up and we could look at cats together.

That would be nice. She could help and it’d be something we could do together. Maybe hit up a few Saturday adoption events. I wasn’t decided or anything, just a thought I probably wouldn’t act on. I decided to get up when a strand of Christmas lights went out on the bedroom tree changing the general cast of the ceiling from a warm red to more of a green shade – then that strand must have completely died and returned the walls to the warm red. When my feet hit the ground I remembered mom’s dead.

I saw a gently sweeping stripe of dead lights on the tree confirming my suspicions.

Wouldn’t have been as good as Jack anyway.

Gingerbread Houses Through the Years

Posted on December 22, 2022 | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment

This is a post about gingerbread houses. And Mom. And Jack. And how Mom got her groove back through gingerbread. Just go with it.

So back in 2006, I had just moved into my own place on Golf Road. Lovely shitty apartment of my own. $545 a month. Just me and Jack. And mom visited a lot. I worked at the police department as a dispatcher and was less than a year away from starting my career (though 5 years from graduating — not the point). It was Christmas! My first Christmas in my OWN place. This called for something special. This called for … a gingerbread house!

So mom came to visit and help me make my very own gingerbread house. There were issues. We couldn’t find any gingerbread mix. So it was really a sugar cookie house. It counts, OK? It had windows! Mom showed me how to crush up jolly ranchers and melt them to make stained glass windows! We had a peppermint roof and a full length chocolate chip chimney. I cut up gum drops and made a wreath. It was glorious. This was before cheap battery-powered lights, but if we had had those, it would have glowed gloriously through my translucent blue and purple sugar windows.

Then the next few years we’d always do something special for Christmas. Usually treats. Like chocolate dipped Oreos, or chocolate covered Ritz Crackers with peanut butter, or those fancy treats where you melt a Rolo on top of a pretzel and smush it with a peanut M&M — or if you’re going somewhere fancy — a half a pecan. Sometimes we even did gingerbread cookies and decorated them with icing.

Then, in 2009, I was feeling adventurous. I was in a much nicer apartment with a guest room and dating a cute guy who would become my husband. It was time for another gingerbread house. We had to outdo our previous effort. This had to be magnificent. We would do something with more grandeur. We would make a church.

How does one make a gingerbread church? Well, you just make the front and back taller so the roof is steeper and put a steeple on top. We’re not on the Food Network here, aint nobody got time to make templates and stuff. But don’t you worry, we got this. It would have even more jolly rancher windows! More icing! The M&Ms would be Christmas colors to look like Christmas lights! And best of all: Shingles. We would use Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal and put individual shingles on that shit. Boo-yeah!

Now, I would like to say, we kept improving on our gingerbread game. We got so good we could do competitions! But we didn’t. The church was actually the pinnacle of my gingerbread greatness. Sad, I know. But that’s not where the story ends. Those were merely flights-of-fancy in the gingerbread game of my own. Mom would take gingerbread houses and flip the script.

So take a step back. I moved away from my text-book codependent family in 2003 and got a shit ton of therapy. In my evolution of self, I turned from my father. Fuck that asshole. No, not God, my real father. THAT asshole. Sometimes the pendulum has to swing really far to right itself. Now my beloved mother had been beaten down by that motherfucker for decades. And you can be damn straight I turned my pot-stirring self to getting her to realize it. And she was really coming around by the time she kicked the bucket. I think she might have had the gumption to skip Christmas by the time she died. I’m sad I never got to see that and sneak her a wink and a high five. OK, back to the early 2000s:

So dad always controlled every holiday. Though they divorced when I was two, dad always controlled everything. Holidays were at his house. We’d go over the weekend before and scrub it clean cause he’s kinda a hoarder. Mom would make every single dish and we’d go over to dads and pretend to be happy. Even after he got a girlfriend — who thankfully took over the cleaning part. Mom would still cook for a week and haul it all over to that bastards house so he could have his happy family holiday (yes, with his girlfriend and my step brother — the kid he had while he was still married to my mother). Every Thanksgiving and every Christmas — even Easter.

At some point, she started making extra to “hide.” Is it hiding if you make it yourself, in your own house, and just don’t take it over? Not really, but in my codependent family it was rebellion. I think this started when the girlfriend would start making to-go meals for her friends and for my step brother (the affair child). We stopped having leftovers left. Mom stopped having food to eat off of for the next week after she’d spent all week cooking for everyone. No more turkey casserole! You know, where you shred the turkey and mix it with the dressing and cream-of-chicken soup? None. So mom started making extra dressings and extra mac & cheese and keeping it at her house. Come 2014 something had changed.

Now I’m not sure what triggered the change. And I wouldn’t dare say “something snapped” — nay, something clicked into place is what happened. Maybe that was after dad started putting rules on presents — how much we could spend, and then one year declaring we weren’t allowed to give gifts at all (yeah no, fuck him — yall know I didn’t listen to his shit). But 2014 was a new era. In 2014, mom decided to have her own Christmas.

Now don’t get me wrong, it was still a secret. It didn’t replace dads Christmas. Mom would just have her own Christmas on a different weekend with only her own children and we’d ACTUALLY be happy for real. There were kinks. Bitch sister banned pictures so there are no photographic memories to look back on with my blessed mother. Because god-forbid dad find out and get his wittle-feewings-huwt. So I’m a bit bitter that moms gone and I can’t go back and look at those non-existent-photos, but it happened. And I have the gingerbread houses to prove it. Recently, I took an internet deep dive to find them.

2014 was a learning year. What would we do for moms Christmas? She’d make a big meal but what should we do? Gingerbread houses! But we’re not going to be all difficult about it. This was before gingerbread house kits were a thing, mind you. Mom decided we’d make cardboard houses and decorate them! And we’d use hot glue and caulk because ain’t nobody eating these anyway. So we made cardboard houses in advance. And even one Pringles can which became a rocket of sorts. Then, when the night came, we exchanged presents and ate food and laughed and made merry in my sisters tiny house where mom lived. And after dinner, we gingerbreaded! We had tons of cheap candies and graham crackers, pretzels and cereals, all sorts of shit to glue to your box house!

I chose the biggest box house because I’m ambitious. I did not anticipate the sheer amount of time it would take to cover such a large house with graham crackers, cookies, and smarties. Much less how much time it would take me to caulk to entire roof and lay it with pretzels. It was all I could do to get a Twizzler door and butterscotch windows before the night was over. But it was a wonderful Christmas party! And mom was beaming.

I returned home with my house and eventually, I had to spiff that shit up. I had run out of time! So one night while my husband was playing D&D at the table with friends, I sat in the living room with hot glue gun and made that shit SPIFFY. Look at this. M&M Christmas lights! Lined windows! My signature gumdrop wreath — and Christmas tree Peeps. Fuck Yeah. Much better.

Oh now we had a tradition. And the next year, we found gingerbread house kits! 2015 brought a cookie roof and a ice-cream-cone tree (pretty sure mom made me that). We even started saving all the leftover candies because, again, nobody is eating this stuff. And we got better. Caulk is great for cookies and cereal, but don’t use it on the sugar candy — it melts it. Like, it never dries and the candy melts off it. Some kind of chemical reaction. I don’t know. Eventually we gave up on caulk anyway.

In 2016, I bought a whole stash of PREBUILT gingerbread houses. All we had to do was decorate. I went with a Chex roof.

By 2017, gingerbread house kits were becoming a thing. Not only were they easy to find, they started making weird shit. Mom bought me this sweet Mario castle kit! For some reason it didn’t come with a roof or second-story walls. But I’m an engineer so I hot-glued some wooden-skewer beams for supports and filled in with graham crackers. Fuck yeah. Add some Peep trees. Magnificent.

I should also point out that it started to become clear that this tradition was spreading in the family. And by family, I mean Jack. It became very clear that he was sneaking on the counter at night to eat the icing and marshmallows. I let him have at it. It was Christmas, after all. It was pretty evident on that red mushroom though.

In 2018, I brought back my cereal shingle technique. Notice the Mario-Coins saved from the previous year.

In 2019 mom really went all out. Sister had moved into a bigger house so we could set up in the downstairs game room. Multiple tables were set up and everyone was gifted an adorable little spruce tree in a gingerbread box. I’m gonna be honest, I don’t remember this year much. I had some pretty bad brain trauma and I probably barely made it there. That might also explain why the hell there is so damn much icing on the roof. Not my best showing.

2020 was one hell of a year. The party almost didn’t happen because — well, Covid. My husband wasn’t about to leave our house and he really didn’t want anyone here. But I begged and God was on my side. Everyone promised to quarantine and come up here for the party so I wouldn’t have to travel (I was still recovering). God really made that year special for us. Everyone came up. And everyone spent the night! It was so much fun. We had a full house. And mom had got us all matching PJs! We took one of the family’s most cherished photos that night. A family photo with us in our matching PJs and mom up front. Who knew it would be the last family photo we ever took? We didn’t even hardly have any family photos — maybe just my wedding photos, actually. I’m still so sad my sweet husband took the photo because that means he’s not in it. If only I had thought to ask CB to take one with him in it…

Well, we didn’t actually do houses that year. We decorated cookies to make things easier. J had bought an ugly sweater cookie kit and me and mom baked hand-cut gingerbread cookies before everyone got up here. I think it was December 19th? Just a week before she died on Christmas day. Fucking Covid.

The next year, 2021, not everyone was in much of a celebrating mood. But my sister-in-law and brother agreed to host. I found these spiffy fondant penguins at Target. My sisters didn’t come. But we kept the tradition alive. Hey, I even did a damn fine showing with a frosted miniwheats roof. And that was the last Christmas with my precious Jack. And damned if he didn’t go after that house in those dark mid-night hours. He nearly ate a whole damned Peep tree! And look how his tongue sanded down the wreath candies and the fondant door. And is that a Super-Mario star I spy from years before atop the tree?

This year, 2022 was a little better. My sisters still weren’t feeling the joy so I said I would host. And I bought us all fun kits from Publix! I honestly didn’t expect my sisters to come, but last minute they did! Not only did they come, but they stopped at the store and picked up their own gingerbread kits to make! Since I didn’t expect my sisters and I’ve been insanely depressed about Jack, I invited K2 to join us. She made her first gingerbread house in the form of a Publix. I made a moose lodge with a pretzel roof. Apparently, my husband doubted my pretzel roof. SHAME on you, husband! My pretzel roof is fantastic — I mean, there’s a lot of glue strands but whatever.

It’s not very traditional Christmas-look, but it’s there. I wasn’t feeling it as much this year without Jack. Last year we didn’t have mom, but it was still a tradition for me to make a house for Jack to eat in “secret.” This year was harder for me without mom and without Jack. But we kept the tradition alive. We KEEP the tradition alive. Long live mom and her rebellious Chirstmas parties!

I miss my Jack Jack

Posted on December 18, 2022 | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment

I miss my Jack Jack. This past few days have been a new wave of sadness. I suppose it started with one day this week when I got home. You know how, when you get a new pet, you realize all the stuff you have to change? No more toilets left up, no open doors, no leaving food out — stuff like that. Well, I’m trained for Jack. So I came home and was careful not to swing open the door because he’s always right there waiting for me to open it. But… he’s not anymore. Like for that little minute I forgot he died and expected him to be behind the door.

Then, I had to read all the “The Loving Reaper” comics. Link here on WEBTOON. They’re PSA comics that are beautifully drawn and depressing AS FUCK. And a lot of them involve pets and terrible human beings, and obviously, death. So that didn’t help. I know.

Then, I went saving off old photos. This wasn’t related to Jack. We did our annual gingerbread tradition and I wanted to look at past gingerbread parties. I’ll get into it in another post — but it led me to going through all of Facebook and even back to Flickr for photos. So I also took the time to download all of these old photos (yes, you can request a zip file of every photo you’ve ever uploaded to Facebook). I saved them to my google photos for good future keeping.

LOOK AT MY SWEET BABY! Look how little he was! Those cheeks!

And here, he’s being all curious and adorable.

And I miss his little foot prints.

I just miss him so much. He loved when I’d come home and scoop him up like a baby and rub his belly and talk to him. He’d turn on that fake hamming-it up purr that sounded like a motor while I rubbed his “polka dots” (belly) and stuck my finger between his toe beans so he could squeeze it. He was such a good boy. He loved me so much. I really miss him a lot.

The past few nights (maybe 4ish?) I’ve been getting terrible anxiety at bed time. I’ll get anxiety tummy and then a tight chest.

I also started following this local cat place on Facebook and so that’s had adopting another cat on my mind. I think it’s just upsetting me though. I want JACK. I want Jack back. I want my biggun’

I’ll hide that cat page for now. I’m just upset all over again. Now I’m getting anxiety attacks every night. Ugh.

He’s Gone

Posted on October 15, 2022 | by cursingcats.com | 1 Comment

Yesterday we said goodbye to my fuzzy soulmate. I had spent all week thinking of the million things that could go wrong and stressing out. But it went well. He had a good death. I had second guessed myself — he was doing so good and happy, maybe we should wait? But he was on 5 different medications plus IV fluids and two of those medications were for pain. You’d think it would have been the kidney disease we treated for two years or the cancer we discovered a month ago. Nope. Just an old cat with arthritis. He was just in too much pain between those miracle shots. So we chose to let him go before the second shot wore off. I couldn’t let him be in so much pain again.

He had a good week. No pain. He cleaned his plate every day. We had cake every day. We celebrated his birthday. He ate at the table with us. K even brought him his own Arby’s sandwich. I let him go outside. He wasn’t interested, but he went out and nommed a leaf in the back and a fern in the front. He had the option. I gave him tons of kisses. We took a family selfie. I camped out on the couch so he could sleep in his heated bed and still be able to see me without having to go upstairs. He woke me up every morning and wished me sweet dreams every night. Just like always.

When Friday came, I did what was right by him. We took him to the vet at 8:00am. Mr C drove us. They gassed him and put in a catheter and handed him back — still groggy and in a cone. Lord help, that cone was a bit of levity we needed. When he woke up half-way to home, he was looking around like the Pixar light. And lord, the lemons. Why lemons? We laughed.

I didn’t make him wear the cone all morning. It was only 3 hours so I figured I’d keep a close eye on him. We snuggled. We had more cake. He couldn’t rest with his foot all bandaged up as it was bothering him. So an hour before they came, I gave him a big dose or gabapentin as they told me to. He fell asleep in his heated cat bed for the last hour. When the vet arrived, Mr C let them in while I woke him up gently. He was a sleepy kitty. We sat on the couch and I held him like a baby with his head draped sleepily over my arm. There was only a brief interruption where they unwrapped his cath. But he quickly forgave them. I hugged him and stroked his head while he fell asleep for the last time. He had the faintest bit of a purr right before he fell asleep.

I had held it together pretty well. But as he curled into a limp ball in my arms and they confirmed he was gone… I lost it. I ugly cried and wailed like a terrible movie actress clutching a dead cat. My beloved Jack was gone.

God bless and be with the sweet vets who have to see people go through that every day.

He was so much more than a pet to me. I hate to say he was my everything because I have to move on without him. I have Mr C and family and friends. But when I got Jack, for a long time he was my everything. There were times I only willed to live because who would take care of my Jack? We lived alone when I had no friends or family relationships to speak of. He was with me through all my therapy. I got him in 2005 when I still lived in the college dorms! I got reported for having a cat daily, but I had my therapist declare him a therapy cat so it was allowed. Man that really got under peoples skin. Ha.

He was with me through every date I ever had. I told him all my secrets. I loved him as much if not more than he loved me. We were a part of each other. I’ve always loved coming home. Some people dally at work or hang out at the gym or go to the bar to avoid home, but not me. No screaming kids here. Just my beautiful house, Mr C and my sweet Jack. He was always so happy to see me and I to see him. We’d hug and tell each other about our days. He was always a talker. (His name was Screamer when he was adopted as a little kitten.) And we’d settle in to mindlessly relax and watch TV and wile away the hours on the internet while he purred in my lap.

At some point he stopped sleeping with me all night. But he’d still wish me goodnight and make sure I wasn’t going anywhere before he left. I made sure to get a picture of our last goodnight on Thursday…

God I loved that cat more than you can imagine. He wasn’t a cat to me. And last night I bawled again as the only prayer I could get manage to get out through the tears was to please take care of my Jack.

I’ll get a cat again. But there will never be another Jack. He knew me before I knew myself. He took care of me by giving me a reason to get up and keep going. He was the best friend I could have wished for.