Is this it?

I'm down. Saturday night. No date. Nothing going on. I actually went to a poker party, but it ended far sooner than it should have. It's the fastest way to lose $5.

My friend told me last month she is getting a divorce, but it wasn't until this week that she learned that her husband has been cheating on her for several years. Another one of my friends suffered a recent break-up. Honestly, I am losing all faith in relationships. I can count the number of stable ones on one hand, and that is no lie. I keep thinking to myself, "Is this it? Is this as good as life gets before I either die or get a mindless job that squeezes every ounce of passion and creativity out of me?"

I think it's time for screwdrivers and Simpsons DVDs before I get (more) depressed.

More cat trouble

Dan's other cat, Rogue, came home one day last week with the fur on her head matted down with some sap or something. Yesterday we noticed she was trying to scrape it off and had managed to cut herself, so we bandaged her up. She was NOT happy about it.

In loving memory

Last monday I went home in the afternoon to play the keyboard in the garage. After about 10 minutes I stepped outside to find Cheech, my roommate Dan's gray cat, lying on the ground. Except for hyperventilating, he was not moving; nor was he blinking or responding to me in any way. I gave Dan a call and took Cheech inside and laid him on the ottoman. He's had health problems in the past, but nothing like erratic breathing or complete unresponsiveness. Dan called several vets, but couldn't get an appointment for another couple of hours. By this time he had clamed down... but someho I could tell this wasn't a good sign. I left for a meeting at school and upon returning home, Dan told me Cheech hadn't made the trip to the vet. He informed me that eventually he just grabbed Cheech to take him to the vet's office regardless of his later appointment, but that he stopped breathing in his arms before he could get the car out of the driveway.

Cheech had a good life, aside from a recurring embolism in his back that periodically caused his hind legs to not function. He lived his six years chasing birds and being admired by everyone with whom he came in contact. On cold winter nights he would curl up on my lap, my bed, or (failing those) lie directly on the heater vent, taking the room's heat for himself. His exact cause of death is unknown, and is buried in our back yard. His was loved and will be missed dearly.