Days until Christmas: 11
Days until my birthday: 6
Daisy's mother is sick; she's been essentially bedridden since yesterday and doesn't know yet if it's an actual illness, POTS, or the four shortbread cookies she had for lunch.
Mama gets sick quite frequently, especially in the winter months. Seeing it reminds us of our fleeting mortality, especially in the aftermath of losing our sweet Pete last week. I tend to struggle a lot more with mortality when one of our cats dies, or when a friend dies. I've lost a lot of friends over the years to various causes -- including but not limited to murder, cancer, car accidents, and diabetes. I've had two friends who were murdered by their exes. One is too much, but two is wildly unsettling.
Eventually, my parents will die. Eventually, Daisy's parents will too. We're not looking forward to any of it.
Well, okay, I take that back -- my actual father can die anytime he wants and I wouldn't lose any sleep whatsoever over it. Do I look forward to it? No, but we'll just say I'm not opposed to it and will leave it at that.
It's been five days now since Pete's death and we're slowly starting to crawl out of our holes of grief a little bit. A month or so ago, Daisy ordered another cat DNA test because it was on sale, with the justification of "we know Pete's going to leave us soon, and I know we don't want another cat, but I also know who we are as people."
She's right. Damn it all, she's right.
I am not looking for another cat and don't want one. Daisy is not looking for another cat and doesn't want one. But we both know who we are as people.
We also have the knowledge that whatever cat we get next, when and if we do, will be our final cat. We say that because Hank is now the oldest, and he's not even three yet. Cats live a long time -- Pete was almost nineteen. Bare minimum, we've got at least another ten or so years before Hank kicks off. I actually expect I'll be close to sixty before he goes, or at least somewhere in that ballpark, and all of the other children are younger than him. After a two-year-long veritable adoption spree, we are now locked in with these five cats to raise them throughout their entire lives, keep them healthy, and hope they live as long as Pete (18.5), Maggie (16), and Sadie (17) did. We have one empty slot, and if we're ever going to get another cat, it has to be the endgame cat -- the cat that we absolutely cannot live without, the cat that completes us, the household, and our family. The cat to end all other desires for cats.
Except it's not my choice.
Charlie and Gary, the Double Trouble boys™ were my choices. Daisy really wanted Charlie, but it was absolutely possible that we would not have adopted him that day if he wasn't who he was, and as Sadie had just died, it was my choice. Gary told me that I was his dad and I decided then and there I would not be leaving him in that shelter. I made these decisions easily and quite carefree partially because I knew Pete would not be with us forever. I would never change those decisions on the boys and both of them are wonderful little men.
But, we had an agreement. Gary and Charlie were my choices and while we love them both very dearly, we made the decision that once Pete was gone, everything was on Daisy for when and if we got another cat. It was totally, completely up to her once he left this plane of existence. I told her she did not need my permission for it, I did not get a say, I did not reserve naming rights, nothing. It was all her decision if she found a cat she could not live without. In fact, I even told her she didn't even have to tell me about it -- she could completely surprise me with a new kitten in bed with me one day, waking up to a brand new goblin cuddling with me or chewing on my fingers and toes. It did not matter to me; I knew she would have her own reasoning for it all, I knew she would pick a good name, and I knew that I would love a new cat with my whole heart and soul, just as I had and have done for the other babies. But, more than that, I know that I can trust Daisy. I know that she's not going to go out on a whim and do something rash without thinking through absolutely everything.
I had but two stipulations, and considering the above, I found them to be very minor ones.
One -- the new cat has to be a kitten, not an adult. I love raising kittens and the other cats in the house love kittens. Introducing an adult shelter cat to an environment of five other territorial cats is absolutely asking for problems. Kittens can be trained and shown the ropes by the older cats.
Two -- no matter what cat she gets, that cat goes on Frontline that day as soon as they enter this house and remain on it their entire lives. I don't care if they've done other flea-and-parasite prevention at the shelter -- we are not lapsing on it and we are not risking it with another kitten; those fleas will be terminated with extreme prejudice.
Daisy agreed to these terms, and while I don't think we're going to be getting another cat anytime soon, there is that open spot, that hole left by Pete, that will always on some level beckon us.
But it will be the last cat. I'm now reaching the age where it's possible that some of these cats we have now will outlive me. I don't really think that's going to happen, but I am getting old now. I turn 43 in less than a week. Say one of the Double Trouble boys lives twenty years -- that would put me at 63. My grandfather died at 60. I'm already old and gray and slow; what am I going to look and feel like at 63? Santa Claus? Brandon Claus.
Yes, this is a photo of me from 2021 that has been artificially aged, but come on -- it's likely not far off.
I'm trying to get into the holiday spirit this year the best ways I know how. Losing Pete has made that difficult. Being constantly tired and feeling like the holiday season is just whipping by like a freight train without brakes has also made that difficult. Breathing space is just as important as enjoyment space. If it comes too fast there's no enjoyment in the buildup, no excitement and anticipation, and the crash of the bell curve when all the holidays end and there's still three more months of winter to survive through becomes that much more brutal.
I have only received four Christmas cards this year so far, and sent out nearly seventy. I know I have said in the past that I don't do it in order to get cards back from people, and I don't, but it is shocking to me that this year we've received but four so far, less than two weeks out from Christmas. There are always the stragglers, of course, the one or two cards I get well after Christmas has come and gone, but usually by December 14th I've gotten more than four, at least I think so. Maybe people are just giving up on cards now. I mention this possibility every year; it seems that Gen X is the last generation who truly gave a shit about Christmas cards, with a few millennial exceptions. Truth be told, most of the cards I send are to boomers and older, who still value them, and they are all slowly dying off. I would imagine a decade from now that my cards will no longer be 70 per year, but 40, 35, 30, with numbers dwindling a few more per year as those people kick off the planet. At what point do I stop designing and ordering the fancy cards and just get a $10 box of them from Walgreens? Or more than that, a few boxes of new ones on deep discount from Walmart on post-holiday sales? Is there a cutoff point?
And yet, every year I get side messages from friends and family who tell me that they are so happy to get our cards, that the card I create every year is the card they look forward to the most. I have heard this, at this point this year, no less than five times over the course of the past two weeks -- and that fills me with love; that does, actually, put me into the holiday spirit. One of my close friends from work (the irony there is staggering, but I adore her and love her like a sister) sent me a picture of her fridge this past week -- on it is the collection of the last four years of cards I've sent her...and nobody else's cards. Just ours. I could have cried, not just because she saved all of them and continues to save them, but because...nobody else loves her enough to send her cards? That's so sad to me. She's a wonderful person, her kids are incredibly sweet, and...nobody sends her cards? Did she fuck up in a past life or something?
That's why I do it. I want my friends and family to feel loved, to feel cared for and thought about during the holidays -- especially those who are divorced or widowed/otherwise alone, or those who never get any cards from anyone else. The love and compassion I can provide is who I am as a person. There were many years I hated Christmas and hated the holidays because I was alone and sad and bitter -- I never want to be that person again and I sure as shit wouldn't wish that on anyone else. It was Daisy who, with her compassion and her own love and holiday spirit, brought me back from the brink.
That's part of why I'm looking forward to going to the Christmas Eve church service this year, finally, after missing it for several years running. I need that spirit in my life. I need the warmth and comfort of knowing I'm not the only one who cares about the holidays anymore. I need the safe space of being around other kind, loving people. Who cares that I don't share their religious beliefs? It's never been about that for me. It's always been about feeling seen, feeling loved and included. Daisy's parents know I'm not religious in any fashion whatsoever, and Daisy herself isn't exactly the religious type either, but it's about love. It's about inclusivity and feeling welcomed to join the traditions they've always had. I get so excited for the Christmas Eve church service, even though it's always relatively short. Family is everything. Love is everything.
I say this though, knowing who we are as people, and knowing that if Mama's sick or if the weather is shitty or anything goes to the wayside that we will miss the service yet again. If we do, it is what it is and I don't tend to lose any sleep over it, but it is disheartening.
As you all know, another large part of me getting into the holiday spirit is retail therapy, or as many other folks call it, the act of "Christmas shopping." I don't even really have to buy anything -- it's the going through the motions of it all that I love. I have told the stories here before about fond memories of Christmas traditions from my childhood and teenage years, about how we'd always plan a trip to Century III Mall or South Hills Village in Pittsburgh on or around my birthday every year, and how I would look forward to it with such excitement and thrill. It was the spirit, it was when I felt most alive during the holidays -- surrounded by other shoppers, immersed in the lights and sounds and decorations of the season and feeling the magic of 1980s and 1990s holidays before the internet, Amazon, and the death of the shopping mall ruined all of that.
Last year we went to Westroads Mall here in Omaha -- the last big surviving mall in the area that is still somewhat thriving -- only to find that most of the stores and sights/sounds I was interested in were gone and the mall was far emptier than I expected it to be. I bought nothing, but took what delight I could in walking through corridor after corridor of stores and looking through windows of high end fashion shops. It was still aesthetically pleasing to my soul, comfort food for my Christmas spirit.
It is also something I don't need to do again; the mall days are over, and they live on in my memory only. The world has changed and I am an absolute relic when it comes to the things I take comfort in over the holidays.
This year, as mentioned, we're planning to visit the shops at Shadow Lake, which is about twenty miles or so (give or take, I don't know the exact distance) south of Omaha in the suburbs. I at least know what's there -- a PetSmart, a Ross Dress for Less, a really nice Burlington, Torrid, and a host of other stores that we may or may not go into. I have pivoted on my retail therapy, so to speak, to focus on this. Ironically we were down there two years ago as well -- the PetSmart there had a candidate for a cat who I thought might become Empress, but while she was sweet, she was not the one. That was after we'd already gone to Council Bluffs to their shelter and back and before we'd spend three hours in a pointless cat cafe -- it was a frustrating, tiring birthday.
It is what it is. We may or may not have a fun time in Shadow Lake next weekend -- my birthday unfortunately falls on the last Saturday before Christmas and I fully expect any shopping area to be a full-on crazy-ass madhouse of people doing last minute gifts. I don't want anything special, I just want a good, fun day of adventure. I'm not looking for anything in particular; I might find something for Daisy and I'd like to get something for each of the parents, but if I can't or don't, it's not a big deal. If I go into the adventure with no expectations, I cannot possibly be disappointed. My energy will be limited anyway; eventually I will have to come home and pass out to reset my sleep schedule for the last two days I'll work before my holiday vacation, and even before that we're still doing dinner with the parents. I just know who I am as a person, and I know that around 3-4pm on Saturday afternoons, my battery runs out no matter what I'm doing or not doing. This cycle will continue until I either no longer have to work on Sundays or no longer have to work at all.
I say that last part because a winning Powerball ticket on my birthday would be the best gift ever.
There is a contingency plan, of course -- if one or more of the parents are sick or me or Daisy get sick, or if the weather gets fucked -- we will order Veg.Edible, watch something Christmassy on the TV, and love on the cats. And, likely, take Christmas and birthday photos with said cats (I would like to do that anyway). Here's last year's Christmas photos I got with Emmy and Hank:
Yes, I am absolutely wearing a Ghost t-shirt, because this is who I am as a person.
We didn't even put up any decorations this year, like the ones seen in the background of these photos. Truth be told, it seems too late this year to bother at this point. Usually to the left of the TV (essentially right behind where I'm standing) we have a small, LED-lit, Charlie Brown-style Christmas tree too. This year we didn't even bother unboxing any of the decorations. I don't know if Daisy just never thought about it or if she wasn't that into the spirit of the season either. Pete really did put a damper on a lot of things as he got sick this last time on Thanksgiving, so if it slipped her mind I wouldn't blame her.
Anyway, onward...
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