Christmas 2015

Max and Liza sent this hideous seasonal greeting from the Caribbean. (Liza’s Dad was born on Bonaire, and Liza has oodles of relations there.)

Liza assures me they were forced to pose for it at gunpoint. Should Max ever decide to run for high political office, I can now blackmail him if he starts taking $$$$ from the wrong PAC.

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I hate Christmas somewhat less than I hate Thanksgiving.

I like Christmas lights.

I like Christmas music.

I like finding Exactly the Right Present for the various key players, and this year, did very well with that: accordion, chocolate, and medieval apricot-infused vinegar for Max; matching red pajamas for Liza and Noodle; travel accessories, Hudson Valley Magazine subscription, and photographs for Linda; Game Stop gift card and upcoming Mommy-Robin Adventure Day for RTT. (Trip to the Metropolitan Museum to buy the Girlfriend’s Christmas offering – which I have a feeling I’ll end up subsidizing; tickets to see Bruce Willis in Misery; dinner, FDR Museum, and train trip to Boston where RTT’s seeing the New Year in and meeting the Girlfriend Family.) House gift for the Girlfriend Family – exquisite pairing of very upscale olive oil and balsamic vinegar from that ultra snooty shop in Rhinebeck. Money for Jeanna. New Yorker subscription for B. Oh, and The Third Man and The Abominable Dr. Phibes for Chris.

(S and I not at gift-giving stage. Plus I find myself counting down the minutes till I can be alone again when we’re hanging out, which does not auger well for an ongoing, meaningful relationship.)

I also made out very well myself in the giftie department.

Still. Christmas does tend to trigger all my Outsider impulses.

Always has.

I suppose that’s because I’m a Jew. Virgin birth does nothing for me.

Kasi at breakfast sensed this and kept creeping up behind me to give me sympathetic backrubs. It was all I could do to keep from elbowing her: Leave me the fuck alone.

Anyway, at least we didn’t kill Christ anymore. Pope Francis says so.



I may have to put down the Meezer. This makes me very sad.

She’s always been an incredibly hostile animal. She was dreadfully abused as a kitten by a family that lived next door to us in Monterey, and when they moved, they dumped her. I watched her scavenging garbage pails in the rain for a week before I finally couldn’t stand it anymore and took her in.

So, mistrustful of humans – check.

A hyper-sensitivity to touch that might almost be labeled “autistic” if she were a human. You can pet her for short periods of time, and she’ll purr, but then she’ll just lash out to make you stop.

Couple of nights ago, she was on my bed, I was petting her lightly, and all of a sudden, she went psycho. Went after my arm, tooth and claw. I had to pry her off. Puncture wounds from her teeth. Cujo Kitty! Had to soak my arm for an hour in a hydrogen peroxide solution and slather bacitracin on it. Cats’ mouths are much filthier than dogs’ mouths.

She’s done this before, although not for many years.

She’s 16 now, which is old for a cat. Sometimes, she’ll yowl for no reason. This is apparently a sign of feline dementia.

Does she have medical issues? Well, I’m pretty sure she has cataracts, but even if I were in a position to spend money on expensive surgery for her, I don’t think I would. Animals are animals. I’d rather donate money to Planned Parenthood or some other worthy cause that provides necessary medical care to humans. I keep up with necessary vaccinations and flea preventatives, and that’s about all I’m willing to spend on vet bills. (This is by no means a judgment or criticism of anyone who does spend money on medical treatment for their animals.)

I don’t think it’s a dental issue because she has no difficulty eating dried food.

Arthritis?

Maybe. There are effective home remedies I can try for that.

And she’s awfully thin underneath all that fur. But then, she’s always been thin.

I’ve been putting her out at night because I don’t think it’s wise to sleep in close proximity to her.

She prefers being outside if it comes to that, and it’s been quite warm: The Eastern Seaboard is in the midst of an historic heat wave.

I suppose when it turns cold again, I’ll have to cage her at night.

“I know you love her, but be sensible,” L said kindly. “I think you may need to put her down.”

Animal behavioralist B concurred. I think he may have used the word, “sentimental.”

Thing is that I’ve always taken the notion of “stewardship,” “guardianship,” very seriously. I suppose this is one of the things that happens to you if you’re an abandoned child and somehow, you managed to avoid self-destructing in your earlier years.

The Meezer enjoys her little life. She doesn’t hunt anymore, but she enjoys sitting on her windowsill outside. She enjoys patrolling the perimeter of her territory. And I remember how when she did hunt, she’d always leave her trophies for me, and how, during that horrible three-year stretch when practically my only pleasure was going for long hikes with Milo into the eerily beautiful countryside, I’d hear a sound, look around, and there she’d be: She’d trailed us five, six, seven miles into the woods.

She’s spunky and highly intelligent for a cat. Endearing characteristics, at least to me.

On the other hand, if she’s dangerous to be around…

At any rate, I can’t make that decision yet.

And if I do have to put her down, I will be heartbroken.

Whereas if I let her out at night, and coyotes get her, I will not be heartbroken.

Because I won’t have the moral culpability.

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When _’s longtime pal _____ got fired from his job at the helicopter factory, he went into underground agriculture. Last time I went to _____, _ sent me home with a hefty baggie of product. I’ve been sampling, just before bedtime. Mostly because it helps me sleep better.

But there are other pleasant side effects as well.

A sense of physical well-being.

A general slow-down of time. Time doesn’t pass; it glides.

A kind of hypnagogic awareness that makes me feel as though, with only the teeniest amount of effort, I could actually materialize some of the memories leaping and cavorting about through my mind.

Like yesterday when I was running, I began to remember what it felt like to be a kid desperately wanting a particular toy. The exact sense; a completely unironic blind trust: Having this will make my life perfect.

It was a desire completely unlike any covetousness or yearning that I’m familiar with as an adult; alien and, at the same time, so, so, so familiar.

And last night I remembered for another three-second stretch exactly what it felt like to be head over heels in love with B, that passionate sense of oneness when you feel all the boundaries toppling…

Interesting!

Plus I think it’s something I can use. Maybe this is some sort of exercise June and Henry do together that cements their bond.

Writing is going well, so that’s something. I think this particular project has serious commercial potential, so it would behoove me to finish it.