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M.I.A.

Me- in action, sometimes inaction, but always- acting out!
 

In a van. . . down by the river.

Sunday, June 17, 2007

I didn't really get to know my dad until I had had enough of my mom. I moved in with my dad and his wife when I was 18 years old. They had been married for several years and this was the first time that I would be spending more than just a weekend with them: my dad, his wife, and their daughter- my 1/2 sister.
I'm 18- I'm not a child and I don't need parents but I do want a place to belong.

I didn't occur to me until we were watching Saturday Night Live that funny was the place to belong. My dad and I would laugh- at the same things. We would laugh at them the same way.
I loud 'aah' from the abdomen that made a quick entrance into the room followed a gasp for air, a snort, and a final 'aaaah' that is low and relaxing that would bring the head back to neutral after having been thrown to the shoulder blades. Extended chuckles usually result in wiping tears from the eyes or a hand placed on the aching back.

Every once in a while it sneaks up on me- I'll truly 'get a kick' out of something and the sound that comes from my soul is more of my fathers than it seems to be of my own. It has the same pitch, tone, depth, and breadth that I have heard from him long before I heard it from myself and I am reminded of my beloved daddio.

He doesn't always tell me that he loves me when we get off the phone and I don't know that I need it as much now as I did when I was younger but I fear that I won't get the opportunity to hear it again, unlike when I was younger and just wanted the reassurance.

Happy Father's Day- hoping that we find the best of the men in our lives, somewhere in the best of us.

Stan's story

Sunday, June 10, 2007

Stanley came to me via an ex. We have been together for 3 years now and he is undoubtedly my 'problem child.'
His problems list- in order of least to most severe- as follows:

Drooling. Stan is a drooler. His 'puddle' rivals mine on the sheets when fumbling to turn of an a.m. alarm. Should Stan nap in your lap- be prepared.

Turrets. Stanley will, without warning- bite the shit out you. Seemingly unable to control his ability to contain his excitement when being held, pet, or attended to- he will show his own brand of love. Not necessarily hard, unless you're attempting medicate said syndrome- as in the the punctured nail tragedy of January '07. It's healed fine thank you- I finally lost the nail a few weeks ago. Stan has also proven to have what appears to be- as of late- a chatty disposition which are more 'chirps' that 'meows.'

Asthma. While seasonal changes cause more 'wheezing'- he pretty much does it all the time. Scary to newcomers, Stan assumes the position that gives you the impression that he's about to hork something up. He simply wheezes his way through it, rolls to his side, and then looks at you as if to say--- what?

Allergies. Stanley suffers most in the spring and this coupled with Anxiety causes him to lick uncontrollably and consequently loose most of the hair on his arms, belly, and a good portion of his legs. The bonus of being cooler in temperature (ONLY!) is a detraction from his then accentuated pot-belly appearance.
Visitor: "uh, is that a cat or some kind of pig?"
M.I.A.: "screw off, he's got special needs."
Visitor: "I see that."

While all these give Stanley a lasting impression for those that get the pleasure of meeting him- his most recent ailment has me saddened. Cataracts. I have noticed for a few weeks he has been a bit jumpy- easily startled if I 'sneak' up on him- puffing up with whats left of his hair. I had also noticed that he is more 'chirpy' lately- usually squawking until I answer him. I noticed that when I was in the kitchen and both cats were sitting at the edge of the carpet- awaiting a drop of something that won't eat anyway- the light from the window revealed that both eyes- although one worse than the other- have haze that his brother's do not.

Stan- with all his problems- is still my beloved pet. He's always quick to show affection with his teeth on your skin and has kept the vacuum employed. I am sorry to see that he soon can't.

This is the bitter of a sweet relationship in pet care giving- choosing to be there to the dark end. I'm sure he'll get more cranky and I'll keep the furniture in the same places to avoid any surprise run-ins.

Sweet Stan--- I love you.
 
   





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