First things first

If you’ve been in the Internet within the past couple of years and you like cats, there’s a good chance you’ve already seen this. If not, well, then let me introduce you to the fabulous Maru:

I’ve been stockpiling a bunch of links I think are interesting but am having trouble finding the time to give each link the proper writeup it deserves. So I’m just going to dump them into one post and let you wade through them as you like. Enjoy!

Get your SQUEE on: the Battlestar Galactica series bible (PDF).If you liked the recent BSG series even one little bit, you will like this document.

Mark Bittman recently announced that his column “The Minimalist” was leading the New York Times cooking section after  thirteen years. He promises bring his recipes and commentaries to other pages of the NYT (including his blog), so he’s not leaving us for good. If you’re one of his fans, take a look at this page, which functions as a quasi-index/TOC of all of his columns.

I have several friends who run marathons regularly. I admire them for their discipline and dedication. At the same time I think they are slightly nuts. I like the idea of a marathon but feel a bit muddle-headed when I start envisioning all the training that goes into preparing for one. Which is why I found this post intriguing: How to Hack a Marathon If You Aren’t a Runner. So what do you think, those of you who run a lot—would it work for you?

“Are Disney Princesses Evil?” The short version of my response to this is “yes.” But it’s not just Disney—it’s the onslaught of branding that children are exposed to from infancy. This branding seeks to limit their choices and to turn them into consumers, and I think both of those aims are Not Good Things.

The content and language here are a bit crude. But wow, this post just cracked me up: “Neil Gaiman made up this myth.”

Any of you who have ever owned cats or spent a lot of time with them can surely relate to this:Here’s an anti-unicorn-chaser to follow all that feline cuteness: the Zombie Tabernacle Choir.

You can see photos of 109 different sweater-wearing cats here. For reals. (No word, however, on if any of the owners or photographers had their eyes clawed out immediately after the photos were taken.)

Want to make your cat number 110? You can knit up this free pattern for your own cat sweater.

Seriously.

I dare one of you to knit this. Then put it on your cat. And then photograph your cat.

The last two steps will probably require you to execute the “run like hell” maneuver immediately afterwards.

Yesterday we said goodbye to our remaining cat, Beowulf. Her sister, Britty, died in March 2008, and we still haven’t fully gotten used to that loss.

Beowulf’s decline wasn’t quite the mystery that Britty’s was—she had recently developed some age-related (she was nearly 16 and a half) health problems that were clear contributors. She’d not been doing well for two weeks took a sharp downturn over the weekend. When the vet saw her yesterday, he told us that her systems were basically shutting down.

Jan and I had already discussed this possibility (with each other and with Sylvia), so we were ready to tell the vet our decision. The three of us went back to the vet’s office to say goodbye to Beowulf (we did not stay for the procedure, but we knew she was in caring hands), and Sylvia really lost it. She was closer to Britty, but now she’s old enough to really comprehend loss and grief, so she was having a hard time.

But even though she’s sad about losing Beowulf, Sylvia does understand why this is the right choice. Jan and I explained to her (as we did with Britty) that if you have pets, one of your jobs is to help them die when it’s time, because they can’t do it for themselves. As I mentioned last spring, this is something that Jan and I very strongly believe, and it’s a lesson we want to be sure to impart to Sylvia.

It’s strange to be in cat-free house (I keep looking for the water dish to see if it needs a refill). We may very well have other furry friends with us in the house one day, but not just yet. For now, it’s just the three of us and the fish in Sylvia’s room.

We’re all sad, but doing all right. I have some thoughts for other posts—maybe in a few days or next week. In the meantime, I leave you with one of my favorite photos of Beowulf. Yes, she is indeed doing what you think she’s doing!*

*This was taken in our apartment. Unfortunately, when we moved to our house, Beowulf completely forgot how to use a toilet and went back to the litter box.

Thanks, everyone, for your very kind words about Britty. We miss her a lot, but we know she’s in a place where she’s not suffering—and where there are lots of yummy snacks everywhere, no doubt. (She did love to eat… I kid you not, that cat knew how to open tupperware in her relentless pursuit of food!)

Here’s one last photo of Britty to share with you all. This one gives you an idea of how she got the nickname “St. Britty.” Sylvia spent about half an hour carefully arranging these toys atop a napping cat…who didn’t mind one bit.

Nearly fifteen years ago, Jan decided it was time for him to have some cats of his own. One of his mom’s neighbors was looking after a feral cat who’d recently had kittens and was trying to find homes for them. Jan bought a cat crate (what Sylvia calls “the cat car-seat,” because we use it only when driving the cats to the vet’s office), took it over to the neighbor’s house, and put it down. Two cats walked right on in. Jan figured they’d chosen him, so those were the ones he took home.

As a medievalist, he named them Britomart (after a female knight in Spenser’s Faerie Queene, who, in pursuit of her sweetie, Artegal, proceeds to kick some serious ass) and Beowulf. Not too long afterward, a vet told him that the latter was actually a girl, but the name stuck anyway.

By the time I met Jan, these two cats were well into adulthood. I’d never had cats of my own before, but I took to these two instantly. It endlessly fascinated me how two littermates could have such different personalities. Beowulf always was the crabbier of the two, preferring mostly to be alone and, once Jan and I became parents, usually not in the same room as Sylvia.

Britty, on the other hand, seemed to be part dog at times. She was relentless in her pursuit of food, for example. One friend who watched her for two weeks while Jan and I got married and went on our honeymoon called her “a food-seeking missile”; when Sylvia started eating solid foods, Britty very quickly learned to circle the drop zone under the high chair like a shark.

She was also sweet—oh so sweet. She’d clamor for cuddles and attention. And when Sylvia came along, Britty became her very patient teething ring (ears and tail), occasional pillow, and all-around best friend. We dubbed her “St. Britty.”

A little over two weeks ago, Britty became seriously ill. It happened suddenly: one day her back legs looked wobbly every few steps, the next day they were regularly giving out from under her, and two days later she could no longer walk. She meowed when she wanted something, and we’d carry her to her water, food, and litter box, trying all the possibilities until we found the one that gave her comfort.

Our awesome vet did various tests (diabetes? potassium deficiency? stroke?) but ended up stumped. Last week, a shot of prednisone seemed to work wonders: for two and a half days, Britty was supporting her own weight on her legs and even walking (though still needed help at the litter box). But those glimpses of the old Britty were fleeting, and she lost those gains.

Two days ago, the vet suggested trying another shot of prednisone. If we saw significant improvement again, he said, we could try oral prednisone administered daily. An hour after the shot, Britty seemed to be doing better. She was raising her head and putting some weight on her legs when supported. Jan and I went to bed that night hopeful that we’d see big improvements in the morning, as we had the week before.

But the next day, yesterday, she was once again immobile. And that’s when we knew it was time to let her go.

There are people out there who think it’s wrong to euthanize a pet. I cannot imagine how they can think that. As a pet owner, you are responsible for your pets—responsible for making sure they have a good quality of life and for making the decisions that they can’t make themselves. And if you’re unwilling to assume those responsibilities, then you shouldn’t have pets. Jan and I didn’t want to lose Britty, but at this point it was obvious to us that keeping her any longer and prolonging her suffering would be only cruel.

This morning Sylvia and I said goodbye to Britty. Sylvia understood that Britty was very sick (and over the last couple of weeks had, on her own initiative, written lots of “I hope you feel better soon” notes to her and sang to her several songs she made up on the spot as lullabies), and Jan and I had talked with her about how Britty was going to die and we weren’t going to see her any more. Does she get it? Sort of. Maybe.

Then Jan took Britty to the vet’s office for the last time. He couldn’t stay with her (the vet is leaving town for a week and was overbooked for the day; in order to be able to stay with Britty, we’d have to wait until next Friday), but she’s never been afraid at the vet’s and the staff there adored her, so we knew she’d be in good, loving hands.

The vet called us later. “It went peacefully,” he said. “This is what I would wish for everyone.” The anesthesia he administered to Britty usually takes one to two minutes to have its effect. She was gone in four seconds—a clear indication of just how ill she was. He suspects it was cancer, possibly something that struck her lymphatic system or kidneys; the latter are very close to her spine, and if the cancer spread there, that could explain her loss of limb function.

We miss her already. I’ve held it together pretty well for two weeks, but even though I know that she’s better off now than she was over the past two weeks, I’m weeping as I write this. It’s funny how these little creatures can touch our lives and teach us so much.

We have memories and stories of Britty. And lots of pictures, too. My favorite is this one, taken in October 2005 when Sylvia was five months old.

I set up an e-mail account at Yahoo many, many years ago. It became thoroughly spamified not many years later, so you can imagine my joy when a friend who worked at HP sent me an invite for Gmail account right after Gmail launched. I moved all my personal and professional correspondence there and let my poor Yahoo account serve as my “when you have to register to buy/read/whatever someone online” place.

(Let me just take this opportunity to say that I lurve my Gmail. It’s right up there with sliced bread and flush toilets. Okay, flush toilets still win, but just barely.)

Unless I’ve ordered something online, I rarely check that Yahoo address. I pop in there once in a while to take a look around. Occasionally, I find an e-mail from someone I haven’t heard from in ages and who doesn’t know my current address. Today, when the My Yahoo page loaded, I was amused to see that #4 on the top-ten list of “Today’s Top Searches” is Cats That Look Like Hitler. This came in ahead of “Harry Potter News,” mind you–which astonished me tremendously, since that’s all everyone seems to be talking about. (In fact, yesterday I read about some moderated blogs and forums deciding to shut down temporarily for the week after the new book’s release, just so no trolls could post spoilers. I am not a Harry Potter fan. In fact, I am pretty unimpressed with the books. So all of this prepublication excitement is sociologically fascinating to me, but doesn’t really elicit more than a “Meh.”)

Out of curiosity, I clicked on the first link in the Yahoo search list: www.catsthatlooklikehitler.com. To date, there are 1231 “Kitlers” with little Hitler ‘taches. Wow.