Born: ?????

He was already a grown cat when I got him as a stray with no history.  We couldn’t find any way to tell what age he might be, so I have no idea when he was born.

Became my kitty-buddy: Early 2006

My sister found him in the Wal-Mart parking lot, meowing pitifully.  We strongly suspect he was dumped, because a few months later, he was missing for three weeks, for reasons unknown, and came home; any cat that remembered how to find his new home after three weeks didn’t get hopelessly lost on his own.  One theory was that his owner had died and the heirs didn’t want him, since he seemed to have been well cared for until recently–he was fixed and had what looked like old, well-healed scars from a line of stitches on his jaw.  But we never figured out why anyone would not want such a sweet cat.

While he was missing for three weeks, I got Squirrel and Panther, because I thought by then (2 1/2 weeks in) that he just wasn’t coming back.  As a result, Chilsa and the kittens didn’t take to each other right away, because he thought they were the intruders (he was there months before them) and they thought he was the intruder (they were there days before him).  However, he immediately started standing guard in the window and yowling at other cats to stay away.  He’d never done that before and I had to figure that he felt protective.  A week or so later, they were playing together and he was teaching them how to be cats.

Died: March 3, 2009

He seemed completely normal and healthy all day.  Looking back, he never asked to be let out, so now I wonder if he knew something was coming and wanted to spend all day with his family.

He spent the night before, and much of the morning, curled up by my feet.  He did this most nights.

During the day, he “helped” me with a crochet project, licked my arm, chased the kittens around, curled up on my lap…did all the normal things that were part of his kitty life.  He continued to bounce around for most of the evening, until I heard a thump across the room, looked up, and saw that my big grey cat was laying down funny.

I went over to see if he needed help.  At first he could only move his head, then not even that.  I flicked his tail, petted him, rubbed his ears, trying to get a response.  I talked to him, and he tried to talk back–I heard what sounded like it almost would have been a meow but his mouth wouldn’t quite open.  One moment his eyes were looking at me; the next moment, his eyes were empty.  My kitty-buddy was gone.

At least he had a good last day.  At least he didn’t have time to suffer.  At least…at least…a million at leasts don’t change the fact that it’s so quiet without him to start up a game of chase with the other two.

I will never again come home and find Chilsa waiting either by the door or, if I’m running late, out by my parking.  He did that for the last time on Monday night, when I got home from CAP at about 10, and walked with me, almost tripping me a few times, to the apartment door.

I will never again have to tell him not to bite my arm after licking a few times.  I’d let him bite me a dozen times a day if it meant I’d have him back.

I will never again have to divert him licking away from my nose.  I’d put up with cat breath if it meant I’d have him back.

I will never again almost have to fight with him for the phone while I talk to my boyfriend.  I’m not sure how Chilsa knew, but he would rub up against the phone when Thomas called.  They got along fine, the time they were around each other, but I didn’t think cats used phones.

He loved living here–at the old apartment, he was indoor-only.  Here, I let him go outside, where there are trees to climb and birds to watch.  He would sit on the steps and look at the grass area next to the dumpster, where one of the older ladies in the complex leaves birdseed out; it was his Food Channel.

He’s done shredding carpets, chasing the kittens, sticking his face in catnip-filled scratching pads, and following me to the laundry room.  Exactly what he’s doing now, I don’t know, but there would have to be a serious design flaw in the universe for him not to have a soul, especially given some of the people that, by all accepted standards, do.

If there’s any fairness, it involves playing with kittens or being cuddled by someone.  Maybe with some catnip.

Good-bye, Chilsa.

A Wal-Mart worker was killed Friday after an “out of control” throng of shoppers eager for post-Thanksgiving bargains broke down the doors at a suburban store and knocked him to the ground, police said.

At least four other people, including a woman eight months pregnant, were taken to hospitals for observation or minor injuries, and the store in Valley Stream on Long Island closed for several hours before reopening.

…

Dozens of store employees trying to fight their way out to help the man were also getting trampled by the crowd, Fleming said. Witnesses said that even as the worker lay on the ground, shoppers streamed into the store, stepping over him.

One person bumping into another…that happens.

One of said people taking a tumble…that also happens.

The person who fell getting trampled to death by a savage horde of materialism zombies eager to spend spend spendspendSPEND!!!!…no.  No fracking way.  Not in any civilization that I want to be part of.  Unfortunately I don’t see any way to vote with my feet on this one, since America, while importing everything else so that our trade deficit kind of looks like our national deficit, has managed to balance things up nicely if you figure in consumerism and materialism as exports.  So, as we’ve gone, the rest of the world will be following shortly.

If you read the full article, it says the guy was a temp–probably picking up some extra work to buy Fluffy McRufflepants the Flying Dinosaur or Suzie the Doll that Poos Real Poo or whatever the stupid overpriced toy of the year is for his spawn, or else expensive jewelry for his lady friend.  Or I’m wrong and he was using the opportunity to get a few bucks to make rent in the economic clusterfrack created by the real estate market being unable to support that many not-even-interest home loans.  Either way, materialism at its finest has given this worker’s family a funeral for Christmas.

Scrooge was onto something, referring to the festivities of Christmas as “humbug,” which, loosely translated, means “BS.”  I would say that for people to trample someone to death in order to go shopping, to put a human life’s value below that of stuff, qualifies as BS.  So, bah humbug to all, and to all a good right.

What I have a problem with is the utter brainwashing that leaves otherwise intelligent people saying dumb crap like “guns are evil and disgusting.”  Ridiculous…a gun is a thing.  It’s a tool.  It’s an assemblage of metal parts.  It has no soul and no moral alignment for good or evil; that’s up to the owner of the hand with the finger on the trigger.

Since they aren’t of themselves good or bad, it all depends on how they’re used.  Well…as it turns out…CCW permitholders are less likely to commit crimes than the general population.  And crime rates, including violent crime and crimes with guns, go up when guns are banned and down when laws allowing concealed carry go into effect.

In summation:

The good that guns make possible outweighs the bad.

Don’t blame a tool for things done by humans.

If my tax money goes to save all these companies, that should be payment in advance for any of their services that I ever need. Fair’s fair. Never gonna happen…but it’s on my wish list.

In the midst of all the bailout and weakening markets and general frackedness…a friend of mine saw an ad for a bank telling people basically that they could get a home equity loan to pay for a vacation. The hell? Call me old-school but I thought “don’t risk the house” was one of the fundamental rules of economic responsibility and the only good reasons to get a loan involving the house were medical bills (when you need a kidney you gotta do what you gotta do), home improvements that add value (especially if you’re trying to sell), and paying off (and then cutting up) higher interest debts. Not a damn week in the Bahamas.

Oh, but I said the R word…responsibility. No wonder.

Seriously…the only way we’re going to pull out of this clusterfuck is to get back to basics. People from Joe Schmoe and Suzy Average to the state and (omg!) federal governments have to to run a balanced budget. This involves not buying things they can’t afford because you can’t spend money you don’t have (House would add “You idiot!” at this point).

We also have to get credit-providing companies to plug their business sense back in and only lend out money that the person will be able to pay back in installments that work for them over a reasonable amount of time. If they approve people that they know can’t pay, it’s their own damn fault and it shouldn’t be my hypothetical grandspawn that have to pay for it. This is why the bailout concept pisses me off. These companies, by their own stupidity/dishonesty, got themselves fracked…yes, that’s a boot in the ass. And when Mommy Government stops Daddy Market from quite naturally putting his boot in Rebellious Teenager Company’s ass, Rebellious Teenager Company gets even worse. (We all had this sibling, yes? )

It probably also involves V-chipping the home shopping channels, changing the channel when MTV Cribs or any Extreme Makeover show comes on, shopping less but comparison shopping more, and rediscovering the park and the library. Our status-spending values are a huuuuuuuuuuge part of how we got ourselves into this. Those who have kids, or who think you might one day, teach them that fun can be free and the price tag isn’t the person…not by saying it, by living it. I mean, FTLOFSM, at least go more than a year with the same cell phone. Capitalism has the advantage of being the only economic system I know of that works as described (i.e. people work so that they can buy stuff); its cultural spawn, consumerism, however…sucks.

Robert Kadera of Lake Villa and his 14-year-old son, Isaac, were standing outside the aircraft, a 1949 Piper Clipper, which was sitting in the middle of the golf course about 20 feet south of the retaining wall that separates the golf course from Route 22, police said.

Kadera said it was not an emergency landing, but rather, the boy was late for his tennis lesson at the Lincolnshire Club across the street from the golf course on Route 22, police said.

http://cbs2chicago.com/local/golf.course.plane.2.668950.html

Here’s a thought.  There is no degree of being late for tennis practice that would make it reasonable to land on a golf course.  Definite fail of common sense check.

That reminds me of a story.  A few CAP meetings ago, we talked about another severe thunderstorm warning–apparently this guy could have used an internal barometer.  Or maybe he would have just ignored it, like the repeated advisories from the tower before he nominated himself for a Darwin Award.  We felt sorry for the plane.

As for the pilot, he at least found his mission in life:

I’m not kidding when I say “everything,” either.  I happened to look at the labels of spaghetti sauces while I was shopping today, and they all had corn syrup.  Seriously.  Tomato sauce doesn’t need sugar.  But I guess the average $5,600,000,000 has to go somewhere…I just wish it didn’t have to be into pointless empty calories.

(And I adore empty calories.  Mmmmm chocolate.  I just like them to be defined and enjoyed as such, not part of freaking spaghetti sauce.)

I have to grade this. Which means I have to work out all these problems on all these tests. GAH!!! WILL TAKE FOREVER!!!!! *dies of frustration*

So I don’t think “turn my cell phone the frack in already” is that much to ask.

Yell at seventh graders. Again.

Phone goes missing and gets across campus (I tracked it with Bluetooth from the laptop a bit) but never quite turns up. I find out how to suspend it to keep from having to pay for calls to China.

I get a refund for a book that I bought off Amazon and never got because they used a type of shipping where it was returned instead of forwarded. I provided an updated address before the book shipped, and they said they’d be in touch if it was returned, and they weren’t until I asked for an update because it had been two weeks. I got 39 cents back, they got to keep $3.99 and the book. Now I’m impressed with their customer service.

I get a year older; 24 now. I wasn’t even really used to 23–it was already just a little bit older than I thought I could ever be–so this is going to be interesting to try to keep track of.

In short…woooooooooooooooooooo…