In today’s mail:

• Dainty paper plates
• Three Union Jack disco balls
• Kevlar pants

My plans are coming together nicely.

April is apparently a busy month ’round these parts. Ed and I were in Victoria last weekend to say hi to mom and romp around Beacon Hill Park in the dark. We stayed at a B&B (we did not partake of the second B because I am not getting up at 8am to eat with strangers), which was nice – it was an old Tudor house built in 1912 and undoubtedly stuffed with ghosts (which we did not see, but all old houses are haunted – it’s a fact). The visit with mom was almost TOO uneventful (she didn’t once mention my purple hair), and we had a lovely meal at her favourite food hole.

Oh, and we almost bought a house.

Ed and I were hanging out at Saxe Point, which we do every time we’re on the Island. We found a neat cove with benches, and sat for a while to take in the naturey goodness and watch dogs fetching sticks in the water. There were several houses under construction around the cove and I got nosy, so we looked up the area on a realtor site to see what property was going for. Depressingly, property in Victoria is a LOT cheaper than it is in Vancouver – like, temptingly so. It didn’t help matters that a near-perfect, almost affordable* place was just around the corner from us, smack in the middle of the part of town we had already agreed was our favourite .. shit. We drove to see it. Oh look, an Open House! Noooooo. Fortunately, there was no one there – but Ed almost went as far as calling the realtor, which I stopped. We were just wishful thinking, right? This was not real life. That was not our beautiful house.

The truth is, I’m torn. Victoria is beautiful, and I’m finally of the (advanced) age where I can appreciate my roots. We’d be able to afford an actual stand-alone house. We’d be closer to deal with my mother on a more frequent basis. The ocean is super.

The flipside, though: isolation. Being dependant on the loathsome BC Ferries. It’s not Europe. We have friends here, and sometimes we get to see them. Getting to Seattle is suddenly an expensive ordeal, instead of something that can be done on whims. I might have to find a new job, if I wasn’t able to convince my company that I’m so important I should be allowed to work remotely full time. The aforementioned proximity to my mother.

The cons are winning, for now. I could probably convince myself of the opposite if I really wanted to, but I don’t know that I do – it’s a huge decision, one I’m not in any hurry (or real need) to make any time soon.

But .. what if?

As I looked at available properties in Victoria, I noticed a decent number of low-priced one-bedroom condos. We did the math: if we were to, say, buy one of these units, the monthly mortgage payment would be less that the rent my mother pays for her horrible basement suite. We could help her out, improve our Financial Situation for The Future, potentially have somewhere to stay when we visited that wasn’t her horrible spider nest, and all sorts of other excellent reasons. It’s an intriguing (if terrifying) idea, one we approached mom with. It could be done, we all agreed. Will we actually do it? That remains to be seen.

After a weekend of hardcore grown-upping, I need a ridiculous vacation.

That was a lot of thinking for just two days in April. Other things were done this month, too – someone (me) forgot that I’m afraid of children, so I hosted around 40 of them for an event at work last night. I had a Discussion with my boss about my role and where I want to take it. Science has proven that I am a terrible person and so few are the fucks I give that I am starving for fucks. Ed bought a dream car, which is mostly why I can’t run out and buy a house in Victoria tomorrow. When he gets the car, the Mini will be all mine and I am making furious plans for stickers I’m going to put on it. Tattoos are happening! Consult is booked for May, a couple of days after we get back from New York. Speaking of which, I got bored one day and booked a trip to New York. Hooray! Lemon is doing wonderfully well, in that he is a total brat. No one has any clue what made him so sick, but this healthy Lemon is still miraculous to us so we will joyfully take it. Tonight I get to go to the launch of the Pan Pacific’s new fancy restaurant called Ocean 999, which is super cool. On Sunday, I will make a piñata. So many things going on! I’m exhausted just thinking about it all and also justifying this terrible run-on paragraph.

All caught up now, right?

I tend to forget that I do technically have ovaries and junk, because I don’t really use them. That’s why, when I suffer from Explosive Emotions, I’m freaked out – where the fuck did this come from? True, it’s not always hormonal – sometimes things just suck – but without a monthly clock to keep track of this stuff (Mirena is my BFF), these internal drama bombs are truly random. They only happen three or four times a year, and they’re basically the only form of menstruation I go through. I’m not complaining – the opposite actually, it’s pretty fucking awesome – but it does take me by surprise.

Like today, when everything made me cry before 11am. So far this morning I’ve cried over:

• Ed telling me to wake up after I slept through my alarms
• My favourite song coming on while I was in the shower
• Extra money
• When Dilly rubbed against my legs in greeting
• The state of my savings account
• That swans can be gay
• How blue Lemon’s eyes are
• Remembering the severance I got from a job 15 years ago
• Being hungry

There are so many FEELINGS, and apparently I am having them all. I’m pretty sure I’m too much of a weepy mess to be of any use today, but I’m still going to go into work and tinker with systems. Eventually all these tears will turn to pure incoherent rage over nothing, and I want to make sure there’s a rotten issue tracker or two I can take my rage out on safely.

they’re just so BLUE *sob*

I don’t know if Lemon will ever know just how close to the Rainbow Bridge he was last week, and that’s probably okay. Ed and I were tearfully saying our goodbyes the evening before the appointment when he just .. got better. The Last Resort steroids kicked in, and since last Tuesday he’s shown a remarkable improvement. He’s eating again, and has even started demanding food in the mornings before we’re awake. He hasn’t thrown up since last week, he’s all groomed and fluffy, most of his time is spent showing us his fuzzy shaved belly (and getting angry if we touch it), and yesterday he tried to clean Dilly’s head. Lemon is still too skinny and sometimes looks as though he’s uncomfortable, but when I think back to the pitiful, puking mess he was last week .. I’ll take it. I don’t know how much time we have with him, but last week he wasn’t ready to go and I am grateful.

A couple of weeks ago, I bought an Apple Watch. I was waiting until Apple’s March event had passed, to see if they were going to announce a new one – but they didn’t, so I caved and ordered. Since the advent of smart watches I’d been wearing a Pebble and then a Pebble Time, but wasn’t happy – the PT was supposed to be better, but I found it came up short when compared to the original Pebble. With riding season coming up, I needed a way to keep connected that didn’t involve pulling out my phone every time my finger buzzed, and since I couldn’t rely on my current tech, a new shiny was warranted.

I’ve been wearing the watch for a week now, and it’s pretty cool – cool enough that Ed went and got himself one yesterday. Now we can send each other sketches of dicks all day long, and it’s pretty great. My only concern: today I discovered how to use the heart rate function, and now I’m convinced I’m dying all over again. I don’t know if the sensors are wonky or if I accidentally ingested a whole lot of meth at lunch time, but my heart is beating crazy fast. Fast enough that the internet says I’m about to keel over and die in a puddle. That’s not good, right? Or is hypochondria just considered a feature?

It feels like we’re living at the vet these days.

After Lemon’s first bout with the sick, he responded well to the treatment. He was his old, ornery self for almost two full weeks, but then he relapsed hard last Thursday. Since then, he’s been throwing up foam and saliva non-stop. He’s had blood work, x-rays, an ultrasound, antibiotics, steroids, fluids, pain meds .. nothing is working. He isn’t eating or drinking, grooming himself, meowing, purring, or doing much of anything other than gagging up bile and foam. The vets – multiple, now – don’t know what’s going on. There’s nothing in any of his results that would cause this. They’ve never seen this before.

We spent most of yesterday watching him struggle to stop gagging, and I sobbed as his head drooped into a puddle of foam, as his muzzle became soaked in drool, as his eyes watered up every time he retched. This isn’t life. This isn’t my awesome, stubborn, loud, potato jerk of a cat that I love. This isn’t fair.

And yet every time we make a decision, he changes. Last night was his worst night yet, until around 10pm. At 10, he sat up. He stretched and walked around. He jumped up onto the furniture, climbed my chest to perch on my hip, curled upside down, patted his big brother on the side. We measure his affection (with two f’s) in “boofs” – headbutting into our fists to rub his face on us. We got a few tiny ones last night. He joined us in bed, taking up most of the room.

He’s spent all of today in an upturned Amazon box. Occasionally, he bites off small chunks of the paper used to cushion the teacups I decided we needed last week. He used to do this as a kitten – take bites out of cardboard or tissue paper and spit it out. He threw up once this morning, but nothing since. Still no eating or drinking.

At 2pm, he got out of his box and walked over to me. I got several boofs before he went over to Ed and did the same. He hopped up onto the ottoman and settled in for a sit, and started to purr – the first purrs we’ve heard in over a week.

I’ve spent the last 6 days crying in sadness or hope. I’m tired. Lemon’s tired. Ed is tired. There’s nothing we can do but watch and wait, and it is exhausting.

Last week I gained several Asian Points: I had ramen for the first time, and also acupuncture (not at the same time). These are both Asian things. Half of me is pleased with myself, while the other half really wants some poutine (not necessarily due to my Montreal half but more because poutine was right next door to ramen and I didn’t think having them together was a good use of my time).

Other than trying to be more Asian for fun and profit, my life has been somewhat consumed by JIRA administration. While this may sound like the most exciting life anyone has ever had ever, I am saddened to report that, instead of the supermodels and private jets the words “JIRA administration” conjures up, my life is a fine balsamic reduction of never-ending rage and confusion. Case in point: for the past several weeks, there’s been a system error that’s been filling the logfile with page after page of garbage. I needed to find a different error, but I couldn’t see anything wrong because the log only contained approximately two minutes of detail; such was the severity of the error being thrown. If you had a problem ten minutes ago, too bad for you. There was no room in the logfile for your fuckup, because this other fuckup was too chatty.

There was a lot of back and forth with external support, and we finally got to a point where that particular error wasn’t being thrown. Hooray! Bring on the supermodels and private jets! Except .. well, we fixed the logfile so well that now it’s not capturing anything. The last activity was 5 days ago, and I know things have gone wrong during that time because our JIRA was set up by drunk hamsters working through heartache, so stuff pops up in the logfile all the time.

I now truly understand the meaning of “life is pain”.

Other news: my hair is pink, we’ve decided to keep the Mini even if Ed buys his mid-life crisis car next year, Lemon is doing much better but he’s still being very needy and weird, I had high tea on Saturday for the first time ever and it was super neat,  I rode Lola into work today and it was glorious, I think my left foot is broken, I overdosed on Cheezies last night and I regret my entire life, I have to pee.

Oh, and Delicious Juice Dot Com will be 15 years old on March 30th.

Hooray!

Yeah, salacious titles. Mmm. Can’t get enough.

Lemon, our grumpy middle cat, is very sick. He was fine when we got back from Barcelona, but last Monday he started throwing up all over the damn place. He has a tendency to throw up – usually when he eats too fast – so we weren’t all that alarmed, until we realized that a) he wasn’t throwing up food, it was basically foam and bile, b) he was throwing up nonstop, and c) he wasn’t eating or drinking. We got him into the vet on Wednesday, where they gave him (expensive) fluids and drugs and x-rays. The verdict: kidney issues.

Not just *any* kidney issues, either: the x-ray showed that his kidneys are half the size they should be, most likely due to genetics. Those of you who’ve been around for a while may remember that Lemon’s full name is actually Cream Lemon, the Incestuous Bad Idea Kitten –  his parents were brother and sister. The incestuous origin story was basically all fun and games until now, when we’re learning that there are may be serious repercussions because of his wonky genes. Best case scenario: treat his kidneys as best we can, until the end game. Worst case: we lose out on half of his lifespan because his already-ravaged kidneys can’t handle the additional bad of disease or infection.

We were at the vet three times with Lemon last week, and by Saturday he was so bad I was convinced he wouldn’t be coming home with us. I was a weepy, snotty mess at the vet, but Lemon surprised all of us with an extreme showing of fiest – he would. not. let the vet give him a pill. He took several needles and an IV with purrs and sleepy affection, but when it came time to put something down his throat, he fought back *hard*. It took 15 minutes, 2 vets, 3 pills, and finally a towel-wrapped burrito Lemon before they got the pill into him. On the plus side, Dr. Liz will never ever send us home with pills to give him, now that she’s seen what happens real time.

Since that visit, Lemon has been getting better. He’s been adorably needy throughout this entire ordeal and wanted to be close to or on one of us at all times, but wouldn’t leave the living room. Now, he’s close to normal: running around, jumping on furniture (and my back, a trick he learned from Dilly), going into the hallway to explore, and insisting upon himself: last week he slept on the couch in a stoned haze, but now he follows us at bedtime and takes up ALL THE ROOM. I’m not complaining – I’m genuinely delighted that he’s bouncing back from this. How long this bounce will last is anyone’s guess – he still needs an ultrasound to determine how bad his kidneys actually are, and he may need additional antibiotics if he starts feeling bad again. The vet wanted him in every day, but they’re in North Van and even though Lemon has been saintly throughout all we’ve put him through, the vet visits still stress him out. And since he’s doing so much better, I’d rather keep him at home where he’s safe and happy and ornery, which is my favourite kind of Lemon.

Spay and neuter your pets, guys. Having an incest kitten is funny until he breaks your heart by dying a good 10 years sooner than he should.

When your ego has taken a massive hit, how do you bounce back?