All Hail Alfie The Kitty

My sweet bubby. My Alfikins. My best boy.

We had to say goodbye to Alfie a few days ago. It hurts a lot. I’m sorry he’s not here. He should be here. It’s fucking stupid that he’s not. He was only 7 and that isn’t enough years. Not nearly.

But we don’t get to pick, do we?

The only being in my house not grieving right now is Gertie. Because Alfie beat the shit out of her for 7 years.

Only that isn’t true. She was always concerned about him. And she seems so lost now. 

Anyway, Randy, Joey and I decided that Gertie can’t be alone. And maybe she should have a companion that won’t continually pin her down and bite the back of her neck.

Joey found a baby girl at a rescue place. She sounded perfect in temperament and she’s gorgeous. All grey. Her name is Momo. He showed me her picture. Then, he showed Randy.

Randy was not ready. And I get that. I can wait. Not too long. Gertie needs something to cuddle. Or run with.

Randy and I went out for dinner, trying to escape the “fucking shit, Alfie is dead” cloud. We had fish and chips. We had drinks. We had a period of over two hours where neither of us cried.

We stopped at a market on the corner adjacent to restaurant and there was a sandwich board on the sidewalk in front of the market that said “Homemade bread by Momo.”

I pointed it out to Randy and said I thought the universe might be talking to us.

Randy was not convinced.

Then, we got home. Randy had made an online grocery order and they substituted the cat food he ordered. We got kitten food. The picture on the box was a little gray floof ball. Like Momo.

I mean, c’mon. I’m not a woo woo person, but those were some flashing neon signs.

So, last night, Randy says “you think that kitty might still be there? The gray one?”

I applied this morning and am waiting forever.

They called our vet and our vet had no record of Gertie. They’re a new vet that Alfie had been to multiple times. So I sent back our old vet’s information so they could see that Gertie had her shots.

You all, they have not sent anything back yet.

I have never felt more inadequate. We couldn’t make Alfie be okay and obviously Gertie hasn’t been to the vet enough.

It’s been a damn minute since I’ve been in a situation where I’m doing a variation of “why don’t they call?”

If Momo comes to live with us, she’ll be getting a new name. Because Momo? No.

I’m lobbying for “Gilda” because I’d love to have a Gertie and Gilda. Randy and Joey aren’t sold.

And it doesn’t matter anyway because they’re never e-mailing back because we’re not getting her because I suck. Obviously. This is just like not making the cheerleading squad at Conner Junior High in 1976. Only now there is an adorable kitten involved. Kittens weren’t really a cheerleading thing. They’re probably still not, but what do I know?

Here is what I know.

Alfie was loved. Alfie is mourned. Alfie has left a hole that we’re still trying to fathom. It is hard and it hurts.

All hail Alfie the Kitty.

He was a panther. He was my buddy. I miss him so bad.

I’ll let you know when Gertie gets a friend.


It’s Good To Belong

We all want to fit in, right?

Sure, no one wants to come from a cookie cutter. We want to be unique and stand out. Even when we say we don’t, we kind of do. I mean, at least that is what I suspect.

Even so, it’s good to belong and have a tribe.

It’s good to feel comfortable in your surroundings. To be able to sit down and go “I belong here. No one can question this.”

So, we took our son, Joey, to the airport last Wednesday. He flew out to Seattle to visit his big brother and returns Monday. It’s not like, a few months ago, when we took my older son, Zach, to the airport. He flew away to Seattle and stayed there. And then I had separation anxiety issues, basically broke down, and ended up going on medically supervised psychedelic trips to recover.

Although, I am pretty sure, as Joey has no real ties here, there is a good chance he will end up out there.

I nearly had a psychotic break when my kid who already lived 2 hours away moved across the country. Super curious how I’m going to react when my baby boy, who lives with us, does the same. I mean, if he does. I’m making things up now, but I’ve been living in the “making things up” space for a while now.

It’s not like I want Joey to stay here. I don’t. I truly want him go where ever he needs to be to thrive and be happy.

So far, the west coast has been more than Zach could have hoped for. He lives in a beautiful place. He’s kicking ass at his job. He callswaterfall in the state of Washington me nearly every day with wonder in his voice at something beautiful he has seen.

I want the same for Joey, no matter what that means. No matter where he settles. But, I guess, my brain is not okay with the whole separation thing. I’m just saying, I’m not an overbearing mother who wants her children to stay by her side. Except for the part where I have panic attacks when they leave.

It’s exhausting being me.

But I digress.

After we dropped Joey off at the airport, we decided to go out for dinner.

We ended up at the Greyhound Tavern in Ft. Mitchell, KY.

I grew up close by and this place was usually referred to as the Greyhound Grill. It’s been there forever. I think Randy and I had been there together one other time in 28 years.

I remember it being a bit more casual, but we weren’t embarrassing or anything. I still had my work clothes on and Randy is just a snappy dresser. Seriously, he is often put together with no intention of leaving the house.

We got seated and looked at the menus.

I couldn’t see anything because the restaurant was kind of dark and I didn’t have my readers. But Randy could see the menu.

Randy: This is an old person place.

Me: What?

Randy: The sides on the menu look like what you would find in a nursing home.

Me: Ooooh…is there applesauce?

Randy: Seriously, look around. Other than staff, we are definitely the youngest people here.

Then, and I swear I am not making this up, an old lady fell down.

Here is how I know Randy is right in his assessment that the Greyhound Tavern is an old people place:

An old lady fell down and the reaction was pretty fucking bland. Like…oh, another old person fell down. My goodness, that happens here a lot.

Even the old lady on the ground was okay with it. I could hear her telling people she was fine and to just help her up. So they did. They helped her up, went to their table, and ordered dinner like troopers.

Randy: We are definitely in an old person place.

Me: Yeah? Well, I hate to break it to you, but we belong. We’re both over 60 now.


Me: It’s like when you start your senior year of high school. You see those incoming freshmen and they look like babies.


Me: We’re the freshmen.


Me: In this situation, it’s really best to be the freshman. I don’t think we’re going to fall down.

Randy: Have you met you?

Me: Fair.

I ordered the open face roast beef. My dinner came with a cup of cole slaw with some soda crackers on the side.

It was delicious.

Bring on 2022. I guess.

I’m not getting excited for a new year. Bring on 2022. I guess

Lucy Van Pelt can only fool me so many goddamn times. I’m not Charlie Brown.

I am, however, Charlie Brown’s first cousin who is easily fooled over and over.

Full disclaimer: I have no cousins named Charlie Brown. But when I was a kid, there was this amusement park ride that I would ride with my dad that darted in and out and came close to other cars. You know the one, I just suck at descriptions. Anyway, when we would be at the point where it seemed we would crash into another car, we would yell “Watch out Charlie Brown”. Also, when Randy was a kid and played baseball, his mom would come to the games and yell “Hit a homer, Charlie Brown”. So it’s kind of like Randy and I are both related to Charlie Brown. Also, I am very tired. The holidays are exhausting, yo. 

Don’t misunderstand me.

This is not me giving up.This is me, extending both arms as far as I can and extending my middle fingers.

This is me saying that I get to decide that I get to find joy. This is me accepting outrage is always around the corner and outrage can suck my dick. This is me deciding that I am goddamn thrilled to be alive. It is glorious to exist.

I think if that if we make that a yoga move, it should be called the “go fuck yourself” pose. 

It’s been a while since I’ve been excited for Christmas. I guess having a failed game show host as president and a plague puts a damper on things.

I was excited this year though. We spent Christmas evening with my family. It may be that was our last gathering for a while. You know, omicron and all.

Anyway, it couldn’t have been more pleasant. We ate good food, played games and exchanged gifts.

My gorgeous daughter in law gave me this. I love her like frozen crazy.

dish towel gift

You guys, I pulled something off this Christmas that I have never done before.

I surprised Randy.

We’ve shared 27 Christmases and this is the first time I surprised him.

I got him a gift and successfully kept it a complete secret. For months. I feel like I need an award for this or something.

I told you guys a few months ago that a Twitter friend gifted Randy with a guitar. There are two guitars that Randy has always wanted. He got the Telecaster a few months ago.

I got him a turquoise Epiphone Wildkat semi-hollow body.


I have no idea what any of those words mean, other that I understand turquoise as both a color and a rock and I also really want to pronounce “Epiphone” as “epiphany”. Also, I of course, get that it’s a guitar. It’s very pretty. I just don’t play any instruments or have any musical talent, so I had to guess.

I guessed right.

This secret fucking killed me. I can’t tell you how many times I just wanted to tell him what was under my mother’s bed.

I had it shipped to my mom’s house because he would have figured out what was in a guitar sized box under our tree. 

On Christmas eve, when I was jumping out of my skin because I only had one more sleep to go, Randy was telling me about this site called “Reverb” where musicians sell equipment.

I was aware of that site. Because that is where I bought his guitar.

I’m not going to lie, that was kind of cruel on the part of the universe to put me through that.

I had to respond with a semi-interested “uh huh” rather than “OMFG I KNOW because I shop there”.

Also, we usually celebrate with my parents and sisters and assorted spawn and spouses on Christmas eve. That got changed to Christmas day. I had a day of waiting tacked on and I also had to get a decoy gift.

So, in addition to a guitar, Randy got a pair of cashmere gloves.

Here’s to hoping he doesn’t lose them.

Here’s to deciding that 2022 will be what we make it.

We don’t get to control much, but we can still be happy. We still get joy.

I’m not looking for bright shiny horizons or baby angels riding on unicorns. I’m just saying, let’s kick 2022 in the ass.