The Meaning of Sadness

Alex was my friend, my partner in crime - we occupied the kitchen table, roughhoused, ran and played 

together. I loved her with the Big Love and I miss her awfully bad. We were together for 7 years.

I said goodbye to her, but I thought she was just going to the vet for surgery. She was, but it was worse than they thought (the big C) and though she made it through the stabby stuff, she couldn't stay. She died the night after...quietly they say.

My people have been lost and I have not been able to help them much. It is hard. They brought her furry part back from the vet and showed me so I would understand. I sniffed...she was once there but wasn't anymore.

I am sad. This is what sad is. Sad makes it hard to eat and play.

But I see her everywhere. And I will remember her. And her smelly stuff is everywhere to remind me.

Alex "Banana" 2000-2013

Jamming

Mrrrrrr Friends,

I've been playing in the snow and going to the Jams, so haven't been blogging much.

I'll be doing or thinking something outrageously cool and say to myself "I should blog this", and then something else outrageously cool comes up and I don't. Blog that is.

Your loss.

But if you are local, you could just be hanging with me at the Recovery Lounge listening to January Jams.

Dooods, January Jams? You don't know? The very cool Upper Jay Arts Center every January Sunday from 2 to 6? You could be hanging with me and listening to all the cool people playing guitars and drums and singing. I love listening to the music (I had to learn to appreciate the drums but my Unkle Scott who is a monster drummer helped me with that) and folks come by to meet me and kids like to scritch my head.  I lounge with my folks on the couch with Ant Bobbi, aka Santa Bobbi.

Oh, and I hit the print media. You know I've been on NPR and of course I am a furry presence here on the web but I haven't really cracked the print media until now:

The cat is Jamming. That's the front page above the fold, left column...and the first words are "Diesel T HeCat..." The journalist dude was pretty nice. Oom told him a little about me. I didn't think he'd write me up! We'll forgive him using the "O" word.

I know you can't read that thing above so here's the story in three pieces...you can figure this out.

Dooods, now you gotta go back up and catch the last column under the picture of Chris and his guitar...then come back down here.