Death found dead in his Burbank apartment

There was a discussion on a writer's forum by someone who has lost too many people in the last six months and is really angry at Death. A writer going by the online alias of Owlwhisper posted this in response as an article they want to see in the newspaper.

Death was found dead today in his Burbank apartment. He was 13.7 billion years old. The cause of death has not been announced pending an autopsy, but police investigators suggested Death died of natural causes, murder, suicide, various Acts of God, and swine flu.

"He kept to himself and was very quiet," said a neighbor who declined to be identified. "I didn't hear anything out of his place other than moans, clanking chains, and sounds of mortal coils being shuffled. Nothing unusual at all."

Old Age, younger brother of Death, was contacted and issued a statement that there would be a funeral. No date has been set, Old Age indicated, because the family wants the arrangements to be perfect. "After all," he said, "it's the last funeral we'll ever do."

In addition to his direct family, Death leaves seven billion survivors.

Death found dead in his Burbank apartment

Bernie the cat :(

Bernie the cat died today. I'm very, very sad.

About a week ago, we noticed that he was beginning to act a little puley. He wasn't moving as much and he seemed off his feed. Nothing too bad, really, but he clearly wasn't a happy boy.

As the days wore on, though, he wasn't getting better. He was losing weight and looking really peaked. His membranes were up slightly, so I figured it was a bad case of parasites, even though we'd dosed him with a vermifuge recently. Time to take him in to the vet. The Babe volunteered to take him in Thursday morning (they didn't have anything Wed afternoon) because she didn't have cases until the afternoon.

It wasn't parasites. The vet said that he was an extremely sick cat, far sicker than we'd realized. He was very jaundiced: the insides of his ears were bright yellow. They weren't sure what was causing it, but all the possibilities were really bad. They ran a bunch of tests and came up with a probable answer: FIP, feline infectious peritonitis, a disease that tends to attack kittens of precisely his age. Worse, this was the "wet" kind, which generates a lot of fluids.

The disease is a really nasty virus that attacks whatever the hell it feels like. It's different from cat to cat, so in one cat it might attack the heart, in another the lungs, and so on. In Bernie's case, it got to his kidneys and they were badly swollen, over twice their normal size (which is about the size of a marble) and surrounded by fluid. They had gotten so large that they were pressing into his intestines and causing enough discomfort that he didn't feel like eating or drinking.

FIP is hard to diagnose: you can say with certainty when it's not a factor, but the corona virus that's the root of the problem can appear without mutating into FIP (which is part of the evil). Even worse, there's no effective vaccine: the one that's on the market is of dubious effectiveness and it has to be given to kittens around 4 weeks. But the worst part is that there's no cure for it. There's minor symptomatic relief, but a cat with wet FIP has at best 2 months to live.

The vet rehydrated Bernie so he'd feel better, but she held out very little hope for him. She said if his appetite returned, he might last as much as 2 more weeks, but if it didn't--and this was far more likely--then it wouldn't be much longer at all. She made it very clear that I should bring him home to say goodbye.

We kept a close eye on Bernie that evening. He was fairly droopy, but the rehydration made him livelier than he'd been for a while. But by Friday afternoon, he was fading fast. He spent all his time curled up in one place or another. I noticed that his abdomen was getting distended from fluid build-up, which must've been very uncomfortable. In fact, several times I saw him curled up with one paw under him to lift up his tummy slightly so it didn't press on anything.

I figured if he made it through Friday night, it was Time, and I was going to bring him in to the vet to have him put down Saturday. He was still alive, but clearly in much worse shape, on Saturday morning, so made an appt. for the afternoon.

Bernie was so sick when I got ready to pack him up for the ride that he didn't even run away when I set the cat carrier next to him. He just looked at it and made this pitiful mewing sound. I scooped him up as gently as I could so I didn't press his abdomen and put him in the carrier and drove him to the vet.

I was about to ask about paying the bill in advance because I didn't want to stick around afterwards, but the person behind the desk knew what I was there for and said that they could mail me the bill and I could pay it when I felt ready to do so. That was incredibly thoughtful of them and very gracious as well: it's normally a pay-as-you-go deal.

One of the vet techs got me in the room and helped me get Bernie out the carrier. He was pretty pathetic at this point. I asked about his abdomen and she palpated and then said "Oh, yeah, feel this." I put my fingers where hers were and she said "Those are his kidneys." From something the size of marbles, his kidneys had swollen to the size of small hen's eggs. Bernie must've been miserable. It was good to feel that, because I knew I was doing the right thing.

She left me there and I talked to Bernie and cried for a while. He managed to move around some and snuggle. He even walked up on my shoulders and sat down for a while and would occasionally purr. His breath was really bad, which I attributed (correctly) to toxicity.

The vet came in and we got set up. Bernie still had a catheter port in his arm from his IVs on Thursday, so they didn't have to poke him for the shots. I was pleased. The vet first gave him a tranquilizer, which just relaxed him. (He looked far more relaxed than I'd seen him in the last few days, in fact.) Then she asked if I was ready for her to proceed. I said yes. She then gave Bernie an anesthetic that completely knocked him out so that he wouldn't be conscious for any of the rest of it. Bernie was draped over my forearm and he sorta drooped to one side. She waited a moment, but when it was clear that he was unconscious, she gave him the overdose of barbiturates. She checked his heart with the stethoscope and said "He's gone."

I cried through most of this. The vet (who was also very sniffly) asked if I wanted time alone with him. No, I'd done all that I needed to before she came in and he was gone now. I had found a couple of the paper balls that I'd through to Bernie and he'd play fetch with yesterday under the couch in my office, and I asked her to make sure that these went with him when he was cremated. (I had decided not to bury him at the house.)

I know I did the right thing for him, because my little guy was in a lot of pain, but damnit, I really hate it when my cats get sick and die. :(

Bernie the cat :(

Falwell's dead--it's a good day!

Falwell's dead. The day seems better already.

People I know have said they don't celebrate anyone's death. They may be better people than I or just not as observant; who knows? But I can and do have a visceral hatred for the man for a wide variety of reasons. He lied about my faith, he lied about friends of mine, and he incited hatred, intolerance, and bigotry on virtually every issue he ever discussed. Like Pat Robertson, he was notable for lying to preserve the God of Truth, something that it seems only televangelists and their ilk do quite so well.

By clinging to 18th and 19th century values and bigotries, he set back social progress by and for decades in this country. He was a liar, a thief, a hypocrite, and a man who incited his brainless little followers to new heights of intolerance towards people they found threatening. His "university" is just a breeding ground of more peasants and Christian fascists stamped out in his mold.

What makes Jerry (and Pat Robertson, btw) personally culpable for all of this is their clear knowledge of what the alternatives might be and choosing to do this to maintain their power base and mulct still more millions from the jackasses who they conned into sending them money they could ill-afford. There are two types of evil: the thoughtless kind of evil committed by the ignorant and insensitive and the deep-seated planned evil that is willing to sacrifice people for a personal advantage and simply doesn't care. The former is more common, but the latter is far more dangerous, for it incites mobs, forms Crusades, and promotes further evil, all in the name of "God."

I piss on Jerry Falwell, his family, and his generations. May his brainless and brainwashed followers be treated as they deserve and may his name be forgotten forever by men and gods.

Note: for those who think that it's harsh to wish someone like this dead, let me point out that Jerry thought he was a Christian and that he'd go to a heavenly reward far better than anything on this earthly plane because of it. I have always approved of this belief on his part and have been very keen to see him get that wonderful gift of faith. I am deeply saddened for him and his future eternity that it took decades longer than it should've to arrive. There, I'm wishing him only the best--happy now?

Falwell's dead--it's a good day!

Weirdness

Susan the Wonder Child has been making her quota of weirdness today. First, she shared with me the following YouTube video about Charlie the Unicorn that's twisted and really funny. It's a bit on the noisy side, but it's definitely office-safe.

The other thing is that she phoned me up to tell me that Anna Nicole Smith had died suddenly of unknown causes. While all the news services are going to be playing "Rush to Judgement," I'm sad. I did like her, even if she was dumber than a jar of Miracle Whip.

Weirdness

Is Ken Lay really dead?

If you're like me--and you probably are, given that you're reading this blog--you were deeply disappointed that Ken Lay croaked. I don't really mind that he's dead; I just wanted it to happen s-l-o-o-o-w-l-y. The guy deserved far better than to fall over dead and skip out. The selfish prick got away with tens of millions that will never be recovered and his worthless trophy wife will get to spend it.

I didn't hear many of the details about his death, other than the fact that a lot of cronies and Administration supporters stopped just short in their eulogies of saying he was some kind of martyr. But I really really really would have liked to see the body. Just for the satisfaction value alone.

Is Ken Lay really dead?

A cool cemetery

The Hope Cemetery in Barre, NH, is a fascinating place. For a sampling of some of the amazing marble carvings there, try their website, but you should definitely plan a stop if you're going to be in the neighborhood.

A cool cemetery