Good Night, Little Fella

Last night, I had to say goodbye.

In the two weeks since Mulder was diagnosed was kidney failure, I'd given him daily IV treatments, antibiotics, a special diet and a whole lotta love. And in the end, that just wasn't enough.

During that time, he seemed to revert to form and personality, for the most part. He was chatty and affectionate. He was lively and frisky (as frisky as a 15 year cat can get). He was playful, both with me and his adopted sister Willow. He slept on my shoulder, tried to drink my whiskey, wanted to eat my pizza, sat on my laptop and was generally the charming little rogue he's been for a decade and a half.

When I came home from work on Friday, however, I could tell something was wrong. He was sad, lethargic, not very talkative and clearly couldn't get comfortable, no matter where he was. I tried some at home treatments, to no avail. After a trip to the emergency vet yesterday, it was clear we were facing more serious problems. Fate, it seems, had dealt the resilient little fella yet another blow: he had a urinary tract blockage. With his stage four renal failure, all those toxins were building up in his system, and he had no way to get them out of his body. The only solution was surgery to remove the blockage, and we couldn't be sure that he would survive the surgery, or that another blockage wouldn't occur after that and put us in the same, painful situation again. Plus, the blood tests indicated that even if we removed the blockage, his condition simply couldn't improve beyond what it was, and his quality of life wasn't going to get any better. Faced with him spending potentially his last days at the vet, undergoing and recovering from surgery in a cage in a strange place, or the possibility of his maladies worsening when I couldn't be there with him 24/7 to take care of him, I made the heartbreaking decision to let go.

He passed quickly, quietly and peacefully, purring all the while, in my arms. I'll miss him terribly. Goodbye, little fella.

Sometimes, birthdays aren't all they're cracked up to be

Monday, the adorable little fellow you see above celebrated a birthday. His name is Mulder, and he turned 15.

Today, he was diagnosed with kidney failure.

He showed no signs whatsoever of being sick until Monday, when I noticed that he wasn't quite as spry as usual while I was getting ready to go to work. Monday night, he didn't come running up to see me when I got home, and he was moving lethargically around the living room. And Monday night, he didn't come with me when I went to bed (where he usually curls up beside me as we watch TV and go to sleep). At first, I was hoping it was just the sniffles, or he had eaten a spider or something that didn't agree with him. This morning, I dropped him off at the vet. They did all the requisite tests and bloodwork, and the news is decidedly not good. His little kidneys are failing, and there's really not a lot we can do about it.

We gave him an IV bag of fluids and some antibiotics. I'm going to take him in tomorrow, and they're going to run two more bags of fluids through him while I'm at work, with the hope of hydrating his system. And I'll probably bring some more bags home this weekend, to continue to the process over four or five days. I've got some "kidney special" food for him to nibble on, but the realistic outlook, especially for a kitty his age, isn't very good.

In the decade and a half he's been with me, I've lived in two states and three houses. I've been divorced, engaged and had friends, girlfriends, dogs and even kids (!) live with me. I've had four different cars and worked for four different companies. I've traveled to six different countries. I've lost my father (my mother, who passed on her love of cats to me, died even before I adopted Mulder). The one constant through all of this has been Mulder, and I couldn't have had a more steadfast, true, affectionate and sweet-natured friend.

Intellectually, I can come to grips with the way things may unfold over the next few days, or weeks or months. Emotionally, I'm not quite ready to deal with it. There are still some tests and treatments to come, and who knows, the prognosis could change. But I'm not prepared to say goodbye just yet.

If you have a pet, go give 'em a hug. Tell 'em that you love 'em, no matter how many times they try to drink your coffee, eat your pizza, leave hair all over your black clothes or chew up the toilet paper roll. Soon, you'll really, really miss those things.

All I know is I'm gonna sit down on the couch tonight and do some serious cuddling.

The Snowpocalypse

So....this happened:


In the past 15 or so hours, we've been hit with almost 3 feet of snow. Unshaven weathermen are calling it an actual "blizzard" (and not the good kind, from DQ, with cookies and M&Ms in it). There are 30 MPH+ winds, and the rare occurrence of "thundersnow" (where thunder and lightening happen during a snowfall. There was a flash so bright it woke me up at 5 AM). A state of emergency has been declared. Roads are closed and virtually everything has been shut down.

So what does this mean for me? Well, it could be worse, I guess. I went to the store recently, so I'm fairly well stocked with chips, microwave dinners, coffee, cigs and whiskey (you know, the staples). My power is not out. I have intertoobz service. There's cat food for the kids. BUT...

I have no TV. (I'll pause while you gasp in horror).

This started back on Tuesday, during the second hour of the much anticipated premiere of Lost, (of course it did). My dish and equipment is getting old (and regular readers will remember the completely wonky, "cable up 3 stories" set up I had to jury-rig back in the day) and the weather certainly hasn't been cooperating. Thanks to some twitter friends and some downloading, I finished "LA X" (and wasn't that mind-blowingly awesome?), and service came back Wednesday morning, and all was fine until last night, as the snow started accumulating on the dish itself. With time for Caprica approaching, I kept running down to the courtyard (where the dish is) to splash the snowy dish with hot water, sweep off the building snow, and spray the thing with Pam in the hope that nothing would stick to it. All that worked for a few hours, until I went to bed. I woke up this morning to the picture you see above (and no reception, obviously). I made a passing attempt to go down to the dish again, but...damn. The snow on the ground is up to my ass. The dish was fucking CAKED with snow. I brushed it off, but as of now, I'm still shit out of luck.

I do have the fine folks from DirecTV coming Tuesday, weather permitting, to figure all this out for me AND finally connect that long-awaited HD upgrade, but for the time being, I live in a world without live TV. Good thing there's not a major sporting event this weekend. Oh, wait...

I have a fairly decent stockpile of miscellaneous shows built up on the TiVo to tide me over, along with a formidable DVD library, but you know what? This SUCKS.

Still, it could be more gruesome, I suppose. If the web went down, or the computer crashed, I'd just go bury myself in a snow bank.

Sad News

UGA VII, also known as "Loran's Best," passed away today at his home in Savannah, GA, from an apparent heart attack. UGA VII had started his tenure at the beginning of the 2008 football season.

Grieving for Two

But not the two you might think.

Yes, I'm aware of yesterday's double whammy of celebrity passings. And yes, like everyone of my generation, I have an abundance of memories related to both Farrah and MJ. I had the iconic poster on my wall, of course. Watched Charlie's Angels. Went to see Saturn 3, being both a fan of hot chicks with feathered hair and sci-fi (and being terribly disappointed -- what an AWFUL movie. So awful, they completely dubbed Harvey Keitel's entire vocal performance). Listened to the Jackson 5. Had the "Off The Wall" and "Thriller" records (and still think the high points of "OTW" are higher than those of "Thriller"). Remember being in college and everyone congregating around a TV in the common dorm areas when MTV's on the hour showing of the John Landis "Thriller" video would play. (Remember "videos" showing on MTV and not vapid whores?)

So yeah, I was sad about that. But for some reason, seeing an animal pass away on film gets to me every time. Not necessarily in the uncomfortable way of the ox in Apocalypse Now, but more when a beloved pet shuffles off the mortal coil. I can't explain it. I'm not a crazy vegan and not about to go throw blood on the grand opening of a new KFC. But for whatever way I'm wired, Old Yeller made me cry far more than Brian's Song (though of course, that made me squirt a few also).

I bring this up, because Monday's The Closer just killed me. It was a very solid episode, with a great turn from a bitchy Mary McDonnell as a Internal Affairs officer, but Fritz and Brenda came to the resolution that their beloved Kitty wasn't going to make it. That ending scene with Brenda lying on the couch, arms around a sickly, purring and meowing Kitty just wrecked me. To make matters worse, I've been catching up on some Futurama episodes I've missed, and that same evening, what was waiting for me on the TiVo? The heartbreaking classic "Jurassic Bark," which revolves around Fry's "past" dog Seymour. Those final 30 seconds or so of that ep left me sobbing like an infant.

Maybe it's getting caught up in the emotional narrative of the story. Or perhaps because I think that one of my "kids" isn't doing that well. Whatever the reason, I'm glad that double dip in the pool of pet mortality is over, and I can go back to enjoying watching vampires, Cylons, stormtroopers, redshirts and other fake "people" die for my entertainment and fondly recalling the pop culture contributions of real people who are no longer with us.

R.I.P. Krevlornswath of the Deathwok Clan

Andy Hallett, who played everyone's favorite karaoke singing demon on Angel, passed away at only 33.



Andy, along with the writers, took what could have been a trainwrecking cartoon of an over the top character -- a green skinned, anagogic, horned demon that came across as a hybrid of Dean Martin and Paul Lynde -- and turned him into one of the show's most "grounded" and "human" personalities.

Tonight, let's all drink a sea breeze in his honor.

Supernanny? You're fucking kidding me, right?

Fast national ratings are in for Friday's FOX block of sci-fi goodness, with Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles and the premiere of Joss Whedon's Dollhouse.

Sarah? Not doing so well. The show hit an all-time low, with 3.7 million viewers total, 1.3 in the 18-49 demo. In total viewers, it got beat by Jennifer Love Hewitt's ghostly whispering hooters, Howie Do It (?!), and something called Wife Swap. It was third among in the demo, and (silver lining!) first among men 18-49 and 18-34.

Dollhouse? Perhaps best categorized as "eh, okay." Did 4.7 million viewers total, which was a big build on the T:TSSC lead in. That was behind the Canadian cop show starring Keith Mars (Flashpoint) and fucking Supernanny. Say that again. Supernanny. This show had around 6 million viewers. Do we want to live in a country where Supernanny draws a million more viewers than a new Joss Whedon show? How is this even possible? Dollhouse did bring in 2 million in the 18 - 49 demo, which puts it at No. 2 for the hour.

So what does all this mean? Well, Dollhouse is a not a runaway ratings blockbuster out of the gate. The lead in is not helping it. And I think we can all be glad that it was moved out of the harsh spotlight of airing after Idol, where similar numbers would have made it decidedly DOA. However, it's doing better than any scripted shows on FOX have done on Fridays. And all 13 eps of the first season have already been produced. We'll have to see when final ratings come in. We'll also have to see how it everything shakes out when you consider iTunes purchases, Live + DVR viewing and online streaming. Plus, according to most early reviews, the show only improves in quality over the next couple of episodes. So, stay tuned.

Sigh. Fucking Supernanny. Time to mix a drink.

Ratings Round Up:

AICN
EW
TV Week
TV By The Numbers
Mediaweek
The Live Feed

"Hey, can you pitch?"

Featured in the story of another Braves loss is the attendance for today's game in Miami against the Marlins: 600.

This reminds me of the old joke about the Braves even more horrifically inept days when Ted Turner first took over the team, and put them on WTCG (before it became a "superstation").

Man is interested in attending a Braves game at Fulton-County Stadium. So he calls the ticket office and says "Hey, what time does the game start tonight?" The response comes, "Well, what time can you get here?"

Damn Good Dawg

Rest In Peace, UGA VI