Fuzz

I had the best cat. His name was Chai.

2019-01-03T04:41:19Z

I had the best cat. His name was Chai.

I know, we all do. I'm not saying yours aren't the best. But mine was the best. I had Chai put to sleep last night.

He was born somewhere around the second week of April, 1998, and I had him since six weeks after that. I wasn't even shopping for a cat, really. My girlfriend (Serena) and I were just visiting the Humane Society to pet the kitties. We'd gone through and done our thing, seen the big dogs, and were on our way out when I spotted a 6-week old orange and white kitten in a cage that had been empty before. Gotta pet the kittens, right? I took him out and held him, but he wanted to run around and play. He made do with climbing around on my shoulders. Eventually I put him back and closed the cage. He immediately looked up at me like, "Hey, why you put me down?" He immediately started climbing the bars to get back up to my shoulders, as though he could climb through the cage if he wanted. And that was it. I couldn't resist his perseverance, and I consulted Serena. She assented, and I adopted the little guy.

We had recently gotten back together (because I guess some of us are dumb when we're 21), and had basically started living together again. She already had Willow, who we'd had at our previous place since a year before when he was 6 weeks old, and he wanted a playmate. Willow was, by the way, also the best cat. The cat she adopted from her upstairs neighbor when we were living apart was declawed, and once Willow knew she (Lola) wasn't really a playmate, he decided he didn't like her much.

But Chai had worms when we brought him home. They gave us medication, but said we had to keep him away from other pets until he was dewormed. So we had him in our room, at first, and Willow and Lola were kept out for the time being. But he was alone all day while we'd work, and when we came home, he wanted to play and be up. He would keep us awake a lot at night, or we'd wake up with him trying to nurse on various bits of us. He actually found my nipple once. The earlobe was just cute.

Serena couldn't take it. She had to get some sleep, so she wanted to move him into the room her old roommate had vacated. I said I wasn't going to have him in there alone all day and all night, so I volunteered to sleep in there with him at night and just tough it out, and it was settled.

There was an inadequate futon mattress on the floor, a lamp shaped like an atom bomb with a lampshade, and little else apart from litter box and water. He was still teething, and dry food put in a little water wasn't cutting it. The first time I put in too much water so some if it actually floated, and he hissed in surprise when it moved. So we made him some baby cat food based on online recipes, and we fed it to him four times a day. It probably wasn't as much as he should have been fed, but every time I'd bring his food bowl in, he'd logger-climb up my pantleg and make a grab for it before I could possibly put it down. From then on, he was obsessed with food.

Nearly every morning, I woke up to the same thing. He'd hide behind the bomb lamp six feet away, wiggle his little butt, race towards me and run right over my face. He would do this repeatedly until I got up. Sometimes I woke up to the tiny-clawed feet pattering over my face. Sometimes I'd wake up and look over just in time to see him run out at me--I'd brace myself like a groggy deer in adorable headlights, and he'd run over my face. Sometimes I'd wake up annoyed and shouting, "Aaagghhh, cat!" Other times I'd immediately start giggling as his little feet trampled me like a miniature horse's hooves. He even galloped like a horse half the time, but with a cute diagonal vector to throw off his imaginary opponents.

We did a gradual introduction to Willow and Lola, and Willow quickly learned that he'd found a real playmate. They became best buddies. They cuddled together all the time, and Chai wanted to play even more than Willow did. Lola would cuddle with Chai occasionally, but she virtually never wanted to play with them.

We moved in with my mom for a couple of months before regrouping at a new apartment. While we were living with her, we were sleeping on a mattress on the floor, our cats running all around, and my mom thankfully didn't mind much. We went on a trip to Turkey to see my dad and my stepmother, as well as a bunch of other relatives on my Turkish side, most of whom I'd never met. When we left, Chai still had his "kitten walk," that bouncy kind of four-legged waddle only young kittens have. It was gone when we returned, and I missed it.

Chai quickly learned that he was NOT stealthy. The best example of that came while we were on our trip. My mom was eating cereal, and he got up on her lap, then started to go for the cereal. She put him down gently, so he got up on the opposite chair. He crept up onto the table and started to SNEAK across the table--right in front of my mom, who just let it happen because it was so funny--and went for her cereal again before she stopped him.

But without stealth, and being obsessed with food, he learned that he had to be fast. He would eat all his food right away and then go for Willow's food. And Willow would just stand there watching helplessly if we didn't intervene. He learned early that he loved to chew and eat plastic--mostly plastic bags or really any thin plastic. From that day on, it was a struggle to keep him from killing himself. Many times in his life, he threw up fragments of plastic bag, or it came out in the litter box, but I always had to live with this in mind. Neither I nor anyone I lived with could leave plastic bags laying around anywhere that he could get to. If it was inside some other bag at the bottom, he'd smell it and find it.

Chai wanted to be with me whenever possible, usually bathing me. Sometimes after I'd come home, he'd jump up on my shoulder as I bent down to pet him. Sometimes before I bent down. He'd hang out on my shoulder like a parrot. He did this for at least the first three years of his life, with decreasing frequency. He wanted to cuddle so much, and he had learned to be fast. I didn't know at the time, but Willow apparently thought I didn't want to cuddle with him as much anymore. It took me a few years to teach him otherwise.

We moved. All three cats came with us. The two boys made Lola's life difficult, and would harass her when she went in or came out of the litter box. When Serena and I broke up, we agreed (thankfully) that Chai needed me, and Willow needed Chai. I got both of them, she took Lola, and from then on, it was me and my two cats.

Due to financial hardship, I had to move back in with my mom for a bit, but she now had my grandmother's elderly cat, Toby. He was seventeen and diabetic, and my grandmother was going into care for Alzheimer's, so my mom--inspired by my sweeties--took on the job. That meant my cats were confined to my one room for several months until Toby passed away.

And I was gone a lot. They had each other, but I simply couldn't stand to be home much with my mother, though I tried to see my cats as much as I could when I WAS home. They did okay, but I still regret it. Once they had full run of the house, I fed them in the kitchen, and at that time, Chai's excitement for mealtimes became too much to bear, and he learned to get his energy out by running laps through the dining room, living room, entry way, and back to the kitchen. He would do this the entire time I was preparing his food until I set it down, and he continued the habit in every place I lived since, until I finally began free-feeding him two years ago. Always counterclockwise. I wonder if I'd lived in the Southern Hemisphere if he would have gone clockwise.

And he would howl. Willow, being Siamese, was a vocal kitty, but Chai stole the title. His was a flat, loud sort of bleat, and he WOULD NOT STOP if he was hungry. I think he also confused wanting positive attention with hunger, probably from being separated from his mother too soon. Food and positive attention are all one thing as a baby cat, and I don't think he ever quite separated the two until late in life. He was exactly the sort of cat that, with a more casual, less tolerant caretaker, would have ended up back at the Humane Society with a tag that said, "Vocalizes too much." Some guests just couldn't handle it. I quietly judged them. It was annoying, sure, but in my world, "can't handle it" is a label resolved for other things.

In 2005, after having been in a new apartment for three years, I had a scare. I had taken both of them in to have teeth cleaned/extracted. They'd lost a couple teeth, due largely to their diet involving no dry food and how badly they tolerated tooth brushing. Serena had started the trend of making their food by hand, and I'd stuck with the practice. The teeth procedures had gone well, but cost a bit. I had just gotten a job offer a couple of months later when I was down to my last $3000 when suddenly Chai couldn't hold down food. Normally it meant he'd eaten something he shouldn't, and it would pass if I force fed him water via oral syringe every twenty minutes. But he couldn't even keep water down. I took him in wondering if I could afford what they were going to do, but convinced he'd eaten something he couldn't pass. Tests all pointed to that, and he had to have exploratory surgery--to remove a chunk of raw coconut from his small intestine. Apparently he'd snagged a piece out of the bowl on the bottom shelf when I opened the fridge, and bit off more than he could chew or digest. Both cats loved coconut, among other weird things. Chai was fast enough that there were times he'd get something out of the fridge when I opened it and run off with it in his mouth. He made off with a whole bag of bagels once, though I caught him pretty fast. He decided early on that getting sprayed with water was worth the risk to get a mouthful or two of food, and he'd stand there getting sprayed if he could keep gobbling up something particularly good.

He was recovering alone in my room for 10 days before he got his stitches out, and it was the best $2000 I ever spent--as well as being the most expensive coconut I'd ever bought.

For six more years I lived there with just them. They loved everyone they met until they had reason not to. They chased each other. They cuddled all the time. I showed Willow that I really did want to cuddle with him, and after that, they would just share space on my lap. At some point in that place, Chai learned to be afraid of thunder. And years later in the same place, I taught him not to be. He would come by my feet, and with every crack of thunder, I'd pet him and calm him, and he would stay there. And soon he wasn't scared anymore.

I took them in for their senior checkup. Willow had a couple of accidents, and they were 10 and 9 years old, so I figured they were due. They both still acted like kittens and could jump up almost anywhere. They homemade food improved their coats within three weeks of introducing it, it had mostly kept Willow's fur untangled, and they even smelled GOOD rather than neutral. But Willow had lost a little kidney function, and I had to change their diet to one with less meat. There are good vet recipes for homemade food, and I modified one of them. Due to Willow's issues, I didn't put salt in it. I figured they got enough from the cream of rice, baby food carrots, and everything else I put in. I bought pet insurance for them, and they did well. There was the occasional scare, vet visit, barfing, etc. Willow had a couple more accidents, but they were okay, healthy, and active as kittens.

When I moved in here with Meghan in 2011, they had to contend with a new human and a rabbit. The human had to quickly learn to be better with things like hair ties, rubber bands, plastic bags, etc. The rabbit, uncaged, had to deal with two apex predators in the apartment. Willow had grown up with free-ranging ferrets, so he was curious, but not combative. Chai, who had less experience with uncaged ferrets as a kitten, was about as freaked out as the rabbit. The rabbit decided it had best play its bluff early and establish dominance. It charged up to Chai to intimidate him on the very first night. Chai hissed, bopped him on the face, and that was that. Eventually both cats did try to bathe the rabbit, who even tried once to play with Willow, but a year later, she moved out and it was just me and the cats again. They'd had each other, and they had me, and for Chai, it had never been any other way.

Then Willow got a jaw tumor. I thought it was a dental problem and I was financially and emotionally stressed, but by the time it was diagnosed, it was inoperable. He passed away after 5 months of fairly successful palliative care.

Or rather, I had him put to sleep.

It was my first time being present for the death of one of my own pets. I decided I wouldn't euthanize him until he was no longer seeking anything in life. I'm a bit Buddhist in my approaches, and I don't view suffering as something to be avoided at all costs, but if life becomes nothing but suffering, it's time to go. It's a hard enough thing to make that decision for another being you can't communicate with and have a responsibility to protect. But Chai was there for Willow for those five months. I wasn't sure if he knew what was happening to Willow until about an hour before the vet came. He gave Willow a bath over as much of his body as he could. It took thoroughly half an hour. And when I laid out the body so Chai could understand, he took one sniff at it, seemed completely unsurprised, and walked on.

I expected Chai might be incredibly lonely. He had been with Willow since he was about 7 weeks old, and now there was no one with him when I was at work, no furry cuddle buddy. That was when I came to realize it wasn't so much that he needed Willow to cuddle with. He had always just needed me. When he had wanted to cuddle with me but I couldn't sit still enough for him, he would find Willow, but I had almost always been his first choice. I tried harder to be there for him, but he seemed okay, as long as I was around. My friend Zack moved in less than two months after Willow's death, and then at least someone was in the apartment when I was gone, but when I was away on trips, Chai would stand by the door every day for a week or two and whine for me, according to Zack.

Even before then, Chai had taken to getting under the covers with me when I'd go to bed or first thing in the morning. He'd cuddle up with my hand, bathe it, and then just cuddle with it for a while. Sometimes all night. Zack was a good substitute as far as he could be. He'd known Chai for ten years by then. He knew about the plastic and the food obsession and all that. He'd been there at Christmas one time when Chai got up on the table with this huge turkey on it and...went for the corn. Because it was closer. He cared enough to overcome general obliviousness and learn to keep Chai from being a danger to himself most of the time. And he left his door open when I was away on trips so Chai could sleep in his bed if he wanted to.

Three or more years ago, Chai was sleeping soundly on the chair next to my computer chair. I was at my computer like I am right now. he suddenly vaulted out of the chair straight from sleep, hit the floor yowling, ran around in circles in the living room, and finally dropped onto his side, panting heavily, both Zack and I looking on in concern. I was right there with him trying to comfort him. I took him to the vet, worried that he'd had a stroke or something, though he seemed fine ten minutes later. They did blood tests. His electrolytes were all low. And I remembered that I'd never put salt in the homemade food, because of Willow's kidney issues. They had never seemed to have issues with it before. But Willow was gone and I hadn't modified the recipe. They didn't connect this with his episode. It sounded like a seizure. I remembered my basic biology and thought, "Sodium is vital to passing electrochemical impulses from one nerve to the next...maybe it IS related." I felt pretty bad about that, but I put salt in his food from then on. He had little bouts of colitis before and after, but would always be fine again later.

He reached 18 years old earlier in the same year that my girlfriend, Elsy, died of cancer down in Colombia. I was sad, of course. And Chai was there. But a couple months after she died, I was out driving for Uber one night. Zack was home putting together a new TV stand for his new TV. I'd warned him about being careful of plastic, twist ties, styrofoam, and every other damned thing Chai tries to kill himself on. But when I got home, Chai wasn't interested in his food. He'd eat a little, then walk away. Soon, little became nothing. I switched to tuna and other food, I made fresh batches, I cooked the meat, I gave him some canned food. He was okay with the canned food. But by then he'd lost some weight and I took him to the vet. They said his blood levels were "amazing." The salt had done its trick, I guess. They found a slight heart murmur. They found a thyroid issue. He was allergic to the thyroid medicine, so we stopped that. The echocardiogram showed that the murmur was less of a problem than it sounded because what was causing it was more loud than it was serious. Because of his age, they recommended just managing his diet and waiting until something seemed actually wrong before bringing him in again, unless I wanted to do routine checkups.

But before I discovered he would eat canned food, he had lost some muscle mass. His back legs, once strong, fleshy, and springy, looked slightly sunken. He could no longer jump up as high and had to half climb up on certain things. I was free-feeding him by now, and realized that he did self-regulate. He didn't want to eat himself silly like he used to. He probably hadn't wanted to for years. And owing to his thyroid issue, he had probably been legitimately hungrier for a long time. He stopped showing interest in my food as much now that he was eating enough. I felt privately terrible about this, like I'd been starving him all this time. Sure, his blood levels were amazing, and not getting quite enough food is tied to longevity even in humans, but all his yowling suddenly seemed justified. Never again would he jump up on my bed, or the table, or the recliner. He could still jump-climb the couch or his favorite chair, but he needed stairs onto my bed. He didn't run as much anymore. He didn't play as much. And he stopped running around in circles at mealtimes, because it was always mealtime.

His bouts of colitis stopped. He put weight back on, though his back legs never again looked the way they had before. He was still happy, just old. He would get on the couch and use me as a ramp to get to the back of the couch and lay there. Or he'd use Zack. Eventually, he stopped, and I put his bed on the couch next to me. He no longer wanted to lay on my lap. He wasn't quite comfortable with his back legs as they were. But he still wanted to be picked up and held over my shoulder for at least short periods, just as he ever had. I became aware that he was mostly deaf, and wondered if it was because I was lax about cleaning his ears. He would show surprise when he'd see me after I'd been gone, even if I'd made plenty of noise. He didn't come when called. His ears didn't twitch at sounds often at all, and those were sharp, loud sounds. I started trying not to startle him. Zack moved out, and a new roommate moved in two months later. He was only here three nights a week, and six months later, he moved out too. But Chai just needed me. I was without a roommate for another four months before my current one moved in.

Chai had been getting picky about his canned food. I had to switch brands and meats, and he could only eat paté or he would throw up. He started getting constipated in recent months, and straining would cause him to throw up sometimes. His back legs were weaker, and that made it all the more difficult. I started giving him some baby food squash and hairball remedy, and that helped some. He stopped wanting to be picked up as much. He stopped getting up on the couch at all, even with a step. he needed a step to get up on his favorite chair. He still visited me every morning on my bed and would rub his gums on my nose. He still gave me kisses sometimes. His teeth were getting worse. He started jamming his nose into mine too, and pressing the top of his head on my forehead like he was relieving some pressure. A couple people remarked that his breathing seemed weird and forceful. He peed on the floor a couple times. I still didn't take him to the vet. I worried about the dental issue, but they'd have to put him under to address it, and he was already halfway past twenty years old. I worried about his back legs, but what could they do?

But Christmas came, and he didn't eat very much. Not even much baby food. I finally did some research and made the call, and they said they could do an extraction if necessary while there. They couldn't. They sent me home with pain meds that wouldn't exacerbate his constipation, antibiotics, and recommended tests to have done at my cheaper normal vet. He ate next to nothing for the next couple days, and I had to start spoon feeding him. He had trouble with the stairs onto my bed. He could get up them, but he had trouble. He didn't poop anymore. He peed on the floor again. A couple times. His eyes were runny, and I worried about Calicivirus. Or rather I hoped it was that, because that could be treatable. But I think lots of very ill cats get runny eyes.

And then Monday came.

The vet I'd scheduled tests with told me--as I expected by now--that he seemed like he was not at a recoverable spot. She was afraid to put him through the tests because it might be too much for him. She said little sounded normal about his breathing at all, and she would guess there was a mass or fluid to find if we did the x-ray she was afraid to do. He was so, so skinny. She said even if we hospitalized him for days and did everything they'd need, and if he made it through all that, it was unlikely he would be in any kind of good condition anyway. She said he looked pretty "critically ill."

I took him home. And against the vet's advice, I waited for him to stop seeking anything.

That evening, he was laying on my bed, and he peed where he lay, and shifted away from it a little bit. I set him in his cat bed. I put the cat bed on a towel. I had some clothes I meant to throw out, so I put those around the bed for pillows. He could not walk more than ten feet or so before laying down and breathing hard. He made it down to the floor to pee again. I put him back on my bed after. He drank a little water. he ate a little baby food. He would lay there for a while, let out a quiet upset yowl, get up, walk in a circle, and lay back down in a new position, like he couldn't be comfortable for longer than 20 minutes. I stayed with him most of the time, popping out into the living room for breaks when he seemed sleepier. Then going back to check on him and try to feed him. He stayed on my bed all night. I think he barely slept.

In the morning, he seemed determined to get down to the floor again. He peed there, but he didn't try to get back on the bed. He still couldn't walk far without laying down. But he wanted out of my room, so I let him out and followed him. He could not walk on tile without his back feet sliding around. He was looking for his food bowl. I brought it for him. I tried to feed him baby food again too. But it was like a ritual to look for it. He didn't want it. He looked for his water bowl. I brought it to him from my room. He lay there drinking out of it, but I didn't dare be hopeful. I brought out his litter box, just for familiarity. He was having trouble, so I brought him back to my bed, but he got down again. He made his way out of my room. After a few breaks, he headed for his favorite chair.

And suddenly I knew it had been right at least to wait the extra day--to wait until New Year's Day.

He was trying to have a normal day. He got up, peed, looked for his food. Looked for his water, and made his way to his favorite chair. And I was with him. He was the same cat he ever was, from the day he climbed the bars to get where he wanted, however hopelessly. Jumping onto my shoulder, going for all the food ever made in spite of the cost in water sprays, claiming my hand under the covers at night, snuggling with Willow when Willow wanted to be left alone, logger-climbing my pantleg for the next meal, using us as ramps to get up the couch, wanting to bathe me all the time.

He wanted to trundle out and have a normal day, doing all the things he would normally do. He just couldn't anymore. But he wanted to try one more time.

He wanted the sunlight.

It was bright and sunny here on New Year's Day. I helped him onto his favorite chair around 9:00am. He stayed there and stayed there, enjoying the indirect sunlight, and he seemed more comfortable than I had seen him for at least a day. Sometimes he would utter a mournful yowl and shift around, but then he'd settle back down. I gave him water and he drank a lot of it. He would eat nothing. On the advice of the vet, I'd stopped trying to give him medications. And really they hadn't seemed to do more than agitate him. He liked me being there. He made squinty eyes at me often. He let me pet him a lot. I opened up a can of tuna just to give him some of the juice out of a spoon throughout the day, and he liked that.

I had a bit of a freakout and contacted two friends about whether I was making the right choice, or should go actually get him a diagnosis, do the tests, try to heal him. I was also worried about forcing the decision from him when he wouldn't give up. After all, if I'm waiting for him to stop seeking anything in life, and he's the kind of cat who won't stop seeking until the second he dies, then what good is that criterion? My friends helped me with experienced and professionally-informed advice. Zack came to say his goodbyes. He had come 3-4 hours back from where he was staying for New Year's Eve and come straight to my apartment. He had known Chai for sixteen years, and lived with him for four. And after he left around 3:00pm, I made the appointment for 7:00pm. He laid in that chair the whole time, and I sat at the chair next to him. I talked to him, even though he was pretty deaf. I looked at him. I did drowsy eyes at him and he returned them. I winked when he did. And I let him sleep. When Willow was dying, I cuddled with him, but I think I was too willing to be distracted. I cuddled him, but didn't engage him as much. I couldn't cuddle Chai, but I could be as present as possible with him. I had been for twenty four hours, except to sleep some.

When the sun went down, Chai quickly began to seem sleepy or resigned. He had wanted one more sunny day, and I'd given it to him, but now he was settling in for what he knew would be another miserable, painful night. And that was the first time I really felt confident in my decision. My roommate said her goodbyes and left to give us privacy. He drank some water after a while. Still wouldn't eat. Twenty minutes before 7:00, I gave him some tuna juice. It was the last thing he ever tasted.

About twelve minutes before 7:00, he made several yowls of upset or distress and had a little sneezing fit. He pressed his little nose against the chair and I rubbed it. He seemed at least momentarily to feel worse, and for a split second, the vet couldn't come fast enough. In the end, she was fifteen minutes late, but these things happen. The waiting was terrible, with those last minutes creeping by--minutes to look into those beautiful yellow eyes, comfort his orangey-white head, and just BE with him, be FOR him. When the vet came and sat down, he smelled her. it was the first time all day that he tried to get off the chair. I felt a huge pang of guilt as I stopped him. Before long he settled down. Either because the fight was gone, or he was dejected, or he trusted me, I couldn't say. But I did all I could to comfort him right until the end.

He dipped his little toes in 2019 and was gone.

He was one week away from being one hundred cat years old.

I stayed with the body for the next two hours. He was now in his cat bed, and macabre as it may sound, I kept the bed either on my lap or next to me. He wouldn't have been comfortable if I'd cuddled him while it happened, but hopefully anything lingering around after was comforted then. I stayed near him after that, and he was in my room when I slept. It's not something I'd do with a human, but with both of my cats, it helped. They just looked like they were sleeping, but they also felt gone. And ever so painfully beautiful, just as they were in life.

I talked to him those first two hours. Among other things I said--all the good wishes and hope for happiness and peace--I apologized for all the mistakes I'd made.

Everyone, EVERYONE, tells me I've been a phenomenal cat dad. And I do take some credit for that. But that doesn't mean I didn't make mistakes. Even little things come to mind when you're in that kind of situations--at least if you ARE a good cat dad. And I can either acknowledge mistakes and try to do better next time, or I can paint everything with the broad brush of "great cat dad."

I'm sorry for the times I carelessly left bad things out for him to chew on.
I'm sorry I wasn't better at caring for his teeth.
I'm sorry I didn't realize he was genuinely in need of more food for YEARS.
I'm sorry I spent SO much time staring at screens when he wanted my attention.
I'm sorry I didn't play with him much at all after Willow died.
I'm sorry I didn't put salt in his food for so long.
I'm sorry for times when I knew he was without food, but still stayed out just a little later.
I'm sorry for the times I punished him too much.
I'm sorry for the times I shut him in the bathroom for hours because he wouldn't shut up and I needed to sleep.
I'm sorry his initial food recipe included garlic, though some vets apparently just didn't know anything back then.
I'm sorry if my homemade food caused his colitis bouts.
I'm sorry I wasn't around much when we lived with my mom.
I'm sorry my life choices led to financial problems that probably impacted his care.
I'm sorry for all the times I tripped on or stepped on him.
Hell, I'm even sorry the last thing he tasted was tuna juice instead of ice cream, because ice cream was his absolute favorite food.

The list of mistakes is long. Some of them were big, some were small, some were miniscule, and nearly all of them were things he was unaware of. Sure, I was a phenomenal cat dad when judged against the standard cat dad. But I feel like what I did SHOULD be standard. It's MY standard. And I don't want to do a standard job, new as I was to all of it. "A" students aren't content with a "B," and I'll not take all the credit for his old age. From the moment I met him, he was a cat who would shrug off obstacles, even the insurmountable ones, and just DO it. And if that didn't help him make it to nearly twenty one years old, well then nothing does. In the end, I didn't know if I was supposed to be protecting him from death or from suffering, because he would have soldiered on, as he always has, until someone (me) or something (death) stopped him. And part of me will always hate that it was me, much as I stand by the decision.

I took Chai to the crematorium today. They're very nice, very helpful, very professional. I brought Willow to them years ago. I haven't moved his food. I haven't moved his water. I haven't moved his chair. I still leave my bedroom door open at night. I'll leave them as they are at least until his ashes are here, and I can mix them with Willow's, and they can cuddle again, even if it is just a basic, comforting symbol for me. But if some bit of him is still lingering in the meantime, well I want him to be able to have his day and do his things, and not get lost.

But it's strange not having any cats here. When Willow died, I still had Chai. I still had to follow basically the same routines. But now I can leave a plastic bag on the floor for more than 2 seconds. Now I can shut my door. I can give the kitty steps back to my mom, who needs them. I don't need litter boxes and food bowls. I don't need oral syringes to give anyone water. I don't need kitty toothbrushes or kitty food or hairball remedy. I don't need to worry about who will look after the cat if my roommate and I are both out driving or both on a trip. I can sleep through the night. I was putting deodorant on this morning, and (TMI) I always do one swipe across my chest. But often I would wait until after I'd picked Chai up and cuddled him, so I wouldn't get that crap on him. And that issue came up this morning before I remembered it didn't matter anymore. I've lived with cats for nearly my entire adult life--and quite a bit of my life growing up, too. I know I'll feel that phantom step on my bed before I realize it wasn't there. I know I'll feel that breath in my ear. I know I'll feel a whisker on my face, or hear a yowl in the distance. I'll watch where I step and I'll keep things off the floor. And eventually...I won't.

And for God's sake, DON'T OFFER ME A NEW CAT. Don't even suggest it. There are always a few, and I say this from experience. Just. Don't. Do it.

Pets aren't there for us. We're there for them. A cat is an 18 or so year commitment, if we're lucky enough to have them that long. And in my book, it's not something to take lightly, it's not something to commit to when your resources are depleted, or you don't know where you'll be, or you simply don't have the time or attention to do it. I was an attentive protector and caregiver and loving host of amazing creatures for twenty one years. I'll take a break to see where my life is, where it can get to, and who it can get there with. And then, if I have the time and resources--because I sure do have the love and attention--then I'll be a protector again. And I won't be phenomenal. I'll be better.

Integral Global

2017-10-29T17:33:08Z

The following is posted here only so those who want to opt out of particular community rules (Integral Global) on Facebook can look at it. Everyone else, please ignore.

This is a response to the anti-Wilber movement here (and in general). Specifically, this was brought on by David Long in regard to Frank Visser's posts/assertions.

Ok, I'm gonna lay this down in a way I haven't in at least 10 years. Yes, we Wilber supporters can be dismissive. No, that's not limited to the sycophants who can't talk about growth without saying "AQAL." Here's me telling you why we are (I'm speaking for myself, but I greatly suspect I'm not alone in this). In the interests of getting to the point, I'm not going to be very diplomatic about it.

The world doesn't owe you a debate.

Wilber's models and "orienting generalizations" work well for us. Many, many of us have HAD the spiritual experiences outlined in his writings. Many of us were unable to make sense of them using other explanations, but it's not like we landed on his stuff as a kind of "least bad fit." We landed on them and said, "That is EXACTLY what I experienced!" Furthermore, we used these models and these generalizations to recreate, deepen, and enhance our experiences of everything spiritual, and through that, everything else in our lives. We GET the interpretations, we GET the nuances, and we don't get very confused between the different meanings of "I am" or "absolute" or "spirit" when we read the words. We reach out online or in our lives and try to find other people who have had these same experiences, with or without Wilber's writings and guidance, because everyone can use a space where they are immediately understood and don't have to go through the arduous and irritating process of debating WHAT HAS ALREADY BEEN DEBATED. If there is any debate (which there always is), it comes at least from a space of shared experience.

Then you come in. As many of you have no relatable, reliable spiritual experiences you're coming from (or at least you don't mention them) as we DO have. You're scientists or fans of science (as are we, by the way), you're philosophers or fans of philosophy (again, something in common), but you don't have those "beyond" experiences, and you look with extreme suspicion on them or at least on any model, system, or guide that purports to explain or make use of them beyond a "true for me" sort of claim. You jump in with the "how do you knows?" and the "what makes you thinks?" and the "science and philosophy point equally to you being wrongs." Of course they do. Because it's not a realm those can define by themselves any more than a drawing can define a sphere. They're lower realities. Sorry, but they are. We get this, and we're sorry that you want endless convincing, but that's not why WE are here; it's why YOU are here, and we don't owe you satisfaction every time you throw down that damned gauntlet.

We came here to move the discussion forward, not endlessly rehash it for those who didn't get it the first time. You throw down your videos where people debate against spiritual realities so many of us see and share, armed with nothing more than linear, chronological, mind-bound approaches, supposition, and skepticism, and expect us to be wowed. No approach addressing the spiritual experiences, the reproducability of them, the ways in which this model has furthered our awareness and been successfully applied in concrete, worldly ways. We've watched your videos. Once in a while we have a minor "this model could use tweaking" moment (which we were already pretty aware of), but overall we end up feeling like "once again, that's 10 minutes I'll never get back." We watch you roll out names like Don Beck as support, and we watch as those people merely object to their work being referenced by movements they don't agree with, without ever finding a coherent way to discredit that movement or showing how the effort negates their research in any way.

We watch this and we see you challenging "debate," and yeah, we laugh, and we dismiss. You do the same with flat-earthers. Because you have experience that they don't. You do this with those who refute biology, because you have experience they don't. You're tired of them feeling entitled to debate all that again when it's so preposterous and such a waste of your time--especially since they just show up on your doorstep (often interrupting a conversation you were trying to have with someone else, as happened with me yesterday) with a lot of nonsense that they call evidence and expect it buys them an equally serious voice. We're sorry you object to the same treatment, but really, if you're going to lack that experience and then DEMAND debate anyway, in forums where you guys are exactly the people we went there to avoid, you've gotta expect it.

And because you care so incredibly much about everything being philosophical and scientific to the point of exclusivity, you get good at it. Maybe even masterful (beyond the glaring issue with trying to speak about that which you have insufficient data about). And this means that occasionally your MASTERY in philosophy scores a verbal victory over our mere spiritual COMPETENCE, and you think that this means you're right about the entire issue and we're just brainwashed morons. But you know, we're NOT scientists, and we're NOT philosophers. Ken Wilber doesn't purport to be a scientist, despite his rusty old biochem degree, and I've only seen him claim to be a philosopher IN A DREAM that he later described in Grace and Grit. We don't always get the words right, we don't always get the models perfect, and we don't pretend to. Perfection isn't required for growth; only competence and accurate-enough maps that closely represent adequate experience. They work for us to a high degree, and these imperfections are more the things we'd rather debate about (from shared experience) when we want to debate at all.

The world doesn't owe you a debate.

Ken Wilber doesn't owe you a debate.

The community doesn't owe you a debate.

This FORUM doesn't even owe you a debate.

I had this same problem with a Ken Wilber meetup I was part of back in 2003 in Minneapolis. I had only been reading Wilber for less than 2 years, but I had already had several of the same realizations and by the time I discovered Wilber (completely by accident in a bookstore), I was more or less "primed" for it. I get into this meetup where people had been reading his stuff for 20 years, and within 4 weeks, the whole meet up turned into everyone asking ME questions. Because I got it. Then people started inviting others who they "wanted to convince and/or expose" to Wilber, and the endless debates ensued. I was only there to meet friends with similar experiences or at least break NEW ground, and that's just what wasn't going to happen anymore. So I left.

As for why Wilber doesn't always revise his model even when he admits that criticism was valid, he's stated himself that, once he understands something "pretty well," he gets bored with the topic and wants to move onto a new one and leave others to make the repairs they want to make. I'm the same way. This is why neither of us claims to be a scientist.

When Wilber announced his intention to stop addressing critics/criticism, I can't begin to tell you how relieved I was. I'd much rather see him blaze new trails for me to explore than to lead every last doubter down the previous ones.

Note to Self: The First-Tier/Second-Tier Consciousness Break

2015-11-02T22:16:38Z

Reminder to write more fully about how the awareness break between Green and Yellow (in Spiral Dynamics terms) isn't just about the gulf between mind tools and soul tools, but how it functionally works in the world.

Namely, the first-tier "auto-immune disease" where each new stage tries to replace all previous ones with itself rather than recognizing them as necessary. The process mirrors the trend-->backlash-->integration progression (or fusion-->differentiation-->integration) in that the "trend" element reflects a more refined "fusion" as the integration of a previous dichotomy, but the excitement of the "trend" comes from feeling the resolution of that problem. That resolution feels like "the answer," but that delusion is really still about replacing a previous fusion with a new, more refined one and not accepting that that's what's going on.

Once the spiral-nature of development is realized (particularly at Turquoise where holons are realized, and we see that the spiral is ongoing), we can no longer fool ourselves with this delusion, and new resolutions are quickly or instantly recognized as new fusions requiring new differentiations (trends requiring new backlashes and integrations).

To a large extent, this allows us to escape from the trend/backlash dynamic altogether, so we stop privileging one or the other and just get on with the ongoing task of seeking new realms of refinement, truth, and discovery. Both trend and backlash (and the accompanying polarizations) are viewed as delusions, magnifying the real principles of fusion and differentiation that lie at the cores of them.

This is why "Yellow is 5 times more efficient at task completion than Green," as Ken Wilber and Don Beck put it in Spiral Dynamics terms--the biases no longer convince, and the hills and valleys of the process begin to resemble speedbumps rather than rollercoaster tracks.

Kickstarter Project for The Wrath of Brotherhood is now live!

2015-04-03T08:25:39Z

That's right, I'm seeking supporters to help me print The Wrath of Brotherhood in hardcover with full color maps and dust jacket! You can find the project here.

I'll be posting this on Facebook and Twitter at an hour when people will actually see it.

My Girlfriend's Cancer Treatment

2014-12-31T19:06:22Z

Just trying to maximize who see's this. My girlfriend Elsy, who lives in Bogota, Colombia, has metastatic cancer of the uterus and lungs, and healthcare can be rather slow-moving down there. I started a fund to help her out. Here is the link. Remember, you don't have to give $100 to help. I'd be super happy with 30k Facebook shares from people who each gave $1.

Apex Magazine

2014-11-05T23:28:10Z

Hey all, my first ever paid article is appearing in this month's issue of Apex Magazine. It's about research and story writing. Check out Statistics vs. Story.

Reason #2681 to leave Minnesota

2014-09-22T22:49:47Z

2681: I will no longer have to hear about War For The Oaks every time there is some kind of convention going on.

International Talk Like A Pirate Day

2014-09-18T16:38:15Z

Hey all, just giving everyone a one-day warning that my book, The Wrath of Brotherhood (eBook only) is going on sale for $1.99 for International Talk Like A Pirate Day tomorrow (the 19th). Keep a weather eye open fer the deal to take effect, an' tell yer crew!

The deal already hit Amazon.

A Kind Voice on Books: Ep 37

2014-05-22T20:59:45Z

I swear, one day I'll post something that isn't a new episode of this show I'm participating in.

This time: Censorship and Book Series.

Medical Marijuana

2014-05-19T17:48:48Z

Medical marijuana seems about to pass through MN legislation. Looks like cannabis puts the THC in HEALTHCARE.

A Kind Voice: Chat about literature

2014-05-14T21:22:25Z

I am doing another internet radio broadcast tonight at 6:00pm Central Time with Eden Blackwell. This time it will be LIVE and we can take callers. We will be running through a few topics in literature, including the role (or absence) of mother characters in fiction, and new or misunderstood genres. Tune in at 6:00pm, or catch the show after the fact.

Idiot Compassion

2014-05-09T21:51:23Z

Mostly just making a note of the location of this because I'm gratified to see a copy finally online, but I recommend everyone read it anyway. Great Ken Wilber excerpt from One Taste.

A Kind Voice on Books: Interview with Ozgur K. Sahin

2014-05-01T18:58:52Z

For those who didn't know, I recorded an interview for A Kind Voice (for their books program). I talk about my book and what went into writing it, convention experiences, narcissism, and other social and literary topics. You can even hear me read a short excerpt from my book (don't worry, there aren't any big spoilers!).

Who do you write like?

2014-04-09T00:37:05Z

I write like
Anne Rice

I Write Like. Analyze your writing!

I can't believe I have to say things like this sometimes...

2014-03-18T18:44:30Z

I just participated in one of those online debates (this one is amongst authors) where the whole damned thing goes off in a stupid direction because people love to hear themselves talk.

But hey, if I make a good point, this kind of exposure is good for my writing, so why not? Anyway, this is an issue I've brought up in different circles and on different topics, so I thought I'd repost it here. I will certainly include something like this in an bit of social commentary I have planned for the future. Enjoy.

[Topic is "Are Writing Classes a Waste of Time?"]

Without going into the "are writing classes a good or bad idea" much (I think they are useful for some and not for others, but I don't find them to be useful for myself), I would like to point out that most of this debate seems centered around one issue:

People who define "waste of time" as "something I am unable to learn anything valuable from," versus people who define "waste of time" as "something that is a less efficient or useful expenditure of my time and resources than something ELSE I would otherwise be doing with them."

Personally I find it to be sort of a straw-man argument when people use "you can always learn something from any experience" to prove that something is not a waste of time. I don't know that anyone really disagrees that something can be learned from anything. Certainly if those people really DO exist, rather than just being normal people who use simplified rhetoric to make a point like we all do, they aren't generally worth wasting words on. However, we seek out the experiences that we think we will learn the MOST from, and in the direction that we think will carry us where we want to go.

To that end, writing classes will be worthwhile for some, not worthwhile for others, even though EVERYONE can learn something from them because they are, in fact, experiences.

MiniCon Save

2014-03-16T20:45:57Z

Minicon livejournal community posted about a couple of extra panels. Thankfully I'm on here sometimes, or I'd have missed out! One of them is a panel on Pirate Movies. Clearly I should do everything I can to get on that one!

Preparation for Panel Discussions

2014-03-04T22:42:35Z

Just a note to myself and other potential panelists (or organizers) at conventions: This is a really good reference.

I will be on 5 panels at MarsCon this weekend (see FB fansite for details, though will post on my website soon too), and I only found out today, so I have some thinking to do!

2nd Edition, addendum

2014-01-08T20:28:56Z

Barnes & Noble (Nook Press) now carries 2nd edition, and I updated all sellers with a revised 2nd edition because this time the formatter made a mistake. Don't worry, if you got 2nd edition, you should be able to update it for free.

iBookstore basically requires that I use a particular piece of software (iTunes Producer?) that can only be run on an Apple OS, even though the ePub file I'm uploading is ready to go and is exactly the same as it would be elsewhere. That's Apple for you. Simplest way is to borrow time on a friend's Mac for a little bit. The workarounds are way more ridiculous.

Second Edition of The Wrath of Brotherhood now available!

2014-01-03T07:35:27Z

This is out on Amazon and Kobo now. Please make sure to get the correct edition (these links are correct).

Still working on iBookstore and Barnes & Noble.

On Emotional Avoidance and Disconnect

2013-12-20T22:27:57Z

For later writing purposes:

Speaking of a man who doesn't explore his emotions or really connect with them very much: any question about his emotions is like an essay test he didn't study for--he will often have to make up an answer on the spot and hope you buy it, but he really doesn't know.

Reincarnation Analogies and Metaphors

2013-12-19T22:10:24Z

I'm working on a few of these (my Doom: Deathmatch analogy went over pretty well years ago). Here's a quick one:

Meaning is accessed through life but not literally contained by it. Just like the meaning of a book is accessed through the book, but not literally contained by it.

Novel update

2013-12-03T16:46:37Z

My book, The Wrath of Brotherhood, first novel in the Brethren of the Spanish Main series, is now available on Amazon and Scribd. It will soon be available from most other eBook retailers.

Check it out! And if you like it, please give a good review! And remember, obvious friend and family reviews get discarded by Amazon. Definitely need some reviews.

Novel update

2013-11-25T18:53:58Z

Fired BookBaby for the formatting job. After 3 weeks, they were still messing the same things up.

Hired Polgarus Studio in Australia to do it instead. Paid the expedition fee which makes it all come out to about $9.50 more than BookBaby, and way faster. Should be done tonight, it sounds like, and I only hired them Friday.

The Wrath of Brotherhood

2013-11-04T22:58:19Z

Just sent my eBook to BookBaby for formatting and publication. They will convert it to ePub and mobi, test it out, let me see it, etc, and then it will get sent off to Amazon, Nook, iBook, and all the other sellers. Hopefully will be available on Amazon on November 20th!

Arrr!

Note to Self: On Giving and Receiving

2013-10-11T21:30:42Z

If you do something in order to get closer to someone else, that is different from doing something to encourage someone else to get closer to you.

One is courageous and requires risk. The other is manipulative and requires control.

And because of that difference, only one of these kinds of "closer" actually closes any distance.