Several years ago I owned a big tabby cat. He had dark brown fur mixed with some splotches of gold and white. I got him at a animal shelter outside of Charleston, IL on a cold winter day. I think it was right after Christmas, maybe right after New Year's.
I also believe my friend James was visiting from Pennsylvania. He took a bus all the way from Pennsylvania. That is how desperate he was to get out of his home. I was in graduate school at the time and had recently broken things off with a girl. We were still close, though. In fact, close enough that I drove up to her hometown an hour-and-half away to pick her up and bring her back to Charleston after she got into a horrible fight with her family. I think James was with me the whole time, too. Man, he had to spend a lot of time on the road.
At any rate, the three of us drove out to the animal shelter on a cold and blustery day. We shouldn't have been on the roads. The shelter was in the country, so the roads out there were still covered in snow. In fact, I remember driving around a curve and putting the car in a ditch. We were stuck for awhile before someone drove along and helped us out.
When we arrived at the shelter, we took a tour of the rooms with cats. They were good-sized rooms with half-doors on each one so you could peer in and check out the cats. It was like a mix between a zoo and a prison cell block. Maybe those are the same thing, though. The unspoken message between you and the cats is the fact that they were all pretty much on death row.
I went down the entire row looking in both rooms. I remember asking for thoughts or opinions from my friends, but they kind of gave me the "Are you really asking me what kind of cat you should get and live with for the next five to ten years?" It's a confused and pressured look.
I remember Buddy was sitting in the back of one of the rooms. He wasn't overly social, but he wasn't completely stand offish either. I guess you could say that he was a typical cat.
We brought him home that day. He would still need a good vet check up, and later I would find out that he had FIV (Feline Immunodeficiency Virus). It's pretty similar to HIV for humans. The cats can live a pretty long time with the disease, as long as they are indoor cats. And Buddy was primarily an indoor cat with a few exceptions.
There were a few times I chased him outside, but he really just meandered. And then there was the time I thought I would try to walk Buddy. Not sure if you have ever walked a cat, but it's just, well, it's just a stupid idea. Imagine walking a dog, but the animal is smaller, has greater will power and doesn't view "being walked" as the most awesome event of its life. In fact, I think the cat believes its walking you. When I have walked a dog, you jerk the leash and say, "Come on!" and the dog usually responds my moving on. Unless it senses that you have no idea what you're doing, then it just keeps on sniffing.
But when I walked Buddy, he, well, he would lie on the ground, growl and hiss, or basically twist himself in the leash so much that he almost asphyxiated himself. Cats are not meant to be walked. Cats are truly curious creatures. They are always exploring, prowling, and pushing the boundaries of known territory. If there is a room beyond a door, the cat wants in that room. The cat may have no idea what it's going to do there, but it will go for it.
A few years after I got Buddy I got another cat named Cynthia. She was a small female calico. She and Buddy were a good fit. A great fit, actually. But this post is about Buddy, so let's get back to him.
He was a great cat. I loved it when he walked across my legs while I was in bed. He would knead them for awhile and then lay across my calves. It was comforting. And then in the morning, he usually woke me up from my nice slumber by nosing me. I usually swatted him away the way I would hit the snooze button. But he kept coming back. He would meow and look at me. I would check his food and water bowl. Undoubtedly he almost always had food and water, but this was his way. Cats are mysterious creatures. They wake you up for no reason. They sit and stare at you for hours. They meow at doors and walls without any known reason. I can see why some of the puritans thought they were witches.
Then Buddy started to get sick. He started peeing everywhere in my apartment. He was even defecating in a few places as well. He wasn't coming upstairs to my bedroom either. I knew what it probably was. He was getting older, too. I took him to the Vet.
The Vet was incredibly nice. She told me what my options were. We could begin a grueling, weekly treatment that involved shots and intense hydration. And it would be uncomfortable for Buddy and expensive for me. And it still would probably only prolonging things for a few months, if that. I knew what I probably had to do, but I wanted to think and pray about it for a few days, maybe a week.
The vet gave Buddy some shots and fluids and sent him home with me. I was pretty upset. I knew how this was going to end, but I really wanted to give him a chance. I wanted to see if he would turn around. I didn't want to be a cat owner that gave up easily.
He didn't get better. He got weaker. So I made the decision to send Buddy to his Rest. I don't remember a lot about the day except that it was a normal day. I picked him up in the afternoon and took him to the vet. I felt sick about the whole thing. I took him into the patient room and waited on the vet. She brought in the syringe and other items she needed for this process. My first job was working at a vet clinic, so I was familiar with this process. Even then it was hard to be a part of the process of putting an animal down. You can't really communicate with the animal, or at least know if your words are getting through. They seem to look innocently the entire time. All the way to the end.
This is how Buddy was for the most part. The vet placed the syringe into his fur, petted him softly and laid him down on the table. I kept petting him and saying he was a good boy. Not sure why I said that. I told him I loved him. He started to growl, much like he did when I tried to walk him. Maybe he knew what was going on. Maybe he was raging against the dying of the light. I don't really know. I remember that I was crying. I remember the vet was crying. She was crying. I was really touched by that.
Buddy was a good cat. He had a great personality. He was a good friend to Cynthia.
The End.
Director's Cut Ending:
If there is a twist to this blog post, here it is.
I found out later that the vet who euthanized Buddy was involved in an apparent murder-suicide. Apparently she came home after work, shot her husband and then shot herself. The suicide note revealed there were some marital problems.
The End?
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
Love Drug
I'm pretty worn down today. I don't know if I'm coming down with something, or I didn't get enough sleep, or if I just feel rather emotionally drained from all the election stuff. And then there is a friendship that seems to be on the bubble. That makes me incredibly sad.
I'm pretty sure tomorrow will be a tough day for me. In fact, I'm pretty sure tomorrow's post will be difficult to write. It's one that's been forming in my mind for awhile now. Actually, it has been forming for almost a year now. And a warning, it will probably be sad. But I hope it's not depressing.
I've been turning over this phrase I read in a Stephen King short story called, Quitters, Inc. The character, Dick Morrison, has resolved to quit smoking. A friend passed a card to him about a company called Quitters, Inc. He guaranteed he would be able to quit with their help. Well, as Morrison finds out, their methods, while pragmatic and effective, are cruel, cold, and highly invasive. There is always someone watching him. If he slips once, his wife is kidnapped and placed in a room where Dick watches as she is shocked for 30 seconds. If he slips again, he is then in the room. And the punishments get more severe, including beating his mentally retarded child in front of him.
At one point in the story Morrison visits his son at school. He hugs him tightly.
I'm pretty sure tomorrow will be a tough day for me. In fact, I'm pretty sure tomorrow's post will be difficult to write. It's one that's been forming in my mind for awhile now. Actually, it has been forming for almost a year now. And a warning, it will probably be sad. But I hope it's not depressing.
I've been turning over this phrase I read in a Stephen King short story called, Quitters, Inc. The character, Dick Morrison, has resolved to quit smoking. A friend passed a card to him about a company called Quitters, Inc. He guaranteed he would be able to quit with their help. Well, as Morrison finds out, their methods, while pragmatic and effective, are cruel, cold, and highly invasive. There is always someone watching him. If he slips once, his wife is kidnapped and placed in a room where Dick watches as she is shocked for 30 seconds. If he slips again, he is then in the room. And the punishments get more severe, including beating his mentally retarded child in front of him.
At one point in the story Morrison visits his son at school. He hugs him tightly.
Hugging his son tightly, realizing what Donatti and his colleagues had so cynically realized before him: love is the most pernicious drug of all. Let the romantics debate its existence. Pragmatists accept it and use it.The phrase, "love is the most pernicious drug of all" really caught me off guard. I'm still processing it. I'm not sure why it stuck out to me, but I think it's because I believe love is always good. Love is not something that should be used or abused. Love comes from God, which is undefinable and unconditional. There is the love between human beings, but that is a different kind of love. As someone who has experienced and experiences this love, it's not necessarily appropriate to say it's a "conditional love. I think it's just human love. It's messy. It's broken. It ties us to one another.
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
The Walking Dead Voters
So it's the end of the world. You think you got bit by a zombie. On your hand. You believe it's only a matter of time before you become a zombie. But you aren't sure.
Do you cut it off? Do you do nothing and risk it? And you have two people with you. One of them is great with a knife, but the knife is dirty and rusty and could cause more infection, and they also seem pretty damn eager to cut.
Another one is more cautious; they don't want to do anything because they need better equipment, more time to assess the situation, and know there is a risk of bleeding out. So they tourniquet your arm to slow down the circulation.
And of course there is always someone who says you can just cut it off yourself, but you are not good with a knife and you will probably pass out in the process.
And this is what voting for a presidential candidate is like. It seems incredibly urgent, world-changing, life-saving and most of all, incredibly divisive.
But just remember, a zombie didn't bite you because zombies aren't real. It's not the end of the world. And no human being decides your future.
But still, you should vote.
Do you cut it off? Do you do nothing and risk it? And you have two people with you. One of them is great with a knife, but the knife is dirty and rusty and could cause more infection, and they also seem pretty damn eager to cut.
Another one is more cautious; they don't want to do anything because they need better equipment, more time to assess the situation, and know there is a risk of bleeding out. So they tourniquet your arm to slow down the circulation.
And of course there is always someone who says you can just cut it off yourself, but you are not good with a knife and you will probably pass out in the process.
And this is what voting for a presidential candidate is like. It seems incredibly urgent, world-changing, life-saving and most of all, incredibly divisive.
But just remember, a zombie didn't bite you because zombies aren't real. It's not the end of the world. And no human being decides your future.
But still, you should vote.
Monday, November 5, 2012
Population: 438
From Chicago Tribune:
When I began this post on October 29, the death toll was at 435. Since that time this article was updated because the number of deaths escalated.
Since I have moved to the Chicago area, it has been hard to get used to homicides as a daily occurrence. I try to keep up on the news, so I review the Chicago Tribune almost daily as well as my local news in Skokie. I even review RedEye's homicide map to see where these homicides are occurring. As you can see, most of the homicides are in south and southwest parts of Chicago. This really doesn't take into account the suburbs. I don't know if there is a map out there that does. In fact, I would wager that when/if murders occur in the suburbs occur, you hear about it nationwide. When many of the murders occur in the city, they usually, but not always, only make local news headlines.
The police are trying new tactics on dealing with neighborhoods that have a lot of gun-related violence, and I believe a lot of this involves working with the community, trying to oust the gangs. Chicago is still a gang town, though. In fact, I have done some web-related-research on the gangs. I came across a website devoted to Chicago Gangs, but I don't know how recently it's been updated. Here's a link to a map of all the gangs just on the north side of Chicago. If this page is old, the amount of gangs probably has not changed too much. Also, several police say there is a lot of splintering and in-fighting within the gangs.
I'm from a small town. It was like a cross between a John Mellencamp and Garrison Keillor vision of a small town. There were problems, but honestly, there was not a homicide rate to speak of. And usually any homicide was a domestic situation. Still tragic, but different from what I see or hear about up here. Now within the past twenty years, small towns are getting inaugurated into the drug world with meth. It has become the scourge and destroyer of small towns and small town families. Easy to make, cheap to buy, and completely and utterly devastating to the addicts, as well as their friends, families and communities.
With all that, any homicide in a small town is something that still stops traffic. It settles over a small town like a pallor of darkness for months and months. Hell, an untimely death of anyone in a small town is devastating to the community. I can still remember most people that died within the small town I grew up in. I even wrote a poem for the family of one of the victims.
So, when I moved to Springfield, Illinois, I felt like I was moving to a "big city." It actually had an annual homicide rate. I don't use this measurement for all things, but it seems to be a good if not macabre way to gauge the city you are moving to. There was actually more of every kind of crime in Springfield. More break-ins, robberies, vandalism, rapes, etc.
Yet Springfield was still a small town in many ways. Sure you had plenty to do, places to eat, places to shop and visit. But you still ran into people that you knew. Or if you didn't know them, you saw them often. I think Springfield also had a small town complex, but I won't go there now.
So, I get married to Heather who lives and works in Deerfield at the time. I land my first job in downtown Chicago. I was taking the train from Highwood to downtown every day. And every day I would visit the Chicago news websites and read about 3 or more murders a day. A day. At first everything was so incredibly overwhelming to me (read: small town guy in big city), that this sort of thing didn't stick out to me as much. It bothered me to read about children getting killed, but I don't think I fully comprehended it all.
But after we moved to Skokie, which is just a stone's throw away from the north edge of Chicago, I became more aware of the daily tragedy. Maybe it was because I was concerned for our safety. Or maybe it was because Skokie just felt like more of "the" city. I began reading about these incidents, trying to understand why or what was happening. Often feeling rather distraught or upset over the deaths. Many of these deaths may have been gang-related, but they were not just gang members that were killed. They were men and women just trying to live their lives who were shot in cross fire. I remember reading about a child sitting on his grandfather's lap. Both of them shot by a stray bullet. The other day a young man was shot by a stray bullet while sitting in his room playing xBox. Playing xBox! I play xBox!
It's easy to look at these events and see them as a number. A statistical problem. 438 is a high number, as the article says, even for Chicago. And it seems to happen mainly in certain areas of town. And for now, we live in a safe area of Chicagoland. So, I can remain safe and somewhat apathetic about this issue in Chicago. And honestly, I really don't know what to do. To assume I could do anything is the height of middle-class arrogance. I think to assume that more legislation related to guns will help this is foolish as well. It's well-meaning, but it's foolish. I don't want to get into the politics of this, though.
I get angry, though. Anger at the gangs. Anger at the police who don't know how to stop it. Anger at myself for being so aloof about it all. Anger for my own prejudices and ignorant ideas about all of this. Anger at my laziness for not wanting to find out more.
So, I think it was back in March I decided to try something new. I often find myself praying for big things in the world, like peace in the middle-east, Afghanistan, for flood victims, etc., and my prayers often felt like I was sending a Hallmark sympathy card to the victims. They were nice and supportive, but I don't know if I expected them to do a whole lot other than to let them know "I was thinking of them." Well, God's been changing my heart in this area. I've seen some things and experienced some things that really show how effective prayer can be. And I was challenged by my minister to pray for something and not worry about how or if God will answer it. Believe He can and will, but it's not up to me.
So I decided to throw down the gauntlet to God.
I decided to start praying that there would be one day without a homicide. Just one day.
And then it happened. Actually, the first time it happened it was for three days. I asked for one and God delivered three days of no homicides in the city of Chicago. So I kept on praying. Later the number jumped up to nine days.
And then I read the above article about the number of homicides. On the surface I can look at it and say, well, the days that were peaceful were cancelled out by the days of multiple homicides. Was I not specific enough, God? I didn't mean for evil to work over time in order to make up for the peaceful days. I know that's not how it works, but it was disheartening. I am still thankful for the days God allowed peace in the city of Chicago. I will continue to pray for days of peace. For now. Just one day at a time. If more days happen, praise God for that.
I want to do more. And at the same time, I don't want to doubt the efficacy of prayer. God can and does perform miracles. I hope you can join me in praying for peace in Chicago. And if not Chicago, for the peace in your city or town. It may not be murder, but it may be domestic violence, molestation, rape, drug abuse, etc. Whatever it is, it's tragic and sad and someone needs a voice. We simply can't know or save all victims, but when we pray, I believe we give voice to the victims and oppressed. Jesus was brutalized, beaten and killed, and He suffered in silence.
Whether or not they threaten my safety or well-being, or if they live near or far away from Heather and I, or if they are perpetrators or victims, they are made in His image. Jesus is in all of them. He suffers with them and He dies with them.
I will leave you with this paragraph from the Tribune article:
Late Sunday night, an intruder broke through the front door of Bariffe's Princeton Park residence and fatally shot him inside the kitchen, police said. His slaying marked a grim milestone: the 435th homicide in Chicago this year, tying the total number of killings for all of 2011 with more than two months still to go in 2012.
Less than half a day later and about six miles away, Carlos Alexander was returning home Monday from buying a newspaper and coffee when he was gunned down outside his apartment in the gang-infested South Chicago neighborhood, pushing the homicide total past the 2011 mark.
Two more slayings were reported Monday evening, bringing the total number of homicides so far this year to 438.
When I began this post on October 29, the death toll was at 435. Since that time this article was updated because the number of deaths escalated.
Since I have moved to the Chicago area, it has been hard to get used to homicides as a daily occurrence. I try to keep up on the news, so I review the Chicago Tribune almost daily as well as my local news in Skokie. I even review RedEye's homicide map to see where these homicides are occurring. As you can see, most of the homicides are in south and southwest parts of Chicago. This really doesn't take into account the suburbs. I don't know if there is a map out there that does. In fact, I would wager that when/if murders occur in the suburbs occur, you hear about it nationwide. When many of the murders occur in the city, they usually, but not always, only make local news headlines.
The police are trying new tactics on dealing with neighborhoods that have a lot of gun-related violence, and I believe a lot of this involves working with the community, trying to oust the gangs. Chicago is still a gang town, though. In fact, I have done some web-related-research on the gangs. I came across a website devoted to Chicago Gangs, but I don't know how recently it's been updated. Here's a link to a map of all the gangs just on the north side of Chicago. If this page is old, the amount of gangs probably has not changed too much. Also, several police say there is a lot of splintering and in-fighting within the gangs.
I'm from a small town. It was like a cross between a John Mellencamp and Garrison Keillor vision of a small town. There were problems, but honestly, there was not a homicide rate to speak of. And usually any homicide was a domestic situation. Still tragic, but different from what I see or hear about up here. Now within the past twenty years, small towns are getting inaugurated into the drug world with meth. It has become the scourge and destroyer of small towns and small town families. Easy to make, cheap to buy, and completely and utterly devastating to the addicts, as well as their friends, families and communities.
With all that, any homicide in a small town is something that still stops traffic. It settles over a small town like a pallor of darkness for months and months. Hell, an untimely death of anyone in a small town is devastating to the community. I can still remember most people that died within the small town I grew up in. I even wrote a poem for the family of one of the victims.
So, when I moved to Springfield, Illinois, I felt like I was moving to a "big city." It actually had an annual homicide rate. I don't use this measurement for all things, but it seems to be a good if not macabre way to gauge the city you are moving to. There was actually more of every kind of crime in Springfield. More break-ins, robberies, vandalism, rapes, etc.
Yet Springfield was still a small town in many ways. Sure you had plenty to do, places to eat, places to shop and visit. But you still ran into people that you knew. Or if you didn't know them, you saw them often. I think Springfield also had a small town complex, but I won't go there now.
So, I get married to Heather who lives and works in Deerfield at the time. I land my first job in downtown Chicago. I was taking the train from Highwood to downtown every day. And every day I would visit the Chicago news websites and read about 3 or more murders a day. A day. At first everything was so incredibly overwhelming to me (read: small town guy in big city), that this sort of thing didn't stick out to me as much. It bothered me to read about children getting killed, but I don't think I fully comprehended it all.
But after we moved to Skokie, which is just a stone's throw away from the north edge of Chicago, I became more aware of the daily tragedy. Maybe it was because I was concerned for our safety. Or maybe it was because Skokie just felt like more of "the" city. I began reading about these incidents, trying to understand why or what was happening. Often feeling rather distraught or upset over the deaths. Many of these deaths may have been gang-related, but they were not just gang members that were killed. They were men and women just trying to live their lives who were shot in cross fire. I remember reading about a child sitting on his grandfather's lap. Both of them shot by a stray bullet. The other day a young man was shot by a stray bullet while sitting in his room playing xBox. Playing xBox! I play xBox!
It's easy to look at these events and see them as a number. A statistical problem. 438 is a high number, as the article says, even for Chicago. And it seems to happen mainly in certain areas of town. And for now, we live in a safe area of Chicagoland. So, I can remain safe and somewhat apathetic about this issue in Chicago. And honestly, I really don't know what to do. To assume I could do anything is the height of middle-class arrogance. I think to assume that more legislation related to guns will help this is foolish as well. It's well-meaning, but it's foolish. I don't want to get into the politics of this, though.
I get angry, though. Anger at the gangs. Anger at the police who don't know how to stop it. Anger at myself for being so aloof about it all. Anger for my own prejudices and ignorant ideas about all of this. Anger at my laziness for not wanting to find out more.
So, I think it was back in March I decided to try something new. I often find myself praying for big things in the world, like peace in the middle-east, Afghanistan, for flood victims, etc., and my prayers often felt like I was sending a Hallmark sympathy card to the victims. They were nice and supportive, but I don't know if I expected them to do a whole lot other than to let them know "I was thinking of them." Well, God's been changing my heart in this area. I've seen some things and experienced some things that really show how effective prayer can be. And I was challenged by my minister to pray for something and not worry about how or if God will answer it. Believe He can and will, but it's not up to me.
So I decided to throw down the gauntlet to God.
I decided to start praying that there would be one day without a homicide. Just one day.
And then it happened. Actually, the first time it happened it was for three days. I asked for one and God delivered three days of no homicides in the city of Chicago. So I kept on praying. Later the number jumped up to nine days.
And then I read the above article about the number of homicides. On the surface I can look at it and say, well, the days that were peaceful were cancelled out by the days of multiple homicides. Was I not specific enough, God? I didn't mean for evil to work over time in order to make up for the peaceful days. I know that's not how it works, but it was disheartening. I am still thankful for the days God allowed peace in the city of Chicago. I will continue to pray for days of peace. For now. Just one day at a time. If more days happen, praise God for that.
I want to do more. And at the same time, I don't want to doubt the efficacy of prayer. God can and does perform miracles. I hope you can join me in praying for peace in Chicago. And if not Chicago, for the peace in your city or town. It may not be murder, but it may be domestic violence, molestation, rape, drug abuse, etc. Whatever it is, it's tragic and sad and someone needs a voice. We simply can't know or save all victims, but when we pray, I believe we give voice to the victims and oppressed. Jesus was brutalized, beaten and killed, and He suffered in silence.
Whether or not they threaten my safety or well-being, or if they live near or far away from Heather and I, or if they are perpetrators or victims, they are made in His image. Jesus is in all of them. He suffers with them and He dies with them.
I will leave you with this paragraph from the Tribune article:
In the city's 436th murder on Monday morning, Carlos Alexander, 33, a father of four, was returning from a quick trip to a local convenience store when he was shot from behind in front of his home in the 7900 block of South Escanaba Avenue, according to family members and police. Alexander's sister opened the front door and saw him collapse to the ground, gasping for air. He died later at Northwestern Memorial Hospital.Please pray with an expectant heart.
Sunday, November 4, 2012
Patron Saint in Her Personal Hell
Here I am sitting next to my wife on a Sunday evening. We had a good day. Church. Buffalo Wild-Wings to watch some football and then home for a nap. I love naps. Oh man do I love naps.
My wife is a saint. She ended up going to Cost-Co while I was still napping. She said it was the worst she's ever seen it. She even sent me a picture while in line. The caption was: "My own personal Hell."
To understand Cost-Co when it's busy, you really have to be there, but maybe the picture helps. And it's not even near noon and/or near Christmas?!!?!? It's like driving in the worst traffic with absolutely no rules, more noise and more smells, but actually people seem a bit more polite. Granted, it's still an amazing privilege to buy some cheap food in bulk and get their awesome samples. But it's an introvert's nightmare.
Well, this is short, but I'm tired and want to spend more time with my patron saint, my wife.
And yes, she does read these posts.
My wife is a saint. She ended up going to Cost-Co while I was still napping. She said it was the worst she's ever seen it. She even sent me a picture while in line. The caption was: "My own personal Hell."
To understand Cost-Co when it's busy, you really have to be there, but maybe the picture helps. And it's not even near noon and/or near Christmas?!!?!? It's like driving in the worst traffic with absolutely no rules, more noise and more smells, but actually people seem a bit more polite. Granted, it's still an amazing privilege to buy some cheap food in bulk and get their awesome samples. But it's an introvert's nightmare.
Well, this is short, but I'm tired and want to spend more time with my patron saint, my wife.
And yes, she does read these posts.
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