In Memoriam – Buckminster Charles Hopkins-Michael III, Esq.

Today Geoff and I helped Bucky leave this world and move on to the next.  He was 18 years old, and I will miss him every day.

Bucky and Scratch, this was as close as they got to cuddling.
Bucky and Scratch, this was as close as they got to cuddling.

Bucky was born on April 15, 1998.  He was born before I graduated from college, in the last century, the last millennium, before Barack Obama became President, before I had my first cell phone, before I had even met Geoff, let alone married him.  He was my first child, and he will always be special.

Bucky moved with me through seven different apartments in two cities, he outlived his younger brother Smoky, he tolerated two foster dachshund sisters, an untold amount of visiting dogs of varying breeds (Scarlett, Ivory, Fletcher, Pixie, Jasmine, the list goes on), living with a roommate who had a dog and a cat of her own*, and surviving a 1 1/2 story fall down an uncovered shaft and being pinned inside a wall in the middle of the night**.

Bucky in his less formal wear. In true lord of the manor style, he showed up for meals and when he needed personal grooming. Yep, he was totally an Earl.
Bucky in his less formal wear. In true lord of the manor style, he showed up for meals and when he needed personal grooming. Yep, he was totally an Earl.

Bucky was nearly imperturbable.  He was loving and sweet with humans, but he suffered no crap from other animals.  When I brought Smoky home from the shelter, at Bucky’s request mind you, and Smoky turned into an unholy terror, Bucky rolled his eyes and we hid in my loft bed and watched the destruction in amicable silence.  When Bucky met Rerun he quickly established dominance with a sequence of three closed paw blows to Rerun’s snout that were over nearly before they’d begun.  Rerun never forgot that encounter.

Bucky was also an athlete like no other cat I’ve met.  In his prime he could jump from a sitting position to over six feet straight up into the air and land on a narrow (maybe 1 inch?) window frame.  That moved.  Then he’d make another flying leap up onto the next story of our interior courtyard and simply hop windowsill to windowsill and visit the upstairs neighbors.  Some of them would leave the windows open so he could come inside and visit.  As he was a stellar mouser and the building was, well, infested with mice, his presence was always welcome.

Privacy in the bathroom? Ha!
Privacy in the bathroom? Ha!

About a year and a half ago we had noticed that Bucky was starting to lose weight.  I fully expected his blood work to come back saying that his kidneys were going.  But they weren’t, turns out something was up in his digestive track.  Eventually there was a tiny hardening in the area.  We kept him on meds for a while, but finally he let us know on no uncertain terms that he just didn’t like the taste.  So we switched to prednisolone.  He was on it for the better part of 9 months.  He was doing fine.  The palpable thing in his belly, as of the first week of May, was small, smaller than a dime.  He spent Brimfield at the vet’s and came back happy and shiny.

Bucky
Don’t look up!

Then this week he pretty much stopped eating.  And tonight he wouldn’t come when we called for dinner.  We went looking for him and found him hiding where Smoky used to hide when he was scared or didn’t want to be pilled.  As I’d barely been able to pill him this morning, we knew it was time.  The vet graciously stayed open late for us, and we said our goodbyes.  I know that he’s with Smoky and Rerun and all of the other furry kids that Geoff and I have had come in and out of our lives so far and I know I’ll see him again.  I am at peace with the decision to let him go and I think that the timing was just right.  But I will miss him.  O Lord, will I miss him.

Bucky came to me from the MSPCA.  He was a Phinney’s Friends cat.  Phinney’s Friends was, at the time, a program at the MSPCA designed to help people with HIV/AIDS keep their pets while dealing with their disease.  Bucky’s human had died and so he was up for adoption.  I adopted him in 1999 and he was with me for the rest of his life.

Phinney’s Friends is now a standalone non-profit and it is entirely volunteer run.  If you are so inclined, I encourage you to make a donation there in Bucky’s memory or in the memory of a person or animal you love.  Without them he never would have come into my life and I would have been all the poorer for it.  Also, Phinney’s Friends now has an expanded mission that, especially with the way the economy has been, is more important than ever.

Now cracks a noble heart.—Good night, sweet prince,
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!

~Kelly

* Bucky got his nickname “Bruiser” while living with that roommate.  He got in a spat with her cat over some of her cat’s wet food and bit her cat’s tail.  The end of that cat’s tail later fell off.  In her owner’s bed.  Whoops.

** This is a super long story but I will tell you sometime if you want to hear it.  Just not now.

Advertisements

Season Six of GoT continues to explode heads

Well, this show is known for its shocking moments (especially for non-book readers, known in fan circles as the Unsullied) and Season Six has frankly had more than its share so far, and there are still four episodes left to go in the season.

Continue reading “Season Six of GoT continues to explode heads”

Heading into that time of year

when temperatures have me in a near-constant sweat.

Clearly, when it comes to my ability to withstand temperatures, my French-Canadian side is dominant over the Portuguese side.  I do much better in cooler weather than I do in hot weather.  I start sweating when the temperatures go over 70, more or less.  And today it is going to reach the mid-80s.  Sigh.

Considering that this year is already well on its way to being the hottest year on record, I am not looking forward to whatever blistering temperatures we may get this summer.  Not at all.  At least it won’t be constant, like it used to be when I lived in Alabama.  That’s one big advantage of New England.

– Geoff

Well. I had wondered why they called this episode “The Door”.

I really didn’t know.

I had suspected that it would have something to do with the door to the House of Black and White, or maybe the door to the Great Sept of Baelor, or something along those lines.  The actual meaning and significance of the name, and which door it meant, is something I could never have guessed in a million years.

Continue reading “Well. I had wondered why they called this episode “The Door”.”

Sometimes words just aren’t enough

At some point I will write a proper post, but our reaction to last night’s episode of Game of Thrones, particularly the last 7 minutes or so, can probably best be summarized like this.

This times one thousand.
This times one thousand.

 

 

 

 

 

 

One of Kelly’s Twitter friends beat us to first use of this GIF, but it is still one of the most appropriate ones out there that I can find.

Anyway, I need more time to process it all.  The episode would have been outstanding and highly important even without that last few minutes, and with it, it is absolutely one of the most consequential episodes of the entire show so far.

-Geoff

Brimfield 2016 – @TheBloggess Edition

The May edition of Brimfield 2016 has come and gone.  We haven’t photographed our purchases yet, that will come later.  What we do have are the photos we took as we wandered around.  These are the weirdest photos of items we encountered from Thursday-Sunday of last week.  And some of them are truly odd.  Others reminded us of The Bloggess, so we went ahead and snapped them.  For posterity.  We did not purchase any of these items.

Continue reading “Brimfield 2016 – @TheBloggess Edition”

I really hate the Sons of the Harpy – here’s why

You know, I was having a conversation with Kelly the other day about everything going on in Meereen with Daenerys gone, and I came to a realization about some things.

Continue reading “I really hate the Sons of the Harpy – here’s why”