Teddy Radiator

Last night, our old gentlemen Mouse quietly slipped away from us. He had been going downhill rapidly in the last few weeks, and I knew he was tired. He was 18 years old, and he had been with us for longer than we have been married.

He moved with us, rode a plane to live here with us, and for those 18 years seemed indestructable. We teased him because he wasn't the brightest cat in the world, but he was constant and reliable. For the first couple of years of his life, we lived in tiny bedsits, and he spent a lot of time cooped up, but once we were in a place where he could safely roam, he went on a series of adventures, and had the time of his life.

Last night, we sat and reminisced over some of those. When we first got him, we were told he was female, and he spent the first six months of his life as Molly. When we realised he had un-Molly-ish bits, we started calling him Mouse, because of his long, skinny grey tail, and the name stuck.

When he was about five months old, he somehow managed to climb out of our skylight and ended up on the roof of our three-story apartment building, and we had to rent a ladder to get him down. He caught loads of mice, but would drop them and let them get away before he could show them off.

We lived near an elementary school, and every day we would see him greeting kids, and they always called him by name. He got bit by foxes and snakes and who knows what else, and he just kept on exploring.

He was never the cuddliest of cats; when we first laid eyes on him he was about 3 weeks old and he hissed at us, but we loved him anyway. When we were moving to the US, we even considered leaving him behind with Trev's mum. Now, I cannot imagine coming here without him.

He never fought with the others, even when they muscled him out of the way to eat from his food bowl. He would give us this long-suffering look, then wait until they were distracted, and eat the rest of theirs. He ate and drank with his paw, because he was a bit nearsighted, and woe betide anyone who left any kind of drink sitting where he could get to it. He especially loved a drop of coffee with cream and sugar.

One of my most enduring memories of him was when he was around two - we lived in a tiny top floor flat, and he had to stay in the bathroom at night. It was such a tiny space, and he didn't get to go out much. One day, Trev took him downstairs and let him play in the little patch of grass near the block of flats. I could actually hear him galloping up the stairs a little while later, and he raced into the flat over to me, and put his front paws up on the sofa beside me. His eyes were a big as saucers, and he gave me the biggest meow I've ever heard, like he was saying, "I've been outside! I got to go out and play!"

Little buddy, I will miss your grey fur balls everywhere, and your croaky morning meow.

I hope wherever you are there are lots of places for you to go 'sploring, and warm sunny days and you are as young and full of beans as you were in your prime. Farewell, Mousey.
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snapecase. This morning. Headmaster Snape. That is all.

How sad it was to wake up to the heartwrenching news that David Bowie died yesterday. TheHubs™ and I are quite emotionally devastated.

Then, I come on LJ this morning, and find THIS amazing art, created by our own lemonade8 based on my grangersnape100 drabble series Signal Boost. As I said to Lemonade, looking at her lovely art and based on the story itself, I would like to think while Hermione was listening through the night for that distant familiar voice, she may have heard Star Man once or twice while turning the dial. After all, if it could be said of anyone, Mr. Bowie surely was a fellow Hogwarts Alumni, wasn't he?

I feel like it's been absolute ages since I've de-lurked and actually wrote something. At least a couple of weeks. I am officially a 'theatre widow' for the foreseeable future as TheHubs™ works on first a play for September, then A Christmas Carol in December, and another one in April next year. I need to use the time to write, so we'll see how that goes. Lots of stories in my head; not too much impetus to get them out in the open for some reason.

Work is proving to be a frustrating mess right now. I won't bore you with the dreary details but this new computer system has everyone so screwed up it's not funny. We have been slogging along, trying to keep up, but it's just running us into the ground. It's nice to have work, but not when we are literally driving around hundreds of miles every week to do it. So much for this system being augmented to 'cut back on drive time'. Uh huh.

The Podcasts are really coming along well - I love editing and producing them, and folks tell us they like them. I hope so. We're enjoying ourselves, anyway, so that's good enough for me. We also have a new Twitter account, and I would love for  you to follow us - Teddy&TheBassman (@TednTheBassman ) so please feel free. if you would like a link to the podcast itself, you can listen HERE.

My Uncle Jim died this weekend, and the funeral is tomorrow. His death came as an absolute shock to us all - he was in relatively good health, and literally sat down after breakfast on Saturday morning, gave a little gasp, and was gone. As sad as it is, I can't think of a better way to go - in my home, with my loved ones, just taking a breath, and the lights going out. His wife, my Aunt Mona, said there was no pain, no struggle, nothing but a surprised intake of breath, then she was alone.

She is devastated. I can still remember the day they got married. I was maybe 8 or 10, and it was the first time I'd been to a wedding that took place in someone's home instead of a church. Jim had been married before, and had a son Michael. When Michael was little more than a toddler, Jim's wife Martha and Michael were involved in a terrible auto accident, and Michael was killed. I don't think Jim ever really got over it; it destroyed his marriage with Martha, and he married Mona quite a few years later. She doted on him shamelessly. She petted and babied him their entire marriage, and she's just devastated.

They lived a very quiet life, just the two of them - Jim told her from the start he could not bear the idea of any children after what happened to Michael - and we hardly ever saw them after they retired from work. Jim was a very quiet man; he had a low speaking voice, but a lovely tenor singing voice. He and Mona both battled addictions during their lives, he with alcohol and both of them with prescription drugs, but in their later years they were clean and sober and just kept to themselves. I had the chance to see them earlier this summer during a get-together, but we didn't go, and I regret it now, of course.

Funerals upset me, no matter whose they are or how close or not I was with the deceased. But I must go; poor Mona is not in great health, and they didn't have any life insurance to speak of, so the red tape of the next few weeks are going to be hellish for her, I suspect. They're having the funeral at a local church they didn't attend, so we will have to listen to someone who didn't really know Jim eulogise empty words about him. That's the part I hate the most; I don't think you should speak words over a stranger. I just wish they'd let us all just get up and say a few words about him or tell a story about Jim. It would be lovely to hear him sing, but to my knowledge there are no recordings available, even though he did sing solos often when I was a teenager. I even once sang a hymn he wrote. It's been a long time ago, and both mine and his hymn-singing days are long past, but I can still remember most of the chorus:

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, on this rock forever I'll stand
Jesus, Jesus Jesus, my heart is at your command
Savour, Master, keep me humble as I walk through this land,
Lead me, guide me, stay close beside me, my life is in your hands.

It's funny what you remember.

I just heard that Ruth Sadler, AKA Ms_Figg, passed away this past weekend. For those of us in the SSHG fandom, she was very special. My thoughts are with her family.

...for your loss. My thoughts are with you and your family.