Introducing The Cat-Shaped Hole Chronicles

First off, yes, I know this is the time I usually do my YIR post but 2024 was just a little difficult, what with Sammy dying, and the Cheeto-in-Chief not dying, and, well, 2025 was off to a very rough start (see above). So yes, the YIR post is forthcoming, I am just not sure when.

So, in the meantime, I want to introduce a new feature: posts about what I am doing or what I would like to do to fill the cat-shaped hole Sammy has left in my home, my life, my heart, everywhere.

The title of these posts comes from a friend’s comment on one of the many Facebook entries I made in the dark days immediately following Sammy’s death. I asked for opinions on a variety of things I would like to do or purchase or places I’d like to go (I still don’t remember why I picked Belgium, for fuck’s sake) and a ton of other lunatic ideas. On one of them a friend commented: “That won’t fill the cat-shaped hole.” That gave me all the feels. And ideas for this blog, so watch this space!

 

“Cat is fractious” no more

 

On our first visit to his vets, just about a week after we rescued each other, the intake tech wrote a note for Sammy’s vet: cat is fractious.

How little did I know then how true that was. The online thesaurus site lists tons of synonyms for fractious and I can easily say that Sammy exhibited most of them at some point: irritable; unmanageable; testy; scrappy; wild. I could go on, but you get the picture:

But no more, for my beautiful boy died in our sleep on March 15. Beware the Ides of March indeed.

I knew he was dying. He’d stopped eating and had lost a lot of weight. On the morning of his death, I found him settled on my collection of throw pillows in my bedroom (finding a quiet, safe space is a well-known behavior amongst cats when they know they are dying). And I knew that but stupidly, I picked him up and settled him on the couch in the living room. Comfortable, but not nearly as comfortable as those pillows. I am wracked with guilt about moving him. However, if it caused him to stay alive a little longer, then I am OK with it. Because it meant he was still alive when I got home.

I ate dinner quickly, changed into my jammies, picked him up, settled him in my lap and fell asleep on the couch. I can’t be sure of this, but I think, in the middle of the night, he awoke me with a loud meow just before he died. But that might be wishful thinking on my part.

When I awoke, I knew he was dead. But I let myself pretend it was just his normal habit of jumping up on me when I was asleep and settling in for a nap. So I talked to him like I would normally do when he wouldn’t move from me: “Sammy, get up, mummy needs to use the loo.” I went on in that vein for about five minutes, delaying the inevitable.

And, like after the workplace shooting, most of my posse of beautiful strong women reached out to me and helped me through it.

So you know that old chestnut of a question, “If you could have lunch with anyone, living or dead, who would it be?” Well, before Sammy, my answer was always William Shakespeare. After Sammy, it would be whoever could tell me of Sammy’s life before me: who got him declawed? How many siblings did he have? Did his mummy and daddy love each other or was it just a one-night stand? Did he ever do the deed before he got fixed? Did someone abandon him or did he run away, to be found by someone named Guido who took him to the shelter? (When he got to the shelter, he was initially named Roseannadanna, in keeping with the Saturday Night Live theme. That was changed to Rodin (one of my favorite artists). I named him Sammy after Sammy Davis Jr because he had only one eye (something else that I am sure added to his fractiousness!).)  

I’d also ask my lunch partner who abused that beautiful boy so much that he turned into a psychotic biting machine? Notice how I wrote I’d like to meet someone who could answer these questions, and not the person who did the abusing because I would kill that motherfucker in a slow and very painful way.

But, like my moving him from the pillows, perhaps on some level him getting abused was a good thing because it meant we ended up with each other. Because he was as fucked up in his head as I am in mine. Yeah, he might have gotten adopted on his good looks alone, but any normal, sane person would have returned him after one of his biting sessions. We were meant for each other.

But now he is gone and I am alone once more. It does hurt, but, because I am a sociopath, I am handling it so much better than I thought I would. I expected to try to fill the cat-shaped hole with a parrot. Or a tortoise. I pictured my grief causing me to shave off all my hair. Or dye it black. (One of those is for sure going to happen soon.)

But I am going on with my life with reminders of him everywhere. His picture is my profile pic for my work emails. Most of my passwords have some form of his name in them (there are lots of other deets in them so that is not giving away anything). He is my screensaver on all my devices. I say good morning to him. I tell him at night when it is time for bed. And about a week after his passing I had a dream that was so intense that I think it might have actually happened: He jumped up on my lap and we rubbed noses and said goodbye. In other dreams I feel him nibbling my toes or jumping up on my lap for a nap.

I could not give him the best life, but I think I gave him a good one.

RIP, love of my life.

Sammy’s 11th Annual Holiday Message

 

Look at him. I know I am biased, but he cannot take a bad photo. Not sure what he was looking at, but he was sat behind me on the sofa, and I just happened to have my phone with me and he stayed that way long enough to get the shot.

Oh, and I know I am two days later in posting this, but for some reason I thought I posted it on the 19th, instead of the 17th. I know it is one of those because the 18th is not a good day for me (too painful to discuss, but you’re not really missing anything, just one of my little drama queen tics).

Happy times whatever it is you celebrate!

Sammy’s 9th Annual Holiday Message

 

Look at him. I’m not just saying this because he is mine, but this cat cannot take a bad photo.

Anyway, I am still “working” from home, and I can’t be arsed to write much, but I wanted to wish you all a happy holiday season. And, remember, if you want to see your family next Christmas, don’t see them this Christmas.

Sammy’s 8th Annual Holiday Message

I have the day off today so I can’t be arsed to write anything. I’d much rather read the latest murder mystery I am into or watch the daytime TV I never otherwise get a chance to watch (“About $100, Bob.”). Nope, writing these posts is work I would rather do at work. But Sammy did want me to make sure you all know he wishes you all a happy holiday season.

Sammy's 7th Annual Holiday Message

I have a cold so I cannot be arsed to write anything but this post needs to be published today because it always is. Hopefully the Year In Review post will be more detailed. Happy hols, all.

Sammy's 6th Annual Holiday Message

 

Stupid Walgreens. They don't do the stupid frames for photos anymore. So I had to either rely on my (non-existent) Photoshop skills or bite the bullet and not be so cheap and use one of those online photo card services. But they do not provide a proof and I forgot to take one of the finished cards to work to scan it there, so instead you have the before and after version of Sammy's holiday greeting picture this year - above is the original pic and below is a pic of Sammy with the final product (slightly edited to protect the identity of the innocent (ha!)). Sorry, got a rotten cold, tripping balls on Mucinez, should wait 'til I am back at work tomorrow, but this post has to go out on December 17, because it always does. And I know some of you might be thinking big whup, it is a cat in a box, stop the presses, but no, Sammy rarely gets in boxes, rarely does anything other cats do, so this was indeed a moment meant to be captured for posterity.

 

 

 

 

Balcony Blues

I do not watch Anderson Cooper 360°. I have no idea what channel it is on or what time it is broadcast. I had to look up its correct title too, that is how removed I am from it. Huge surprise, right? Because of how deeply in love with him I am. (And, no, he is not gay - he just hasn't met the right fat English chick yet.) But I cannot watch his show because it is too painful. If I can't be with him, I don't want to watch him - I avoid the emotional trauma.

 

Every morning, I sprinkle birdseed on my balcony, attracting lots of pigeons and other birds. (And I think word has gotten around because when I open the blinds in the morning, there they are, waiting for breakie.) Sammy, of course, is glued to the scenes that follow. He sits there, sometimes chattering, sometimes crouched in a pouncing position and occasionally he even launches himself at the window, which scares the crap out of me, it is so fast and so sudden and makes such a loud noise, windows rattling and birds scattering.

 

I am probably going to have to move in December (bear with me, these disparate subjects will come together shortly). Obviously, my financial situation and fear of driving means that cost and location are my top priorities but after that a view for Sammy is the most important thing. But should it be? What I mean is, is watching those birds frustrating to him? Does it depress him that he can't get through the glass and be outside chasing them?

 

It has been proven that animals experience emotions similar to humans, but do they know they can avoid emotional pain like humans can? If I move to a place that does not have prime bird-watching space will he be depressed because the daily avian feeding frenzy is no more or will he be happier because that which caused him emotional trauma has been removed and as an animal he is incapable of avoiding it himself? In other words, are those pigeons his Anderson Cooper?

 

 

Are you Anderson Cooper, pigeon?

 

Sammy’s 4th Annual Holiday Message

 

Although after having done some research on previous posts in this series, “message” is kind of an exaggeration. It is usually just Sammy’s annual holiday photo and a brief shout-out to his human fans. Although last year I did go on a bit of a diatribe about my then 11-month unemployment stint. All better now, though: gainfully employed and back to having access to office equipment!

 

Happy whatever it is you celebrate, humans!

One is the loneliest number

It's the loneliest number since the number one. Cats do not have opposable thumbs. That is all.

Sammy’s Third Annual Holiday Message

I think of all the sad and pathetic things my 11-month long (11 months!) bout of unemployment has caused, the story behind this picture of Sammy is amongst the saddest.

I’d never sent out a holiday picture before Sammy came along because I had never loved anything enough to picture it and share it with people (well, I think I might have briefly flirted with the idea of sending out a pic of my tattoo the year I got that, but never got around to it. Because I never loved it as much as I love Sammy). Now, selecting an image and getting it all dolled up in the holiday-themed embellishments offered by the online photo people is the highlight of my summer (I’m organized and do not have a life – I get stuff done early).

This year was different, of course. First off, the pic was taken on my iPad, not on my regular film camera (yes, I still have one of those. I have a landline phone too. Luddites Forever!). I’ve taken a ton of pics of Sammy but for financial reasons the film rolls remain undeveloped. Thankfully, I caught him at a good angle (he is watching the pigeons) while my iPad was switched on and decided to go with this one for the very few I would have to have printed out this year, just for the English contingent (because they do not – and cannot – know I am out of work, so I have to keep up at least a semblance of normalcy when it comes to them). But even though I got fewer printed out this year, I still had to cut as many financial corners as possible so the paper quality is much lower this year. And I usually avoid a Christian-based greeting (not out of political correctness but out of atheism) but this year I couldn’t even be arsed with that.

But I wanted everyone else to see it for Sammy’s annual message. Which, coincidentally, has been every year on December 17. Well, a coincidence this year because when I got up this morning, after my daily online job hunt was over, I decided I should get around to doing it. I checked the last two postings, to see what they were titled, and discovered they too were posted on December 17 (I am sure last year I did that on purpose but I have no memory of doing so, but last year my life was relatively calm and I wasn’t an unemployed mess). But it is just one of many coincidences my life has been riddled with recently, the freakiest being that the guy whose Craig’s List ad I answered (something to do with BBWs and pearl necklaces) turned out to be someone I used to work with! Freaky because I have literally only worked with about, maybe, 100 people, tops, in my seven years in Vegas, and maybe only 30 of them were men.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, so to make this even more pathetic, I no longer have access to a scanner (one used to sit on my desk, back in the halcyon days when I had a – gasp! – job!). So, yeah, the above is a badly positioned, iPad-taken picture of a poor-quality photo that came from an iPad picture!

But what does that matter because, in the end, it is a picture of my beautiful boy who has kept me going through these miserable months. I hope this picture of him brings you as much joy as the real version of him brings me. And I hope your holiday season, however you celebrate it, is filled with delight.

A Sammy Tail

Sammy’s interest in looking outside when the blinds are open:

0%

 

Sammy’s interest in looking outside when the blinds are closed:

100%

 

Sammy’s Second Annual Holiday Message

Have a great one, humans!

It’s A Halloween Miracle!

Sammy, You’re Doing It Wrong

Happy Birthday, Sammy!

Sammy, my soul mate, can you believe it has been four years since the Universe brought us together? Four wonderful years of love bites and kneading (and needing) and belly rubs and bedtime laser tag and you taking on the role of my alarm clock (I just wish you had an off switch for Saturdays and Sundays). It is no exaggeration to say you changed my life. For one, I wouldn’t be living where I am if it wasn’t for you (our first place together had a “No Pets” policy that we violated for eight or so months, remember?). And yes I’ve missed out on meeting those babies born in Denver since you came into my life (my horror stories of your biting have made it impossible to find a sitter for you) but I wouldn’t change a second of it (well, maybe those weekend morning wake-up calls). I love you like I have never loved anybody or anything before, my darling boy.

Sammy's Latest Obsession

Watching YouTube videos on my iPad. 

I Saw A Movie! In The Theatre!

Oh yes, another posting about a banal matter – but, really, stick with me and you’ll understand why it is very important for me to write about my recent movie-going experience.

Easily the biggest difference in my Colorado life verses my Vegas life (apart from Sammy) is my movie-going. I’ll dig out the spreadsheets one day to confirm this number (yeah, you knew there’d be spreadsheets, right?!) but back in the day in Boulder and Denver I averaged about 40 movies a year (and that was just ones in the cinema). (I peaked in 2001 with 62!)

Since I moved to Vegas, my average has plummeted to about two a year. (I’ve joined Netflix to make up for it.) And there is just one reason and one reason only why I no longer go to the movies – my illogical, un-American fear/hatred of driving. In Boulder and Denver I lived within walking distance of several movie theatres. Irony alert: The second place I lived in in Vegas was within walking distance of a mall – one of the few malls in America without a movie theatre inside it. Double irony alert: I now live within walking distance of a casino – one of the few casinos in Las Vegas without a movie theatre in it. So effing typical.

Anyway, there was nothing particularly remarkable about this recent movie visit except that I saw Skyfall, a movie starring not one, not two, but THREE of my future ex-husbands: Mr. Daniel Craig, Mr. Ralph Fiennes and Señor Javier Bardem.