Giant Dwarf vs. Winter

I’m not a big fan of cold. Cold weather, and especially cold, wet, gray weather, makes me sad. People ask how I survived colder winters in Philadelphia and I remember complaining an awful lot. In middle school, we had to take public transportation to school and there were times, on the really cold days, when the bus just didn’t come. And I would stand there, waiting at the bus stop, in my completely useless rubber boots and contemplate how long I could wait there until my toes turned black.

And I won’t ski. When people ask why, if my brother is there he’ll chime in with my stock answer, with not a little bit of derision: “Why would I pay to be cold?” The Golden Child, an avid snowboarder, cannot wrap his head around that. But really….why WOULD I pay to be cold? Not only that, why would I pay to be cold AND put myself at risk of great bodily injury? It just seems like a colossal waste of money to me.

I do remember liking to ice skate as a kid. Every winter, I make a promise to myself to skate in one of the many outdoor rinks in Los Angeles (yes, you read that right), but every year it occurs to me that the ice will make the outside temperature that much colder. And I would risk bodily injury. So it gets stricken as an activity pretty fast during the holiday season.

That being said, though, I do like to go to hockey games. I realize that the arena will be colder than usual, so I bundle up in enough layers to protect myself and two other people from the frigid conditions. Last hockey game I went to, our seats were so high that I was worried that the weight of my layers would cause me to tumble forward and fall to my death in the middle of the first period at the Staples Center. That would have been humiliating.

So, the other day, I was reflecting on the good things about winter. Yes, I hate the cold. Yes, I hate December and the unique chaos that this month brings. Yes, I hate the short days and the early darkness. But there are things I do love about winter. Here they are:

Boots.
I love boots. Whenever I go into a shoe store, I look at the boots first. Ever since I bought my first pair of lace-ups just before I started college, I’ve been addicted to boots: combat boots, cowboy boots, engineer boots, rain boots, slouchy boots, and anything Doc Martens. I’ll wear boots in the summer, but sometimes that’s just silly. But it’s always okay in the winter.

Cranking up the heat.
I love heat. I’m Mrs. Heat Miser, I’m Mrs. Hundred-and-one. My dear departed Coco shared this love of heat and she’d park herself in front of the heating grate, and I’d crowd around her to get some of the warmth as well. On a cold day, I love to get in my car and turn up the heat until I’m cooking inside. It’s cozy and it makes me happy. However, real hot heat in the summertime is just oppressive.

Hershey Kisses Candy Cane flavored candies.
Oh my god I love these! And I love that they’re seasonal because that makes them all the more special.

Twinkle Lights.
Yeah, I love those too. I'm a cheap date: they make me happy. I can see why all of these festivals of light are meant for December. When you have short days and long, dark nights, twinkle lights make everything magical.

The Yule Log video.
I bought one for a dollar a couple of years ago and I love it. This year I bought a “Fireside” home fragrance thingy and I can’t wait to plug both in at the same time. The holidays are already cheesy; why not go all the way?

So, I’ll overlook the cold and look forward to curling up with the Spazz in front of my Yule Log video with a glass of wine and my Hershey’s Candy Cane Kisses...and then we’ll watch my favorite holiday movies: Elf and The Hebrew Hammer.

Giant Dwarf vs. The Circle Of Life

My beautiful, sweet kitty died today. I’ve had many cats in my life (or, more accurately, they’ve had me), but this one was different. Truly. She was a people cat. She liked people more than she liked any other species; she never bit or scratched (anything, actually, which made it a bitch to groom her nails), maybe hissed once or twice (and for good reason), and just loved to be pet. She purred like a muscle car motor. You could hold her like a baby and she would just fall into your arms. She was my joy.

Coco came into my life almost 6 years ago. She was a senior cat then, at 9 years old (or thereabouts….no one knew for sure). A year before Coco moved in, I had been “time-sharing” a cat with my ex-boyfriend’s step-cousin (wrap your head around that), and that poor kitty died what seemed like a horribly uncomfortable death at her house.

I decided not to get a cat for a while, but, almost a year later, I was pining for another little furry life in my house. I was talking about it with our unit secretary at work one day, about how it was time for me to get a new cat. Just after I said that, one of our nurses, Kimmie, came up to the desk and asked if we knew anyone who wanted to adopt an older, sweet kitty; Kimmie’s grandmother could no longer take care of the kitty. The secretary and I looked at each other and I told Kimmie I might be interested. A week later, Kimmie brought Coco (formerly known as Brandi) to my apartment for a trial run. She was a doll and she had a new home.

Unfortunately, I didn’t like the name Brandi and wanted to rename her. There were many options: first, I called her “Edith Bunker” because she always ran to the door when someone knocked or came in. Then I went with “Little Bear” because she reminded me of that cute little Maurice Sendak character. My theatre friend in Berkeley named her “Lady Chewbacca Noelle” (“Chewy “ for short), which almost made the cut. “Coco” was a shortened version of “Coconut” and ended up being the winner by default: I had to take her to the vet, they needed a name, and “Coco” was the nom-du-jour.

As a lifelong cat owner, I have to tell you I have never met another cat like Coco. She had none of the “cattitude” I’d become accustomed to with my previous cats. She wanted to be around people, she loved to sit next to you and put her paws on your lap. Before her body was too old to do this, she would lay on her back for hours, without any care in the world about possible predators or errant human legs. She rewarded mellow with mellow: whereas the Golden Child was a little spastic for her taste, she loved to sit on the Thinker’s lap while he watched TV or worked on his laptop.

Taking in an older cat comes with some heartbreak. I knew that my time with her would be short, but I had hoped she would live another few years. Our family cat, Sandy, lived to 18 and for some reason I’ve attached that age to cats who live out a normal life. But I’ve learned this is not so.

Earlier this year in April, Coco was diagnosed with chronic renal failure. Since that time, I have been giving her subcutaneous fluids. I never thought I could stick a needle into anyone, but here I was, acting as nurse to my little girl. At first I really needed help holding her down, so I am so thankful to the Spazz and my friend Mir (as well as Kimmie, Rosh, and Luce) who came over many, many nights to help me. This did help, and she was able to live normally for a while. But then she lost her sight (from high blood pressure, a common side effect of the renal failure) and, though we were able to get some of that back, she began to slowly decline. At first, it was imperceptible. But, as I look back, I can see it now.

In the last week, she declined so much that she was eating less and less unless I put it right in front of her. She had lost her sight again. And she was barely moving. When I went to pet her, she could barely purr. She was finally giving me the signs I had been dreading. Her quality of life was gone. My sweet girl was fading.

Today has been filled with tears. I am not an easy crier. In all my time with the Spazz, he has never seen me cry until today. But this beautiful creature had broken my heart; here was a being that gave unconditional love and joy. Letting her go was agonizing but I knew that euthanizing her was the right thing to do. I found a mobile team who was compassionate and caring and my little Coco died peacefully while the Spazz and I caressed her.

So, my little Coco-Edith-Chewy-Brandi-Little Bear: thank you for coming into my life and bringing me so much joy. You are the definition of love. Rest in peace, my little sugar. You will not be forgotten.