Saying Goodbye to Buffy

Buffy was a really rambunctious kitty when I brought her home in 1995. I lived alone in a studio in Newton Corner. Whenever I would make the bed she would dart back and forth under the sheets making air tunnels. She liked to run down the hall and screech to a halt, like the cats you see in cartoons. Other favorite tricks were lying under the dresser on her back and pulling herself out by her paws to take a peek at the room, or climbing up the coats hanging on the door at night to look out the transom window at me when I was sleeping.

She could be cranky and demanding sometimes. If I was talking on the phone too long she would do things to get my attention, like knock over the garbage, jump on the table, and swing from the telephone cord while looking at me innocently. One day while I was talking on the phone, relaxing on my futon, she dive bombed and bit my bum really hard repeatedly. It did the trick. I paid attention to her.

She was always curious about whatever I was eating. She liked to try desserts, ice cream, my oatmeal as I was getting ready for work. I couldn't leave her alone with anything I was eating or drinking. One day I had made a drink with milk and a little Kahlua in a tall skinny glass. There was only about an inch of it left in the bottom. I went in the other room to do the dishes, then peeked around the corner to see her very carefully dip her paw in, swish it around the bottom, then carefully pull it back out and lick it off without tipping the glass over. I would have finished that drink without ever knowing the difference, but I knew she was that clever.

Buffy was a coquette. One day she was being very cranky with me and would growl and and scratch me if I tried to pet her. Then my boyfriend at the time came over and she purred and cuddled in his arms. I said I was surprised because she had been very snappy with me. I tried to pet her again, and she snarled and took a swipe at me. My boyfriend said proudly, "She likes MEN!"

Buffy has been with me for 19 years, but in recent years she has become increasingly frail. She is losing the ability to walk steadily, and when I brought her in to the vet a month ago they told me that one of her kidneys had failed. Yesterday when I came home she was stuck in the couch cushions and was too weak to pull herself out. She didn't want to eat. She jumped out of my arms and thrashed around on the floor unable to run away. I wrapped her in a blanket and tried to make her comfortable. Then she surprised me and jumped in and out of the tub a few times. She made the attempt to walk around very unsteadily, dragging on one of her legs. Except when she was batting around her dry food to subdue it and kill it before eating it, she was always fastidiously neat and clean. It was heartbreaking to watch her drag herself to the litter box despite her obvious great pain and weakness.

Buffy has had an amazing long life. For many years vets have told me she has a heart murmur, yet she outlived my younger cat, George, who died very suddenly at the age of 9 in 2011. I was devastated because I didn't see it coming. Buffy was 16 at the time. Now she has become almost emaciated, and her fur has become matted. Her skin is too sensitive for normal grooming. I know it is time to say goodbye and I'm spending a last few hours with her before I take her in to the vet to be euthanized. It is a very hard decision, but I know it is the most merciful thing I can do. I don't want her to die in pain while I'm at work. She still found the strength to put her paw on my arm as she is resting beside me on the sofa. I already miss her.

Any One of Us Words From Prison at Out of the Blue Gallery

Last night I was privileged to see the first show on Opening night of Any One Of Us: Words From Prison, a local production in honor of V Day, a global activist movement to end violence against women and girls. This work was compiled by Eve Ensler in her work with women prisoner survivors of domestic violence. The production was powerful, emotional, riveting, engaging and at times a little repulsive in what it revealed about the capacity for cruelty and evil from the people who we are supposed to trust to love and protect us.

The show was produced by Chanelle Doctor, and the ensemble cast is a group of Lesley College students who act out these roles with passion and ferocity, moving from the states of dream like reveries of disappointed expectations to the rage of acting out defending their lives, their battered souls and bodies. The men who abused these women were family members, husbands, lovers, and prison guards, both professional and blue collar. If these women had died they would have been viewed as innocent martyrs to domestic violence, but because they survived by becoming perpetrators of violence, which they saw as the only choice left to them, they are imprisoned with the memories of abuse they did not ask for, and subject to the continuing abuse of prison guards. They have escaped one patriarchal abusive situation to end up in another.

Knowing how little time they had to rehearse the production, it is surprising in its finesse and attention to detail. Harsh realities are made harsher by the contrast of beautiful singing, and dance like menacing stage choreography. Violence against women is pervasive in our society, and many of us have been victims of domestic abuse and violence, or know someone who has. One point that is often overlooked is that violence against women also has a devastating effect on men who grow up witnessing and experiencing it and being emotionally traumatized by it, often perpetuating the cycle of abuse themselves. This cast does a superb job of giving a voice to the voiceless, and driving home the point that no one chooses to be abused. I could happen to any one of us.

The production has 3 shows remaining at Out of the Blue Gallery, 106 Prospect St. near Central Sq.

April 26 7pm and 9pm

April 27 3pm


Created with Admarket's flickrSLiDR.

Remembering the Marathon Bombing

Today I am remembering the Marathon bombing, almost a year ago. In the space of one week the bombing happened, my long term relationship ended, and the city was on lockdown. I suddenly felt very isolated in my own life, but connected to everyone by the thread of shared tragedy. In America we seldom experience such random and widespread devastation first hand. We only see it in the news in other parts of the world. It caused many people to reassess their lives because we realized how fragile and fleeting it could be.

Today I am meditating and praying for more compassion and peace in the world. It is a privilege to take it for granted that we can go out in masses with our families and celebrate athletic achievement at a world famous event, and even participate in it without fear, and without worry. We should be grateful that most of the time on Marathon Monday, our greatest concern is chilly gray weather, and the late coming of Spring, not weapons of mass destruction that might take our lives, our loved ones, and maim and destroy our bodies and our infrastructure within seconds.

For a few days we were forced to look beyond our own little microcosms and ponder the meaning of life, not just for ourselves but for others in the world who live with the threat of terrorism daily. Sometimes new life rises out of the ashes. What seems like the end is really a new beginning, a new era of compassion, and a new awareness to our connection to all of humanity.