things sure have changed since yesterday

My kitten Julian died on Friday in Australia. I only found out about it on Saturday, when I finally managed to get in contact with Mum via Skype after a couple of weeks' worth of missed connections.

My little man was just over a year old when he died. He was far, far too young to go, but what life he had was a good one, I think. I don't know what happened. Mum said she found him curled up in the front yard like he was sleeping, so I'm assuming something happened that just made him fall sleep and drift off.* When Mitzie got hit by a car she came home for help, so I'm choosing to believe that if he'd been in pain he would have come in. He never liked to be cooped up, so I hope he preferred the life we gave him when he was free to roam, despite the attendant risks, to a life lived looking out the window.

I've been looking through my photos, and I don't have nearly enough of this kitten who's made such a huge impact on my life. But here are the best ones.

( A year in the life )

OK. I think...I was going to say "I think I can stop feeling so sad" but nope, not happening any time soon. I've been crying on and off for the past three days. I just about lost my mind when Mum first told me...couldn't stop crying, it felt like my chest was cracking open. Saturday evening was spent crying every fifteen minutes or so; Sunday, every thirty minutes to an hour; today, every couple of hours, or continuously if I did something like compile a picspam of his greatest hits.

I feel faintly ridiculous because I grieve for the animals in my family as much as - if not more than - I do for the people. But my animals have been my friends, my siblings, my children, and I love them as dearly as any human. My baby boy is dead and I wasn't there for him...I might not have been able to do anything to save him, but I'll never know, and I never got the chance to see him again properly. I had such plans for us...we were going to move to London when I finished my degree, and he was going to have a whale of a time chasing squirrels and British magpies and just generally having a lark. But now he's running around with KM and Jessie and Comet and Wanda and Lulu and Carrie and Ned and Tash and Bobo and all the other pets my family has loved and lost over the years, and he doesn't need to worry about being cooped up ever again, and I'll see him eventually and be able to give him ALL the belly rubs ever.

I'm getting a tattoo to remember him by. I'm not sure when I'll get it done...if I'll get it now, or if I'll wait until I'm back in Australia, where he was born and raised and died. It's a pretty simple tattoo: just the words hey Jude and the first two notes (a C-above-middle-C (C₅?) crotchet and an A-above-middle-C (A₄?) minim) of the melody line of Hey Jude by The Beatles. I got heavily into The Beatles around the time I started fostering Jude and his siblings, and he very graciously put up with many renditions of their songs being crooned in his ear, especially Hey Jude. I used to sing it out the door when I wanted him to come in the house, and more often than not he'd come in...I think he knew it was his song. The tattoo is going to look something like this:



No stave, no treble clef or bar line...I think it'd be distracting. I like the font, but not sure if it'd be OK for a tattoo; I'm getting my backpiece added to while I'm here, so I'll take the design with me when that happens and get the artist's opinion. It'd go on my left wrist, opposite the bass clef on my right.

Anyway. Love to everyone, and love to your pets. Have a good evening.

C xoxo

I don't know what to say about the shooting in Colorado at the midnight showing of The Dark Knight Rises. I mostly feel numb, to tell you the truth. It's just...too much. Twelve people dead. Fifty-something people injured. The youngest was just three months old. One guy was celebrating his 27th birthday. And all because this guy just came in, let off a smoke grenade, and started shooting. My heart goes out to everyone there: to those who lost their lives; to those who were injured; to those who bore witness; and to the families of all these people.

One thing that makes it through the numbness, though? Disbelief. Disbelief that a civilian could get their hands on that many weapons and that much ammunition without anyone noticing, without any red flags raising, without anyone thinking hmmm, what does this guy need with a Remington shotgun and a Glock and an S&W assault rifle and 600 rounds of ammunition? It just does not compute. Instead of banning costumes (because - please correct me if I'm wrong - the dude wasn't actually wearing a costume), I feel something should probably be done about ensuring that anyone who does not actively need a gun doesn't get their hands on one.

My grandfather died at 9am this morning. Apparently he passed away peacefully and in his sleep, which I suppose is the most anybody can ask.

We're flying out Tuesday to attend the funeral. The funeral date hasn't really been set in stone, but we think it's probably going to be Thursday.

It hasn't really hit me yet that he's gone, and it probably won't for a while yet; it took years for it to sink in that my grandmother was gone. His death is both surprising and not a surprise at all: we've known he's not well for a very long time, but he's always been such a tough old bugger that we thought he would live forever.


Granddad with Nana and me on his boat, Steinie One - 1989.

RIP James Waddell
02 April 1926 - 30 January 2011