Eulogy

We put our boy to sleep nearly three weeks ago, on the 27th January. He was 15 years and 1 week old. The hole he's left in our lives aches like an open wound.

Both of us still feel him around. Last night, I allowed my arm to dangle over the back of the couch. We were watching a movie: Drive. At some point, I felt him bump his head into the back of my hand; something he used to do. I reached out to pet him. He wasn't there.

As I type this recollection, I can feel the emotion well up. I tell myself that, had I known this inevitability would hurt so much, I'd never have chosen to get him in the first place. It's insane. I don't regret a minute of his life. I really don't. But this hurts more than anything I've experienced in my 42 years.

The boy came into my life as a kitten. I was 18 months into my first proper relationship. I thought we were getting him to cement our bond, to make us a family. My boyfriend hoped the boy would keep me company. He was already planning to leave.

And he did keep me company. Too well, at times. I was mourning the loss of my first love whilst at the same time looking after a new life that needed me constantly. From Day 1 he bonded to me tightly. He became my shadow, a real Mr Underfoot. I couldn't even close the bathroom door without him howling to be let in. Once, I momentarity considered getting rid of him. I half-convinced myself that placing him with a family that was more equipped to cope with his needs was in everyone's best interest. For whatever reason, I couldn't go through with it. We were in this together. We were a team. I had chosen to get him and I would just have to do the best I could.

As much as I protected and nurtured him over the years, he gave it back tenfold. He was always there for me, a never-ending source of unconditional love and affection. Having him around meant that I was never lonely, even during quiet patches where nobody seemed to want to have sex with me, let alone date me. At times that I was dating, he often became jealous and even ran off a fair few unsuitable suitors! He tried to run off my husband in the early years, but he came around, eventually. In later years, it sometimes seemed that the two of them loved each other as much as they loved me.

I guess I shouldn't be surprised that not having him is so hard. I should try to be grateful that I got to know him as a kitten, a young cat, through middle-age and to care for him as he slowed down towards the end.

The Five Stages of Grief

We're losing our cat, our little boy. He's fifteen years old, a good age we're told. Unlike his daddies, he's avoided grey hairs. If you didn't know, you'd think him a youngster.

Or at least you would have until last weekend. On Sunday morning he was acting slightly goofy and extremely lethargic. His miaow was pained. We noticed that his "dry" food bowl was full, which was unusual. After a few minutes' discussion, we realised that he'd not asked either of us for "wet" food, his morning treat, for a few days. He had also not been drinking water.

We rented a zip car, bundled him into his pet carrier and rushed to the emergency vet. They ran tests. The diagnosis was cancer. The extent unknown, but most likely his behaviour was due to a tumour in the brain. They kept him in overnight to rehydrate him, inject him with steroids and get him eating again.

The following morning they performed an ultrasound which was inconclusive. Two and a half years ago we nearly lost him following a car accident and a series of surgeries to piece him back together. The thick scarring blocked the sound waves. An X-ray gave a clearer picture. His intestines were displaced by a large mass and his lungs were dotted with numerous secondary cancers.

We were advised that the prognosis was extremely poor. They could open him up to visually confirm the extent of the cancer, but he would most likely die from the surgery. Even if he survived, the spread of the cancer meant that it was inoperable. As such, the treatment, a course of steroids, would be the same either way.

Steroids don't cure the cancer. They merely give him some symptomatic relief and stimulate his appetite so that he would eat. In essence, they improve his quality of live and stave off the inevitable.

This past week has been awful. His appetite and thirst have returned somewhat, but he is becoming thinner and increasingly vague. He's still "in there", though. He knows when he's being petted and purrs gently. At times, though, he's like a ghost. At times the effort of walking seems too much and he plonks himself on the floor in unusual spots and falls asleep.

About the only muscle with strength appears to be his jaw. He hates the steroid pills, clamping his mouth shut when it's medicine time.

We've decided that tomorrow, Friday 27 January 2011, will be his last day. His life will have lasted 15 years and 1 week exactly. I want to spare him the inevitable suffering that his last days could bring.

So. What are the "Five Stages of Grief"?

Forty-odd years ago, a lady called Elisabeth Kübler-Ross categorised grief into a five stage model. It seems apt to use her model to describe what we've been through this past week.

1. Denial
Our boy's been such a constant in our lives for all these years. Now, in the space of a week, it seems that his immortality has been lost. Moreover, he's wasting away in front of our eyes.

I admit that when the diagnosis and prognosis were given, I mentally challenged them. Without opening him up they couldn't be certain of anything, surely? His loss of appetite and other symptoms could surely be caused by something else? Perhaps he does have cancer but that doesn't mean that his issues were related and that his time with us was short.

I then did some internet research. Over and over I came across stories of cats that went from diagnosis to death in under a fortnight. Cancer hits them hard and fast.

In many ways I'm still in denial. We've made appointments with the vet and the crematorium. I still think he's going to pick himself up and somehow prove to us that he's fine.

2. Anger
My anger was shortlived, but it was there, albeit misdirected. I was angry at other road users who blocked me from getting home quickly. I was angry at myself for not noticing sooner that he'd gone off his food. I was even angry at our builder for all the delays, which made us miss four of the last months of his life.

I'm not angry anymore, at least for now.

3. Bargaining
It's not really "bargaining", but I do find myself making up standards by which I can judge his state. "If he sleeps with us at night there's still a chance". If he eats this or that. If he goes outside...

4. Depression
It's safe to say that I've been distracted to the point of thinking that most day-to-day necessities are pointless.

5. Acceptance
That's the toughie, isn't it. I'm still crying spontaneously on too-regular a basis to say I've accepted it. I do believe that once he's gone, naturally in his sleep tonight or through euthenasia tomorrow, that things will be easier. The doubt of what will happen and whether we're doing the right thing will become void. I'm certain that if we have to put him so sleep we'll feel horribly guilty about it, but if we don't and he suffers for even a minute longer than he needs to, it'll be terrible.

So, there you go. Life and death in London town.

First Attempted Sexual Adventure of 2012

Monumental FAIL!

Number Two lined up a meet with a potential iShag via Grindr over the weekend. We agreed to meet in a public place then go for a drink/chat before taking things further.

We arrived first and were chatting to a friend who'd happened by when he turned up. Apparently he got the impression that his first threesome had grown into a foursome... That's inflation for you... Before we could even exchange pleasantries, he started to freak out.

I didn't even get the chance to voice an opinion as to whether I was interested or not. Outnumbered three to one, he turned on his heels and fled.

In hindsight, he was seriously shy, which he'd hinted at in his messages. I think we've smoothed over our social faux pas (again, via Grindr) but I don't think anything's likely to happen with this one.

Goals Update - One Week In...

Let's see where I've got to with my goals for the year.

1) Get back to the gym.

I've been twice. Need to increase to 3 times a week minimum. I haven't started back onto a 5x5 routine but I've been doing the odd compound exercise here and there (primarily barbell squats) to re-establish my form. I'd forgotten how tiring it is, and how much it eats into your evening. It's necessary, though. I took photos of my "shape" as it stands, today. Not pretty. I mean, I like my men to have gravitas. I like bears. I just don't want to be one. On our "beach" holiday last year I was labelled a muscle daddy. At a stretch, I can live with that.

So, I'm on the road back to health and fitness. At 42, though, it may well be a long journey.

2) Write 6 new songs.

This is actually the goal that I think will be most challenging to me. I'm okay at writing half songs and interesting chord progressions, but I'm terrible at congealing ideas into fully-formed compositions. In fact, I don't think I've ever 100% finished a song before.

My biggest problem is that I over complicate things. The same three chords work for most pop songs. I'm not sure why I need to constantly try to reinvent the wheel.

I'm working on one piece now, which I think is going to be either instrumental or just acoustic guitar and voice... possibly even just two acoustic guitars. I have the bare bones of the song 90% complete. The final 10% is the hardest part.

Even so, I'm writing, which is the first step. I need to keep reminding myself that finishing is as important as starting.

3) Make more time for art and literature.

Ok. It's early days. I'm still busy with start-of-year chores and The Build. No progress.

4) Be more intimate with my husband.

I made a good start, then slipped backwards, partly because he's been ill with the flu. Mucus is not sexy. I want to be bonded to him by love, not snot.

5) Be more open to sexual encounters.

Ok, so this is tricky. Number Two is very keen to have a threesome in the very near future (possibly this weekend). He's even lined someone up (who am I kidding... he's lined up 4 or 5!). The main guy seems okay. Not really my type, but very keen to be spit-roasted, experience double-penetration and so on. I suspect, in a pinch, I could get it up.

What I want to make sure, though, is that for every guy Number Two finds that he likes and I'm so-so about, I get a bit of Quid Pro Quo. I want to be able to get it on with guys I fancy.

One major problem is that I find the whole internet hookup thing a challenge. I want to spend a couple of hours with someone prior to deciding to shag them. I like to get worked up. An alternative would be to choose someone from amongst the pool of guys we already socialise with. Unfortunately, most of those who have expressed an interest are one of a couple. Shagging someone's boyfriend just doesn't sound like a good idea to me. Too much scope for drama.

Finally 6) Find a cleaner.

We have a lead. There's a supposedly brilliant cleaner who does a few other flats in our building (including gay ones). We have her number. Just need to make the call and see if she can squeeze us in. Her English is reportedly terrible... Oh well.

Happy New Year

So it's 2012! I have a few goals that I want to achieve. I'd classify some of them as (New Year) resolutions, but certainly not all of them.

First off, a quick status update. Our six-week build, which started in August, is ongoing. We've moved back in, but the place is far from complete. We have retrieved about half of our stuff from storage. The rest will have to wait for the build to complete. The current end date estimate is the 19th January. We shall see. We have a shower (sort of), a bed and heating. We will survive! The project is far enough advanced that the end is in sight and we can start to imagine a new life in our "new" place.

Let's get started on the goals, eh? In no particular order...

1) Get back to the gym. I haven't been more than a couple of times since September. I've gone from 225lbs of solid muscle to 250lbs of flab. I'm 42 years old. I'm not kidding myself, the road back to health and fitness is going to be tough. I figure that the earliest I'd need to uncover on a beach would be June. I need to get motivated, eat properly and get lifting. Over and above all that, I also need to avoid injury. Last year, through poor form, I hurt my back. I do not want a repeat of that in 2012.

2) Write 6 new songs. The one good thing to come out of our enforced exile was that I discovered how great Apple's iOS devices are for home recording. My plan had been to replace my old computer with something new and shiny upon our return. Having successfully recorded quite a few song ideas with just a guitar, my iPhone and an interface jack, I decided not to go with a new computer. I was a good boy and Santa's delivered an iPad 2 for Christmas. I now have an extremely portable Digital Audio Workstation.

3) Make more time for art and literature. Beauty feeds the soul, and we've been starving ourselves lately. I have a stack of books that I need to read. None of them are classics, but hey, reading is reading! When the build is complete we'll be bringing our little art collection home, deciding what to hang and what to keep tucked away.

4) Be more intimate with my husband. When you're stuck in a small bedroom in a shared flat you don't get much privacy. Without privacy, it's easy to lose intimacy. We both recognise that our physical relationship has suffered drastically over the past 4 months. Like most relationship issues, you can't this stuff to just fix itself. You have to be aware of a problem and work on it. Love is a feedback loop. You get back what you put into it plus interest.

5) This is going to sound somewhat contrary to Number 4, but I want to be more open to sexual encounters with other people. Over the years Number 2 (my husband) and I have made some good friends through threesomes and, somewhat counter-intuitively, it has actually brought us closer together as a couple, knocking us out of a rut and adding spice to our love-making. It's not happened often. Usually, we've been on holiday and have allowed ourselves to be bad. When it comes to our day-to-day lives, though, I'm quite reticent about the whole thing. I get hung up on the potential negatives rather than the opportunity for fun. I find dial-a-dates problematic. I need to be in the same room with someone to know whether I fancy them or not.

Number Two is more adventurous. He's more than happy to jump in feet first. He has a list of fans on Grindr whom he'd shag in an instant, if I were ever amenable. It's hard for me to let go and take a chance. The flip side is that I've selected a number of people in real life but am again shy about following through. When you're in a couple, sex with someone else doesn't change anything. It's just fun. When you're the switch-hitter, though, it can be easy to think there's more to it than some harmless fun. I've ended up with two stalkers before. I really don't want to go through that again!

6) Last but not least... we NEED a cleaner. I've never had one but I'm fed up with working all day and then having to come home and clean house. I suspect that even with a cleaner we'll still have to work pretty hard to keep on top of laundry, dishes etc, but I just want some help, damn it! Besides, if we decided to try a couple of dial-a-dates, it's not sexy to have to vacuum first!

Frustration

I should be happy, but I'm not. I logged into one of those websites today and had a message from a guy I really fancy. The message turned into chat, which turned into a really rather interesting exchange of photos.

So. I should be happy, right?

Here's the thing. Two and I do not have an open relationship. We're comfortable enough with each other that if we both like a Number Three (a rare occurrence), then bang, bang, boom, boom!

Three's allowed, the two of us is allowed (obviously) but NO SOLO FLIGHTS.

I showed Two the guy's profile and he made that face. Not a good start. Also, it became pretty apparent from the chat portion of the exchange that, despite us having met, in passing, on several occasions, he has no clue who I am. That says to me that in real life, I'm flying under his radar.

So, I'm left with a stack of filthy photos and blue balls, because it's never going to happen.

Of course, I'm keeping the pictures.

Dear Blog...

It's been four weeks since my last entry. We've moved from Week 9 or our six-week flat remodel into Week 13. With luck, the builders will wrap things up soon.

We're exhausted. We really are. We've had enough of being crammed into a small bedroom in a shared flat. We've had enough of the daily site visits to document both successes and screw-ups.

According to the latest revised schedule, taped up on the floor-to-ceiling radiator in the living room last Monday, we are supposed to move back in at the weekend. I don't see that happening. We have a toilet, but that's the extent of the functional plumbing.

At least there is light at the end of the tunnel, and the work that has been completed looks great.

And we haven't killed each other! Both of us are strong-willed... "stubborn" even. Acting as a "team" has historically been our greatest challenge as a couple. At some point during the build, though, we identified our individual strengths and have assumed appropriate roles. I handle structural and plumbing issues, Number Two takes care of the electrics and aesthetics.

I suppose that begs some elaboration. We started the remodel a few years ago. Drawings were made and a Schedule of Works was written. However, we were unable to find a builder who could deliver what we wanted within budget. At the time, our relationship was going through a rocky patch. At the time I felt the setback was a blessing in disguise, that if we'd been subjected to the stresses and strains of a building project it might have spelt the end for us.

That's relationships for you. Three years on and we're fighting from the same corner, working to turn our dream into a reality.