I want to write about the loss of a “friend,” one I had known for 15 years. Over time, he became my son’s “friend,” and everyone who met him adored him. In 1994, though, his need for a friend was so great we made him a part of lives.

We--I and the woman I came to love, would marry, and who would divorce me—decided to adopt a cat. I had a cat. She had a cat. We would have a cat.

At the Manhattan, Kansas shelter, all but one caged cat clamored for attention. This Maine Coon, with jet-black hair shot through with golden streaks, sat against the cage door looking sidelong at us. I see him, now, reminding me of the punch-line of my favorite Jewish grandmother joke, the one about the number needed to insert an incandescent lamp. “None. I’ll just sit here in the dark. You go on with your lives. You’re young. I’m old. I’ll die soon. Go. Go.”

We went and with him in our arms. “A.J.” we named him (Augustus John, the English painter, for no reason but his was the first name to come to mind). He acted as if he couldn’t believe his good fortune.

Unassuming, quiet, undemanding. One night, I closed the bedroom window. The next morning, we found our new friend trapped between the window and the screen. He never complained.

We watched this Maine Coon scoop food into his paw and lift it to his mouth. He tried to eat shadows. He came for attention but never cried for it.

Changes upset him, whether it was my lover’s intense spring cleaning, or our moving preparations. We had learned he had been caught in a tuna trap. His docility indicated he had been someone’s pet and, perhaps, abandoned. Manhattan--college town—irresponsible, selfish students. Yeah, abandoned. We calmed and comforted him without hesitation.

During the divorce process (2001 to 2002), my soon-to-be ex-wife offered to find homes for the cats--hers and ours. I declined her offer. Our “friends” and our son didn’t deserve such loss.

As my struggles (“managing” my MS, living on my own, trying to finish a doctorate) worsened, I briefly considered getting rid of the cats. My son, who had recently begun talking, said something about “my cats.” No way would I disrupt this relationship. No way in hell.

The recent move to Roeland Park proved difficult for him. We were in an apartment that recently housed four people, two big dogs, two cats, and a ferret. The persistent odors I could only tolerate must have driven A.J. nuts! He often shat on the carpet. He yowled for no reason we could discern. What did he think? “Where are the dogs? What is that animal I can smell but not see?”

We moved again, to a renovated apartment--new carpets, “fresh” paint, and no animal odors. A.J. calmed, but . . . His age showed in his crooked gait, his weight loss, his dull, bodiless fur.

My son and I doted on A.J. Strokes, gentle words, and lap time. We talked about my son’s trip to Florida, and he gave voice to the possibility that A.J. might die while he is gone. Yeah.

My roommate called me at work, letting me know he’d found A.J. had died. Not a surprise. A.J. had been declining, sharply, during the past three days.

Okay, all right, he was just a cat. The pragmatic part of me knows this and will not share  my sudden tears. For, I will miss him. And, now, I need to tell my son our friend is gone--without being able to hold him as he cries.

My nine-year old son left for Florida, this past Saturday. I’d arranged with my roommate to take me to the airport (MCI), where we’d meet my son and his mother. Friday evening, after his mother picked up Preston, I crashed, sleeping for 13 hours.

When I awoke, though, I discovered my body had shut down, leaving me with resources enough to get to the bathroom and the living room sofa, where I stretched out and used the TV to occupy a trapped mind. I didn’t get to the airport.

Perhaps not a surprise. I have compared myself to an inefficient rechargeable battery--not recharging fully, not recharging quickly. During the previous week-and-a-half, I provided Preston’s primary care, I moved to a new apartment, and I prepared for and started teaching two summer courses. Lots of physical activity, lots of heat and humidity exposure.

of walking with ease and confidence.

I'd walked half a block before I realized I didn't have my cane. I called back to my son to catch up.

Reality began to intrude when I turned a corner. My bladder began hinting about its needs. As I looked down the city street, I determined which store might have a restroom. I realized, suddenly, how far off was my destination.

Just as doubt creeped in, I awoke, but for a time I felt whole, alive..
 

"Do you need a match, Joan?"

Her doctor advised her to have a blood transfusion and to take two weeks off because of the miscarriage. She will do neither, in large part because she starts a new job, Monday. As well, she wants to play the heroine for our son. and treat me as her sidekick.

She scheduled a play date for our son without consulting me, and she expected me to pick him up. She claimed she needed rest, and our son needed to socialize; so, it is, from her perspective, necessary for me to help her. She acts as if I haven't been helping her all summer. Hell, my car problems first arose while my son and I were driving through downtown Kansas City, Missouri, when the temperature was 99 degrees, and the heat index 104.

Today, in Lawrence, the temperature is approaching 90 degrees, and the humidity is above 71 percent. I told her it is too dangerous for me to be outside. She had to accept it.

I am immune to her misguided attempts at guilt. I won't play Tonto to her Lone Ranger.

Just finished holding and comforting my son through a half-hour long crying jag, mostly due to insufficient sleep and physical exhaustion. Why, so?

A chunk of my summer has been spent helping my pregnant ex-. I'm not the daddy, but she has been experiencing health problems (e.g., ongoing bleeding), which involved several trips to the emergency room, bed rest, and missed work. I cared for our son a great deal, including to taking him to, and picking him up from day camp, which requires almost an extra hour of travel time, total.

This morning, she called at 5:30, to tell me she'd been experiencing contractions since 2:30, and our son's godfather (a long-time, but now former, lover) would be taking her to the ER. Could I take our son to day camp? I should say no? She gets him up and sends him over. Before we left my apartment, she calls from the ER. She had miscarried.

He knows she went to the hospital, knows she's spending the night, there, but she will wait until this weekend to tell him he won't be getting a baby brother. I don't envy her.

I'm too beat to neatly wrap this up.

First sign: I craved, and enjoyed in full measure, a McDonald's double cheeseburger. Second sign: I left home without a pen. I realized this memory lapse after grinding coffee and needing to write the purchase code on the bag.

The evening was so pleasant I rolled down windows and opened the sun roof. Whoa.

On another disappointing note, I am missing my son. He is spending the weekend at a camp in the Flint Hills, outside Junction City. This is the first time he has spent so much time away from his parents. Damn me for helping him write a scholarship-award-winning letter!

I haven't posted in some time (though I've read and commented on other entries) because I've needed to use my diminished resources for other pursuits--caring for my son, struggling with my ex-, teaching Composition I--while working full-time, keeping my home clean. You get it. My spirits are high, and I remain happy.

Want to share this news with my friends: today, I "purchased" a used car--almost six months after I was involved in a crash that totaled the car I'd bought less than a month before. I bought a friend's 2001 PT Cruiser (only two owners and 75,000 miles). Yes, the fuel efficiency sucks, but the vehicle has many pluses.

Co-workers, friends, even the ex- for a time, have been generous, helpful, and accommodating. I enjoyed using the city's para-transit system, and might still do so. But, I missed the sense of independence that comes with driving one's own vehicle.

Post Scriptum: The LJ spell-checker lists "one's" as incorrect. Strange.

1. An intense week, but the semester's over! Yaaaay!
2. Heat build-up at work was like a giant fist, squeezing out focus, drive, and ability, until little remained but pulp. It was so "gripping," today, so much of my nervous system had shut down that my brain couldn't convince my body to stay in the wheelchair. 
3. My son has decided we should reread The Hobbit.
4. Friday afternoon, July 12, I will present my paper (as yet unwritten), "Science Fiction as Unintended Prescience," at the Science Fiction Research Association's annual conference.
5. The driving arrangement with my ex- has become untenable. Her behavior towards me is erratic, unreasonable, and martyr like. Could this change be the result of her quitting smoking, going off Paxil, and being several weeks pregnant? These--and many other questions.