Ripleys back, snoodly as ever, and doing quite fine. Gave us quite a stern talking to and the vet shaved her butt, but also gave her a mostly clean bill of health. She needs to lose weight, and the vet suggested we make her look for her food by hiding it in different places throughout the day, preferalby up high on flat surfaces. Didn't want to tell the vet I don't have clear flat surfaces in the house so it looks like, for the health of the cat, we're dejunking. Intervention, thy name is Ripley.
Looking forward to a busy weekend with birthday parties, dinner with friends, two weddings and the first annual Leslieville Catfish Cookoff Saturday day time at Jimmy Simpson. It's 6:14 am and alls well.

Sunday was amazing. Word On The Street is a festival of all things book located at scenic queen's park circle each September. In years past I'd be working a booth for a publisher, occasionally jumping up on skids and auctioning off books to the cheers of coworkers. I really love selling things, it's my favorite thing next to weddings to do. This year, I wasn't with a publisher in a selling capacity...so I got to read. In a tent. With an audience. And a fabulously skilled co-author. And answer questions and sell one particular book. Basically, I found a new favorite thing. Also the Merrill collection was selling Star Trek action figures and I got Locutus of Borg for $2.

Monday was not so amazing. Ripley does not like going back in the cat carrier for her trip to the vet. She understandably may have felt that due to her remarkably funky butt, we were taking her back to a room of cages to abandon. Particularly gut wrenching was the point at which we had to leave her with the vet, since I know it's likely a nightmare coming true for her. While she's under today he's going to check her out six ways from Sunday to make sure she's healthy and there's nothing else we should know. The good news so far: he believes he can get her infection under control so she's not Smelly Cat anymore (it's not her fault), she is not pregnant (not that kittens wouldn't have been great, but with recent vaccinations it would have messed up development), she's a she (all calico's are, apparently) and she's younger than the pound thought by about two years. So we practically have a kitten. A six kilo kitten who's on a diet, but a kitten none the less.

Three weddings today. The first, small scale involved some ex-pat Americans now living and loving in Toronto. I'm used to couples traveling to enjoy our liberal marriage laws or move up afterwards, but this is the first time I've done one where they couple moved up ahead of time. They were relaxed and beautiful, joined by a few friends at a local inn with a full spa on site - they glowed.
Second wedding, more tradionally appointed at the Great Hall on Queen West. Dilapidated from the outside with a beautiful interior, I noted one feature and one drawback that were new. They should have an elevator for elderly and infirm. The can hang drapings over the main hall that make it just stunning. Beautiful bride, nervous groom and a very nice touch on the bonbonaires (sp) front. Normally these are cookies or small cakes, miniature shoes or at the worst mispainted mini-statues of 17th century couples gazing longingly at one another. This couple had donated to the Canadian Cancer Society who had provided a certificate explaining the gift in honour of all the guest. A large framed engagement photo was put on a table easel in front of the guestbook and the certificate was propped against the bottom edge of the photo in it's own glass frame. Thank you cards also from the CCS dotted the tables. Very classy.
Third wedding was at a venue I've never been to, and is apparently not in any books. Located at 424 Wellington Ave, it looks like the site of a fire from the outside, but inside is positively palacial. It's basically a private club that people find through a select group of caterers, and includes two halls on the main floor, spacious bar space up top and a roof patio. The couple had friends read different pieces during the ceremony and the grooms brother played guitar. The recesional music was "Oh How Happy", not the one by the Jackson 5, not sure who did the cover but it was awesome. People literally danced out to in an almost evangelical high. They offered to let me stay but I said I had to get home to a possibly sick cat. Then they offered to send me home with oysters for her from the bar. How nice is that? So sweet.
And she's a bit sick, fever that hasn't broken among other things. She appears happy and healthy and it's more than likely stress (looked it up, it's possible) so she's got a vet appointment next week and I'm collecting samples as they become available, all CSI like.

Last night fabulous husband snored.
He knows because he woke up with cat paws covering his mouth...
Go Ripley!

See Ripley play.
Play, Ripley, play.
See husbands beard.
Chew, chew, chew.
See husbands nose.
Bat, bat, bat.
See husbands sleep.
Where's husbands sleep?
Husband gets no sleep.
Play, Ripley, play.

Yes, she's happy to be here.

Liza was gone. Zoe and Wash were adopted from under our noses when we got there,which left... Booty.
Except her name is Lt. Ripley now. She's an orange/tabby/tuxedo all at once, green eyes, sturdy build with waggle, rather talkative and strung out from the trauma of it all. Hopefully she'll settle in soon. She was obviously a house cat from temperament, size and quality of fur but she was found by a roadside, wandering.
We were struck with how much some people suck. Not only some of the stories on the clip boards, but the behavior we saw. One woman looking to adopt saw a cat vomiting in it's cage and sneered "well THAT'S appetizing". We got a vet tech to clean up and comfort the barfing cat - after the sick it looked fine, likely just stress from the volume of people. But later I saw the same bitch tell a cat it was ugly - maybe they don't know what you're saying, but animals can usually tell what you mean and the poor thing hwas going through enough without that crap. Another a guy walked in to surrender his dog - handed over the leash and walked directly out. The look of abject betrayal on the dogs face was heartbreaking. Finally, there was a photo of a guy all over the interview rooms with warnings not to adopt anything out to him and to phone security if he was seen. I asked why. The interviewer told me. I nearly hurled. I really wished I hadn't asked why. So, some people really suck and deserve only bad things to happen to them.
Ripley, so far, rocks. In a few days we'll take her for a check up and see what's what. I hope she's nicer to Dr. Black than our last cat.

My cheese has slid off the cracker, I know this. I think that's better than people who are messed up and blissfully unaware, because I can apologize from time to time for the full frontal crazy and keep my expectations of myself low. And partners know when you're nuts, but when they say something it's time to get the trisket and havarti back in line, time to get those two together and deal.
"You're going to be 12 people I don't know until you get a cat."
And with that fabulous husband took some allergy meds and ourselves and good friend Aunki went off to 11 River Street to pick out a new friend. Took too long to decide and they'd shut down adoptions for the night by the time we narrowed it down to five. Upon coming home, realized the list was 11 and went through point by point, pro's and cons of each. There is a tabby named Liza that had Ross been on his own would be chasing bells around the hall right now, possibly all night. I think she's a bit high energy and I kind of like the fat ones - they're mellow, easy to find and with our stairs wouldn't stay too fat for long. Just the way it is. Of the fat ones I liked Angus (white with orange spots) and Booty (calico, really hopeful), the later having a name subject to change. Of the cats I liked that were vetoed there was Kissy, who qualifies for the Cats who Look Like Hitler project and who I think would be an excellent mouser but unlikely to win any intellectual awards and Columbo, big orange and affectionate Bengal looking cat who also looks like a guy Ross went to high school with who was a jerk.
And it has been made very clear that I cannot bring home Goliath.
If you're free this weekend, so see Goliath. If you're brave, you might adopt him, he's free this weekend too. If you're curious, you just gotta see this cat. We had a 25lber before - this cat's shadow weights that. With the grey colouraiton he most closely resembles a harbour seal and must be kept in a double cage - in truth he is the size of our friends beagle and could likely win a fight. His crime - soiling the house upon birth of new baby. Fair enough, the new baby would have been the size of his head and the attention thought to be undo. It's also hard for a cat that size to get into a mortal litter box and you'd have to pepper the house with them to make them handy for taxed knees to get to. Ross wants something with the possibility of catching a mouse and I confess I'm partial to cats capable of self cleaning; Goliath may be able to fall on a mouse and kill it that way, or perhaps he has laser vision or some such but he seems pretty clean.
There was another fat cat there (or fur turtle, as they are also called) who was not so fortunate. Back end looked disgusting and he knew it. It may have been my 12 person crazy convention but it seemed that every time someone in a Society shirt walked by, he meowed hysterically and turned his back end to the gate as if to say "I hate you! You knew they were all coming tonight and you didn't fix this! No one is going to adopt me with my ass covered in crap! I can't reach back there! Help!"
And then there's Daisy, who's at a vets around the corner from where I work. Under her "pro" column it read "perfect in every way" and under "con" was "costs $75".
And upon coming home I got an email from a gentleman who posted a cat on craiglist. It's not his cat, it's living under a shed on the U of T campus but he'll only tell me where it is if I promise to take it home. I'll only promise to take it home if upon meeting it (the cats name would be professor Archibald Butterworth) I liked the cat. We are at an impasse, this stranger and I.
The saga continues.

Went back for Paul on Monday - too late, someone else has adopted him. Good for him, slight bummer for me. However, seeing that the Toronto Humane Society is having a fall blitz, all fees waved adoptothon this weekend, I thought I'd give that a go. Picked out a couple from the website that looked cute/lonely/hard luck stories (who leaves an pet in a sealed box in front of a building?) and wrote down the ID numbers. Narrowed that down to two, decided one was the perfect cat and phoned to make sure he was still available because in now way do I want to traipse down there and be overwhelmed or disappointed. While on hold, I listened to their adoption process.
I understand that adoption procedures must be vigilant in any reputable organization. I accept that a series of trick questions may be asked, perhaps references asked for. But photo ID? I don't have any. Not a drivers license, not a passport, not a newer health card that you have to replace every year. I know one day I'll have to get one or more of these things, but haven't bothered and won't likely get to it before this weekend. I ask the woman for clarification.
"Well, just bring in your drivers license."
"I don't have one."
"Your health card then. Surely, you must have one of those." (slightly incredulous tone)
"It's one of the old ones, no photo."
"Well, you have something with your picture one it, ma'am."
"Yes, I do. Pictures of me. That's what has pictures on it, but not ID. I have no photo ID."
"What kind of ID do you have?"
"SIN card and birth certificate, some addressed mail."
"I'll talk to my manager."
More hold time, more perky messages about adopting budgies and hamsters. After 11 min, she returns, triumphant and slightly condescending tone.
"Your birth certificate has your address on it, that will do."
"It will? It doesn't have my address on it."
"Yes it does."
"No, you see I was very young at the time of my birth and they were unable to predict my current residence."
Pause as she digests both the facts that her manager is wrong and I'm getting a little bit snotty.
"Well, talk to (names withheld to protect the strange) when you get here, he knows your situation. He'll sort it out."
Now, I don't mean to be pessimistic but I'm a wee bit fragile right now and the thought of going in, meeting Lake, going through the interview to find out at the end of the hour I'm turned away because of a technicality not even my employer cares about? Not even when my employer was the provincial government? I'll snap. I'll wind up on the late night news, shaming my family, perhaps landing in jail where sure, they'll pay for me to get whatever BA I want and I'll have cable but still, no cat. Sigh.
Ah well - the vet who introduced me to Paul has another cat: one year old female, fixed, up to date shots, microchipped, free bag of food. $75. Worth it to not have the hassle and heartbreak even if I have to wait a week for her. Plus...she's really pretty.

Working on ceremonies tonight. A couple sent me a reading to include that they liked - I like it to. Reprinted without permission:

TOUCHED BY AN ANGEL
By Maya Angelou

We, unaccustomed to courage
exiles from delight
live coiled in shells of loneliness
until love leaves its high holy temple
and comes into our sight
to liberate us into life.

Love arrives
and in its train come ecstasies
old memories of pleasure
ancient histories of pain.
Yet if we are bold,
love strikes away the chains of fear
from our souls.

We are weaned from our timidity
In the flush of love's light
we dare be brave
And suddenly we see
that love costs all we are
and will ever be.
Yet it is only love
which sets us free.

Started reading a new book called "Pandemonium" last week. As usual with non fiction, I started reading in the middle, a chapter concerning the anthrax by mail event in the fall of 2001. Concerns me a little bit for an event which changed the rules dramatically on how mail gets processed and opened and killed upward to 50 people, that I didn't know it was a home grown strain. That is, the particular type of anthrax had been traced back to a dead cow from Texas in 1981, which only military personel and those connected to labs had access too. I wonder if that got as much press at the time as the panic side of things, or if I just wasn't paying attention. I didn't know until last week the actual method of dispersment was considered professionally done in the grade of anthrax, the fine glass powder that propelled it into the air...
I start books in the middle to see if they grab me, have something to offer that's worth my time. Mostly this stuff is in the middle, I find. This book? I'll be restarting on the first page, and so far I highly recommend it.

1. Been a while since I blogged. Here’s 50 things.
   
   A month ago today, cat died.
   The second week, following the logic that pudding stops the pain of not having pudding, I started interviewing cats.
   Got it down to four: MooMoo, found online, who likes sinks; a yowly tuxedo cat with no name at THS that I would call Isabelle; a overtly friendly tortie at THS named Rosey; giant orange ADD cat named Paul.
   Couldn’t decide and decided that meant it was too soon.
   Might go back for Paul though.
   Participated in an author event as part of a fundraiser for Sick Kids.
   Awesome, feel good event with networking capabilities.
   Started a new job.
   Likewise awesome, can drink the tap water and my cube has no silverfish.
   Silverfish live on glue and textiles, and in the right environment a cube is delicious and nutritious for them.
   Thinking of getting an actual fish for my cube, maybe a beta.
   Also 10 is not code, although it sounds like it should be.
   Saw friends using personal trainers getting results.
   Established that a personal trainer is not in my budget.
   Made one up, the imaginary personal trainer.
   Bitch never showed up.
   Sadie, you were unreliable as an imaginary friend when I was eight, you’re unreliable now.
   Some people never mature.
   Turns out one of my new coworkers is a personal trainer on the side.
   She’s really good, I’ve seen results of hers that are excellent, we communicate well and she’s not charging me.
   Plus she’s real.
   Putting more stuff up on Ebay.
   Trying to empty the house and get ready to jump with fabulous husband to someplace perhaps a little less large and a little more manageable.
   Here’s where Kate says “finally” – it’s more the market than anything else.
   Planning a 10th anniversary party. Should be good.
   Had a wedding on the island, got to smudge people.
   Had a wedding downtown, had to shout over a jack hammer the whole time.
   Had a wedding at a B&B, got to work with favorite photographer.
   Had a wedding at Atlantis, had to walk through the CNE.
   Guy at the gate wanted me to pay, explained I wasn’t there to enjoy the rides and he let me through.
   Actually, I hate carnie rides.
   Anything built to fold that also moves that fast can’t be safe.
   I was once briefly trapped in a fold out sofa bed that snapped shut on me.
   I think this was the start of my Carnie Ride Phobia, and the whole lawn chair folding thing.
   I’m also afraid of hippos.
   They’re easy to avoid, so I consider it a good phobia to have.
   Spiders are everywhere, elevators are mandatory, the dark just kind of happens.
   Hippos you have to go out of your way for.
   I’d likely feel different if I lived on the Nile.
   I think I’d try to swap it for the elevator thing then.
   Been spending too much time on YouTube, not enough on work.
   Working the equivalent of two full time jobs is really getting to me.
   I want to do other stuff but there’s no time. I feel like I’m ignoring my friends.
   Actually, I know I’ve been ignoring my friends.
   Social situations have been hard since the death of Cat.
   No idea why this is but really, time to snap out of it.
   Especially if I’m planning a party - have to show up for that.
   Perhaps this weekend of dinner with friends will help.
   Perhaps I need to go get Paul.
   Cat doesn’t stop the pain of not having cat, but he looks like a lot of fun.