The great white witch rides out to-night.

from “Sunshine”,written and directed by István Szabó, 1999

From “Sunshine”, written and directed by  István Szabó, 1999. This movie has some of the most beautful lines about life that I’ve ever heard

from “ Ordinary Americans carried out inhumane acts for Trump”, an op-ed piece by Chris Edelson of the Baltimore Sun 

This is a Kelly life-outside-the-internet  update that is not a cheerful account of the friends I’ve been seeing,the events I’ve been busy at or the stuff I’ve been buying. Two days ago,on Monday the 6th, the lovely plum you see in the pictures passed away. He was my one and only Jasper,who has been featured and mentioned a little bit here before. He was only the second cat I’ve ever had. He had been in the family since I was 12 and he was 4 months. He had to be put to sleep-- after a very swift, sudden and jarring health crisis-- at 15 years young.  He got sick and was euthanized all in the same day. He fell ill in the afternoon, and had shown no signs of anything in the morning. He was was an old man, by cat standards,and appeared to have had a stroke-- the repercussions of which were enormously upsetting and extreme to see. The day was traumatic. We were grateful, in the end, to have a very good vet come to our home for the procedure. I was grateful to have those last couple hours with him,and to have been at home when he became unwell. I have done a lot of crying and a lot of reflecting in the last 72 hours or so.I am gradually sharing the news with my social circle. My romantic partner was the first person I told,and my best friend was the second. I have decided to take the week to myself, to work on things at home, to clean and do laundry, and to be withdrawn to the extent that I feel I need it. I will see RM for Saturday and my best friend next Thursday and by these intervals,I will be glad to have the comfort and of their company.  I wrote what I guess could only be called a memorial to Jasper as a way to break the news to many people at once over Facebook,which I had not been active on in several days. I wrote the piece the night before,staying up late. I found the writing to be therapeutic, and helpful in regards to feeling somehow more solid about my emotions concerning the experience. It was soothing. I have found writing to be something that has helped me this way more than once in the past. Even writing again about it now,here, I feel myself  gaining a degree of improvement. I feel very secure in the support of my friends and partner and family. I absolutely do not feel alone with my sadness,and know I have a good deal of people who I could turn to. My life is full of animal-lovers,pet-owners,empaths and tenderhearts, so such a response was never going to surprise me but was still bound to warm me. I’d like to share what I wrote originally for the Facebook post here on tumblr as well,as it is very important to me: “Despite being well-known for Always Saying Lots of Stuff About Stuff  and for rarely being one to hesitate before writing Some Long Post with an unimpeded flow, I am about to make an announcment  now which I would prefer to delay indefinitely and which I  find extraordinarily hard to find the words for. On Monday, my cat Jasper--who I namedrop all the time on fb , who all my friends are aware of and who I have shown many pictures of--had to be put to sleep. Just typing  it feels very surreal to me.For those who do not know, Jasper was my pet of no less than 15 years. He was the second cat I'd ever had, who I got when I was 12 after the passing of my first cat, Georgia. Georgia was about 10 when he had to be ethuanized, due to a heart problem. I was in school at the time,and my dad had to break the news to me. I had not been present for Georgia's euthanasia procedure in 2002, but I was for Jasper's this past Monday. Georgia and Jasper,my two cats from two  different chapters of my life, were dissimilar fellows. My memories of Georgia are foggier, as I was a very young child when my mom bought him for me and I was still  only a preteen when he died. Most of my memories of Georgia stand as proof that no Very Young Children should get pets, probably: One of my most vivid memories of Georgia is the time I put him in a big floral purse, zipped it up, and carried him around the house. The second most vivid memory is a time when my aunt was sleeping over and I snuck into her room at night on five-ish year old feet and just plopped poor Georgia ontop of her face. I suppose I thought this would be funny. I ran off,giggling.My poor aunt was thrashing in the dark in confusion, and Georgia was equally as upset and startled. Suggestion: Wait until your kids are older for pets--wait until at least about 8 or 9,I'd say. Kids love animals,but kids are also rough as hell and will oftentimes display this love quite crudely.Let the kids get a bit of nuance first. A toddler is basically a potato that someone gave a soul to,and a potato has no nuance. I mean, when I was still drinking from bottles,there were two incidents where I flung something at the head of a family member with all my furious might. Just saying.I don't want kids for a REASON,ya know? Georgia, even though he was subjected to life with a small supervillain of sorts, was a majestic creature. He was a purebred, who was, in a hilariously misguided move on my mother's behalf, never "fixed". This resulted in him being VERY manly,and ultimately the main thing most manly-men are: a bit of an asshole.By "asshole",I mean he was sometimes clearly frustrated. He showed signs of aggression and territorial behaviour and sprayed my mother's sandals with what can only be called Satan's Pheromone.  Hewas wary of my dad and took a chunk out of his finger once. He loved my mommost,probably,but would still semi-regularly launch himself at her bare legs as she traveled to the bathroom in the middle of the night; he'd basically hang off of them with his claws, leaving her with tons of long scratches. I don't know what his problem was. I mean,I do. But it was never corrected. He was beautiful, though: Iron grey with touches of white,long-haired,black-nosed, with a proud chest full of thick white fur. He was very fluffy. I did love him,and he was actually extremely tolerant of my antics and I remember him always coming around to soothe me when I had nosebleeds, which was often. He was gruff, he might bite ya, but he acknowledged us and he had trust in us and he definitely knew we were his humans. And then, at 12, on the cusp of my teens, after the loss of my childhood cat, there was Jasper. What can I even say about him that would do him justice? Jasper was ours since he was four months old,which is very tiny. We got him at a pet shop,which I would not do now as I know better,but at the time he cost $69.99 and this  led to one of his reccuring nicknames: The $69.99 special. It was my dad's nickname  for him, when he wanted to jokkingly taunt Jasper for being common, inexpensive and cheap. Jasper was also a tabby, hardly anything rare, and not as 'fancy' as whatever Georgia had been. When I picked him, he had already been claimed by someone else. He had been reserved! We had had to wait until the shop nearly closed to see if that original person ever came back. They didn't. He came home with us, and  the rest is history. There is no other way to say this,though I'm sure it could use more poetry: Plainly and simply,I loved Jasper with my whole heart. And one thing is for certain: Georgia could've definitely beaten him up. Jasper was a small kitten who grew into a pretty small-sized cat. He became a Heavy Baby, but his body was not long, his chest was not broad,his tail was not puffy or glamorous and his coat was that of a short-hair. A lot of pet owners think of their pet as thier child, but I was never Jasper's "mom". I was more his sibling. He was my brother. We were equals,friends and co-horts. Jasper was with me throughout my entire adolesence, and through 97% of my 20s.I consider this to be an impressive feat. He was a permanent installation  in my life, during some of life's most informative and molding years. I became a teen with him as my cat,and I became an adult with him as well. I became an adult while he became a ridiculous old man.I became a real human being with Jasper as my cat,I think. I solidified my identity in the world,I think, with Jasper as my cat. I finished high school with Jasper as my cat.I (badly) traversed my first breakup with Jasper as my cat.I lost my Nan with Jasper as my cat. I went though four years of therapy with Jasper as my cat. I met my best friend while Jasper was my cat.I became Me while Jasper was my cat. I shed several skins as the years passed as he shed lots of fur. Jasper was part of my everyday life,a fixture in my funny stories and anecdotes. I made friends with other cat-people and bonded with them through conversation about Jasper. I found myself laughing at Jasper all the time--because he was a dummy. Because he was the proverbial scaredy-cat.Because he was fantastically cute, well into old age. I laughed when he climbed onto things,fell off of things, banged into things, rolled around. I laughed delightedly when I found him nesting in inventive places. I made myself laugh pretending to be very stern with him,and telling him he was a disgrace."Jasper,you're a disgrace"--it's making me laugh even now, when I'm so sad. Jasper, unlike Georgia, was neuteured. He was tremendously docile. Just today, on the phone with my aunt, who is also very sad, I described him as having been a "stick of butter". That feels accurate. Jasper was,my dad would say, "a gentle little guy" or a "loyal little guy". He loved us with a noted intensity, that usually displayed itself in the form of Meowing Incessantly At One Of Our Doors If He Felt We Had Slept In Later Than He Deemed Appropriate. He was beside himself if he was left alone for too long,or seemingly the only one awake in the house for too long. He was hugely needy. He was an unabashed glutton for both food and affection, and  he got a whole lot of both. Jasper,an "only cat" as I was an "only child", was grossly spoiled. We were all unrepentent cat spoilers. It was also via my experience with Jasper that I came to label myself " a very poor pet disciplinarian";I've always been stupefied by people who have "rules" for their pets. If I'm catsitting for you,I will respect the rules of the (cat)road, but they are always mind-blowing to me:Specific feeding times?? Certain places they aren't allowed to sit on or sleep on?? What fresh hell is this????? How can a cat be given rules??? Rules are for people,who are garbage. Animals don't get RULES. Animals get catered to non-stop. Look at any cat's face and just try to tell me how a person with a heart can confidently tell it NO. Jasper did what he wanted, and got what he wanted.He was a great and terrible beauty. He was a peanut-headed monster. We loved him. We hated him. We yelled "JASPER, SHUT UP!!!!" a million times. He never did. He slept on my black winter coat and I would just dutifully break out the lint-roller once he was done with it; there was no shooing him off. He would get a sampling of human food essentially whenever there was human food he screamed for. His faves: chicken (which was also a nickname for him), turkey, cream cheese,milk, certain bits of breads, certain salty chips, and cheesey puffs (The cheesy puffs are the most humiliating one,I think. He should've been humiliated). He would also scream for food we knew he DID NOT like,but that he always forgot he DID NOT like until we gave some to him and he sniffed it and walked away. Examples: pieces of hot dog (his arch enemy), pizza, "fake chicken" aka: the chicken in canned soup, salami.  Something he was always regrettably down for was Inedible Stuff On The Floor. His second thought after "what is this?" was "I will eat it". (Jasper puked a lot). Eating things to find out what they are is not a sustainable strategy, but you try telling him that. Jasper had morning routines with each of us. For me, it included "sink rubs": While I was having a morning pee, he would jumponto the bathroom sink and once I was done and washed, I would pet him on the sink in the worshipful way he anticipated.There was always several steady minutes of this. There is still,even now,fur on the edge of the sink. He also had a tendency to rub his body and face against the door frame,and there would be  residual oiliness afterward--why was he oily like a seal??? If someone mistook it for shine,I'd be like, "No,he is oily,like a beast from the sea" Jasper was not Smart and not Brave,and these were qualities that made him especially endearing to me. He was scared of the sounds squirrels made,of delivery guys, of any unknown persons in the house or at the door,and of the sound of paper bags being moved or crumpled. (He loved plastic bags,tho) Sometimes,even the slightest noise would make him jump.Me too,Jasper. Me too.Jasper had only HAD to go to the vet  for illness once in his whole life (the vet who ethuanised him came to our home). I think 15 years and one vet visit makes for one Pretty Healthy and Lucky Cat. At the vet that time, last year, the vet and her techs were surprised to hear Jasper's age."He looks so young!",they exclaimed. I was proud,as if I were responsible for this. A delivery guy said this once about Jasper too. It's the same thing as when I go to buy lottery tickets for my dad and they card me. This happens to me nearly every time I go. I am 27. Jasper was 15,which is basically 70-something.Our family has admirable genes. Although I had a hard time starting this, I find the words came easily once I got going and once I tapped into the wealth of emotions and memories I have of my cat. Now I almost feel like I can't stop. Jasper left my life on a Monday--just another reason to hate them, right? I'm writing humorously now,but didn't intend to and didn't think I'd be able to. I thought of about forty ways to write this,to open this,and all of them were sad. I AM sad. Monday was one of the worst days of my life. But sitting here, writing this,I found myself smiling as I reminisced. I thought of Jasper fondly,and without crying. I don't expect the crying is over, far from it.I will  cry again,and I will cry more. But as the dust is settling around me post-disaster, I feel a warmth building in me.I take solace in the fact that Jasper was so deeply loved,that he knew it, that he reciprocated it. I am honoured to have known him for as long as I did, and there was no denying that his life was long and that the pros in it were far greater than the cons. My cat was comfortable and felt safe,he was cherished for all his life and lived with more security than many people in the world.My cat was never hungry and my cat was never neglected. My cat was complimented and my cat was sink-rubbed. There is little more I could have asked for from him,and there was little more he could've asked for from us.I am sad. My heart and my home are emptier. Every place in my apartment reminds me of Jasper.It is too quiet and too strange without him.A house without a pet doesn't feel like a home to me. I love animals so much, and I loved Jasper most of all. My whole family is greiving. Monday was very, very hard. But Jasper went when it was right for him to go, when it made no sense for him to keep going. When it would've been cruel to not  end his sudden but intense discomfort. He was in the hands of a gracious, sensitive vet. He died at home. He died in my room. He actually died in my bed. I am deeply grateful for this,and would not change it. It got to be peaceful and intimate.Jasper was an old man.Jasper lived well over a decade. Jasper got to be an old, fat and happy cat.I got to have my precious quality time with Jasper before the vet came. I got to speak everything that was in my heart to him. I got to touch and hold and kiss him a great deal.I got to cry into his fur.  I got to spend even more time with him once his cat soul had taken off. I have tokens to remember him by.I have stories to tell and re-tell with my family and friends. I  have four million pictures  of  him on my phone. Things could have been better, but they also could have been a lot worse. I stayed with Jasper as he got his needles. I wanted to bolt out of the room and huddle somewhere else and not see it, but I made myself. In moments like these--I have not had many, thankfully, but I have had a few--my natural impulse is to run. To flee the scene. To get as far away as possible. I want to go deep,deep in the woods.I want to distance myself from the death of my loved one.I want to hurl myself into space. I cannot go far enough.I become the emodiment of the "screaming internally"meme. I cannot bear to watch. Its the watching the death happen that I cannot take. At that last minute,I gotta go.I am a diagnosed,neurotic hypochondriac who has a bone-deep terror of sickness, injury  and death. I have worried incessantly about being sick.I have thought, at times, that I was dying from a dozen different things. I am hyper-cautious to avoid hurting myself. There have been periods of my life where I had mortality on my mind nearly 24/7--it consumed me. It fucking haunted me. It influenced all the decisions I made. The fact that I am going to die one day,some day, NO MATTER WHAT is just terrifying. No thank you.No thanks,Death. I did not order this. How do I ship this back? I don't want it. I think a whole bunch about the inevitably of death,about this being the fate for us all, about the temporary state of everything around us,about the fact that death is a thing that lives inside of us all our lives until our lives end. It's THERE, in us,already.The minute you're born, death is in you. "Kelly,relax", you say. "I literally do not know how",I reply. One of my fave themes in art or anything else is Life from Death. Mushrooms on a dead log, moss growing on bones in catacombs; this imagery is very, very potent and powerful for me. I like to think that to die and to be buried is to go back to Nature, to be taken in by the same Earth that spat you out,to fulfill your role in a cycle. I would want grass to grow over me,sun to bleach my bones, things to bloom within my rib cage. This is how I make death less scary. This is how I comfort myself regarding death.I tell myself: Death is just the start of a new thing. Death is the end of a meat suit that was never really You anyway. Death is the death of the body, but that's all. Your body isn't you,it's just your container. Like leftovers in tupperware in the fridge. The tupperware is just holding the important stuff in for a while. As a ghostlover, of course, I tell myself that after death there is infinity. Not necessarily in a god/heaven kind of way, but sure if that's what you'd rather. After death, there is Everything. There is an existence without time or physical limitations. There is the Universe and you,and no more barrier. Death is just the moment before Forever. I find this thrilling.I find this optimistic. It's reassuring. It grants hope. Frankly, to live and then die and then Nothing is very unexciting. I want there to be MORE. I want to be more  and mean more than the fleshy cookie-cutter I was pressed into. I thank my Nan for making it so that the idea of spirits or ghosts being around was not a frightening one. Ghosts aren't around just for Halloween, or just when a house is haunted or just when there was some violent event that took place.Ghosts are around all the time--when you're on the bus, when you're watching tv. They aren't doing much. They're just present.Why not? The world is crammed with 'em. We share our physical world with an invisible one and stuff bleeds through.Why not? I cope with death by personifying Death.He's just some guy. You can make puns about him. He isn't an evil dude. I like to imagine the Grim Reaper--such an iconically ominous figure--contending with everyday domestic annoyances. It's amusing. Imagine Death locking himself out of his own car. Imagine how pissed he'd be! It's funny. Dialing AAA on his smartphone, his bony finger making a tack-tack-tack sound on the screen as he called. He's a skeleton! Ha! I laid down on my bed with Jasper after he was gone. What was left to see wasn't really him anymore, but I still stroked his fur and gazed into his face and lifted each paw and kissed it. I gently lifted his head and cradled it in my hand. There was nothing creepy about it, nothing unsettling,nothing bad. Here was what remained of my sweet, funny, and tender little cat and I loved him.  Staying present and watching while a loved one is dying is like trying to firmly plant your feet in the face of an oncoming hurricane. The winds are strong and sting your eyes.  The rain lashes your face. There is a force that wants you to move, that wants to blow you away from where you are. But you ball your fists and you square your shoulders and you stand and you stay.”