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Once you've gone, remains the question, baby
While we seem to have skipped actual plague, all of my households have acquired the going lurgi and my head feels like a balloon which has been filled with concrete and may at any second fall off. I have not been ill with a pharmacologically suppressed immune system before. I hadn't been sure it would be capable of running even a low-grade fever.
I have him so totally identified with the role of Neroon on Babylon 5 (1994–98), I keep forgetting that John Vickery in common with many actors who could handle the hours of makeup made several appearances on Star Trek, although the time I actually seem to have seen him in that universe involved no enhancements beyond near-catatonic terror as the sole survivor of a creepily derelict death-ship in TNG's "Night Terrors" (1991). Perhaps it was just lost to the sands of fanzines, but I was genuinely surprised that no one on AO3 ever filled in some kind of /comfort for a character who spends nearly his total screen time telepathically looping through cryptically traumatized echoes and crying. Just when you think you have a handle on other people's id.
It is not reasonable that for two years the earth has been bereft of a rust-black little cat with cut-lime eyes, my miracle, my salty boy, my sassafras, while it suffers the weight of human people who are not worth one of his twenty-six claws, snagged in my bathrobe as he clambered to my shoulder for his terrycloth time after a shower. I miss turning back the covers in this weather to find his sincere blink up from the bedclothes, the absolute trust in the soft curl of his back that no one would shift him from his burrowed comfort. I miss the notes in his purr, from the musical edge of wanting to the subterranean roar of contentment, the whole architecture of his body vibrating like throat singing with the little whiffle that went in and out of his voice, his signature trill. I miss the unretractable click of his claws that announced his progress and the calluses of his desert-rose pads with which he gripped fiercely for human touch. From childhood I was taught that cats turn into flowers and Autolycus lies with his grave goods at the roots of the forsythia I have twice watched bloom since his death; the candle lit for him after sunset burns and his sister did not spring immediately off the bed when I stumbled into it, nauseated and head-aching. I am not without cat in my life. But I am without this cat and he was of inestimable worth to the world.
I have him so totally identified with the role of Neroon on Babylon 5 (1994–98), I keep forgetting that John Vickery in common with many actors who could handle the hours of makeup made several appearances on Star Trek, although the time I actually seem to have seen him in that universe involved no enhancements beyond near-catatonic terror as the sole survivor of a creepily derelict death-ship in TNG's "Night Terrors" (1991). Perhaps it was just lost to the sands of fanzines, but I was genuinely surprised that no one on AO3 ever filled in some kind of /comfort for a character who spends nearly his total screen time telepathically looping through cryptically traumatized echoes and crying. Just when you think you have a handle on other people's id.
It is not reasonable that for two years the earth has been bereft of a rust-black little cat with cut-lime eyes, my miracle, my salty boy, my sassafras, while it suffers the weight of human people who are not worth one of his twenty-six claws, snagged in my bathrobe as he clambered to my shoulder for his terrycloth time after a shower. I miss turning back the covers in this weather to find his sincere blink up from the bedclothes, the absolute trust in the soft curl of his back that no one would shift him from his burrowed comfort. I miss the notes in his purr, from the musical edge of wanting to the subterranean roar of contentment, the whole architecture of his body vibrating like throat singing with the little whiffle that went in and out of his voice, his signature trill. I miss the unretractable click of his claws that announced his progress and the calluses of his desert-rose pads with which he gripped fiercely for human touch. From childhood I was taught that cats turn into flowers and Autolycus lies with his grave goods at the roots of the forsythia I have twice watched bloom since his death; the candle lit for him after sunset burns and his sister did not spring immediately off the bed when I stumbled into it, nauseated and head-aching. I am not without cat in my life. But I am without this cat and he was of inestimable worth to the world.
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I'm so sorry about Autolycus, as well.
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Thank you! I am still ahead of several members of my family in that I am not dealing with bronchitis or pneumonia, but I'm not thrilled! I have things I want to do with my time!
And I appreciate knowing what else John Vickers has done in the sci-fi sphere.
He doesn't ever seem to have played human characters! One Klingon, one Cardassian, and a psychically shell-shocked Betazoid in "Night Terrors." I can respect this career path.
I'm so sorry about Autolycus, as well.
*hugs*
Thank you. I miss him daily. And he brought joy into the world and that seems to be beyond the most minimal interests of too many people.
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May the nausea pass and the head-filling concrete crumble very soon.
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I don't know where it came from originally. I remember hearing it for the first time from my mother after Tzythy had run away: to find a tree, I was told, to curl up underneath and turn into flowers. It was definitely part of mourning for Djavvy and Mishka, the other two cats of my childhood after whom there were no more because of the severity of my mother's allergies. By the time Abbie died in 2013, I had passed it on to
Either way, I like that you inherited it. "Be flowers" is different from but as good a prayer as "rest in power."
Yes! I like it, too. In context of a burial, it has always felt environmentally real and like a benison.
May the nausea pass and the head-filling concrete crumble very soon.
Thank you. You make the latter sound like a sort of cerebral Berlin Wall and I'll take it.
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I feel that way about my Falstaff, my English bulldog whom I still morn 44 years later.
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Thank you. I do not want to forget him or begin only to remember the stories instead of the daily cat.
I feel that way about my Falstaff, my English bulldog whom I still morn 44 years later.
His memory for a blessing.
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Thank you. He was so very present in our lives.
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*hugs*
Her memory for a blessing.
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...oh, my heart.
It seems impossible that he's been gone two years. *hugs tight* Marvelous, magnificent beastie.
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*hugs*
Thank you. It is too much time for there not to have been an Autolycus.
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*hugs*
We should resurrect the constellation of the Cat.
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*hugs for the sheer vast profundity of Autolycus' worth in the world*
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Oh, come on. She was probably some kind of majestic cholla.
*hugs for the sheer vast profundity of Autolycus' worth in the world*
*hugs*
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Thank you. He deserved hekatombs of them.
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I'm sorry about the lurgi; that seems terribly unfair. As does the loss of Autolycus! <3
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He was a most excellent doctor in these circumstances, too.
*hugs*
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I wish Autolycus could still be there with you. I still miss my Garage Kitty, who passed away over a decade ago.
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I do not feel it was a necessary addition to the household!
I wish Autolycus could still be there with you. I still miss my Garage Kitty, who passed away over a decade ago.
*hugs*
I remember her from your LJ. Her memory for a blessing.
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*hugs*
Nine
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*hugs*
Thank you. A sphere of honor.
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When the roads are better we have to pick up Saffron's ashes. I don't know what flowers she will be. But now I know to consider it.
Our lovely Sukey, gone these thirty years, used to wait for David while he showered and then had to be lifted up, to the right shoulder only, and carried upstairs. I still have the last bathrobe of his from which she pulled out threads from the right shoulder.
Any of these cats was worth more than so many people around these days.
P.
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*hugs*
When the roads are better we have to pick up Saffron's ashes. I don't know what flowers she will be. But now I know to consider it.
I know she will bloom beautifully. I am so sorry she cannot be with you still in the fur.
Our lovely Sukey, gone these thirty years, used to wait for David while he showered and then had to be lifted up, to the right shoulder only, and carried upstairs. I still have the last bathrobe of his from which she pulled out threads from the right shoulder.
Oh, beautiful cat. I did not know that about her.
Any of these cats was worth more than so many people around these days.
Yes. A single cat contributes more to the world than all of them combined.
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No absolutely not I will not stand for this I will firmly be seated I may even lie down with sheer indignation
(hugs, as I cannot be infected at this distance)
The best cats have no equal among any creatures. I am sorry. You should have your loved companions at this time.
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It seems an effective method of protest from where I'm lying.
(hugs, as I cannot be infected at this distance)
*hugs*
Very much appreciated. It is probably a lost cause in this pandemic century, but may whatever the hell we have on this coast not come by yours.
The best cats have no equal among any creatures. I am sorry. You should have your loved companions at this time.
Thank you. He was beloved.
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Ouch, I hope you feel much better soon!
This sounds like a very good prompt for the upcoming
I love that. I know a Guarani legend that says that all departed souls go into flowers, to wait for hummingbirds, who are a type of psychopomp. The legend also says that, if you see a hummingbird, it might be your loved one, popping by for a visit.
*hugs*
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Thank you! It's stupid! There is enough stupidity in the world!
This sounds like a very good prompt for the upcoming threesentenceficathon!
Hah! I'll try to remember to ask for it. I see the exchange is opening in the middle of Arisia.
I know a Guarani legend that says that all departed souls go into flowers, to wait for hummingbirds, who are a type of psychopomp. The legend also says that, if you see a hummingbird, it might be your loved one, popping by for a visit.
I love that, too.
*hugs*