It brings me great sadness to pass along word that Ramses Dewees, name-rhyming renegade, will be moving on to that great cat-nip laden, treat-feeding, heated sofa in the sky. No, he’s not there yet, but while Rammies is still with us, I thought I would pay him tribute.
The Raminator has dropped some poundange recently. Usually you think that’s a good thing, but not in a cat whose 13 and has always been on the portly side. I think we all knew something was up when he stopped frequenting his favorite pastime…. Window stalking the cat that lives across the street from my parents. Said cat, who we call Bo Jangles, but whose real name is either Vinnie or Minnie, would saunter past Ram’s windows a few times a day, and it was Rammie’s favorite thing to follow its movements from window to window. For the past few weeks? No mas. This, with the weight loss, put up some red flags.

Rammies took his first vet trip in over a decade. Yeah, he’s “that” cat that people would rather just allow to skip the shots because it’s that big of a headache and heartache to take him to the vet. So you know it’s bidnaz time when Raminator needs a vet run. Anyways, blood work shows that he’s got cancer. Where tis? No one knows, and none of us are interested in subjecting him to xrays and sonograms just so we can know what kind of cancer will eventually kill him. The vet suggested two choices 1- give him chemo or 2- let him enjoy his last few days/weeks/months until he either a) dies at home or b) stops eating and drinking, at which point that means he is now not feeling well and we put him to sleep. Since we all agree that choice 1 is a choice made by selfish people who are more interested in keeping an animal around for themselves than doing what’s best for the animal, we obviously chose option 2. Uh, this isn’t a human being we’re talking about here. Chemo? For a cat? Yeah, no thanks. Believe it or not people, it’s an option, and there are actually people out there that would subject a CAT to rounds of chemotherapy.

Ramses, if he wore clothes, would surely don himself in a tweed suit custom made for him on London’s Savile Row. In other words, he’d rather go out in a tuna- eating blaze of glory then mope around, sick-like. According to the vet, as long as he's eating, and drinking and wanting to do most normal activities (relentlessly hounding my Mom for more treats, getting pissy when you disturb him from slumbering on your lap, etc.) then he's oblivious to his pending doom and should be fine. So, Rammies will continue to live high on the hog, as he’s done for the past 13 years, until we feel he is…well, not.

Superstitious people like myself beware, Rammies defies the odds and even though he's A- a black cat, ominous creatures that people seem to avoid walking in front of, and B- now that his number's being called at lucky ol 13. For god's sake he fell 2 stories out of a faulty screen window in my bedroom at a few months old, and then about 4 days later, just casually walked in our backdoor, as we were leaving to look at a stray black cat that was reported to us a few blocks away. For being the runt of the litter that no one wanted, nabbing my parents as caregivers was probably the luckiest thing to ever happen to him. He’s had the most indulgent life a cat can have in the ownership of people who are not crazy. Sure, there are probably cats out there who have an even MORE indulgent lifestyle, but those owners are the type that leave pets in their will, kind of crazy. My parents are not, and this cat is treated like a Duke in the most reasonable forms.

Thanks for the memories Rammies. To me, you will always be that little tiny furball that could fit in the palm of one hand, my present for my 17th birthday. You will be enjoying a strange surplus of tuna and treats over the next few weeks, with no clue as to why. And, knowing Rammies’ privileged expectations on his behalf, he’s not asking “Why??”, he’s asking “It’s me. Why not??” We wouldn't want it any other way.

Desperado Decor

Ok, I took a blogging hiatus. I had an excuse. I was out of the country. That isn’t a fib like telling a guy you can’t come to the phone because you’re washing your hair. That one always cracked me up. Anywho, I’m back. I have a post I’ve been working on about our time in Italy, but that must now wait. I have more pressing issues at hand. I have a design dilemma... a piano.
For those of you who don’t know this or don’t remember, I played the piano, every day, for a decade. From 7 years old until I was 17, I practiced. Then one day, I just decided to stop. When I decide to quit something, it’s usually cold turkey. So, that was that. I literally have not played a single time since the day I quit. When I started, my parents bought their 7 year old a brand new, beautiful, Baldwin piano. It cost over $2,000. That was in 1988. $2,000 was a LOT of money for anyone, let alone my parents, who had two small children to raise. They could have easily bought me an ancient used piano, or nothing at all, but no, they bought me this lovely little upright cherry finish Baldwin. I loved it. I still love it. And I still appreciate that my parents invested their hard-earned pay into that piano. However, I haven’t touched it since 1998. It sits in their living room, like a relic of another time. It gets dusted, but the only action it sees is my husband’s rendition of Desperado. This piano is probably more sick of Desperado than we are.
In life, whether it be cigarettes, soda, or a sh*tty boyfriend, sometimes quitting can be the best move you ever make. Uh, playing a musical instrument? Probably never a good idea to quit. Sure, I’m no Van Cliburn. I actually read music horribly, but my fingers can commit pieces to memory after some practice. Long story short, I will never be a musician that brings joy to the public, but I certainly brought enjoyment and accomplishment to myself. So, I’ve been wanting to start practicing again. “My” piano has been a part of my parents’ home and décor for 22 years, and it’s not going ANYWHERE. Enter Andy. Andy owns a piano. It’s been on loan to a family member for the past 10+ years, but it was always understood that if/when he wanted it back, it was his to take. If I didn’t know where Andy gets his efficiency and work ethic, I do now. I casually mentioned to Andy’s Mom, ONCE, last time we were visiting, about how it would be nice to have that piano at some point in the future. Well, she spoke to the family member, they are fine with us taking it, and she even rented a UHaul for this 4th of July weekend and coordinated with her sons to make the delivery. She means bidnazz.
When it comes to our home (and life in general), my husband is all about function. If something serves a purpose, he’s all for it. Superfluous trinkets be damned. And while he appreciates my efforts to make our home look nice, he will always, ALWAYS, choose practicality and purpose over aesthetics. I get it. I really do.
So, naturally, he’s perplexed at my apprehension about the pending delivery of our piano. Have I not been asking for this same piano for how long now? But there are two things I’m worried about. 1- Our house is tiny. Pianos weigh a ton, so it needs to be on the first floor. So…that leaves the living room in front of the front window. So, I now must move my favored macintosh chairs that are currently in front of the window to….I have no idea. 2- The piano’s finish is super duper light (think blonde wood). Our living room is all dark woods. Those who know my sense of style know that I am always ready to embrace an eclectic mix of colors and things that don’t “match , but that’s with shoes and a top, not the furniture in my home. I mean come on. Anyways, how can I fix this? I mean…can you refinish a piano yourself? That seems like a really difficult project that I’m not sure I’m interested in undertaking. Maybe I can drape a dark brown runner across it so it masks the blonde just a touch? Should I just shudder every time I look at them together in the room? I’m grieving the look of our living room changing. The room is in need of some serious personality, but I was thinking new curtains and pillow covers, not varying woods. I like its overall look. I don’t want it to change. But I want a piano, and here is a FREE piano. Well you can’t have your cake and eat it too is I guess the lesson learned here. Maybe I should just shut up about the look of the room and let my innner-Andy take over, and just celebrate the functionality of the space? Any thoughts/ideas will be welcome.