8 1/2 Lives Later And Counting

The last couple of weeks here at ArtGardenLife have been kitty-centered. Not art-centered, which is what ArtGardenLife was actually supposed to be about, mostly. Not art-centered, even though I was working on getting a sculpture ready for a show opening this weekend at the Aloft Hotel downtown. Nope, this past couple of weeks have been kitty-centered.

Basically, Gus was on his last legs and was about 10 minutes from getting help going over that Rainbow Bridge.

It was like this. See, Gus has turned 14 now, and YES I know that cats these days live to 34. You know they must- prove it to yourself and see if it's not true. You'll be talking to somebody and you'll say "Oh, my cat is 14", and they will immediately tell you about a cat their aunt had that was 19, or one that their friend had which lived to be 21, but they had adopted it as a stray so who knows how old it actually was? 

Anyway, so Gus just turned 14, which, according to Google, is damn old for a Maine Coon, and a couple weeks ago, he was feeling a little extra feisty. He would not come in for the night. He likes to lie in the irises. So I went out to get him, and he was nowhere. Not behind the air conditioning unit. Not under the patio table. Finally, since it was a lovely night, I said "hell with it" and went to bed.

And in the morning, he was at the door, and he was limping.

"Hmmph," I thought. "Wonder what he got into?" And we all ate breakfast and that was that.

Four days later, he was still limping, but much, much worse.

"Hmmmph," I thought. "This is going to be a hundred bucks worth of Cat Fix." And off to the vet we went.

The clinic we go to is close by, and the vets are all good, and this one found nothing structurally wrong at all. "Soft tissue damage," he said. "One of his toes is swollen. I'll give him pain meds." Whee!! 

Two days after that, Gus is not eating. Gus did not eat anymore at all. And then, after two more days, I have to look at this old, very skinny, limping cat who was starving to death. He did not want liver! He did not want tuna! I was getting up with Jerry's alarm because I did not want Jerry to trip over a dead cat at 5 in the morning. Not an auspicious way to start your day.

So... we go back to the vet...

...who says "Oh. Pain meds are morphine-based, which is an appetite suppressant. We'll give him appetite stimulant pills!" Wheee! They also kept him for three days and infused him with fluids. I went back and got him, and he was happy to be home- skinny, shaved, and still limping. But he agreed to sit in my lap- not usual for him- and he purred and purred. But he still wouldn't eat. And you can't give a cat a pill if he won't eat. Well- I can't. Dog, yes. Cat, heck to the no.

I described all this to our friend Alexis, who is a cat whisperer in Maine, and she said something that tweaked a bell in my head. "My cat wouldn't eat," she said, "and I gave her treats."

That was a good idea- I used to give Gus treats all the time. Why did I stop? I ran out and purchased three kinds of really foul-looking kitty treats, all guaranteed to appeal to the feline sensibility. I took them home, showed them to him, and...

TREATS HE WILL EAT.

Gus porked down three dozen of those things and then went to bed, and in the morning, there was a gift. A royal presentation. Gus had, in the middle of the night, divested himself of a hairball of such size and structural specifications that Derek Jeter could've used it to hit a ground ball double.

After which-

Gus began eating again. Gus is still eating. As a matter of fact, Gus woke me up this morning because he was peckish. Gus has consumed the meat from the chicken legs I got on sale at Albertson's AND the beef liver, AND the chicken gizzards AND two cans of tuna, besides the regular canned cat food and the dry kibbles he always has on the side, plus assorted treats I throw to him and the dog. 

So I decided that this would be the perfect time to take a picture of Gus wearing the cute little hat Aunt Gail bought him. Since he was not in a position to do much about it.

"Look, Gus! Look at the adorable little pirate hat Aunt Gail bought you with Uncle Larry's overtime check! See? It has a little parrot on it!"

"See it, Gus? You must wear this hat before you die so I can show Aunt Gail!"

"Hold still, Gus! You must not overdo it. You are dying and must save your energy to wear this hat. Here, Gus. Let me help you put it on."

"Wait! You are not wearing the adorable little pirate hat, Gus! Saint Peter wants to see you in it! 

WAIT!!! Dammit."

So. 

Gus is still limping. He's already halfway to piracy with that peg leg shtick. "Soft tissue damage".

So I tell people he's sprained his toe, and it may get better and it may not. He's ok about it- and Katie the Dog left him alone and was ve-e-e-ery gentle with him for a whole week, but today, she rushed him again to get him to play chase, and he did. So he's back to normal-

whatever that is.

A Fuzzywuzzums Interlude

Our pal, Liz, just got her brand-spanking-new puppy (who is not actually spanked, please. It's just a saying.) (although, as I hear it, she might occasionally deserve spanking, but.... nobody could actually DO it, so there)
Anyway, here are some pictures of the darling new Puma. Pronounced POO-ma, not PEW-ma, as those of us who have not worked at zoos are apt to do.

Poor Liz. She was soooo tired by the time she got to Dallas, she was walking into walls and cleaning up things that really had nothing to do with her. She was already on autopilot, and was only two days into New Mom-hood.

All it takes to bond is a new red collar and puppy breath.

I had gotten on the ground to get a shot of the little squidget on her own level, but Katie moved in and stood over me. She does this because she gets a good belly rub if I'm on the floor and she's standing over me. Hey, it's RIGHT THERE.

I am writing a song. Think of the Andrews Sisters...
"Pasadena! Petaluma!! That's where ya gotta go to get a Puma!
Mandarina! Clementina! Little Puma gonna be a Sat-a-suma!!"
Oh, forget it! Gail is the songwriter in this group, unless some of the rest of you have been holding out on me. I'll keep working on it- but somebody PLEASE save me. I have been singing this stupid song inside my head for over a week and I'm going slightly bonkerish. More bonkerish.
Puppy breath is the only known cure.

Because Chaos Theory Sounds Easy

 People spend their whole lives trying to decide how they should spend their lives. Am I right? Of course I am- that was just a rhetorical question. You People, of course, do not do this, because you inherently understand that your own lives are fairly perfect. No, I am describing those lost souls described by Whatshisname as "leading lives of quiet desperation"- one of which I am most definitely not. I refuse to be quiet, as you all know very well. Especially since I have decided What To Be When I Grow Up.

 It's true! It occurred to me last week, and this post will be my official first day on the job. I am now a Theoretical Physicist. It's a perfect job for me, and I am absolutely qualified on account of the following:

- I have already described several theories- apparently I wrote a lot about them in 2009. (June 2, September 24, and December 31, if you're at ALL paying attention). I sent them to Stephen Hawking for his comment, but he hasn't written back yet. I heard he had been sick. I shall re-send them, because these theories are important to humanity and should be published, but I don't know the titles of the physics magazines I should send them to, and I'm betting that Stephen does.

- You don't have to do the math. It's THEORETICAL physics! Duh! Einstein used to do what he called "thought experiments" and I am crackerjack at that. Thoughts assault me on all levels- all I will have to do is round them up and see which ones hold water, which, technically, is probably Newtonian physics, but Stephen will be in charge of shaking that out.

- I once heard a joke that went like this: "Donald Trump is so dense he absorbs neutrinos", and I laughed. I know what it means. Actually, the joke was about a senator from the 80's, but just now when I tried to substitute another, more current politician's name, I did not laugh at all. I actually felt kinda nauseated. But when I put in Donald's name, things perked up, so now this joke is funny as hell.

  For my first official duty as a Theoretical Physicist, I have a new theory that solves a problem that is currently plaguing lesser minds. When you People read this, you will grab your phones and jam up the switchboard at Quantum Central. What happened was, I watched a program about the problem on PBS, and then thought about it (see how it works?) that night while I was soaking in the tub.
  The problem for those physicists is why, when they weigh everything in the entire Universe, the total comes up to only a small percentage of what they know actually exists. Or something like that. See, according to them (they do the math, and probably for not much over minimum wage), there should be a heck of a lot more junk around than there actually seems to be. They couldn't get over it, and this worried them. Maybe they're all Libras. Whatever. They HAD to find a solution for the material imbalance in the Universe, so they took the remainder of Stuff-We-Can't-Find and they gave it a name. They call it Dark Matter, and this seems to satisfy them. "Oh, THAT stuff??" they laugh. ""It's just some Dark Matter. We don't know what it actually IS, but that's for the theorists to figure out. We're the numbers crunchers, and all we care about is that, now, everything in the Universe balances out. Let's celebrate by not-finding something else and naming it!"
  Okay. You see the problem. Just naming random stuff-that-should-be-there-but -isn't might be good enough for some, but not for me. Not this girl. No-siree. That doesn't fly around here. And so, when I was soaking in the bathtub, I was in the perfect place for the answer to occur to me:

 CALORIES! Dark Matter is CALORIES!!

 Don't you see? Think about it-

 Have you ever eaten something that weighed 3 ounces, and then gained TWO POUNDS??!!

Yes, you have, and you know it!! There is no other answer! Dark Matter- all that extra booty in the Universe- it's calories, and when Stephen reads this, he'll slap his forehead and burn the manuscript he's probably working on, because it'll be obsolete. It's so obvious- you eat a Twinkie, and immediately, twenty-nine ounces of pure-D Dark Matter gloms onto your ass- that's why it's so hard to get rid of again! Once that stuff manifests as solid, it's a bear to re-transmute into quarks- I don't need to tell you. Chaos, schmaos. Once the subatomic particles in that Twinkie have attracted Dark Matter, it takes more than a thought experiment to shake 'em back up again, unless you have your own particle accelerator fitted with the optional Hiney Harness, and everybody knows that after-market stuff is unreliable.

 I'm glad I finally got around to sharing this with you- what with my new job, and the phone calls I'll be fielding once Stephen gets around to publishing this, I don't know how much time I'll have. But be aware that I'll be thinking. Oh, yes. All the freakin' time.

Why There's Cat Hair In The Chili

I was gone so long, now you can't shut me up.

"Oh, that Jan," you smile. "She's just an independent, strong, free-thinker who follows naught but her own inner guides. Those guides who were born before GPS and Zoloft. God bless her."

Yep. That's me. Nobody knows what I'm gonna do next, just like Texas, which is the gist of this post. See- I wanted to show you how right now, this week, today, I am harvesting massive quantities of serrano peppers from my lil' kitchen garden off the patio. It's like this (for thems what isn't from Texas and needs prompting) :
1. summer hit, in a massive, I'm-gonna-kill-you-all way
2. everything went dormant, or died outright
3. this went on for several months
4. (this is the good part) temps moderated, and plants woke up and thought it was spring. My neighbor, right now in November, has yucca blooming. I have bulbs coming up. And my serranos started flowering and setting little green gut busters. But-
5. it took its sweet time, thinking it had all year. When the first cold snap hit a few weeks ago, it came to, realized what was happening, and proceeded to ripen these peppers as fast as it could-

Which brings us up to date. I am hauling in red rockets as fast as I can, and thought I'd show you all...

 Yay! Nice shot. Let's take another one, just to see if we can get one better....

THIS is what happens when you sit on the ground and
try to be seriously artistic.
You get a CAT, that you haven't seen all day, but
who NOW decides that you are worthy of some
 Kitty Schmooze.

Yes, Gus. I see you.

I see you now that I am otherwise occupied.

I did not see you when I was sitting in a chair, watching TV.
I did not see you when I was wanting some cat patting.
I did not see you when it was time to give you your pill.

But I see you now.

Hello.

He's making me spill my peppers! That's it- maybe he's trying to save me. On account of these things are going into my tamale pie tonight.

Like A Zombie, But Less Interesting

I HAVE A NEW COMPUTER!!!!

Thank you, thank you, yes.... I might be able to start publishing again. I know that you were on the edge of your tiny seats, putting off things you really should be doing, and I do appreciate that.  There are, however, some caveats to this that you should be made aware of:

- I may or may not be able to add a photo ( and what would be the point of satire if you can't show a     picture, after all??)

- I haven't totally learned Mac yet (see above), so if anything goes "blooey", I will make this my default excuse. As a matter of fact, if I continue to be slightly off-kilter regarding the Mac, I get more chocolate. Those are the rules, and I am not strong enough to argue.

Something almost thought-provoking has occurred during my computerlessness; something You People might use as the subject of your next novel. I shall give it to you gratis. That's what I do.
What has happened is that- while I still had email because of my adored iPad, I still was cut off from mainstream society in small ways that seemed insignificant but had an utterly isolating  outcome. I could receive an email, but couldn't open a pdf. I could receive some jpegs, but not all opened. I had NO CAMERA SOFTWARE. That was the worst. I had NO PRINTER. Need a hard copy of detailed instructions for volunteer work you've agreed to?? Too bad! Need to send a signed contract to the University of Nebraska, allowing them to defrost your dog semen?? (YES, get over it.) YOU CAN'T.

Being so close to computer action, but not q-u-i-t-e able to participate fully has been completely weird. I am the first person who will sigh deeply and complain loudly about how computers have taken over our lives, and wouldn't it be wonderful to just be able to live life without one! And that's pretty much what I got for the last few months. And what happened was that I was a zombie- with the iPad, I could appear to walk around and get something to eat, but I wasn't truly doing what everybody else took for granted. And lemmee tell you how much that STINKS.

But look at me now!! BWWWWAAAAAAhhhahhhaaaahhaaaaa. There are all kinds of stupid things You People have missed on account of I couldn't get you a picture, but TODAY THAT CHANGES. See that dinosaur? She is wearing a leopard hat, and is carrying a little sparkley clutch. I have named her Rexine, and she currently lives at the studio where we sculpt on Fridays.

And see this?? This is Persephone- I have attempted a garden sculpture. She is the female version of that bald guy I did in bronze finish....

Well, see what You People have been deprived of while I've been a zombie??? It's not fair, is it??
HELL, NO. You deserve better, and I intend to give it to you. OOHHHH Yess, how I intend to give it to you. As soon as I get more chocolate.

You Knew It Before I Did

You're sitting there smirking, aren't you? You KNEW I'd be back.

Me: "My darling friends," I said, "It is difficult for me to type this farewell to you because of the tears in my eyes, but I must leave you. I must say adieu. I am spending every waking hour wracking my brain, thinking of nothing else than a new way to amuse you, since your entertainment is my only desire. But it's running me nuts. Goodbye."

You: "PHHHT."

Okay. You win. But joke's on YEW, suckers- see, since that last post, my good old laptop expired, bit the dust, and coughed up blood, and I have its ashes in an urn on my mantle. No, really. Apparently one time, I wrote something about kosher mishigoss on it, and now it has to be buried in a Jewish cemetery. And all my pictures were on it. Of course, now all my pictures are on an external hard drive I purchased at the recommendation of the guru tech geek - but the point is that I do not know how to transfer them to my iPad. Turns out our buddy Gail called me from a Geek Store in a fit of intuition, and is checking it out. But. Still.

It means that you have nothing interesting to look at. You have to sit there and listen to me tell you all about the Cafe Press store I set up....
YES! It's POSSUM-FREE!!!

http://www.cafepress.com/possumfree

Give me feedback.... only the favorable kind, of course. Hou don't want to crush my spirit, do you? I thought not. So tell me how much you love it, and after that, I'll reward you by attempting to add more of the images.... from the external thingymagbob.... to the iPad doohickey...

See how hard I work for You People? Apparently, I just can't get enough :-))

And Don't Let The Door Hit Ya

As you've figured out by now, I think I need to wind down Art Garden Life in favor of developing a real Jan Ayers art site. Or maybe a real Jan Ayers conspiracy theory site. Or Politics In Remission site. Or....

Whatever, it looks like I'm changing focus and direction, but will keep this going a while in case I hear about any furtive doins that you People need to be made aware of.

Like dog birthdays.

Which was, regrettably, possum-free.