Anne, I am so sorry for your loss.

I'm so sorry, Anne. It's never easy to let them go, even when it's the right thing to do.

I'm so sorry Anne. I know how hard it is to let a special companion like Jeeves go.

Anne, I'm so sorry.

Thank you all very much. I'm sad, but I think I'm okay. It's all still sinking in.

Bizarre community event today...

A neighbor, whom I have known for many years and had a sort of friendship for a while, was evicted by the sheriffs.

The truly bizarre nature of this event is not confined to the fact that it is pretty difficult to evict someone in this town...an action that is almost never seen in this gentrified part of the neighborhood. This gentleman seems to have packed a bag and walked away from a house stuffed with beautiful antiques and expensive collections of fine art.

It was such a...here is that word again...bizarre scene that people actually thought someone was having a Tuesday morning yard sale. That is, until they saw the uniforms and guns.

It has been absolutely fascinating watching people's reactions all day. This gentleman was a polarizing character. One either loved or loathed him. I'm of the mind that those who loved him didn't know him. It's not hard to explain, but would take a long time.

Certain community leaders tried to save the fellow from himself by renting a moving truck and having their own staff (retail employees) pack up as much of the 'important' stuff as possible and put it all into storage. A nationally syndicated columnist dashed across the street to salvage family oil portraits and incredibly delicate crystal.

There were actual fist fights (plural) between neighbors over who was in charge and what should be done. Strangers did their best to loot and local folks stared dumbfounded.

The columnist intends to write about it and asked how I felt about the fellow. I told the truth but in diluted form...sad to say, I am certain that the good Samaritans will never see the fruits of their labor either in repayment for their expenses, in gratitude...or even ever seeing his face again.

He has always been a chancer and was, frankly, full of shit. He took pleasure in the pains of others and did not miss an opportunity to make a joke at another person's expense.

We were on opposite ends of the political spectrum and I finally had to tell him that joking about my views would have to stop, or we could not be friends. In the end, I did my best to avoid him...not easy when we bumped into each other nearly every day.

So. So. Strange.

Quick Cagney update.

Chalk one up for chemicals. The medication has clearly helped him.

He spent all night trembling and shuffling about, too uncomfortable to lie still.

We sat outside from 4 in the morning until after dawn. Now, he's so exhausted, I can hardly get him up to go outside.

Thankfully, his system is calmed and there have been no eruptions...from either end...for hours and hours.

Thank goodness.

At our second vet appointment in two days, it was field trip day for a local first grade class. The teachers were great about demanding that the kids say hello 'with their eyes' rather than trying to pet him. As if to prove his potential as a therapy dog, Cagney was clearly distressed that there were 20 five year olds refusing to touch him!

As if to prove his potential as a therapy dog, Cagney was clearly distressed that there were 20 five year olds refusing to touch him!

Contrast with Darby, who spent ten minutes playing keep-away from two little girls at the park. I was laughing the other day at the prospect of Darby as one of those comfort dogs. More like "back off there, pal, personal space" dog.

More like "back off there, pal, personal space" dog.

That would have been Bartleby with everyone but his closest friends...human or canine.

Anne, I'm so sorry. My thoughts are with you.

****

As if to prove his potential as a therapy dog, Cagney was clearly distressed that there were 20 five year olds refusing to touch him!

Ahahaha, Frankie would be distraught.

I'm glad I had bounced back somewhat from my funk this weekend, because I just found out that my grandma is going into assisted living (she hasn't recovered mentally or physically from the pneumonia to go back to her apartment from rehab) and it's happening in the next week or so. Which means there are decisions to be made about all her stuff. I don't think it'll get ugly - we all have way too much stuff and I don't think any of us care about one thing enough to pick a fight; but I finally have to decide whether I want the antique red velvet sofa that's had my name on it (literally; a piece of masking tape somewhere on the underside) for about fifteen years. And then there's all the emotional stuff it brings up, too. Harder on my dad than me, for sure, but it's another transition and sign that she's closer to dying.

Also, my roommate noticed that Bella has worms, which means all three of my animals need vet appointments. I love my pets, but damn.