Lizzie Borden the good kitty looks at us from her bed.

Good-Bye Lizzie Borden

Good-Bye Lizzie Borden

Lizzie Borden the good kitty looks at us from her bed.

Lizzie Borden the Cheats-At-Poker Cat is looking at YOU.
In her bed, on my bed. *Pretty sure she has an opposable dew claw to hide that 5th Ace


The Queen of Cat-titude, Poker Cheating, Persian Playmate of the Tortie Variety, Hep Cat of the West, suddenly became very ill.  Just something off that I noticed three weeks ago. One little thing. It took another full week before Lizzie’s health and life began a downward spiral.
By last Saturday she weighed only four pounds.

Monday morning I took her back to the vet, after bringing her home to spend her last days here. would you think that a beloved companion should spend their last days in a cage? Being force-fed? Force medicated? No, you wouldn’t.

Psycho Killer GTFO of Blasphemous Rumors

Qu’est-ce que c’est

Unless you’re a serial killer, in which case go away.
What the hell are you doing on this page?

Was foolishly hoping that she would rebound by being in familiar surroundings. She was drinking water, but still refusing to eat. It was impossible to watch her starve herself to death. One day at home, towards her passing, was all that was allowed to me.

Neither offerings of peanut butter, pork rinds, or wildly impossible magickal thinking could do the trick. Made that terrible but necessary decision many of us have faced. Now she is gone.
The nod to release her from fear, pain and confusion was difficult. I’m selfish and wanted Lizzie to stay.
She lost more than a third of her body weight in two weeks. The diagnosis was pancreatitis. One of the symptoms is complete loss of appetite.

There was no way to reverse the attack or cure the disease. She was a tiny cat to begin with. Lizzie had always been fed Iams or Science Diet, She did not care for anything but dry cat food, and seemed to display none of the ‘usual’ causes of this disease. The perhaps monthly teeny nibble at a spoon of peanut butter or maybe just a few licks.  It could be an entire bite at a pork rind, whoa. So I consider, What the hell?
Cat Pancreatitis is a bit different from the occurrence in dogs or people. It’s not breed, age or species specific. The main symptom is loss of appetite. She looked at her food bowl, knowing she needed to eat, but having no desire to do so.

Lizzie Borden LOVED peanut butter

Lizzie Borden LOVED peanut butter. She wouldn’t go near fish, chicken, beef or any other people food.
Outside of the occasional pork rind.

Lizzie has been an even closer friend since the onset of my  Transverse Myelitis in August. This amazing kitty was only 9 years old, and has been a part of the family since rescued from a shelter in Michigan, more than eight years ago. She spent every day, virtually every minute, hanging out with yours truly these last six months. Both of us together in this 10×15 foot room since having to leave Reno, finding help for my own disease.

Yes, all living things must die. At the age of 9 my best friend, my only friend here, went far too soon

Lizzifer went peacefully, while I stroked her head and told her what a good kitty she was.
Good-bye Lizzie Borden, my sweet, funny, surprising, psychic, 3:00 a.m. rodeo-running, cat-tree climbing, purring, head-butting best friend. You always knew exactly what the situation was. You knew when the pain of this disease became excruciating. You jumped on the bed, curled against me and turned into the purring furry friend which always caused me to calm and smile. You stayed there until I felt better.
Suicide consumed my mind, more intensely than in a long time. Of course you can’t tell people this. It scares them.

Lizzie, my love and consoler, Say Meow to Bast. Find lots of yummy things that you want to eat.

The pain of losing you is more than I could ever express with these words or the voluminous interminable tears.
I’ll have you in my heart forever little beastie. No other furry companions over the years has made this heart so full of delight, laughter and bemusement. A freckled nose, a peanut butter toe. Perfect markings of the Tortie Terror, but never a scratch or bite to this human cat-mommy.

Lizzifer, as my roomie called her. Half Jewish.

Lizzie is half jewish and half Follower of Bast. Here is Lizzifer waiting for dreidel and peanut butter gelt.





~Miss Noir









Cry Baby. Cry.


Today I fell. First time in several weeks. Was sans walker and concentrating on every step. I don’t know how much longer I can do this.

Is this my fucking life? Already on disability and now the Transverse Myelitis?
Living with mom? Waiting to find low income housing with the crack heads and welfare mothers? Trying to find a decent pain management doc, psychiatrist and neurologist?
Mom insisting I stay in rural redneck northern California…. forever.
Tonight she told me she was tired of the constant crying.
Bit my tongue.
I’m tired of the constant living but I get up every day and don’t call a cab to the gun store while screaming ‘Step on it!’. Not a day passes that I don’t want to blow my brains out to end this surreal nightmare.

Did pretty well the first month or so out of the hospital. Did pretty well the three months in the hospital.
Until it sunk in that this was it. The constant wrenching back, leg, ankle and hand pain is forever. The electrical shocks, though much better thanks to the Lyrica, are forever. Being unable to walk in stilettos is forever. Never standing on my tip toes is forever. Never being with a man again is forever.

Two days ago I found an amazing ski program for the disabled (and hopefully disgruntled) at Squaw Valley. It’s a two hour drive each way. It would be possible to race again and the cost is reasonable. Even found a grant available for those with spinal cord injuries (TM qualifies) who are serious about getting into or continuing a specific winter sport.
Mom will not drive me three times a week and I will not even ask. I can no longer drive. Have no idea if that is forever.

Sent mom a link to the following piece instead of speaking. Wish I had written it. Goddamn this writer hit the nail on the head. It isn’t often that I say that. Not because I don’t respect a lot of other’s writer’s work, but because this is something that has affected me for 30 years.. and it will forever.

The 10 Stupidest Things You Can Say To A Depressed Person

I can damn well cry if I want to.
You’d cry too
If it happened to you

Currently Listening To:
by Damien Rice
2003 Vector Recordings

~miss b