K I T S C H — Cate's Blog

Saturday, April 24, 2004

Bad Louie and Uncle Celio

Today is the one-year anniversary of my father's death.

I really don't try to sit around and think about these things. But let's face it -- it's going to happen. Especially since I spent my afternoon at Uncle Celio's memorial reception.

Uncle Celio, a.k.a. Tom, was probably my dad's best friend. As an added bonus, he had an Internet-ready nickname thirty years before they became fashionable.

I loved Uncle Celio. His wife, Treva, is pretty cool too. I mean, how many people jump at the chance to hang with their parents' friends? My sister and I always did, though. An evening at Sai Woo was de rigeur for all of our parents' adult-era trips to Toronto. And by "adult-era," of course, I mean my sister and me as adults. Because, obviously, the universe did not exist before our birth.

Well, duh.

More than a few of these party evenings ended up at dive-y bars, which is yet another reason to adore Tom and Treva. At one point, I had to explain to my mom that while marijuana really does reek, lots of people like it anyway.

Well, um, duh.

At this reception I saw people I haven't seen in twenty years. What's weirder is that I had to relate to them as an adult. It's not like it was hard, just weird.

I'm just rambling to avoid thinking about the fact that my father is dead.

Damn, Bad Louie, why did you have to die?

:: posted by Cate 10:37:16 PM

Monday, April 19, 2004

Sad news

Mr. Sir Pet-A-Lot died this week. It wasn't a total shock to us; nor, I suspect, was it that big a surprise to him either.

We'd wondered if we should have him put to sleep. He's been blind for awhile now, and for the past month or so he's been almost completely paralyzed in his back legs and getting weaker all the time. Watching him struggle to move around hasn't exactly been a picnic, but he's still had a really good appetite and has obviously appreciated spending time with us. We figured that as long as he's still getting enjoyment out of life, we're not gonna mess with playing God.

It's hard to tell how he was feeling earlier that day. Since he's been paralyzed, he's been spending a lot of time lying down, using a tea towel as a pillow.

Around 6:00, it looked like he was sleeping, except he was moving his legs a bit. He doesn't usually do this while sleeping, but some of our other bunnies have, so I used my English-major mind to conclude that he was just having a jolly old time dreaming of hopping through fields. And that, in his dreams, his legs weren't failing him. All right, then. Rock on, little bunny.

A bit later we figured out that there was something more intense going on. Sir Pet-A-Lot was not interested in any treats. He was totally limp. Basically, he was crashing. We've seen it before, where you know there's no going back and fixing things. You still hope, though, even when there isn't any point.

And you still question what's the best thing to do. Do you bring him somewhere to have him put to sleep? Wait it out? Try to do something humane yourself to put him out of his misery?

That last one was a bit beyond both of us, though we certainly did consider it.

The thing about having rabbits put to sleep is that it's not nearly as easy as it sounds. Leaving aside all the other issues surrounding corporal punishment, if someone gave me a choice of how to die, I'd have to say lethal injection is right up there, probably just below immediate cardiac arrest. Of course, I have rather cheery memories of past injections to influence me. In fact, if everyone could have regular doses of the drug cocktail I got when my wisdom teeth were removed, there would be no more wars, no more hostility, no more idiot suicide bombers -- basically no more sadness, ever. Ever!

Hey, it's not like I sit around thinking about these things. But cut me some slack. I've lost two bunnies in the past two years, and we're closing in on the one-year anniversary of my father's death. It really hasn't been the cheeriest of times chez Cate.

A year and a half ago, we had to have Mr. Bundle Buggy put down. There was no other realistic way around it. I'm grateful to our current vet for being honest enough to explain that rabbits are hard to euthanize and that screaming and extreme stress tend to be inevitable. Er, on the part of the rabbit, I mean. Our vet was also gracious enough to tell us that Bundle Buggy didn't scream. Whether that's true or not, I appreciate the gesture.

We came very close to bringing Sir Pet-A-Lot in to an emergency after-hours clinic to have him euthanized. Every time we tried to move him, though, he got really agitated. Conversely, when we'd pet him on his head, his heartrate and breathing would slow down. Long story short, we just couldn't bring ourselves to take him to a clinic. Especially when one of the receptionists I spoke to actually seemed disappointed that her place of business wouldn't be able to kill our bunny for us. Yeah, thanks for nothing, sugar.

In the end, Sir Pet-A-Lot died at home. I don't know how peaceful he found it, but I'm convinced it was a hell of a lot better than the alternatives.

:: posted by Cate 12:16:39 AM

Sunday, April 11, 2004

Science!

There are few better places to spend a major holiday in Toronto than the Ontario Science Centre. You think I'm joking, but I'm not. I'm really, really not. Dude, I have a membership, okay?

Hey, what's not to love? Attractions include IMAX Dome movies, a virtual rain forest with nasty, humid air that is breathable for exactly 3.2 seconds, and tests I can feel proud about aceing (even though they're mostly aimed at kids). Oh, and a photo-simulation aging exhibit for which Peeter won't let me post his results, although I should point out that this thing posits that he will age as attractively as his handsome father has. And that's even despite the fact that the exhibit is optimized for kids aged 8-12, which means that it took Peeter's photo under the assumption that he's approximately 10 years old and then enlarged his jaw to ginormic proportions to account for the assumed nasty journey through, you know, puberty and all.

It seems the Centre has retired some of my favourite childhood exhibits, though. There's no more machine that says "Coffee" in 2,000 different Danish-accented ways, depending on what combination of "Old Quavery-Voiced Woman" you want to mix up with "Person Caught in Severe Time-Warp." Its memory does live on in our household, however, pretty much any time I enquire about the availability of coffee. That's not so often these days, so don't feel too bad for Peeter.

There's also no more miniature Japanese village that goes from dawn until midnight. That thing wasn't even remotely high-tech or anything. As I recall, nothing actually moves; there's just a voiceover and some mood lighting that always made me want to cap off my Science Centre visit with a side trip for sushi or okonomi. Mm, okonomi.

I think it's time to call up our friend Dave who works at the Science Centre and find out just what they did with the Japanese village exhibit. Believe me, I can totally understand why they might have got rid of it. It's not like it actually has anything to do with science. But still, could you imagine having that thing at home?

Hope y'all had a good Bunny Appreciation Day!

:: posted by Cate 11:41:00 PM

Thursday, April 01, 2004

Pretty Bunny Spa Treatment (for men)

Your arrival at the spa will be facilitated by one of the humans -- the one who's not too scared to pick you up and carry you into the special treatment area.

Fair warning: one of the humans may coo encouragingly at you, along the lines of, "Ooh, pretty bunny, you want to have pretty bunny spa time, don't you? Don't you? Yes. Pretty bunny spa time, yes." Thank you for not getting seriously annoyed and biting her.

Next, you will be placed gently into the invigorating thermal waters of the Therapy Pool du Spa Etobicoke, which, coincidentally, happens to be our kitchen sink. Except, instead of invigorating thermal waters, you will actually be treated to, you know, just your run-of-the-mill Toronto tap water. But since it will be infused with lovely organic Avalon shampoos that even Peeter doesn't get to use, you will feel special. And pretty.

You will sit surprisingly docilely as one human supports you while the other human massages your fur with fragrant elixirs. Or, if we are out of fragrant elixirs, you'll get the shampoo. After you have been rinsed off with soothing warm water from the elegant Far Side coffee mug, you will be lifted onto a soft towel on the Drying Table, which is cunningly shaped like a kitchen countertop. [Special note to people who regularly consume food in our apartment: Yes, we do clean our kitchen. Frequently, as a matter of fact.]

You will be given the opportunity to have your fur styled with the assistance of the low setting on the blow dryer. Why you would struggle and reject that, though, is beyond me. Dude, if someone offered to blow-dry my hair, I'd take them up on it.

Instead you will be towelled as dry as possible, while the humans remark on how skinny you look when you're wet. Seriously. We had no idea just how fluffy your fur is normally. Now I think I can better understand why, during shedding seasons, I will Swiff the entire living room, turn around to put away the Swiffer, walk back into the living room and find that it is completely blanketed with fur. Again. Within, like, thirty seconds. And that's not even counting the fur tumbleweeds flying through the air.

After you are as dry as the humans and some tea towels can get you, you will be transported back to your cage, where you will dine on our trademark sumptuous spa cuisine. Offerings vary based on what greens happen to be in our fridge that day.

And it's all free! (Lucky bunny.)

:: posted by Cate 11:15:01 AM