ZombieToofer

My fiancee and I have two beautiful, sweet kittehz. I couldn't have asked for a better set of best friends, nor a better family. Our wedding is planned for September 12th of this year, a (hopefully) glorious and great day with accompanying good weather.

The older cat is technically all hers, and his name is Nino. The best step-cat anyone could ever ask for. I call him my BOB, short for "Black Ops Buddy," because he always wants to hang out with you, but not too close. So he will come plop down by me when I am playing videogames or I am about to fall asleep. It's cute and hits you right in the heartstrings when you realize that he could choose to chill and relax in any other room in the apartment, and yet he chooses to exist in that space just out of arm's reach.

He has been on a steady and disconcertingly rapid decline for the past 3 weeks. Unfortunately, he won't be around for much longer. Today he pissed himself due to not being able to get out of the bathtub. He likes to lie down in there because it's hot in the apartment during the afternoons, and he's a smart fucking cat. Intelligent. You can see him thinking; you can almost see the gears cranking into place. He has become very wobbly in the past week, because he is losing muscle mass. He's not drinking water as much, and he's hardly eating. So he was way too weak to get out of the tub. Now, I don't know if he was too weak to even get up, and so he messed himself right where he was lying down. Or, he could have picked a separate place in the tub to do it, but was so wobbly he fell over into his puddle, and couldn't get up. Or, and this is the worst theory, he has since also lost control of his bodily functions. That's the scariest bit. Because that means he's going to be gone way too soon.

Of course, it's always way too soon. He's only 11 years old, turning 12 in September (if he makes it that far). We thought we'd have a lot more time. We always think we will have a lot more time. I am just not ready to say goodbye to one of my best friends, one large chunk of my family. He's my Baby Boy.

I haven't rewritten the description on this fundraising page. But suffice to say, there's no surgery needed anymore. He has a slight heart murmur (worse now, they tell me), and low protein levels, and kidneys are not quite up to par. Surgery has too many risks for an old cat like him. So he keeps the leg, and the biopsy incision is in the final stages of healing. Monday, he was so dehydrated and weak that we had to have subcutaneous fluids injected. The vet started talking about seriously considering euthanasia. We're not ready. He's not ready.

He still has some fight left in him, and we will only push him as far as he wants to go. He still purrs when we give him some luvin's. He's not eating very much at all, and even now that we have his fluid levels up high enough so that he can get up and awkwardly move around like a newborn fawn, he's not drinking enough water either. Tomorrow I have to pick up a prescription for an appetite stimulant. One pill to help his appetite, 2 pills of a corticosteroid to help get some control of the cancer. Daily. Plus maybe continuing the subcutaneous fluid injection every 3rd day.

We just need to make him comfortable. And any money that doesn't go toward his existing vet bills will go towards our local humane society. We love kittehz and puppehz alike.

Anything you can give would be appreciated. If you can't donate, or even if you decide not to, you could give encouragement, send some prayers our way, let me (virtually) cry on your (virtual) shoulder. Whatever you can do to help. I thank you for it.

Thank you for reading.

I am not here.

I am not here much.

What do I mean by "here"? Certainly, to be sure, deviantART is the first meaning. I no longer write as I used to. I always say this; it's always true. I am a Gemini, I am an Air sign. I am the born Great Communicator, even with no one willing to listen. I am a teacher, a writer, a sharer of knowledge, a charmer of strangers. I am The Magician, he who has all the tools he requires to shape his own destiny. But that goddamned word "potential"...it just smacks of failure. It reeks of some imagined goal not yet reached. I am not aware of what it is.

I am The High Priestess, surviving on instinct, navigating by intuition, dealing in secrets, watching from the shadows, waiting in the rafters. Magic that is only as magical as your inability to see through the darkness. That which is still just beyond your vision is what you still believe in when all else fails. Faith and prayer. The Higher Power(s). Conduit.

I am not where I want to be. Not yet.

I am not content. There is much left to do.

I am not published.

I am not recognized. Or famous. Or familiar.

I am drunk and still drinking. Tipsy without slobbering.

I am not who I wish to be. But who is?

I am not...

I am...

I...

So...I'm thinking more and more about the sort of world that would be left behind after much of the human race has deceased. And I'm wondering if it would make a great theme to tie together much of my poetry. There's a desolate (but not desperate, I hope!) and isolated thread, a voice that runs through my work. I'm not sure where or how this loneliness inside me started, but it's been there for a long time. This is not to say that I am not happy, or that I am lonely. At least, not that I am aware of. I am grateful and content.

But what about this idea? We'll see. Many poems I have written previously would work well within this concept. And I believe a great many more to come could easily fit. Just an idea. Maybe I've been watching too much Firefly and Defiance.


Lance.

It's a reference to myself, as well as a few of my other deviant friends on this site. Life gets in the way, we fall off the wagon, we sit idly by and watch the days sweep away the hours.

I have been trying to write a little bit each day, or at the very least, write things down inside my head, as I tend to do instead.

We are in the throes of the creative process. A zombie movie is shambling towards us, but still far off on a distant horizon. I put up an ad on my local craigslist, and only received a few responses...at first. So far, there has been quite the interest in this project of mine: about 20 emails. Not bad.

I will be the executive creative writer, executive producer, and the veto-man for all ideas. But I will try to be fair, and just, and honest. I am open to all ideas, no matter how silly they seem to be on the surface.

I have also become more interested in the ways of the Tarot. I bought a deck for myself, and a few great books to guide my way and teach me the light and the dark. My card for today is the Page of Swords. Look up its definitions, if you wish. For now, all I know is that it signifies a good start, with my head straight on my shoulders. Stay distinguished, my friends.

Yes, it's a terrible pick-up line, but I'm not here to lay down double entendres. Whether you hear me is one thing; I beg you please understand.

I was an avid deviantArtist for quite a while, mostly due to lack of other things to do. I had been employed and lonely (but not quite single), then unemployed and living in my head (but not quite single or lonely) for a time, and needed an outlet. I was open to it, and the words just flowed through me. I became prolific in my poetry. But then I stopped. I left you. I went away.

I used you, dA and fellow deviants. I used you, and I am sorry. I fear I may be doing it again, but I hope that we'll both set aside past slights and believe in me once more.

I don't do this intentionally--I have fits and run through phases and experience periodic episodes and it is unfortunately a large part of my nature. But nurture shows I can buffer these impulses with some form of moderation and logic and maybe we can, together, be (re)productive and create something worthwhile.

Maybe just once a week will do the trick. That should be sufficient, don't you think? Once a week of checking in with all of you and letting you see who I really am. We all aim to show our vulnerabilities at one time or another. We all wish that someone, somewhere, some time, could see the very inner workings of ourselves, all that we have to offer. And we all wish that same someone or someones would fully accept us as we are. No projection, no image, no shields or armor or defense mechanisms. Were it not for sarcasm, I'd always be naked.

Don't get me wrong, I always felt accepted here. Perhaps I was more than a little overlooked, but I did not do much in the way of refusing to blend into the background. Well, your wallpaper sucks today, and my jacket is real loud tonight. You'll see me coming. What happens next is anybody's guess.


Sincerely,
"ZombieToofer" aka Lance


(formerly PrestonMeyers, a sweet alter-ego that finally merged with the poor soul who wasn't yet ready to grow up and see himself as he really is)

prestonmeyers . deviantart . com