Lindsey Kuper (lindseykuper) wrote,
Lindsey Kuper


Oh, man, there's so much I have to write about, and it'll definitely take more than one entry to cover it all. I want to write about the work part of work, which involves the technology we're using and the division of labor and all that stuff, and then I want to write about the social part of work, which has its own subheadings, and then there are my own personal feelings about working there. Of course, I also want to write about band practice, which has a few subheadings of its own, and which even ties in with work a little (I'll explain later). And I'd like to write about my family, and the book I'm reading, and Life With J-J, and even about Cleo -- all of which is also hopelessly entangled with all of the above. I don't really know where to begin.

No, yes, I do. Cleo is J-J's cat. It makes me really happy to see them together because they've been together for twelve years, and he adores her, and she adores him, and they know each other very, very well. But although we haven't really talked about it much, we know that Cleo is old, that she's not going to live forever, and I suspect that that's part of the reason J-J's been talking about getting a kitten, so that when Cleo's gone he won't be catless. It really hits home for me because Rufus, my family's dog since I was in fifth grade, is also twelve. He's a very big dog, and the vet warned us years ago that "giants don't live that long", and we think Rufie's time is approaching fast. He has arthritis and has trouble getting up. It's heartbreaking to watch, because he's so eager to run over to wherever the excitement is and yet can't. Last year we got Wally, a year old, barely more than a puppy, and Wally's youthfulness brought Rufie's age into sharp relief. Rufus even looks old -- his fur is going gray around his face, his features are drooping.

We know that he's in pain most of the time. We could medicate for the pain, but it's expensive, and we don't know how much it helps, and my parents think of it as simply prolonging the inevitable. They're thinking about giving him the week or two of medication that they have left and then having him put down. I love Rufie. I want to see him before he dies, but I have no plans to go back to Iowa until we move into the new apartment in October and I'll need to get the rest of my stuff from my parents' place. My parents don't want to wait that long.


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