It took a post from our good blogfriend Here There Be Spiders to remind me that as much as I loved my dad, I have never honored him with a post on the anniversary of his death. Which is today, fourteen years ago.
On his birth, yes, but not on his death.
So this one is for you, Eddie, and also for Spidey’s mother, who died the same day.
Edward C. Schnee, zichrono l’bracha
Bugs, in formal wear.
Barney, also in formal wear.
Remembering is a blessing.
Happy Gotcha Day, Barney.
It’s been two years . . .
Every day of which I have loved you.
You’re even OK with Bugs.
It’s a fresh Sunday morning, cool and green. My tears – and a summer rain much like the one that swept through the day Fangie died – seem to have washed away the heaviness of grief. What remains is a tender soreness, the ache of a muscle well used.
I have also been so comforted by those of you who have remembered Fang. We may never have met one another except through this blog, but, still, we can share memories like that. That is just so heartening to me. Thank you so much for that.
So now seems the right time for a photo-essay in a lighter vein. The other day we broke out Kim’s Chateau Dryden Special Reserve Nipatini.
Naw. I drive better when I’ve had a few.
No really! Not high!
Well maybe just a little.
I’m fine now.
Time for a rumble. (Note Barney’s swishing tail.)
Well, maybe not. We’re both kind of . . . tired.
A problem? No. We can take it or leave it.
I just realized – this may be World Cat Day to the world, but it’s also the day Fang died. Two years ago.
For those who didn’t have the pleasure of knowing him, here’s my tribute to him. I still cry, reading it.
Here’s what Fang looks like now.
To Fangie. An excellent boy.
Any day to celebrate cats is good, but especially today. The International Fund For Animal Welfare says so. Others disagree. They think World Cat Day is February 7th.
When you have humans, you have controversy.
Bugs approves every and any day.
What was I saying, not two days ago, about unconditional love? This morning, in a poop-n-pukefest, the boys put that love to the test. Both boys.
While my oatmeal sat cooling on the table, Barney ran through the house doing the heinie-scootch, unsuccessfully trying to smear off a poopsickle from his backside.
As I was chasing him to clean up, Bugs began to hork his breakfast. In four installments. Once in East Bed, twice on the floor in an axis to West Bed, and once in West Bed.
Unconditional love, anyone?
The post I had planned next – the boys sampling Kim’s Chateau Dryden Special Reserve Nipatini – will have to wait.
Be careful what you ask for.
. . . no more work will be done.
P.S. You think she put the computer aside on her own? Come now. It is me, Barney, who put the computer aside. Human, I require scritches this instant. What e-mail? What — deadline, you say? Scritches, I say. Now. No excuses. Without delay. Now.