To The Moon

In late August 1999, a long-haired calico known only as “Mama kitty” due to her numerous pregnancies gave birth to a litter of kittens in a garage on a farm somewhere in Iowa. Winter came early that year and was not kind. The kittens quickly succumbed to upper respiratory infections that eventually spread to their sinuses and eyes, sealing them shut behind a wall of crust. They all needed to see a vet, and fast.

I don’t remember how many actually survived, but it was at least three. I know all of this because I had only recently graduated college and that farm just happened to be the childhood home of my girlfriend at the time. I was visiting for Thanksgiving and got to keep one of the kittens as an early Christmas present. I named her Luna after a character in Lunar, Silver Star Story that captured my heart during the playthrough.

Baby Luna
I had just brought Luna home.

Luna’s persistent weepy eye was the only reminder of her early brush with death. Beyond that she was a healthy and vibrant kitten who delighted in keeping me awake by yelling in my ear and licking my face. Soon after taking her home, I moved into an apartment in Lisbon set above some shops on the main street there. It was a sprawling cavern with a galley kitchen and nearby bathroom, bookended by a master bedroom and the living room with a side room in-between.

All of that room for a tiny little kitten, and she managed to strand herself in the top shelf of my closet by climbing up my graduation gown on her first day left alone. Her tiny cries for help were the first thing I heard when I got home. Not too much longer after that, she took after her mother and started going into heat when she was barely eight months old. I could have sworn that I had at least a few more months before it was necessary, I rushed her to the vet to have her spayed anyway.

And then? She was a cat and did cat things. I lived in a lot of apartments where I didn’t think it was safe to let her outside, but she made the best of it anyway. Eventually she grew up into an exuberant and extremely fluffy testament to her species. And much playtime was had.

Stares Pouncingly
Stares Pouncingly

Luna inherited several attributes from her mother that made her one of the most adorable creatures I’d ever encountered:

  1. She was ridiculously fluffy, with a mane and tail that belonged to a Maine Coon
  2. She enjoyed, and even demanded belly rubs
  3. She was a lap-cat through and through
  4. She loved and trusted me implicitly

Sometimes she performed several of these feats simultaneously.

I was her personal masseuse

Eventually I moved into a house where she could “spread her wings” so to speak. It was a raised ranch set in a wooded enclave complete with fire-pit and deck. The house itself was probably smaller than my first apartment, but it was mine, and also hers.

I never begrudged her trips outside, and she knew to jump into the deck window to alert me that it was time to come back in. I certainly enjoyed that more than my childhood cat which jumped onto the screen door instead. Still, the veritable forest in my back yard was like a wonderland to her. It wasn’t uncommon for me to look outside and see her running head-first down a tree either chasing something or just stretching her legs. Even the rain wasn’t enough to dissuade her on occasion.

I don’t have a lot of pictures of this since my only camera was a “modern” Kodak DC240; digital or not, it wasn’t exactly as convenient or ubiquitous as a camera phone. It was still only 2004 after all. I regret both that, and the fact I moved away from that house given how much Luna enjoyed it. She’s been cooped up in Chicago and suburb apartments or homes ever since.

This is probably for the best in any case. In early 2008, Luna revealed she had a heart problem not uncommon in cats. I was actually ready to say goodbye to her even way back then, given such a diagnosis usually brought death within a year. But she took well to the appetite stimulants and heart medications and eventually got better.

This isn’t to say that she fully recovered though. It was pretty obvious that she’d lost something in the exchange. She’d grown thinner, weaker, and less active, and started matting more frequently. But she was still Luna, and still sat on my lap while I messed with my computer or read a book.

And then time passed as it always does, and Luna continued to defy the odds. One year post diagnosis became two, and then three. By the time we moved to a sleepy college town it was already 2012 and I’d long since stopped worrying about Luna’s health. Instead, it was time to consider her age.

I'm old, let me sleep!
I’m old, let me sleep!

She was 13 by then, and she’d long lost her ability to jump to 5-foot-high window ledges. When we first moved into the house, we stayed at a nearby hotel for the night so the moving truck could deliver everything the next day. When we returned that morning, she’d somehow gotten onto the kitchen counter and was yelling for our aid. We still don’t know how she got there, but it was an isolated incident she never repeated. Instead, it was time to live the easy life.

Looks comfy
Looks comfy

Time marched on and the combination of her age and heart problems gave way to some kind of seizure disorder. Though she always recovered from these once-a-month bouts, each one left her weaker, stiffer, and tangibly older than the last. Despite all of this, she was still my Luna. Still demanding my lap any time I was sitting down, still coming to bed and resting between me and my book before I went to sleep, still standing tall when she wanted to.

She's still got it
She’s still got it

But it also became increasingly obvious she was winding down. She was starting to walk with her feet turned out and disliked having her hips handled, two sure signs of arthritis. The seizures were lasting longer. Her sleeping more frequent. Eventually even ascending the couch or bed became too difficult at times, so we placed a wooden footstool nearby so she could always be with us. Surely her time was coming soon?

A majestic sight
A majestic sight

Instead, she’d reached some kind of fragile equilibrium. Her decline continued, but she maintained her trips around the large ranch home. From the giant LoveSac in the rec room to our bedroom on the complete opposite side of the house, there was no nook, cranny, or hamper she didn’t impose herself upon. She pawed at our legs for attention even then, insisting we never forget she was there before Salem and Lorelei in 2014, and Ash in 2017. My lap was hers, and hers alone.

Luna probably spent 1/3 of her life on my lap
Luna probably spent 1/3 of her life on my lap

And then Jen got a job in 2019 at a university further downstate in anticipation of finishing her doctorate, so we moved for the first time in seven years, Luna still in tow. By now Luna was extremely thin and her fur was starting to look ratty and uneven no matter how often I combed her. Though she still followed me around the house and imposed herself upon my lap, we’d started feeding her wet food. It was the only thing she would consistently eat, and she needed to maintain her strength. I’m pretty sure Fancy Feast Savory Centers saved her life for at least the last two years.

Still beautiful
Still beautiful

And then some time in 2020, it became blatantly obvious that Luna had dementia. Instead of following me around the house, she was set in a kind of pattern. She would go to a room where I was supposed to be, and if I wasn’t there, she would yell at the top of her lungs in distress until I showed up to calm her. Sometimes I just hadn’t gotten to my office yet, or was late going to bed; she’d yell all the same.

When winter arrived, she began to actually prefer the furnace registers to my lap, pressing her whole body flat into it for hours. A cat that old should be under as little stress as possible, so I ordered a cat bed heated by a small coil similar to a heated blanket. While Ash was the first to try it out, once I let it reach operating temperature and introduced Luna to the warmth, she rarely left.

She liked the warms
She liked the warms

And then Luna began to die. It’s much easier to see in retrospect, but it was as if the warmth of the bed finally allowed her to succumb to the years and rest comfortably. She ate less, sat on my lap less frequently, and stopped coming to bed to say goodnight in her special way. Eventually she only left to eat and use a litter box.

When Jen found her gently swaying next to the fridge one afternoon, it was obvious something was wrong. Her nearby food was untouched and she yelled when I tried to pick her up. Eventually I managed to move her to her bed again, but her breathing was hard and fast. I brought her to the vet the next morning under the assumption I would be putting her to sleep. Despite her survival nature, she was too old to weather a true health crisis.

The vet convinced me to give her one more chance since this could be transient, and how could I refuse? So Luna received a two-week bolus of steroids to try and encourage her appetite and maybe give her enough strength to defy the odds once again. And for the rest of that day, things had improved somewhat. She insisted on spending the rest of the day in my lap, and purred for most of it. She happily chirped random meows that sounded encouraging. Then she went to her bed for the night, and never really left again.

I think that was her goodbye; the last burst of energy the dying often have when the end is truly near. I moved a water bowl one foot away from the bed, and a food dish two feet. While she licked the food listlessly once or twice, she never actually ate. She barely drank. And from Friday to Monday morning, I don’t think she visited the litter box one single time. I could see how every breath wracked her whole body, and picking her up to comfort her promptly resulted in loud wheezing.

It hurt so much seeing her like that. I called the vet again Monday morning and explained the situation. This time there was no argument; Luna deserved a second chance, but it simply wasn’t enough. At twenty-one and a half, she was about 102 in cat years, and sometimes you just die of old age. She spent her last few hours in my lap, and then at 5pm, she went to sleep one last time while I stroked her. I had the vet take a clay casting of her paw, and gave her a few quick pets before leaving.

Finally Free
Finally Free

I honestly don’t remember the last time I cried—even thought myself incapable at this point—but I did after we left. I’m even having a bit of trouble writing this through tears, trying to do her life justice and missing her at the same time. After 21 years, she was my daughter; old enough to have finished college and vote. Old enough that I knew it was inevitable. Yet I’ll miss her interminably.

She was the cat that would lay on her back for the full extent of my arm while I held her aloft and rubbed her belly. She was the cat that navigated the wooden rafters in our townhouse even though she was 11. She was the cat that never bit or scratched me and purred seemingly without end. She was the cat that defied the odds so often, I almost thought she’d tricked death into forgetting about her. She was the cat that loved me above all else.

She was the cat that never left my side until she had absolutely no choice. And she’s the cat that has left my life, but will never leave my heart.

I hope you can finally rest, Luna. You’ve earned it many times over.

Harvest Moon

Luna’s health doesn’t seem to be improving after her visit to the vet. If anything, she has gotten markedly worse. While the steroids did increase her appetite for the first day, she continued to weaken further over the weekend. Whatever benefit the steroids initially provided has been overwhelmed by her steadily waning constitution. It’s all she can do to walk two feet from her heated bed, so I’ve provided her with a bowl of water and a tray of food she won’t (or can’t) eat.

So sadly, I’ve called the vet this morning to have Luna put to sleep late today. I love that cat too much to watch her suffer; starving, laboring to breath, collapsed on the floor because she can no longer walk. I feel terrible she’s had to endure this long, and I want to minimize that as much as possible.

Twenty-one years is a long time for a cat to live, and if I’m being honest with myself, she wasn’t even really “all there” for the last year or so. But despite being a bit slow to move, she still got around the house OK. The heated bed really was the last sign, though. Once she started spending all of her time there, it’s as if she was using it for some long-needed relief. I suspect that maybe her arthritis was bothering her more than she was letting on.

Regardless, it’s time for her to rest. I’ve literally had this cat for half of my life, which is saying something at 43. She’s earned a break after all of that. Given that she went into heart failure back in 2008, she’s been a remarkable survivor until now.

Rest well, Luna.

Lunar Quake

Two days ago, Luna’s health seems to have started rapidly declining. Jen noticed that she was standing next to the refrigerator and gently swaying for over an hour, and when I tried to pick her up, she yelled and bit me. I couldn’t tell if it was from pain or confusion, but I was being extremely delicate given that I know how old she is.

Even after that episode abated, she seemed unable to really walk. After a few steps, she flattens herself on the ground completely, as if she’s resting or simply too weak to continue. Given this was the case, I put her in my lap for the remainder of the day, and she never wandered away when I got up to leave my office. When the work day was finally done, she hid in Jen’s office behind a stack of books for the rest of the night. Salem even settled down nearby and kept watch over her until morning.

So I called our vet, concerned that she was finally on her way out after 21 and a half years. After seeing her, the vet told me a few things I already knew. Luna is too skinny because she doesn’t eat enough. She holds her head at a tilt most of the time, but the reason could be related to fluids under her eardrums or a tumor. But the vet thought that maybe some steroids could fix both of these problems, or at least give her one last chance to come out of the nosedive. So she gave Luna a two-week bolus of steroids, some fluid under her skin which I initially mistook for a cyst, and sent her back to me.

Luna was definitely hungry when she got back. She even started eating a hardened chunk of wet food she found under the dish while I was cleaning and filling it with a fresh can. But that hasn’t endured long-term. She didn’t eat once that can was gone and replaced with another later in the day, and despite giving her two different options this morning, both trays sit unmolested. Even if she had finished both cans, that’s not enough nourishment given she’s so scrawny now.

Still, she deserved the chance. There’s no reason to jump straight to putting her to sleep unless her quality of life has degraded to the point where she’s suffering. The vet said she didn’t seem to be in pain, and she still enjoys her long rests in my lap, so I’d like to continue those until she’s ready to let go.

Until Tomorrow,

A Quiet Retirement

Not too long ago, I bought a heated cat bed for Luna. Her age is really starting to show these days, and she can barely get around as much. We noticed that she was sleeping near the heating vents in the house, basically flattening her whole body against them.

Not only does she love the new bed, she hardly ever leaves it. She gets out occasionally if she’s too warm, and lays down literally one foot away next to the cold air return grate. I’m glad she likes it, and I feel better knowing that if she is starting to wind down toward the end, she’s comfortable.

All the cats have had their dental appointments for the year except for Luna, since she’s basically too old to go under general anesthesia safely. That set us back a cool grand, but at least all the cats will have healthy teeth. This is another reason we don’t have more than four cats; vet appointments and general upkeep aren’t exactly free.

It looks like a new “simulator” game will be available soon. I got pretty drawn into Car Mechanic Simulator, PC Building Simulator, and even House Flipper. Well, now Mech Mechanic Simulator should be available March 25th, and that should be pretty amusing. I’ve always enjoyed Mechwarrior bots, and screwing around with those in a more mechanical sense should be pretty engaging.

What I’m really waiting for though is Everspace 2. I have a policy of never buying anything that’s in Early Access, but the YouTube previous I’ve seen of it thus far make it look just about perfect. It’s not the rogue-like (not my favorite genre) that was Everspace, so I’m hoping it lives up to the hype.

In Keyboard news, I’m going to be buying some Sorbothane to sound-dampen my keyboard a bit. I’ve been seeking new key caps, but finding double-shot PBT Cherry profile backlit keys is surprisingly difficult. The shorter body of Cherry profile caps should decrease the key to frame resonance, and combined with making the keyboard less hollow, should quiet things down substantially. I’m not ready to give up on my GMMK just yet!

Until Tomorrow,

A Weirdly Productive Sunday

I woke up today at a time I never thought I’d see again: 8am. As someone who usually wakes up around 5:30-6am unable to return to sleep, it was definitely a welcome surprise. But more intriguing was the sleep chart from my Fitbit.

What’s this? Normal sleep?!

This is practically a template for a perfect night of sleep. Early dive into deep sleep for several short durations, and then a remainder of REM and light sleep. I don’t know what I did, because that’s something I definitely need to repeat.

In any case, I’m going to start adding Pregnenolone into my daily vitamins. Apparently it’s a base hormone for over 400 different systems in the body, and you lose about 2% per year after 30. Given that I have a Dacron patch in my heart which is made of PET plastic—a known endocrine disruptor—this is probably something I should have done 20 years ago or more. The idea is to start low at around 10mg and work up to 50, which seems to be the “accepted” dose for someone my age. It’ll probably be a few months (if ever) before I notice any differences, bet we’ll see.

I fiddled around in the morning a bit and made breakfast, took a shower, and so on. I don’t always get a chance to take everything slow like that, so I probably dragged things on a bit more than I would have otherwise. But as a result, it was 11am by the time I decided to leave to pick up some more cat litter, wet food for Luna, and get a haircut.

That out out of the way, I was in the mood to tinker. So I cleaned the inside of our stove’s vent hood. It had accumulated a substantial amount of greasy… fur? on the mesh grate over the filter, and I don’t think it was clean even before we bought the house. Now it looks practically brand new, which is a relief, because I had already looked up the part number for a new mesh.

Then it was time to try and fix the door to the garage from the house. Recently it hasn’t been latching, and we’ve resorted to blocking it with a bottle of bleach to keep the cats out of the garage when it inevitably pops open. I wish I’d examined the scratch marks on the strike plate before to took the whole door handle assembly apart and lubricated it. It turns out the house had settled on that side and the latch simply didn’t line up with the plate anymore.

This isn’t really the whole story, of course. That door had never really behaved, and only years of scraping would have worn those very light marks into the strike plate. Judging by those, the door had barely lined up even when it was latching correctly. Given that’s the case, I’d rather lower the strike plate by using a chisel, filling the old screw holes with wood glue and toothpicks, and drilling new screw holes.

Is there some reason strike plates don’t use elongated holes so you can adjust them up or down, given that houses settle, or doors sag over time? It seems like that would be the obvious and easy fix.

After that, it was time to try and fix my GMMK keyboard by finally adding o-rings. It turns out, this was a fool’s errand. I should have realized it when I noticed that the larger keys on the keyboard, such as Shift, Enter, Backspace, etc., all produce the expected “click”. All of the smaller keys have an overwhelming “clack” instead.

If this were an effect of keys bottoming out, it would affect those bigger keys equally. Instead, the smaller keys are somehow louder and even with two o-rings to prevent the noise, are not muted in the slightest. There is something about the acoustics of this keyboard—perhaps the modular switch mount points—that causes some kind of internal resonance. maybe it’s the more stable metal backplane, rather than my old keyboard’s cheap plastic.

Whatever it is, it’s distinctly not what I wanted. The switches themselves are beautiful, and I consider them a vast improvement over a Cherry MX Blue. In this keyboard at least, the click sound is lost to the clacking, and I’m not sure I want to compromise.

I saw some YouTube demonstrations of the MSI Vigor Gk50 Elite which uses Kailh Box White switches natively, and it sounds like I expected my GMMK to sound. Better yet, the keycaps actually have legends which include advanced features, rather than just the basic letters or symbols.

Before I take that drastic step to basically replace my new keyboard, I’m going to try a couple of other ideas, such as putting sound dampening material under the keys themselves. If that doesn’t work, I’m just going to write to GMMK and ask them what’s going on here, because it doesn’t seem normal to me.

Until Tomorrow