Still Here

I know that in the history of this blog, I’ve rarely gone more than a few days without posting.  Today I realized it’s been a week since my most recent post.  I’m not abandoning this blog; I simply was occupied with other things.

During the past week, I’ve spent much of my time with the volunteer work I’d been doing once or twice a week.  Also, the work I’d been doing with one organization led me to drop in on another, related, organization.  As it has to do with bicycling, I’ll say more about it on my other blog, Midlife Cycling.

Meanwhile, I am working on other writing projects that, I hope, will lead me to wider audiences and pay. One of those pieces of writing has just appeared on the HuffPost Gay Voices blog. Instead of reproducing it here, I’m providing a link to it—which, of course, is a cheap, sleazy trick ;-) to increase the number of viewers there.

Six Years With Max

Six years ago today, I took Max into my home.

A few months earlier, my friend Millie rescued him from a street that divides a shop in which metal is cut, bent and welded from another in which auto bodies are painted, sometimes in bizarre schemes.  Just down the block from it is a commercial bakery that supplies restaurants in Manhattan as well as in Queens:  the place from which Marley was rescued.

Millie kept Max in her house for a time.  But she already had other cats, and a guy who briefly moved into the neighborhood took him in.  He disappeared, as he was wont to do, for two weeks.  A neighbor heard Max’s cries.  Fortunately, the guy returned a day later, and Millie took Max from him.

I offered to take Max home—when I was ready.  You see, during that time, Candice, who had been in my life for twelve years, died.

I jokingly referred to her as my “ballerina”:  She was pretty and thin even though I fed her what I fed Charlie.  And she always seemed to be walking en pointe.

In some ways, Marley reminds me of her. She liked to jump into my lap, cuddle and curl, as he does.  Also,  she was a bit skittish, though very gentle, as Marley is. While Max always seems ready to greet anyone I bring into my apartment, Marley is more cautious:  It takes him some time to work up the nerve (or whatever cats have) to meet my guests.  However, once he “comes out”, he rubs himself against my guest and licks his or her hand.  Candice was like that, too.

She died  a little more than a year after my first Charlie.  They were about the same age (15 years), though Candice spent a little less time in my life because I adopted her when she was three years old, while Charlie came home with me only a few weeks after he was born.   But both he and Candice shared some important times in my life, including the early and middle parts of my transition.  And I owned about a dozen bikes (though not all at the same time) and rode about a dozen more during that time!

Then Max came along.  I’ve gone through some more changes (and bikes) and he has just loved, and loved some more.  He doesn’t have to do anything else.

A Growing Boy

Marley has been in my life for a bit more than a year.  When he first came into my life at the end of February of last year, he was still a little guy, save for his distended belly.  (He was born and lived the first five months of his life on the street.) Now, I can't believe how much he's grown:

Do you know why he's grown so much?  He's got an Italian mama feeding him!

Nice work if you can get it, eh?

Charlie, One Year Later

Today was mild for this time of year.  Although it didn't rain, or even drizzle, the air felt damp, as it has since the rain we got the other afternoon and night.

It actually wasn't a bad day to ride, in my book.  It's nice to ride on overcast days sometimes: I have fair skin, so a lot of time in the sun tires me out as well as leaves me at risk for sunburn and other things.  Still, I was feeling sad.  

While riding, I saw one of those billboard signs that shows the time, temperature and date.  I then realized why my mood was darker than the sky:  Today is the 13th.  

Last year, this date fell on a Friday.  Now, I'm not normally superstitious, so Friday the 13th doesn't mean much to me. But I recall the one that came in January of last year for one reason:  Charlie died.

Although Marley is adorable and sweet, he can't replace Charlie.  I didn't expect that he would; he just happened to come into my life a little less than two months after I lost Charlie.  Max took to him very quickly; he was always a very affectionate cat.  But Max, like Charlie, was with me during a very special time in my life:  my transition and surgery.  One simply can't replace the kind of relationship one had with an animal during a time like that.  

At least Max is still here and will be for years to come.  And, I believe, Marley is special in his own way, and I am developing a relationship with him that's different from the one I have with Max, or the ones I had with Charlie or the other cats who came before him.  Needless to say, it's also different from the relationships I have, and have had, with people in my life.  I guess that was the point, at least for me, of taking Marley into my life.  That, and the fact that he's ridiculously cute.

Anticipating The Storm

Max is a real New Yorker.  

We've been warned that Hurricane/Tropical Storm Sandy will be "catastrophic" and "a storm like no other".  

We were similarly warned about Hurricane Irene last year.  There was a lot of rain and it was windy, but the storm didn't live up to the hype, as we like to say in The Big Apple.  So, lots of people I know--and I--are skeptical, although we're making buying groceries, water, flashlights and such.

Max is doing his part:

On the other hand, Marley isn't quite so jaded.  He simply cannot get enough of my lap:

He doesn't want you to see his scaredy-cat expression.  You have to understand:  He's still young and has something to prove.

"It's Not Natural!"

It's been two weeks since I last posted. There's no particular reason for my "hiatus."  There simply hasn't been much to report --at least in terms of anything that has to do with what I've talked about on this blog--lately.  Plus, I've been doing a bit of reading and other research for some things I'm going to write and, possibly, post on this blog.


That said, I thought I might give you something "light" and, hopefully, enlightening.


The next time someone says "It's not natural!" or "It goes against nature", show him or her this photo:

Max, the older kitty, is on the left.  Marley, who was ricocheting off the furniture and walls just a few minutes before I took this photo, is on the right.


All right, I shouldn't make assumptions or cast aspersions on them.  So, I'll just assume that their union is a meeting of the minds:

ConCATenation

Here is something that gives new meaning to the word concatenation:

Max is in front; Marley is behind him. They know how to deal with the heat!

Life On A Rainy Day

Today has been unusually cool for this time of year.  It's also rained on and off throughout the day.  I managed to ride for about half an hour.

After a dinner of shrimp and corn bisque, tilapia coated with cornmeal, freshly-ground black pepper and thyme and sauteed in olive oil with capers and lemon, and a vegetable medley, I did some work.  But Marley (r) and Max had their own way of coping.  Oh, by the way, they dined on poached tilapia.

A Simple Life?

Normally, I'm happy to get home from a trip to Florida.  These days, I'm happy to see my parents, in part because I don't know how many more years they'll be in this world.  But, apart from them and some lovely bike-rides (The good and bad news is that they're all flat!), I have almost no motivation to go to Florida.


Since I got back last night, though, I'm feeling a little wistful. I think the feeling started on Monday, when I rode down A1A through Painters Hill and Flagler Beach.  Along the way, I stopped, for no particular reason, in one of those stores that sells things made out of seashells.


The proprietress was one of those friendly, helpful and sun-bleached people you meet by the sea, though not necessarily by the trendy beaches.  "Anything I can help you with, let me know," she intoned in a voice of sunshine and sea salt.  She wasn't one of those surly, hipper-than-thou storeclerks you see working in trust-fund enclaves.  She probably wasn't making a lot of money, but she also, most likely, didn't need to. 


I imagined myself in her place, but with my cats and bikes.  I imagined myself closing the store and riding Tosca up and down A-1A or along any number of other roads.  It used to amaze me there weren't more fixed-gear bikes in Florida; this time, I saw a pretty fair number in and around St. Augustine.  Of course, their riders were young, or seemed to be:  I don't expect a senior citizen who hasn't been on a bike since he or she was a teenager to hop on a track bike.


Anyway, I'll be back to my normal rides, work and such soon enough.  One day, if I can afford it and don't have to worry about property values, I might have a house that looks like this (ha, ha):

Another Pronoun Problem?

It seems I just can't get away from that issue of pronouns.


Actually, it's been a while since anyone's addressed me with male pronouns in face-to-face situations.  Sometimes I'm still referred to as "sir" or "mister" when I talk on the telephone, particularly in stressful situations or when I have to be assertive.  Otherwise, though, I never hear them, and whenever I walk into a store or other public place, people say, "Can I help you ma'am?"  On occasion, they'll call me "miss."  That gets them good-sized tips. ;-)


Anyway, someone else in my life has a "pronoun problem."  Perhaps I'll be accused of "transferring" mine!


It seems that everyone with whom I've talked about Marley has referred to him at least once as "she" or "her."  Even Stephanie, who rescued him, and Millie, who has seen him, have referred to him that way.  


I guess people associate cats with femininity and often assume a cat is female until they find out otherwise.  In Marley's case, he's still a kitten (though rather large for his estimated seven months) and is very, very cuddly.  And, even when he runs or has his little tussles with Max, his body language, if you will, seems almost feminine at times.


His "identity crisis" may also have to do with his looks--he's what many people would call "pretty" or "beautiful".  I see him that way, too, but I think of him as being rather boyish.  


Still, I find people confusing his gender to be ironic, and just plain funny.  Maybe one day he'll come up to me and say, "There's something I have to tell you.  I'm not Marley; I'm Marlene..."  Even if he does, I'll still love him.

Say Hello To Marley

Did a little bit more riding than I did the other day, without pain.  I think I'll be ready to resume regular riding soon.


Yesterday, though, I didn't ride.  I was welcoming the newest "addition" to my family.

Stephanie, who rescued Marley, brought him to my place yesterday.  So, naturally, I spent the day home so I could welcome him and ease the "transition."  Actually, Max is taking it pretty well.

Right now, my new family member seems to have two speeds:  sleep and "charge!"  As soon as we released him from his carrier, Max tried to play with him.  And, all through the day, Max tried to make friends with him.  It's been a bit more than a month since Charlie died, and Max seems to have been starved for feline attention ever since.


As my new friend is a "rescue" kitten, I can understand the nervousness and skittishness he felt yesterday.  I can also understand his need for sleep.

When Stephanie kept him in her apartment, she called him "Charlie."  Not only is that the name of my recently departed; it is also the name of a cat--also gray and white!--I had before him. So, I think I'm going to rename him.  For now, I'm calling him Marley.  I've read and seen "Marley and Me," but more important, I have recordings of just about everything Bob ever did.  My new friend doesn't particularly remind me of him, but I figure neither of us can go wrong with that name. Plus, I like the sound of it.


Speaking of sound:  I thought I heard a mouse squeak.  Turns out, it was Marley crying.  I've raised only one other cat from kittenhood--my first Charlie--and remember him crying that way, too.  What do they say? Big boys cry because they are always, at heart, little boys.

I don't know whether I'll ever try to carry Marley in a basket.  I never tried that with Max or my second Charlie  because they were big when I adopted them.  However, I took my first Charlie on a couple of rides when he was still small.  When he got bigger, he wasn't too keen on riding in a basket.  But, his being home was one more thing for me to look forward to at the end of every ride!  That's how I see Max's presence now, and how I will most likely see Marley's.