A Letter To A Good Cat

Dear Mollie,

I'm so sorry girl. You shouldn't have ended like this. As a stray cat, you took your life into your...sweet little multicolored paws, every day. I know that. But, you were never supposed to get hit by a car. You were too smart and cool and original for that. You were going to be the first stray cat to die of natural causes at the age of 25, I just knew it.

I hope a lot of things now. I hope it was an accident, and that the neighbors who complained about you and the rest of the strays we care for a couple of months ago didn't go gunning for you when you were in the street, and then put you in our yard to show us what they think about the strays and our looking after you. I hope whoever hit you felt bad and simply knew we would take care of things if you were in our yard. Either way, I'm glad you weren't left in the street.

I hope you didn't suffer. I hope it was quick, instantaneous, even. If you laid in our yard dying last night while we were watching TV, unknowing, that would kill a much larger part of me than the one that was killed when I found you this morning.

I hope we helped you. We certainly tried to. Remember March 2011, when Catpocalypse came and Animal Control gathered up the old guard of strays? Remember how you, in all your cat wisdom, defied the AC officer and showed her who was boss by sitting ON TOP OF THE TRAP FILLED WITH FOOD, and then sauntering off, un-captured? See, you were really too smart for this shit.

I hope you weren't too scared when we took you into the house, along with two other cats, last month to have you fixed and given your shots by Operation Sterile Feral. I know you weren't happy about it, that was obvious. But I hope you forgave us for trapping you in our basement, taking you to strangers for medical procedures you didn't realize you needed and then putting you back outside. You seemed to forgive us. In the month since we let you out, you rarely left our yard during the day.

I wish you hadn't left our yard at night, either. That way you'd still be with us. Oh, well. Kitties gotta hunt, I guess...

I hope you know you were the original cat. I mean, not really. But you felt like the original cat to us. I don't remember when I first saw you after we moved in eight years ago. 2008? 2009? 2010? I've got no idea, but I know that as the number of stray cats in the neighborhood grew and the number who came to our yard for a morning snack grew, you became a reliable fixture.

Hell, if it weren't for you, (and the resistance of St. Louis County to allow TNR) we wouldn't have most of the awesome new guard strays: Rudy (who's actually been living with us for four years), Sampson, Trey, Tim (who's had a home for over a year now), Keema, Kem, Orange Boy and Creamy. I promise we'll continue to do everything in our power to take care of them.

Mollie, I hope you enjoyed relaxing on our deck. I hope you enjoyed sunning yourself in our yard. I hope you liked all the food we gave you and it never made you feel icky. I hope, however old you were, that you had some fun. I hope you liked it when I patted your back and told you to be careful, have a good day and wished you happy hunting.

I buried you this morning, about an hour after finding you, in the back yard near our cat Luanne, who died just a few months after you refused to be taken away by Animal Control. You're between two flower beds and two two trees. I think you'll like it there. When the muddy ground settles a bit, I might try to plant some cat grass or cat nip on your and Luanne's graves. I think that would be fitting.

Luanne's been gone a long time. Mollie, seek her out wherever you are now. She's a good cat, too. I'm sure she'd love to show you around.

Love and Thanks Always,
Adrienne

Music Monday: Well, Let's Hope I Don't Get Fired

No emergencies here, folks. None at all...

Well, after last Monday's stress-a-thon I finally got paid (right after bitching about it, in fact) and then I went on to relax for a whole day before I started worrying about work.

When my hours got cut I went from being responsible for three company blogs to two. This means that every Friday I am now supposed to turn in two stories, one for each blog. In order to get stories I have to research client events and email them. Then, whether or not I have articles to write depends on if any of those clients get back to me.

Only one person got back to me. Not one for each blog. Just one.

I MISSED A DEADLINE LAST WEEK. FUCK.

On one hand I really feel I did everything I could to email as many contacts as possible. But on the other hand I know it might not matter. My hours got cut, I had two weeks where I got two stories in each week, and then I missed one. Only one client got in touch with me, so I only had one article for one company blog.

I spent the weekend trying not to panic, and did a pretty good job. Today, though? Today I have a headache and feel a bit dizzy. I haven't checked my work email yet and probably won't for at least another hour. I just need to not think about it for a bit longer.

However, I can think about music. Let's go!









There. Now I need the biggest cup of coffee I can get my hands on!

Music Monday: Jesus H. Christ

Just enjoy the kitty cats...Take comfort in the kitty cats...

Ah, life. I hope all of yours are going very well, because over here? Things are kinda shitty.

What is it about bad, sad things? Why do they come in waves and droves faster than you can adjust to one sucky thing? These past couple of weeks are pretty easy to explain, so let me do it by making a list...

Suck-A-Thon 2013

1) That new freelance gig I got at the end of February? Two weeks ago my hours got cut. IN HALF. And I was already working part-time. (-$$$$)

2) The very next day, HUBS' glasses broke. ($$)

3) By the end of the week one of our cats was sick. ($)

4) We exhaust all the cash in the house and one small savings account for bills and living expenses. (-$$)

5) Our cat gets sick again, but this time needs several days in the hospital and a surgery, just completed today. ($$$$$$)

6) I've been happily getting much needed medical tests for over a month. And now, when those bills come in it will be severely nerve-wracking. ($$)

7) My last big check from work should have been here by the 1st. I STILL DON'T HAVE IT AND THEY WANT ME TO WAIT UNTIL WEDNESDAY BEFORE THEY CUT ME A NEW ONE. (-$$$)

What really kicks my ass here? This is our fault, going WAAAAYYYYY back to neither of us saving enough money when we were on our own (with the exception of my now depleted 401K). Back to me not leaving my old job A LOT sooner, leading to an emergency exit that we still have not bounced back from. Back to the depression that makes it really hard to just stick with it and keep going all the time.

So. I literally spent the past 8 hours looking for work. And was able to apply for a whopping three jobs that I'm qualified for which don't involve toilets or garbage. Don't think I'm being picky; I will probably be applying for those by the end of the week.

Why does life kick us when we're down?

I'm trying to be Zen about all this. What do I need to learn from all this? What can I do better? How can I do better?

But, really? I'm just pissed. And nervous. And very unsure about our future.

My skin has broken out and I get queasy several times a day. I'm crying more than I have since starting depression meds and it's hard to sleep.

Well, I'm going to stop talking about this now and play some music.









How do you get through when life keeps kicking you in the teeth?

I Have A Wrinkle

Oh, boy. Here we go...

I know what you're thinking:

Why is this lunatic (You do know I'm a lunatic, right?) worried about one wrinkle? Isn't she almost 40? Fuck her!

Look, I understand how this sounds. It's not like I have NO wrinkles, but they are specific to the faces I make. So, when I laugh the laugh lines appear and when I'm not laughing they go away.

This wrinkle? This wrinkle is threatening to implant itself in my face and stay around no matter what I do with my facial skin.

I don't like this at all.

Why God, whhhyyyyyyy?! I'm too young for permanent face folds!!

The only reason I noticed it, is the giant zit I've had in between my eyebrows for the past week. I'm a little bit OCD, so I simply cannot leave a zit alone. I have to make it go away. Hence, I've been examining my between-brows area in detail for DAYS.

A couple of days ago I saw the weird line. What's that? I thought innocently. I pulled my forehead back, it was still there. I made my face expressionless, it was STILL there. Then I went the other way, I did this:





And there IT was! My permanent scowl/knit eyebrow wrinkle! Yeah! Aging is SO, SO AWESOME!

I mean, what the hell, people? I don't make this face on a regular basis. Maybe when I yawn. Maybe when I sneeze. I'm not doing any of that crap 24/7.

Is this what it's going to be like from now on? Everyday I'll wake up with a new wrinkle that makes no sense for my life, you know, just because?

I've been inundating the area with lotion and mild exfoliating treatments...No dice, y'all. It's STILL FUCKING THERE.

Oh, well. It's AGING or DEATH, right?

Also? Stay out of the sun:

I Might Be A Terrible Daughter

I talked to my mom on Monday. It had been a while since I spoke to her, I probably called her a week or two ago.

Being an only child who sometimes neglects to call her mom on a regular basis, I have often considered myself not the best kid in the world. But when PT called me Monday, well, I realized just how shitty I am.

PT had, apparently, called me on Saturday and left a message, but I hadn't listened to it or even noticed that it was her that called me because I'm sometimes crappy about picking up messages.

She revealed that last week was hard for her. I said, "Have you been sick?" And PT replied, "No, Adrienne, you know mom died on February 16."

Oh, shit. I forgot about the anniversary of my grandmother's death.

Of course she had a shit week! And I wasn't there for her. Even though at the beginning of this month I reminded myself to call mom around anniversary time. But, I didn't put it on my calendar, so I was wrapped up in my own bullshit and let it completely slip my mind.

She didn't give me any grief over it, but I know she wishes I'd called her. I could hear it in her voice. And you know what? I forget every year.

PT and her mom were very close. I know how hard her illness and death were (are) on mom, but I can't remember to do this one very basic thing for her once a year.

I don't know why this is. Really. Is it just my never-ending mental crap? My general dislike for talking on the phone (thanks to my 9 1/2 years as a receptionist/admin)?

Who the hell knows. I put a reminder on my calendar so I won't forget next year. Though, it doesn't change the fact that I feel I shouldn't have to do that.

My grandmother was a cool, calm lady who bought me my first purse, gave me a love of hats, never cursed and "smoked" cigarettes by lighting them and letting them burn out in the ash tray. Every time I think about her I wonder why I don't miss her more. Then I feel bad about it. Then I push those feelings way, way down because I really don't need anything else to feel bad about.

Maybe what I really am is a terrible granddaughter.

Dammit.

How do you deal with tough family things you'd rather stay away from but know you shouldn't?

Music Monday: It's In The Way You Use It

I love fall. I mean, love fall and its weather with a passion. I got the chance to drive around on Sunday and relax in the presence of pretty, pretty leaves. It was nice, and I hope you are all enjoying the cooler, more colorful days we're having.

HUBS is still in pain. He has now had two cortisone shots in his back and is taking some kind of muscle or nerve relaxant along with his pain meds. It's not helping. Plus, he had to go back to work as of today, where he had to stand in pain most of the day since sitting feels even worse.

I don't know what to do for him anymore and it hurts and makes me angry and sad and frustrated. As you can likely guess, it's doing wonders for my depression!

I mentioned before that I've been seeing a therapist again. On Saturday she suggested I talk to my doctor and go back on mood meds. Which made me cry. I'm not ashamed of taking drugs to feel more like a normal person, I just hoped I was done with that when I stopped taking Wellbutrin four years ago. But, considering the state of my unhappiness right now, and the fact that my therapist doesn't feel the tips in The Depression Cure alone can lift me to a normal level, I might as well.

Another thing screwing with my emotions? My stupid hair! To put it mildly, it's a 20 mule team cluster fuck up there. Oh, well. I'm going to keep trying new techniques to see if I can come out of this transition without going bald.

Enough of the pity party! Music!

Dammit Robin!

I know it's been a few days now since Robin Gibb lost his battle with cancer. If you haven't heard the glory that is How Deep is Your Love, you should play the above video right now. It's in my personal top 20 of favorite songs.

Now, can our music legends stop dying for a while...Please?

Dammit, Donna!

...

Disco lady Donna Summer is gone today. Remember how huge she was in the '70s and early '80s? When I was in college I bought a cassette tape of her greatest hits and wore that sucker out. She was only 63. Let's take a trip back in time, shall we?

That's How It Goes

HUBS' grandfather has liver cancer. In one week he went from being basically fine to not really recognizing his family. Since he's 91 years old (his birthday is actually in a couple of weeks) and the cancer wasn't found until it was very far along, there's no treatment that wouldn't make things much worse for him. Right now his family is just trying to keep him comfortable.

On Easter, HUBS and I met his parents at the house Grandaddy G shares with HUBS' uncle. We had the annual Easter dinner there without any of the usual fanfare. It was just us five around the table eating as his Grandaddy G rested in the hospital bed that hospice workers brought for him.

When we were about to eat dessert, a priest came to give him last rites. Apparently he was just coherent enough to follow what was going on and mouth responses at the appropriate times, but I didn't notice this. I was too busy trying not to cry, especially once HUBS' mom teared up.

I know how important that is to Catholics. Part of me was afraid that whatever is keeping Grandaddy G here would have its hold loosened by the rites and he'd die soon after. I've never seen anyone or thing that was significant to me or a loved one die. Not my grandmother, uncle, cousin or even Luanne. I was slightly terrified of being around for that. And so was HUBS.

There was a moment on Saturday when his parents had called and said Grandaddy G was doing badly and we should come over then, just in case he didn't make it to Easter. HUBS didn't want to go. He didn't want to be part of a death vigil; watching his beloved grandfather (his last grandparent, by the way) slowly fade away while he and the rest of us did nothing, because there was nothing we could do.

He also didn't want to know he might die and not try to get there to see him one last time. HUBS was torn. To the point where it, this horrible situation that many of us will come to at some point, made him angry. I told him he didn't have to go. I told him not to think about what his parents, sister, cousins, uncles or anyone else might say to him if he decided not to go. What was important was that he'd be able to look back on this day, and be alright if Grandaddy G died and he decided not to be there.

As we got ready to leave Saturday, he called his parents back and found out that his grandfather was doing much better. Well enough that his mom told us not to worry about the two hour drive that night, but to wait until Sunday as was originally planned. HUBS was clearly relieved.

Yesterday, his parents and uncle moved Grandaddy G into a nursing home in their small Mid-Missouri town. The same one that has taken care of two of HUBS' other ailing grandparents once the family couldn't care for them anymore. HUBS came home from work feeling tired, ignored, frustrated, disrespected...Sadness makes everything bad feel worse.

Dammit Davy!

I grew up watching The Monkees. That might sound odd for a 37 year old to say, but by the time I was a tween, the '60s were back and Nickelodeon was playing The Monkees in hour-long blocks twice a day.

What's most disturbing about this for me is that Davy Jones was only 66. My mom is 61. It is not time for people my mom's age who were previously healthy to start suddenly dropping dead. That scares the shit out of me. Just...Dammit!

Music Monday: Dammit Whitney!

Just...sigh...



Some much happier news? Adele won a shit load of Grammy Awards! And she's on the cover of Vogue!



Meanwhile, if you need a Grammy inspired laugh...



The world just gets classier everyday.

Dammit, Nicki!!

Oh, Katy...



Ahhh...That's better!

Me And Al Sharpton? We Are Done!

...

Not that we were ever super-tight, but Sharpton said some ridiculous shit when he gave Tyler Perry an award from his National Action Network last week. What did he say? Al Sharpton said that Black people who diss Tyler Perry films are "proper Negroes."

What kind of idiocy is this? There's no Black Handbook, that lists appropriate likes, dislikes and opinions for African Americans. And you know what, Al? If there were, it would be WRONG.

We are just as free as White folks, Latinos, Koreans, Native Americans, and everyone else to dislike Tyler Perry movies if we want to. The idea that True Blackness = Loving Tyler Perry Movies is out-of-this-world foolish. I am a 100% positive that ALL Mexicans don't love Eva Longoria and that ALL Caucasians don't love Leonardo DiCaprio.

Life doesn't work like that, regardless of race or creed, and someone Sharpton's age should certainly know that. Will the asininity among Black people never cease?!

Music Monday: Dammit Amy!

I don't know what kind of person Amy Winehouse was, but whether she was nice, flirty, bitchy, sad or a brawler it doesn't matter now. I really wish she had been able to get her shit (whatever the cause of that shit was) together. She had a great, original voice. Too bad she was ready to join the club.




Obviously not her in the video, but it is her singing.

August 2009 - July 5 2011

Well, yesterday at around 11:30 am, Luanne passed away. It's not quite that simple, but I can't get into all the details right now.



I'm really sad. I feel like I'm sadder than when my grandmother, uncle or cousin died. I know time is severely compressed for cats, but they had all been sick for so long that the possibility of death seemed more imminent. Plus, I wasn't directly caring for any of them on a daily basis. Even though they were people and family, I think that proximity to illness is a factor in how much this hurts.



As you can see from the dates in the title, Luanne wasn't even two years old yet. What sucks is that just a couple of weekends ago (on June 24 and 25) she seemed to really be starting to adjust to her anemia. She started jumping around onto things and into windows that she'd ignored for weeks. She jumped up in my lap and curled up there for a bit. She even spent most of Saturday night that weekend in bed with HUBS and I. The power had gone out and I think she was nervous. After chasing a little flying creature around on our dresser in the light of a flashlight, she jumped right over to the bed and curled up between us.



It was pretty sudden, on Monday she was fine. On Tuesday morning she took a turn and died on us.


Luanne's most recent nickname was Poodle Paws

I'm always going to wonder if I had done just one, or two or maybe three things differently if she would still be with us. Long enough for her birthday at least. I am glad for the time we had with her, though.



And yet, I'm still really sad.

Cicada Crazy

Photo

Ok, nature. I know these things are only around for about six weeks every seven or thirteen or seventeen years, but, oh my! I am fucking tired of the noise and getting attacked every time I leave the house.

Monday seemed to be their peak day in our yard. They literally covered the trunk of our small tree and had infested all the branches and leaves. I got too close and ended up getting pelted with cicadas! (Alright, maybe it was just one. But having that thing hit me in the back was terrifying! Really!) I would have taken a picture of it for you, but I'm afraid to leave my damn house, you guys.



In other, cat related, news, Luanne had to have a bit of what I'm calling spa time over the Memorial Day weekend. And by spa time I mean time in the hospital from Friday night through Monday afternoon.

I had taken her to the vet specialist for some tests Friday morning. He took blood and did x-rays to make sure nothing else appeared to be wrong, since she's been lethargic and still isn't eating on her own. Then, he called me around 4 p.m. to tell me all her levels looked fine, except for her being anemic. Before I had a chance to ask where to get cat iron pills, he told me she'd need a blood transfusion. SAAAAAAAAAAAAY WHAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!

So, since they're closed on weekends, HUBS and I had to head off to yet another vet specialist hospital so Luanne could get her some spankin' new kitty blood. The doc thinks the anemia was caused by some blood borne bacteria or parasite that can lay dormant for quite a while. She got sick, her immune system was compromised and the bastard kicked in.

I take her back to our usual specialist tomorrow so they can recheck her levels, because she's still not eating on her own or moving around much. And now? Now she's also peed without going to the litter box twice. I'm afraid to let the chick sit down anywhere without a towel under her. Dammit...

I SURRENDER LUANNE'S HEALTH TO THE DIVINE!
I SURRENDER LUANNE'S HEALTH TO THE DIVINE!
I SURRENDER LUANNE'S HEALTH TO THE DIVINE!

This Is, As My Grandmother Would Say About Much Worse Things, Some Better

Little Luanne, aka Cartoon Cat

I do apologize for my absence, but we've had two sick cats. Julia (who, our vet informed us, by the way, is actually male) has been battling an upper respiratory infection since we got...him three weeks ago. Last week Luanne started sneezing and by Sunday I noticed that I hadn't seen her eat anything.

Two early (I mean fucking. early) vet appointments, several botched feedings, multiple medications and one syringe-laden, two-person forced feeding later, she's eating again.

We're really hoping the antibiotics and appetite enhancing meds will kick in soon so we don't have to force feed her for long. 'Cause that shit? Is super DUPER HARD.

In other news, my uncle's father died this week. He and my mom had different dads, and I'd never met his. Now, in a three year period he's lost a brother, his mother, his son and his father (the last two within four months of each other). Fuck all, ya'll.

I really need a good, not worried about sick cats night of long, deep sleep.

God speed and good night.

Heart. Is. Breaking.

So, you remember me telling you about all the stay cats in my neighborhood? Well, today County Animal Control stopped by and started rounding them up. I'm heartbroken. I talked with the lady who was setting the traps in my yard this morning and she said they hold them for a week to see if anyone claims them. Then? Then, if the cats don't look like they're good with people, they euthanize them.

After being tricked with food and trapped in a cage the cats only get one week to suddenly be good with people or they're dead. I hate this.

I had to stand there and watch as one of our favorites, Julia, got trapped in the cage. She was so scared. I'm just praying she calms down enough so that they can adopt her out. Unless we get money back from our taxes we won't be able to take her in. As it is we're already pretty full with three cats, but we are considering going to get Julia.


This is Julia in 2009, she was still a kitten. It's hard to believe we may never see her again.

Even worse, a pregnant cat (like Miller and Harris, the gray cats in the top photo) who doesn't get claimed in a week may be euthanized even if they are good with people. 'Cause who's adopting a pregnant cat? So even though Miller is super-adoptable (we pet her all the time and she loves it), she may be killed just because she's knocked up (if they catch her, I hope they don't).

My question is, where was County Animal Control four years ago when we moved in? The trapper I talked to today said that they noticed a problem so they're trying to take care of it, but there have been strays since we moved in. Why the fuck couldn't they have stepped up their efforts before HUBS and I and the guy across the street got attached to the stays?

I know we're not the ones who'll actually be physically hurt if they strays don't get adopted, but this feels like a giant Fuck you and everything you care about! from the universe. Especially after all the loss my family has suffered. It's like one more Ha HA, try to deal with THIS! from life. (And yes, I know life gives us those on a regular basis to keep us on our toes and grateful for the good things and yada yada...Doesn't make this any easier. Pitiful as it may be I feel like these cats are my friends.)

I HATE HATE HATE THIS TUESDAY. And I really hope you're having a better day than me. Really better.

Tuesday Tipday: Unnecessary Eyebrow Bullshit

I hope everyone had an awesome, warm weather filled weekend, because I have something very important to discuss with you.

You know, I try very hard to keep up with all the personal maintenance things that come up: cleaning the ear wax, mining the nose, keeping the teeth pearly, removing random whiskers, making sure my mustache fuzz doesn't make me look like a lazy transvestite...But this one really caught me off guard last night.

I was getting ready for bed and decided to clean up my eyebrows a bit. So, I'm plucking away and got something in the tweezers that I thought was lint or Tux fluff, because it was white. It was not lint. It was...wait for the horror...A GRAY EYEBROW HAIR.

What?! Just...Huh?

I mean...You know?

I'm only 36!!

Holy...Holy Damn Hell Fuck Shits!!

We know what's next, right? Gray nose hairs and then gray whiskers and then...A gray coochie. Oh, God yes! I cannot wait for the gray coochie!! That will be a banner day, y'all!!! And while I'm yelling in print, what's with the English language allowing two different spellings for gray/grey?!?! We needs rules, English Language! They keep us from devolving into anarchy!!

*sigh*

I was seconds away from shaving those betraying bastards off and going full-on Crawford by just drawing that shit in, when I calmed down.

I found some things online about gray eyebrow pencils and general info for looking good with gray hair. But lets all make note of my Tip: pluck the hell outta that shit! Unless you realize you have 120 eyebrow hairs and now 90 of them are gray, just get rid of it. Especially if your head, nose and sweet lady parts are mostly non-gray.

I feel better now. Go, my pretties! Enjoy your gray-free brows! Fly! Fly!!!

Tuesday Tipday Wednesday: For Your Kitchen, Or, Home Ownership Can Drive You Batty

Monday's exhausting night led into an even more exhausting Tuesday. A two and a half hour nap was brought on by what can only be described as Home Repair Despair.

As I was feeding the stray cats that morning, a neighbor pointed out to me that (wait for it...) our gutters were falling down! Looks like last week's snow has melted and refrozen just enough to clog our gutters and then drag them down from the heft. The panicked anger that followed really cannot be described.

After I found someone to come out and do an estimate, I called PT to vent and broke down like the champ I am: crying hysterically, yelling, pacing the floor and barely speaking coherently from all the not-being-able-to-quite-catch-my-breath. Why so freaked out, you wonder? Well, last weekend I was setting about fulfilling 2011 goal #5, when I did the math and realized that after paying off all those credit card bills last fall, HUBS and I will still be behind (by $32.20) when the 401k money runs out.

This means that we will, once again, have negative cash left after paying all our bills. No money for groceries, toothpaste, cat food or entertainment. None. So, once the 401k train has left the station, we'll be fucked yet again. And now we have a home repair to attend to. I was hoping it would cost no more than $120, but I can deal with the $385 first estimate to replace all the gutters with stronger ones.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Well, on to today's tippy goodness. I told you last week how much I've come to lovelovelove Mad Hungry? Well, there's been one negative side effect: I think I'm addicted to cookbooks, because now I want every cookbook ever written. EVER.

I have spent countless hours since buying MH trolling Amazon for other cookbooks. I'm reading reviews and excerpts, comparing prices at other sellers and getting giddy from the thought of buying them. Now, since I haven't actually finished MH, I have been able to restrain myself and haven't bought a single thing. But, if chopping, peeling and measuring is your idea of a good time, today's tip comes courtesy of my current cookbook wish lists above and below.



So, what cookbooks do you love?

And We'll Start Our New Year With Another Funeral

My cousin died on Sunday. Last I'd heard, he was doing astoundingly well, so I have no idea what happened. Say a little prayer for my uncle.

We'll talk more tomorrow.