My Best (Cat) Friend

Well, here we are in Massachusetts, though we lost one member of our family in the process. Not that I feel the move was responsible for our loss, but it certainly set the tone for our long drive north from Fairfax to Maynard.

Merlin, my cat, died yesterday as the movers were loading our belongings into their truck. I had taken the kids out to the Fairfax mall to keep them out of the way. Just as we parked, I got a text message from Amy: "Please come back. Merlin just died."

Stephen's high chair was like Merlin's throne.
An unobtrusive (though not unfriendly) black cat, Merlin had been a part of my life for damn near 12 years. When Amy and I worked in the fan factory, the company owner had a couple of cats. After one of them (a fluffy white and quite nearsighted cat named "Mozart") met a grisly end beneath the tire of a passing car, he bought a new kitten who would come to be known as Merlin.

Merlin wasn't the first "Merlin" to rule the company roost. The original Merlin had succumbed to some kind of heart failure, and had been replaced by Mozart. The boss had a thing for black cats named "Merlin," so before long the newest Merlin became a part of the warehouse staff (which, admittedly, consisted of Amy and myself).

Coincidentally, Merlin's arrival at the fan factory corresponded to the death of my own cat, Polly. Polly was an inbred calico with extra toes, and I'd been very close to her. She died suddenly of kidney failure (an autopsy showed that she'd only been born with one kidney to begin with). I didn't want to get attached to the new kitten at work; I was still mourning Polly's death. But I couldn't help it.

As a warehouse cat, Merlin had a special love for cardboard boxes.
While Merlin was also an office cat, he was most definitely a warehouse cat from the beginning. He spent much of his kittenhood atop our workbench, sleeping, eating, playing, and cuddling. It made an otherwise unpalatable employment opportunity acceptable, and in time Merlin came to view me as his person (with Amy running a very close second).

As much as I loved Merlin, he wasn't my cat. He belonged to the boss. However, the boss being who he was, Merlin didn't see the kind of veterinary care that he really deserved. His teeth were in dire need of cleaning, but the boss wouldn't spend the money required to get the job done. Amy and I ended up taking Merlin to the vet, and we paid something in the neighborhood of $300 out of our own pockets for a variety of tests and to have his teeth cleaned.

When the boss heard about the vet bill, he did something that we didn't expect: He gave Merlin to us. We were all too glad to have the little guy, given that the boss permitted the factory cats to wander outdoors in a very busy industrial park (which is what led to Mozart's death). The cats were very much property items to him, and though I figure he liked them in his own way, I doubt he really respected (or viewed) them as living, breathing individuals.

From that point, Merlin came to live with us in our apartment. He adjusted rapidly, for an apartment has creature comforts not typically had by warehouse cats. Sofas, beds, pillows; all were his for the having.

Never has a cat looked so hip in a Halloween sweater.
He was my shadow, always looking for a quick cuddle (though he would likely cuddle for hours on end, if I'd let him). He was vocal, too, and we had a lot of conversations ... mostly about food, I reckon. At night, he would invariably curl up next to my head on the pillow, and if I was taking more than my share he would touch his cold nose on my cheek until I made room for him.

The night before he died was our last one in Virginia. He didn't seem particularly nervous or worried as the movers packed our stuff on Saturday. Mostly, he sat on the bar in the kitchen and watched as things happened around him. Later that night, I shared some left-over roast beef with him as Amy and I, devoid of internet access, watched Anthony Bourdain on television. That night, like many others before it, he slept next to my head.

Madeline and Merlin, cuddling.
On Sunday, when the movers came to load the truck, we put the cats in the bathroom to keep them from escaping out the front door. My last interaction with Merlin was scooping him up and depositing him in the bathroom with Amy's cat, Hastur. Of course, I didn't realize it'd be the last time I'd see him alive.

Amy found him later on, laying dead on the bathroom floor. From the looks of things, Merlin passed swiftly and without any real muss or fuss. He was about twelve years old, I reckon; maybe a little older or younger. Since our move to Virginia, he'd developed a cough which I suspected to be asthma or allergies. Despite a number of trips to a cat specialist and hundreds of dollars in tests, we never figured out what was wrong with him.

My hope was that the move to Massachusetts, as well as a new house, would alleviate Merlin's symptoms. Now I suspect the problem might not have been with his lungs, but with his heart. Still, it doesn't look like I'll ever know for sure. Though he seemed as calm as ever, perhaps the stress of the move was too much for him.

Bedtime will never be the same without him.
I'll miss you, Merlin. You were a good friend, always there when I needed you. I'll miss you sleeping near my head at night, sitting nearby as I wrote for this freelance project or that one, and staring at me, annoyed, while I devoted my attention to Warcraft or some other video game. I'm sad that you won't be here to share this new chapter in my games career with me, but I will never forget you.

Happy trails, little buddy.

House Hunting, Day One

I viewed about six or seven properties today with the aid of my faithful real estate agents. Along for the ride was my friend Leonor, who I know from our mutual days at Mythic. The places got better as we went along, and on the way to the best of the lot (in my humble opinion), we were rear-ended at a stoplight by (of all things) a garbage truck. A FRICKIN' GARBAGE TRUCK.

I've been in one other rear-end collision, back when I was around 17 or 18 years old. That was a pretty major accident; I was sitting at a stop light, minding my own business, when a flat bed truck came from out of nowhere and turned my car into an accordion.

The differences between that accidnent is that I heard that truck's tires squealing as the driver attempted to avoid hitting me as I sat (quite stationary) in his path. Today's accident included no such sounds: no squealing tires, no screaming brakes, just the bone-jarring impact of a very heavy vehicle plowing into the car I was riding in.

I'm feeling somewhat stiff and sore. Whiplash is not a myth invented by litigious ambulance chasers, as many of you probably know. I expect tomorrow will be a kaleidoscope of full body discomfort. And before you ask, I've got a follow-up appointment with a chiropractor in the morning.

In any case, the police and fire department showed up to clean up the mess. The real estate agent went away in an ambulance, and Leonor and I continued onward with her business partner to view three more places (after securing another car to drive). The next house was, frankly, awesome. It's only got two bedrooms, but it's in a very nice location and it's very, very big. Hopefully I'll be able to secure it.

Of the last two places we saw, one was promising (though not ready for occupancy, as much of the interior is being finished). The last place, at least from the outside, was (as Leonor put it) "sketchy," so we opted to drive by and head back to the agent's office to get the paperwork moving.

In a nutshell, the day was interesting. Keep your fingers crossed for me!

Hard Labor

We've been in our new place for going on two weeks, and we're still unpacking. It gets to a point where the piles of boxes become intimidating, and between work and two kids, the last thing you want to do is move heavy objects. Last night, I threw all that out the window and moved them, anyway.

The first stage involved getting the boxes organized. Boxes marked "books" or "games" (and believe you me, there are a LOT of those) went against one wall, anything else went against the other. My goal was to make enough space in our dining area to assemble the dinner table. You never know how important a stable horizontal plane is to your life until you don't have access to one.

In the end, it was Mission Accomplished. The table is together, the boxes are (somewhat) more organized. We moved some furniture around and breathed a little more life into our new place. All I want is to feel at home, and it's hard to feel that way when everything that comforts me is sealed away behind strapping tape and cardboard.

As to work, it's going well. I'm starting to feel like a productive member of my team. What a wacky group of lunatics has been given unto me. I am truly blessed.

I miss gaming. I put an update on my Sideshow In Barovia blog to let anyone who cares know that the game is officially done due to my move. I was having a lot of fun with it, too. I may have to bring it back to life here at the new office.

My First Day at Mythic

There's not much to say. It went well, I reckon. It's mostly about getting used to what I'll be doing, and meeting everyone I'll be working with. There are a lot of folks in that last category, by the way. I will have to practice my name/face recognition skills, methinks.

Fairfax is a nice enough town, but it's hot here. Not Needles hot, but hot (and humid) enough to make the sweat pop out on my brow within a few seconds of being exposed to it. We're in a nice location, centrally-located to a lot of convenient shopping. Traffic can be a pain, but being a Californian, it's not as much of a nuisance as I might otherwise think.

The movers are coming today to bring our stuff. Up until now, we've been residing in a nigh-empty apartment with little more than our laptops to keep us company. Stephen has been playing with the same handful of Hot Wheels since we got here, but his grandma sent him more in the mail and he was very pleased to get them. It's tough entertaining children without the modern conveniences you normally take for granted.

I'd have posted pictures by now, but we brough the wrong USB cable for our camera. Typical of Murphy's Law. I'll have some up once we find the proper cable in any one of the 300+ boxes that should be arriving today.

Life Moves Fast

The days are passing by. My perception of time is blurred by the speed of its passage. I'm not entirely sure how all the cards are going to fall into place in the proper order, but I have to maintain faith that they will.

The move is only two weeks away.

Meantime, my days are filled with my old job (only 4 more days to go here), my family, my freelance project(s). And World of Warcraft. Can't leave that out. When I've extra time, WoW is a welcome diversion from my worldly concerns.

So, I've a copy of the Star Wars Saga Edition RPG. Haven't played it yet; I likely won't until after we've made it to Virginia and I'm settled in. It's on the top of my list of games to run once I'm entrenched in the geeky heights of my new position.

I'm also hankering to dust off my old World of Darkness titles. I blame Mr. Wiker and an all-too-short Ars Magica game he ran for Keri, Sean, and I on Saturday night.

There's also the question of the current game group, those whom Jeff B would call "the Master Class" group. We were well into the second portion of Expedition to Castle Ravenloft when all this insanity started. Odds are that I will not be able to bring the game to a suitable conclusion in the limited time I have remaining. It will have to drift, at least until such time I come back and dust it off.

Hey, it could happen.