As I mentioned in my last non-entry, my internet access has been very limited as of late. It's driving me crazy! There seems to be something wrong with my computer, because I've tried three different ISP's (well, two, really, I don't count AOL as a real ISP) and none of them is working right. So I've got to take my computer back to my folks' place so Dad can take a look at it.

But at least this forced me to leave Earthlink, which I'd been wanting to do for months. (Their ties with Scientology make me very uncomfortable.)

So here I am at work, throwing together an entry, despite Disney's new crack-down on internet usage, because I really, really miss writing in my journal. But instead of typing directly into the Geocities Advanced Editor (my usual mode of updating), I'm typing this on Word, then I'll cut and paste. Better to minimize the actual time on the system. (They can track everything, ya know. You know who I mean. *looks over shoulder at the Big Mouse*)

Well, life continues to roll along. Right over my feet. More oh-so-fun stuff has been happening, and, frankly, I'm getting sick of it. I think I'll report the past few weeks in installments. Hmmm, where shall I start?

Let's start with Sunday, September 19th, shall we? I woke up rather late that day, due to little sleep the previous week and getting home late from my mom's birthday celebration the night before. The kittens were making a lot of noise at 8am, so I woke up, shooed them all out of the bedroom, shut the door, put ear plugs in my ears, and went back to sleep for another four hours.

At noon I rolled out of bed and went into the kitchen to commence cat feeding. The doors to the kitchen sink cupboard were open. (How the cats managed to do that is beyond me, since I've got ribbons tied around the cupboard door-knobs to keep that very thing from happening.) That worried me, since there is an opening for the plumbing which leads to underneath the apartment. It would be very easy for any of the cats to crawl through and get stuck under the building.

I checked to make sure none of the cats were in there, closed the doors and tied them off, then finished with my morning cat duties (feeding, cleaning litterbox, etc.). Strangely enough, little Ella didn't come when I put down the kitten food. Fluffy One and Black One came along and ate just fine, but then they huddled together in the middle of the living room. Very strange. I looked around the entire apartment to see if she had gotten in some drawer or cupboard that I might have closed. I looked under all the furniture. Still no Ella. Then I thought that maybe she had crawled underneath the apartment after all. I opened up the cupboard doors and called to her, hoping I would be able to hear her if she meowed her tiny little squeak. After an eternity with no response, I thought that I should see if I could access the crawl space under the building and find her that way. So I threw on some clothes and went outside.

Neighbor Ellie was in her yard when I went outside and offered to help me find Ella. Ellie is a very nice lady, in her 70's, I think, and loves to talk. She is also devoted to her pets, so she understood my unease at Ella going missing. She walked around, calling Ella's name, while I borrowed her flashlight and swept it under the building, hoping for a glimpse of my sweet little gray tabby girl. We carried on with this for another eternity, with no luck, even after bringing out the canned food. I informed Neighbor Billy that Ella was missing and could he keep an eye open for her? Of course he would.

Then I remembered one place inside the apartment that I hadn't really looked. I have an old swivel recliner that was given to Ex and me by his mother. When we broke up, he left it behind, since I liked it more than he did. I had just recently discovered that the kittens had started crawling up inside the back of the chair and were tearing out the foam inside. A couple of days prior I found little bits of foam all over the floor around the chair. I knew then that I'd be stapling some fabric on the bottom of the chair on Sunday.

(You may have figured out what's coming. Very sad reading up ahead. If you're very sensitive, click here. You may not want to read this.)

I wish I hadn't waited. I tipped over the chair and saw Ella's paw sticking out. I touched her tiny paw and got no response. My heart stopped, my hands started shaking and I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I put the chair all the way on its side and looked up the back. There she was, a grimace on her little kitten face. I thought, maybe she's just stuck, I'll just get her loose. So I touched her body and still she didn't respond. Realization and denial hit me at the same time. I fell back on my heels and screamed out her name. No, no, she's ok, she's just stuck, how am I going to get her out, I don't want to hurt her. My body was shaking and my face was numb as I touched her again and again, chanting her name as if that would garner a response, any response. There was none.

I grabbed my keys and ran out the door, locking it behind me (purely reflex) and I rushed over to Billy's, knocking on the door, banging on it, really. It took forever for him to come to the door, and when he did open it, he was wearing a towel. He saw the look on my face as I tried to keep from falling apart.

"I found Ella. I think she's dead." I lost it then and there. I cried and tried to talk while my throat closed up and my knees started to collapse. "She's stuck in the chair and she's not moving. I think she's dead but I'm afraid to get her out because she might be caught on something and�" I don't even remember what else I said, but Billy threw on some jeans and a t-shirt while I stood on his door step, shaking and crying, then we went back to my place. He looked inside the chair while I hung back, trying to swallow my sobs, praying that I was wrong, even though I knew she was dead.

"Aaww, poor kitty," he said, his voice sad. Noooo, a voice in my head screamed. Billy asked for scissors, to cut the strings that had twisted around Ella's little body and neck. I ran to get some, finding only the scissors that I use to cut veggies and food pacakging. Well, I'll never use them for that again. He cut her loose from the strings and scooped her up in his shirt. I was afraid to touch her. I had never had to handle a dead pet before and I didn't know what to do. Instead I looked down at her face as Billy held her, and despite the slight grimace around her mouth, she looked peaceful, like she was sleeping and just having a bad dream. I said as much to Billy. "She looks like she's just sleeping and is going to wake up at any minute."

Outside, we wondered about the best place to bury her, and decided on the little garden area in the back of the building. It's a nice little shaded area that Billy put together many, many years ago, wonderfully cool with all sort of planter boxes for veggies and herbs. He gave her to me to hold while he dug her grave (right next to one of his kitties, so she wouldn't be lonely), and my fear of holding a dead pet disappeared. I held her and looked at her, tears streaming down my face as I apologized for not keeping her safe from harm, for being so selfish about wanting to sleep in late, for not being a better mommy.

Then Billy left us alone. I held her for a little longer, then placed her in her little grave and reluctantly covered her with dirt. That was almost the hardest for me. I knew that the moment I actually buried her would slam down a sense of finality which I wasn't ready to face, but I also knew I couldn't leave her uncovered. I looked at her as I buried her, until the last bit of fur was gone from my sight.

I ran back to my apartment and dragged the chair outside, into my garage. I couldn't have it in my place anymore, and I knew I could never sit in it again. Then I remembered the opening in my boxspring, where the fabric covering the bottom had been ripped away years before, and I ran to the local home improvement center to get some mesh to staple to the boxspring. I didn't want anything else happening to any of the other kittens. I ended up buying a nice pine bedframe at Ikea for $150, in addition to the fabric mesh, and proceeded to put that together. Now there would be no more danger for the kitties. Well, not from that. Now if I can just keep them from the electrical cords, everything will be fine.

I also thanked Billy profusely for his help. I don't what I would have done if he hadn't been around. Actually I do know. I would have just sucked it up and dealt with it myself, but I'm so incredibly grateful that I didn't have to.

I planted some marigolds at Ella's grave, beautiful red-gold marigolds for my beautiful little girl. Goodbye, Ella.

After all of that, I've decided to keep the other kittens. The little black one has really bonded with Matisse (Matisse looks like his mommy and I think Matisse looks at the little guy as a "mini-me") and I've fallen in love with the fluffy kitten, who's an absolute sweetheart, even if he does seem to have a foot fetish. Then again, so did Noel when he was a kitten, and the fluffy one looks a lot like Noel, tabby markings and all, though he's got a full length tail, unlike Noel's little poofy nub.

Well, this has been a singularly depressing entry, and I hate leaving people depressed, so let me end this on a better note. I'm very excited. On Wednesday, November 3rd, I'll be going with a co-worker or two to a seminar being held at the Museum of Television and Radio. It's "Twenty Minutes into the Future": A Max Headroom Reunion and one of the people will be there is none other than the beautiful, the talented, the indescribably gorgeous Matt Frewer. (Did I mention that I think he's just nifty?) The doors open at 6pm and I'm gonna be there as early as possible to get a front row seat. Also expected to show up are Amanda Pays (whom I stood next to at a craft services table a few weeks ago, at a taping of It's Like,You Know,and no, I didn't say anything to her, that would mean that I actually had some cajones) and W. Morgan Sheppard (Blank Reg). There may be other cast members there, but those are ones currently confirmed.

Another little tidbit: I made Tommy Chong laugh. Two days after standing next to Amanda Pays, I was working on That 70's Show!, as I do most Friday evenings. It was break time and the other pages and I were at the craft services table (the convergence point for all walks of show biz life). I said something vaguely humorous to one of my fellow pages and I heard a laugh across the table. I looked up and saw an older, bearded man with long dark graying hair smiling at me. He looked familiar, but I couldn't place him, so I just smiled a big smile right back at him, then we pages went on our merry way.

A bit later in the evening I was watching the taping and I saw the long-haired man from earlier on the set. He started talking, and instantly I knew who he was. Oh. My. G-d. That's Tommy Chong. I made Tommy Chong laugh. (Though I don't know if that's any kind of feat, really.) Of course, pathetic soul that I am, my next thought was: Hey, he did Senior Trip with Matt Frewer! Wow, two of Matt Frewer's co-stars in one week! WooHoo!

Oh geez. I used to have a life. What the hell happened to it?

Installment Two of September's Woes will be up within the next few days. I know, ya just can't wait, can ya?