A New Problem for my Feet

That's right.  Kittens.  We have an infestation of kittens in one of our spare bedrooms.  The little orange one is named "Strax" and the black one is "Domovoi" (aka "Domo"). 

They're completely insane, adorable, cuddly and friendly, but they, particularly Domo, have decided that my feet -- the same feet that bring them their food and toys -- are an enemy to be relentlessly attacked at every occasion.

I'd be annoyed at them, but they're just so cute.  

They're probably going to be restricted to the spare bedroom for another week or two while Strax fights off a problem with his eye.  Plus, we want to very gradually introduce them to Higgy and Elizabeth, who are not going to be happy about this.  And we have hide all the sneakers.

A Furry Friend Lost

A little over 15 years ago, a tiny, mostly black kitten tried to claw his way up the leg of my jeans.  I was less than thrilled with this.  My girlfriend, Chris (who is now my wife),  had adopted this little cat, Pooka, and his brother, Higgy, the prototypical brown tabby, over the summer before our senior year of college.  I was less than thrilled with this.  Pooka passed away very suddenly yesterday, and now that one of my furry buddies is gone, I'm a complete wreck.

He was a great friend to us, and I'll always remember him.  He was always happy and outgoing.  After Chris adopted him, he adopted me.  I didn't particularly like cats, but Pooka decided that I was his friend, and he was going to pal around with me.  It didn't take long for me to grow very fond of the big, black, happy cat.

In his mind, everything in the house belonged to him and everyone in the world wanted to be his friend.  If you talked to him or petted him, he would be purring in seconds.  If you started petting him, there was a great chance that you had made a friend for life and an excellent chance that he was going to roll over to expose his tummy for rubbing.  Indeed, it was very common, as I walked around our house, to randomly come across Pooka lying on the floor with his tummy up in the air, purring.  He was a big, friendly, noisy presence in our house.  It feels empty here without him, and we will miss him greatly.  He was a great friend, and we could not have asked for a more awesome cat.

 This sad day could have come 10 years from now (15 corresponds to roughly 80 in cats), and I never would have been ready.  That said, I'm thankful for every day that I had with my great, soft, purry friend, Pooka the Cat. 

Pooka was not as good at hiding as he thought he was.

Post-race naps will not be as cool.

Foam rolling will never be the same.  Pooka always stretched with me before a run.  

Then, he would run the four feet to the kitchen in world-record speed.  

He usually made funny cat noises when he ran.

He was soft, cuddly, and good-natured, but he was also a fighter.  He had a lot of medical issues over the years and he always came through it with his good Pooka cheer intact.  Thanks to our friends at Valley Green Vet Hospital, he got to be an active, happy kitty for over 15 years and he was his cheerful self right up until about noon yesterday.  I'll never forget the time he came back home after having bladder-stone surgery when he was around 8 years old.  Drugged-up, he stumbled out of his cat carrier, took two steps and fell over.  I was concerned, but when I went over to check on him, he was already purring.  

After surgery, his tummy looked like it had a happy face on it.

He had to wear a cone for a few months in the winter of 2011.  After he got comfortable with it, he was hilarious.  It was then that he often started making a "rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" noise as he walked through house. So I'd hear him coming and then I'd hear a "bonk" as the cone caught on a wall or table.  Then, pause.  Then, after he'd confusedly adjust his direction, "rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr" and off he went.  

Or lastly, just a few months ago, when a pinched nerve or related issue caused one of his back legs to be paralyzed, it wasn't long before he was climbing out of the big bin that I'd made into his nest.  He never quite walked normally again, but just a few days ago, my wife and were marveling at some of the jumps our big old kitty friend would still attempt, and make.

I could go on, and on, and on with my favorite memories of Pooka.  But mostly I'll just remember how soft he was, how loud he purred, how friendly he was to both his biological brother and their younger adopted sister, and just how happy he was and how happy made us.  You're perfect, Pooka, and I'm glad we got to go through the last 14 years together.  

This Isn't Fun Anymore

That's what I said to myself on Saturday morning, as I set on the steps of Northeastern Middle School, breathing heavily, a veritable river of sweat running down the steps and into the parking lot below.  I don't mean to complain in saying that, but it's just a fact for me right now.  Nothing about running is enjoyable for me these days.

Two miles, a distance that used to be extremely easy for me, is a struggle.  I probably can't run a 5K right now and I feel like I'm a few weeks away from being there.  The half marathon I'm signed up for in October is probably a stretch physically, anyway, but mentally, it just seems completely outside the realm of the possible.

More troubling, is that I just don't want to run more than two miles right now.  I mean, why would I?  It's hot, it's humid, and it's hard; just not enjoyable in any sense of the word right now.  Really, I probably can -- and should -- try to push myself up toward 3 miles this coming weekend to get a better read on my compartment syndrome symptoms.  I'll definitely need a change of scenery for it (rail trail, maybe?) because I definitely am feeling bad vibes about just running it in the neighborhood where I usually run, where I limped back to my car so many times last year and earlier this one.

Again, I don't mean to complain, but I'm not sure how I fix the mental/motivational aspect of this.   I think I just need to accept that until I get some more conditioning back and the weather cools down, that this is going to be miserable.  It's just harder than usual to see the big picture when I really haven't had a really good, enjoyable, or rewarding run since the first half of last year. Today's run wasn't as miserable as Saturday's, except for the part where I tripped on uneven sidewalk and went flying.  That kind of sucked.

Meanwhile, I'll be out there on the road on Wednesday or Thursday morning, hating every second  of it.