on (not) a cat, a crown, Christmas and contemplation

Rest assured, this blog will not become About a Cat.

It remains About My Life, which happens to a crazy terrorizing pain-in-the-ass kitten named Atticus.

There’s other news, other events that ought not be overshadowed by two handfuls of gray fur, muscle and bones capable of tearing apart a house. Or an ankle.

Seriously. The only conclusion I can reach after some two weeks or so with this guy is you’ve got to really love cats to endure kittenhood.

Moving along …

All that Glitters IS Gold

Today brings an official conclusion to a some 2-year chapter : the cementing of a gold crown on the infected molar brought with from Tacoma.

This is the molar that I nearly lost, was root canaled and etc. I’ve mixed emotions. I feel the infection’s not been fully eradicated and still lurks in the bone and tissues (though obviously to a far lesser degree than before due to the root canal). The tooth feels unwell — as one feels with a low-grade fever.

The work and quality of work by both professionals, first the endodontist and now the dentist, have been beyond reproach. Good solid strong skills and capabilities on both their parts. Good people. Exceptional work.

That the tooth remains compromised is a reflection of its terrible diseased past rather than one of their contributions toward preserving it.

So the gold crown goes on today with some trepidation. It’s certainly not the first piece of gold in my mouth — there’s more money invested in my mouth than anywhere — neither the last. Believe it or not, there’s another crown that I’ve had for, oh lord, many years, that’s got four holes in it, a sign of aging and my strong bite and a reminder that we get old, worn and decrepit eventually.

So that replacement crown’s next in line. For whenever I’ve got the money or insurance. No time soon that I see. {sigh}

Anyhow, Dr. O’Neill’s a terrific dentist and I look forward to today’s conclusion, officially, of a tooth long my albatross and reminder of the power of poverty.

It’s Beginning to Look a Bit Like Christmas

More precisely, the childlike anticipation thereof. This week brings an interview that’s been on the calendar for a month and is part of a process  underway since, when, August?

Reluctant to jinx anything — lord knows I’ve had enough tough luck to last several lifetimes! — I’ll remain mum save to say that it’d be a personal and resume coup to land this position. It’d also be a foot back into professional circles that I’ve been seeking for quite some years and a networking opportunity, which I sorely need.

I’m excited and ready for the interview by a panel of five. No pressure there. (haha)

So this week alone, one chapter (diseased molar) closes and another (represented by interview) opens.


Four months into Colorado and the days are brightening, slowly and surely.

When things were frighteningly torn asunder, a-jumble and a-tumble, someone made a comment that sorta stuck with me. It was in response to the chaos at the time and to the effect that he’d have sought refuge from a close relative to sort things out and not just packed and relocated to a place on a map. Setting aside the truth that this was a move years in the making, I wondered what one does if there are no relatives close (or even distant) to extend refuge.

Not all of us have that.

The move to Colorado has been radically risky, terribly terrifying and immensely satisfying, all in a short four months.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Would I’ve wanted it differently? Yes.

But the essence of the move, its soul, and the metamorphosis begun in earnest in 2009 are true to my nature, and for that reason I wouldn’t have it any other way.

People are often amazed that I go where I know no one and in some cases where I’ve never before been, including Denver (which I’d only passed by in prior Colorado travels). My standard quip response is I go where my family isn’t. It’s not altogether untrue.

I move in the world in ways unique; my mother used to say that from the start I marched to my own drummer. The move from Tacoma/Washington was one that not only needed to happen but needed to happen in the way that it did: with no one to catch my fall. I can’t articulate the meaning, neither feel a need to publicly. It is what it is in accordance to who I am.

This journey, rather this portion of the greater life journey, is only begun. I landed badly and hard before I landed with some aplomb.

Like Ol’ Blue Eyes sings, I did it my way. Raw. Nakedly. True to the spirit of an adventurer (or as a dear friend puts it, kamikaze). True to me.

And I sleep well at night for it all.


4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. longeyesamurai
    Nov 15, 2011 @ 09:28:00

    Delighted by the *knock on head* relative good news and keep up the feline updates, that psycho-kitty sounds hilarious…


  2. Anonymous
    Nov 18, 2011 @ 15:21:35

    I like the Psycho-kitty. As my oldest is allergic to pets, we’ve done without since my dogs died in 2009. But I’d love to live with Atticus, kitty terror & all…
    I’m glad your in the final stages of your tooth. You’ve held up longer & better than I would if I’d had your dental problems. Is this covered under the plan at your new job? (Here’s hoping…)
    It’s beginning to look a LOT like Christmas, and it can’t come too soon! Love this time of the year! God bless you!


    • allycatadventures
      Nov 19, 2011 @ 10:18:52

      @Anonymous – No dental coverage at work as (a) I don’t work enough hours and (b) even if I did, it doesn’t immediately kick in. So this $$$$$$ bite’s on me – pun sorta intended. 😉


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