Seventeen years. Seventeen years ago, I was living a different life, one pretty unrecognizable from the one that I am living today. Seventeen years ago, I was in the Army, stationed in Germany, wearing camouflage and size 9-wide boots (of course, everyone in the Army wore 9W boots, regardless of the actual size of their feet). Seventeen years ago, I got a cat. Eine Deutsche Katze.

A coworker took me to a friend of hers that sold cats, a real Katzendame. She had what can only be described as a hoarder’s amount of cats, but remarkably all in good health and well maintained. I spent a bit of time walking around, trying to find just the right cat to take home, and Fate put Murry in my hands. He was 8 weeks old, purring, and playful, and I knew he was the one.

The first few days at home, Murry didn’t do much of anything except hide under an armoire. Slowly, though, he became more accustomed to his new surroundings, and ventured further away from the safety of his furniture refuge. He was becoming so comfortable, in fact, that on one particular night during dinner, he jumped on to my lap, stretch upwards, and clamped his mouth on the other end of my chicken sandwich. I was shocked at first, then amused, then intimidated when I tried to pry him away from the sandwich and he let out a guttural growl. I decided it was best to just rip off the part he was attached to, and he scampered away, dragging his prize.

 

In the three years we lived in Germany, Murry was my faithful companion, and a welcome friend with all the drama around me. His best friend was a Rottweiler named Isis. He had a fascination with toilets, and I learned to keep the lids down after on a few near-drownings. He had this huge window with a ledge on which he would sit and watch the birds and the squirrels. But mostly, he would just follow me around and be a solid companion.

 

Because he had seen the military veterinarians, I was easily able to take him back to the U.S. with me. I remember getting to check on him during the layover in Cincinnati after making the first leg of the journey from Frankfurt. He looked pretty miserable, but I gave him the other half of the relaxer that the vet had given me, and he settled back down and made the rest of the uneventful journey to his new home–Florida.

The first few months back in the states, we lived with my parents. I know, right? Needless to say I wasn’t dating much… In any case, my parents house is pretty ideal if you’re a cat. Lots of windows on which lizards like to perch, making for great targets to swat your paw at. The dog/cat door leads out from the house, through the garage, and in to the big cage covering the pool. A few weeks after we moved in, my mother woke me up (way too) early in the morning, mildly panicked, and told me that Murry had fallen in to the pool. I got up, rushed to him and he was fine, albeit soaked. I don’t think he ever fell in again after that; apparently not brave enough to try to take another drink out of the big bowl. A side effect of living with mom was that Murry grew from 8-ish pounds to 12, or so, on to his way to growing to the size of a small planet. But he was happy, fat and happy. We did eventually move in to our own place, and he had his own screened in porch from which to watch the world.

Life eventually took us to Colorado. If 19 hours in the cargo hold of a plane was rough, I’m not sure that 31 hours in a packed Honda Prelude is much better. But he adapted well to his new surroundings, and once we moved in to the house, the back porch, basking in the Colorado sun, was his favorite pastime, aside from jumping in the tub to drink the bath water. He welcomed my wife to the family, and even (reluctantly) her dog.

And then came Junior!

At first, Murry was curious with the new addition to the house and would approach him with a cautious sniff. Then, once Junior became more aware, he was fascinated by Murry, and would follow him around. Murry patiently tolerated it, so long as Junior wasn’t pulling on his ears or his tail. Once Junior learned the sound a kitty makes, when Murry made the trip up the stairs and through the kitty door, Junior would hear it, run over, point to Murry, and make a meow sound.

Eventually, those trips up from the basement came less often, usually just to come up for a few minutes looking for wet cat food before finally going back downstairs. The last few weeks, especially, we saw Murry less and less, although during his last week with us, we saw him a bit more. Maybe he just knew something was happening, and he wanted to be around us a bit more. The morning before he took a turn, he was upstairs waiting to jump in to the shower as I stepped out, a routine he hadn’t done for some time.  Having seen him that way in the morning, I could not have expected to find him the way we did that night.

I had gone down to the basement to give him his medicine, and he was just lying on the floor. I picked him up, and his head was unstable, shaking. I don’t think he could see me, and he only responded to my voice. I held him for a while. The Mrs. came down looking for me, and saw how fragile he was. We both laid on the floor with him for a while. When he stood up to try to go back in to the corner, his weakened body hobbled and fell, so we helped him along. We sat with him a bit longer, but he kept trying to lift his head to find our voices. It was probably the most sad I had been in a very long time, seeing him like that. Eventually, our presence proved to be too much of a distraction for him, so we left him alone so that he could sleep.

I awoke the next morning and headed to the basement. Murry was there, lying in the middle of the floor, breathing heavily. I ran back upstairs and brought him down some wet food, and I helped him lift his head so that he could reach it, but he only licked it feebly before lying his head back down.

I’m grateful that he didn’t suffer long. I’m grateful for the 17 years we had each other, and the joy he brought to the many houses in which I have lived. I’m grateful he was a part of our family, and that our newest addition got to meet him.

Goodbye, my friend.

It’s actually still going on, if not visible. I’m working on a pretty big post over at davidmonnerat.com related to the business of photography, and it’s pretty involved and took a bunch of time yesterday and today. I’m hoping to have it completed tomorrow (in addition to some other efforts for the project), so that’s why there hasn’t been anything fresh and new yesterday or today.

There seems to be a 30, 60, or 90 day program for just about everything these days. Improve your writing in 30 days. Q90P, the 90-day workout. Learn how to please a woman at some point in your lifetime. Ok, that last one is probably fictional. There’s no pleasing a woman. Ha! (Just kidding, honey.)

I’m always curious on those how many people thing that at the end of the program that that’s it. They’ll have reached their goal, and they don’t have to work hard any more. Their abs will be rock hard, they’ll be writing a novel a week, and their lady friend will always be satisfied.

In reality, it doesn’t work that way, of course. The 30, 60, and 90 days are meant as a bench mark, a measure of progress, not a the end of the work. It’s smart marketing, of course. People buy it under the premise of being awesome at the end of it, but by the time they realize they need to go past the program to continue the journey, they’re already invested, it’s already a part of their routine, and they’re motivated because they are seeing results. Who would buy a workout program titled “You’ll have the body you need if you work out 5 days a week for the rest of your life (and stop eating pizza!)”, or a program to improve your writing with the name “You really need to write every day for a really long time (and get rejected a ton) before you’ll have any measurable success as a writer.”

That’s the reality of the situation. There is no secret, no magic pill. It takes work to achieve a goal. It takes work to maintain those achievements, and to continue to improve. 90 days is short sighted. I’m on my path for a lifetime.

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creative 365 – no. 77

My wife is wonderful for a lot of reasons. Of course, she’s beautiful, smart, talented, a wonderful mother, and she did produce the most amazing son a father could ask for. But she also has a thing for holidays that I never developed, and she makes each holiday special for her boys.

Thanks, Sunshine.

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creative 365 – no. 75

Continuing on my photography-related post from last night, I wanted to post a few quick tips for improving your photography.

Get to know your camera.

When you bought your camera, in addition to the camera itself, there were probably a few other items inside the box. Maybe a battery, some cables, and a bundle of paper. That bundle was probably an owners manual; maybe a few of them in different languages. They include those in the box for a reason, namely that the camera you just bought has more features than the space shuttle.  You should read through the manual at least once. Some creative types have taken it a step further, and posted a picture using every feature in their camera. Most cameras contain a lot of feature that you will likely never use, but you’ll definitely never use them if you don’t know about them.

Learn the three elements of exposure: shutter speed, aperture, and ISO.

Understanding how these three elements contribute to making an image will dramatically improve the images you take. For example, there is a direct relationship between reducing the shutter speed and choosing a smaller aperture that will give you more depth of field. Knowing how they directly relate to each other will open up creative doors that you didn’t know existed.

Learn the basic “rules” of photography.

Learn the rules of composition, like the rule of thirds. Learn how to use focus to draw attention to the subject. Learn how to use subject placement. Learn the fundamental rules so that you can follow them. Learn them so you can break them.

Practice.

Practice makes perfect. Digital photography affords you the ability to take an infinite number of pictures and not have to pay for the cost of developing film. So take pictures. Experiment with the different features in your camera. Experiment with the three elements of exposure. Experiment with the rules of photography, and experiment with breaking those rules. Whether it’s your wife, your kids, your pets, or the food in your refrigerator, there are always willing subjects around you on which to practice. Take your camera everywhere you go, take it out of the bag, and use it.

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creative 365 – no. 75