No Man's Land

May 30th marked my first anniversary of being told, 'you have breast cancer'. And, even though I'm in great health now, thanks to a small lumpectomy followed by several weeks of radiation therapy and 5 years of tamoxifen to blow away the cancer, my life overall feels like it's been in an odd state of suspended animation ever since. It's not an anniversary I particularly want to dwell on, so I simply acknowledged it on the inside and its part in the bizarre out-of-body displacement I've felt for the past 12 months - well, 14 months actually, if you count unexpectedly losing my job just weeks before the diagnosis.

In all fairness, I couldn't exactly call the past year my annus horribilis, I've definitely endured much worse periods in my life, but I nevertheless still have that strange and detached sense of meandering through a bit of a no-man's land, not quite knowing where things go from here - personally, professionally or otherwise -  and not entirely sure of what to expect a few weeks from now, let alone a few months or even years.

In some ways it's been freeing to let go a little and see what transpires, I honestly don't believe I've ever really done that before, but it's unnerving all the same and here I am, over a year later, bumbling along from one day to the next still trying to fathom this new reality and its accompanying heightened awareness of my own - and everyone else's - mortality.

I don't quite know how to take back control because I'm not even sure in which direction I should be heading, but I do know that I can't keep letting time fritter away. For better or worse, this past year has served as a massive reminder/eye-opener that I really don't have an endless supply of days left to waste and I certainly won't get any of them back. No doubt this feeling also ties in with yet another birthday that galloped by at lightning speed.....turning 45 feels like a no-man's land in itself. I'm not young, nor am I pretending to be, but I'm not old either, and this in-between phase is starting to feel awkwardly similar to being a teenager, with eerily familiar questions, and the added 'bonus' of certain life options beginning to feel like they're closing to me versus being a teenager and not knowing where to start.

With my contract work diminishing at Omicron, I've recently taken an additional yet temporary, part-time contract to the end of July working for a non-profit that offers grants to community based programs working in the field of mental health and substance use. (Some might say that's a perfect fit for me!)

It's a small affair, the people are nice and I admire the work they're doing but the downside is, while they hope to expand and hire me for a Marketing/Communications position further down the road, the best they can offer right now is a position as Executive Assistant to end July. Without going into the boring details it seemed like a reasonable chance for me to; a) stay employed....for now, b) test it out and get to know the business and people/connections etc. and c) would spare me the nauseating happy-clappy Sparkle-Barbies of the local temping agencies, who would no doubt try slotting me into an EA position anyway, but for less money after they take their cut. So for now I'm back to a job that I do really well (even if I do say so myself - and perhaps even better nowadays than when I was an EA several years ago) but I just can't stand! I don't mean to sound ungrateful, since I'm glad I have a job - even temporarily - but it's lower pay and being an EA is a very demanding (and often thankless) job of basically running around like a servant to someone so that they always look great while you remain invisible; relentlessly slaving away in the background to keep alles in Ordnung, ensuring all is flawless, shiny and wonderful to the outside world.

But this too is merely temporary, a couple more months adrift until we see what comes next, be it within this organization or a whole new move. And while there are advantages to being a self-employed consultant, the lack of health benefits and paid vacation aren't sitting too comfortably with me - maybe because of my own health scare last year, the decreased earnings and the fact I won't even have Employment Insurance benefits to fall back on since my 'year' eligibility for EI just wrapped up and there are no EI benefits for those whose self-employed contract comes to an end.

All in all, what am I even trying to say here? Just that I feel like I'm adrift and relying somewhat on where the current takes me rather than steering the ship. I don't know if that's a good thing per se. I don't know that it's necessarily a bad thing either. It just is and has been since April/May last year and, while 'm not entirely comfortable with it, I'm at a bit of a loss as to what to do to make things any more concrete. I don't even know if this is all down to last year's diagnosis - although that is a royal slap in the face that makes you question your own mortality, how you're living the life you have and what you should start doing with what's left of it....and just how much of it is there left anyway? It's been a year/14 months of the rough with the smooth, the pros with the cons, the ups with the downs......and still that underlying sense of meandering through no-man's land, drifting at the whim of a power greater than me and needing to make every day count. For something. But what, where, when.....and how?

And then there were three......again.

In the days following Mishka's passing I really missed her unique and wonderful companionship; seeing her every time I turned around, having that little voice chirping at me from across the room or from upstairs if I was downstairs (and vice-versa) and having her nestle between Lorne and I on the couch in the evenings. That cherished and constant contact, vocally as much as physically. What good were all my little Mooky rhymes with no Mooky to sing them to? What point in whistling if unaccompanied by her admonishing interjections? And with no regimen of pills and such to administer, I felt an odd sense of redundancy - I had no job to do, no devout caretaking role. It's weird, but I missed that sense of being needed, especially because the boys are young enough, happy enough and (thankfully) healthy enough to just do their own thing. I imagine it must be similar to the empty-nest feeling most parents go through when their children first leave home, although Mishka won't even be coming back to visit.

It was that deep-seated sense of loss - coupled with knowing there are so many other cats (just like Mishka and all of our cats) desperately needing a home - that soon had me flicking through the adoption gallery on VOKRA's website. Vancouver Orphan Kitten Rescue Association, the same organization through whom we adopted Mel and Louis just 18 months ago. Only I wasn't necessarily looking for a kitten per se, just browsing other little cats looking for a loving home and the kind of devotion that I know we give unconditionally to our furry family. I definitely wasn't looking to replace Mishka, how could I? Well I couldn't. If there's one thing I know, it's that each of our cats has been so truly unique, there's no way we could - or should - be looking to replicate that. But maybe we could help just one more......

So Vokra's website is where I found this little love. Her name is Mudd, though literally moreso than figuratively.

Mudd on VOKRA's website

Admittedly my initial attraction was perhaps that she's the spitting image of Lucy, our amazing and adorable, special needs little treasure who we sadly lost to cancer late 2009. But Mudd's little bio was also what endeared her to me; extremely affectionate, talkative, snuggly, good with other cats or dogs. She just sounded so delightful and Lorne thought she seemed cute too. A few days later I found myself completing the online adoption application....and only afterwards came clean with Lorne that I'd done so. Ignoring perhaps that fundamental question, "Should we really get another cat?" (Would it even be fair? To the cat, the boys, to me and Lorne? Did it even make financial/economic sense, seeing as I don't yet have a permanent job? Would it just add more stress? Is it even the right time to be doing this? And, more importantly, do we even have the room for another cat given that our condo is so much smaller than anywhere we've lived before? And not forgetting that we're officially only allowed one cat....ooops.)

While Lorne also felt Mudd could be a great cat we literally struggled with the emotional and common sense realities of it all, back and forth, for about a month. At one point we actually set up a date to go and meet her but it ended up that Lorne was just too busy at work, the girl who was fostering her (who I estimate to be all of about 15yrs old) was very scattered about planning a date/time and, in the end, we held off. Besides, it turned out another couple was also interested to see her so we decided maybe it wasn't a good time/idea for us but, if they didn't take her, then perhaps we could still think about it.

Her photo and bio remained in the 'Ready to Adopt' gallery of cats and we continued to deliberate and talk around in circles about it for a couple more weeks. I suppose it bears a strong testament to just how seriously we feel about the comittment of taking on a pet, rather than doing it on a whim and figuring out the consequences later - which is how so many of these poor animals end up being surrendered or simply abandoned in the first place. Some days we seemed to have an unspoken agreement not to mention/re-visit the whole idea for a while and other days little Mudd's (unfortunate) name would pop up again - usually triggered by either me or Lorne peeping once more at the VOKRA website and seeing she was still up for adoption.

Part of me even wondered if Lorne might surprise me with her as a birthday gift or else write in my card that we should adopt her, but we remained silent, both conflicted as to whether it would be the right decision, right timing etc. etc. So my birthday came and went and I told myself to just let things lie.....but the very next day (May 2nd) came a follow-up email from Peg at VOKRA, "Mudd is still available, are you ready to adopt? Do you want to go and meet her?"

After further discussion we determined we probably couldn't put the idea to rest without at least going to see her - which we did on May 3rd. It's hard to tell what we both thought afterwards, no further ahead really. Besides, it's awkward trying to get a feel for a new cat when you know the poor thing's already stressed out just in meeting you. So the big, fat, looming question mark remained.

Later that evening there was a follow-up email from a lovely lady, Valerie, at VOKRA, excited to know how the visit had gone and whether we would be adopting Mudd. I/we still couldn't answer.

We decided to sleep on it but the next day I still felt no closer to being capable of making a decision either way and couldn't quite guage where Lorne was at with the idea. I wondered if that in itself - our utter indecisiveness - was perhaps an indicator that we just weren't ready for this....yet. If it was the right thing to do, wouldn't it feel better? Easier? Come with a sense of certainty and excitement rather than angst? I remember we were both pretty excited when we went through the adoption process with Mel and Louis (Oct. 2011). Like expectant parents.

Emotionally I hovered right in-between yes and no - feeling like it wasn't the right time, but afraid if we waited till the right time she might already be gone. Lorne, on the other hand, seemed to be leaning a little more towards no - mostly concerned whether it'd feel too crowded - and I wanted to respect that, not least because he's been really busy and quite stressed for the past few months, since Christmas in fact; crazy-busy at work, working long hours, busy with the whole house move - finding us a new place, selling of stuff on Craigslist beforehand, even selling our camper van - etc. and then all of us being steamrolled by Mishka's passing all happening so terribly fast. And of course even all of that comes on top of nearly a year of underlying worries about my whole cancer diagnosis/treatments too.

It's fair to say that I was feeling horribly selfish and incredibly guilty for even setting this ball rolling in the first place. I was moving closer to believing adopting Mudd would be unfair on everyone but me - the same feeling I'd had a couple of weeks earlier when (with a heavy heart) I informed VOKRA that we'd be holding off on our adoption application.

Anyway, I could go on an on about my angst-ridden internal dilemma but, in the end and with an element of (understandable) exasperation, Lorne said I should just email them back that we'd take her. That way, maybewe could pick her up the same day (Sat. May 4) and at least have a full night/day with her before going back to work on Monday.

"Are you sure about this?" I asked, fingers hovering nervously over the keyboard....
"Just send the email already, we have to get going." he remarked. (We had a booking at the U-Brew to bottle our new batch of IPA).

I hesitated a few seconds more, feeling quite sick with anxiety and my gut instinct telling me (yelling at me even) to write, "sorry, she's a lovely cat but we're just not ready at this time.....". I looked at Lorne (who was staring out the window), looked at Mel & Louis, looked at the empty spot on the couch where Mishka always hung out.......and sent my reply.

"She's a sweety - We'd like to go ahead with the adoption of Mudd. Is there a possibility we can organize today so that we might have the full day with her tomorrow before work on Monday?"

I closed my laptop, we left the house and I lugged a heavy, indescribable weight of anxiety, guilt, shame, selfishness, stupidity and overwhelming angst with me.....(for the next 3 days!)

We met with Valerie that afternoon to finalize the adoption and picked up Mudd that evening. I felt somewhat like a child again, paying for her with the $100 birthday money that I'd got from Lorne's dad, Stan. But since I had wanted this adoption perhaps moreso than Lorne, I felt it only fair. And in that last sentence also lies the key element of my emotional breakdown in the two days that followed.
For some reason, the whole month-long dilemma over the adoption process, bringing home Mudd and the instant change in dynamic of our little household precipitated a complete meltdown on my part.

Initially we kept her separate from the boys and that first night wasn't easy because she began crying at 5am, which set the boys off crying and whining, which woke us up and Lorne was so tired and frustrated that he ended up sleeping downstairs on the couch. I brought Mudd into the bedroom with me to try and calm her down, she seemed so upset and agitated. I just felt awful, really awful - sick to my stomach awful. Like I'd brought home this poor, innocent little cat who was all stressed out, everyone else was stressed, the whining was constant, the overall energy was extremely tense and screwy, no-one knew what to make of anything and everything had suddenly changed because I'd spearheaded an adoption that was largely irreversible.

Well, it's not that you can't give a cat back to VOKRA if it really doesn't work out - in fact they'd rather you do that instead of taking them to another shelter or giving them away - but Lorne and I know that we're not those people and that's why we even had such a dilemma in the first place. The kind of people who - as we'd learned from Valerie the day before - had adopted Mel & Louis as small kittens, only to turn around and bring them back to VOKRA a week later. One week! That just baffles me, although I'm glad they did because we ended up adopting them and they're amazing! But seriously, who does that? Oh, and we also found out that little Mudd was one of two cats surrendered by their previous owners because they were moving to a place that didn't allow pets. WTF???? WHY would you move to a place that doesn't allow pets when you have pets? These people who simply think animals are disposable and, once they lose their cuteness, get old, sick or don't suit their owners' precious lifestlye or furniture anymore, they simply get dumped on the scrapheap? I don't get it, really I don't!

Well, in the 48 hours after we brought Mudd home, I felt so bad wondering if I'd even done the right - or fair - thing, that it actually started to cross my mind. I hate to admit it, but for a moment in my overwhelmed, high-anxiety state of mind, I felt like I'd made such an unfortunate decision (and had clearly ignored the warnings of my strong gut instinct) that I honestly didn't know what to do to make it right. However, in the midst of that, I knew I couldn't give up on Mudd either - with only the best of intentions I/we had brought her into our home and should do right by her, even if I was still panicking about what 'right' should actually look like.

The enormity of my guilt and emotional/mental anguish leads me to suspect that perhaps it wasn't all about Mudd. Besides, Lorne seemed to be doing ok with it after that first night (thankfully the second night was much better) and even the boys were quickly adjusting to the newcomer in their midst, being quite curious yet fairly submissive - they just wanted to get close enough to check her out and Mel in particular seems smitten. But there was nevertheless a terribly heavy feeling in the pitt of my stomach, a lump in my throat and an ominous question running over and over in mind, "Was this a terrible and unfair mistake?"

With the best will in the world I'd made a heart-felt and compassionate decision to give this little girl a loving new forever home but soon realized my timing was far from perfect; coming too soon after losing Mishka, hot on the heels of us all adjusting to our new home and altered family dynamic, right in the midst of my job and our financial uncertainty, so soon after moving to a much smaller place, adding stress to Lorne's mental load and sending my own anxiety level shooting through the roof. Yup, it was a lovely thought and the decision was made with a caring and honest heart, but simply terrible timing on my part and this poor little cat - who only asked for a warm and loving home - was unwittingly stuck in the middle of it. Guilt, guilt, guilt and more guilt!

Overwhelmed by the intensity of my own emotions those couple of days, I had to dig deep and figure out what was really going on behind all this because it felt so much bigger than being about adopting a new cat which, to all intents and purposes, I had thought would be a lovely thing to do - why did it suddenly feel so wrong? But it wasn't just the 'adoption' that felt wrong, per se - it was something deeper within me that felt thrown into chaos, drowning in guilt and worry. Perhaps an accumulation of a year's worth of big life events catching up with me all in one fell swoop?

A well-meaning friend pointed out that perhaps I should just breathe and cut myself some slack. After all, in the space of the last 12 months, I've gone through:

• Losing my job
• Getting diagnosed with breast cancer
• Surgery
• Radiation
• Moving house
• Loss of a family member (little Mooky, after nearly 16 years)
• The imminent probability of being unemployed again (with my current contract drawing to a close and my Employment Insurance benefits finishing completely in the next couple of weeks)

So, on Monday (May 6) I went home a little earlier than usual in an attempt to take some time, hang with the cats and get things a little straighter inside my own head. And I'm so glad I did!

When I got home, all three cats were surprisingly relaxed - even with each other - just lazing around, hanging out and basically quite content. Within the space of 48hrs, Mudd seemed to be blending perfectly into our little homestead and the boys are so good-natured, they already seemed largely unphased.

Let me just say that internal angst is great for getting the house clean - I must have swept, vacuumed, mopped, dusted, polished, scrubbed and laundered like a mad woman. By the time Lorne came home, the house was near sparkling and I already felt soooooo much better! And you know what, even my stress over the stress it was all causing him had perhaps been blown up in my own head - he seemed fine and pretty relaxed about things really.

I'm incredibly grateful that Lorne is such an amazing husband and a truly wonderful life partner. On Sunday morning, while I lay snivveling on the bed feeling horribly torn and guilty, he would have been perfectly within his rights to say, "Well you wanted this", but he didn't. But then I suppose he couldn't have made me feel any worse than the selfish, stupid and crazy (irrational?) monster that I already thought myself to be. But he's so great in sooo many ways, not just about this. A large part of why I felt so awful and selfish was the realization of just how much he's been going through this past year as well as me and yet, through it all, he's always been right there for me offering his support in so many ways, I'm not even sure he knows just how much he amazes me. Every day!

Anyhoooo, I had given myself a thorough enough beating (mentally & emotionally) those couple of days that, by Monday evening, the storm finally began to pass - oh and I got my period. Hmmm, do you think PMS could have had anything to do with it too???

With the calm once again reigning down after my internal tornado, I'm delighted to say that Mudd is settling in just fine, all things considered. Furthermore we've decided to call her Ella - which was initially Vicky's suggestion, in sticking with the jazz theme we used for the boys, Mel (Torme) and Louis (Prima). I hope we'll all live together happily ever after!

Mudd/Ella already comfortable enough within the first week
to sit right in-between Louis (left) and Mel (who's
 looking at her adoringly).

Cancer leaves no room for complacency

I'm quickly approaching the first anniversary of being told I have breast cancer and, while I don't generally dwell on it, I was nevertheless somewhat nervous about last week's annual mammogram - albeit I don't get to join the 'screening mammogram' club anymore (as my oncologist described it). I'm now in the diagnostic mammogram club, at least for a year or two anyway.

And it was at last week's follow-up mammo (the first since just prior to my diagnosis) that I learned my small cancer actually didn't even shown up on last year's screening mammo. It was only by having noticed the small lump myself and mentioning it to my GP a few days prior, that I even had a pre-cautionary ultrasound to check it out. Had I not noticed it nor mentioned anything (given I'd already become aware of the lump a few months earlier but had decided to wait until the screening mammo, believing it was probably nothing) then I might never have got the diagnosis last year and it could still have been growing..... It doesn't bear thinking about!

Although I've made virtually no mention of the whole breast cancer thing on Facebook (I'm not that public about my life), I felt compelled to share this latest, quite shocking news, and similarly I'm writing it here, as a serious warning to all women, in the event anyone actually looks at this blog:

I wanted to post a personal note to my female friends on the importance of getting to know your boobs: In May 2012 I was diagnosed with breast cancer (thankfully very small & early stage) for which I had a lumpectomy, several weeks of radiation and will take the medication Tamoxifen for 5 years.

Imagine my surprise when, at a follow-up mammogram this morning, the technician confirmed that my ‘screening mammogram’ last year didn’t actually pick up any sign of the cancer, even though I’d indicated where I felt a small lump! Thankfully I had mentioned it to my GP around the same time (thinking it was probably just a gland) and she’d suggested getting a diagnostic ultra-sound just to be sure. As it turned out, that ultra-sound led to a biopsy and then the Big-C result no-one wants to hear.

I just wanted to stress how important it is to really get to know your boobs and how they feel, because a regular screening mammogram isn’t 100% reliable. Within 2 weeks of an ‘all-clear’ screening mammogram, I was told I had breast cancer. I’m definitely not trying to instill fear, I’m just saying you owe it to yourself, not to mention your loved ones, to get intimate with your boobs….so to speak. :-)

(Besides, I'm sure there are plenty of men who are only too willing to help out!)

Anyway, the lesson in all of this? You really cannot afford to be complacent - ever! I'm the first to admit that I lived thinking (somewhat naiively) that I was okay 'because we don't have a family history of breast cancer'. And then Vicky got it in 2009....and I thought it was freaky but it nagged at me nevertheless. But I still wasn't all that diligent about self-checking, even after Vicky's diagnosis (head-in-the-sand maybe?), though I must've been doing it subconsciously since I managed to notice that little lump on my right side, towards my armpit.......and I'm so thankful that I did!

Moreover, my cancer was small and early stage but was already classed as invasive - i.e. it had started to spread beyond its original location. Imagine I had merrily relied upon the apparent 'all clear' results of last year's screening mammogram, my story might have turned out quite differently indeed!

If I can help even one female (or male come to that) by sharing this unexpected revelation, then it's the very least I can do.

So listen up, people - it takes hands-on experience and diligence. Literally. What are you waiting for? There really is NO time to waste!

Goodnight to a very dear and wonderful friend.

Two of Mishka's favourite pleasures -
laying in the window and soaking up the sunshine.

"No Heaven will not Heaven be, unless my cats are there to welcome me." (Anonymous)

Sadly - just as the vet had predicted - Mishka's decline was terribly fast and, on the morning of April 2nd, with deep sorrow and a lot of tears, we made the difficult decision to release her from her suffering as we gently comforted her and kissed her goodbye. Sleep tight little princess.

Our treasured Mooky has gone to join the rest of the large and wonderful feline family we once had - Molly, Lucy, Otto and Kramer (who passed in 2006, 2009, 2010 and 2011 respectively). It chokes me up to think of them all - we loved each of them so dearly and were endlessly bemused by their very different and endearing personalities and quirks. I hope with all my heart we shall be so happily reunited with them all, when that day comes.



Molly - our fiesty and determined old lady, with
the super-soft fur and delightful squeak
 (18.5yrs - Sept. 2006)

Our adorable, cuddly and very unique, special and
quirky little love, Lucy (14yrs, we think - Dec. 2009)

We laughed so hard when we came home to find this scene.
These two baskets of spare blankets were on top of a cupboard.
Otto (left) and Kramer decided they made perfect beds just for them.

Otto's morning face - that look says everything :-)
He was probably plotting his next evil deed.
(19yrs - Oct. 2010)

Kramer - So full of love, but always ready for more.
Much more. Our little luuuurve machine. (18yrs - 2011)

One of the rare phtos with all 5 cats! Can you spot Lorne?

And sweet, princess Mishka - the big black furry
cushion with eyes (15.5yrs - April 2013)

 

Emotionally I know I'm still a little afraid to go too deep with my sadness at losing Mishka, my adorable shadow and companion for almost 16 years, sharing and enhancing almost the whole of my life thus far living in Vancouver. The beany baby kitten that sometimes drove me crazy chewing the phone cable or making her own mini hockey puck out of any little object she could find and batting it around my tiny bachelor suite, usually between 3 and 5am! Talking constantly, even moreso as she got older. Even if you weren't speaking to her directly she would have something to say, often from the next room. If she knew you were talking about her, then she would pipe up even louder. She certainly found her tonsils, especially if she was waiting for food or for the next dose of medications that, for the past few years, we've dutifully wrapped in Pill Pockets twice-daily for her - and which she enjoyed so much that, upon hearing the rattle of the pills in their containers, she'd literally come running - arthritic or not, she could easily out-pace the young guns, Mel & Louis, at pill-time.

Pill Pockets are the best invention ever! Mishka loved them and pilling her was a breeze - to the point she would certainly meow loudly to let us know it was time. If only they'd been around when we had Molly! That cat was a fighter and could hold an unswallowed pill in her mouth for a good 10mins, only to surreptitiously spit it out the moment she thought you weren't looking. And you'd have to wrap her in a towel before you could even try giving the pill, or risk losing an eye from those swift 'no billsh*t' moves of hers. The best time being when she gashed and bit Dr. Clarke at Granville Island Veterinary - the same guy who was so damn  bloody-minded and insistant 10 years ago that Mishka was dying from a cancer he just hadn't found yet. Ahhh yes, good ol' Molly!

Like I mentioned in my previous post about Mishka, there is some comfort in knowing that she led a long, very happy, extremely loved and definitely very well-cared-for life with us. There wasn't a thing we wouldn't do for her to ensure she was feeling happy and well. She worked with us just as much as we did everything within our powers (and medical capacity) to work with her and keep her in the best physical and emotional health. I honestly believe that she knew it and she loved us for it right back.

It meant such a lot to me to have all that time off last year and be able to spend it with Mishka (and the boys, of course). To be there to put food or crunchies down before her whenever I turned around. To watch her laying or rolling around in the sunny spot by the back door, chirping with pleasure and happily soaking up the warmth of every drop. To sit with her on my lap out on the deck, where she'd happily stay a while (whereas any other time she was definitely not a lap-cat). To watch how affectionate, gentle and playful Mel and Louis were with her, so wanting of her love and attention.

I was soaking up every moment with her perhaps because I knew age and health were no longer on her side and every precious moment was to be treasured. While she was definitely happy and doing incredibly well (right up until the week before passing) maintaining our Mooky's health was an ongoing challenge even though it held steady for so long thanks to the amazing guidance, attentiveness and deep compassion of the vets as Vancouver Animal Wellness  - predominantly Dr Michael Goldberg.

Nevertheless, I miss my shadow, my companion, my friend, my chatty ball of beautiful black hair, those beautiful eyes and that precious little face. She was a stunning cat, no doubt about that, and just as adorable on the inside as she was to look at. I'll miss her when I do my crafts and she's not there curled up in the seat right next to me. We miss her snuggling between us on the couch each evening. I know Lorne even misses the fact she woke him up every night (for the past year or so) wanting him to give her food or crunchies - to the extent he had to keep a small tupperware container by the bed....and Mishka knew it! I miss her shouting outside of the closed bathroom door, eager to come in and be petted while I finished getting ready for work.

The sweetest little cat who always had something to say. And, if you began whistling, she'd kick it up a notch. We could never quite work out if it drove her to distraction or was she simply trying to join in. Even if you whistled upstairs, you'd hear her start complaining downstairs. And, in the other extreme, if she heard you open a can of tuna in the kitchen, she would immediately come a-thumping down the hallway, meowing all the way. She could literally distinguish the sound of the tuna can against all others.

Once a light, skinny and silent sneaker-upper, Mishka developed a cute stomp in her latter years, so we could literally hear her coming, even from upstairs...thump...thump...thump...thump, due to mild arthritis and the fact that a few years on medications had increased her weight to a more healthy (or tad hefty) 5.8Kg as opposed to the 4Kg she'd been for quite some time while we tried to figure out her ongoing intestinal issues.

I miss my little Mooky so much. I miss talking to her, I miss her sweet, pretty face. I miss singing to her, seeing her by my side and sitting right behind me whenever I'm in the kichen - such an adorable little shadow of fluff. I miss pampering to her every whim and the constant dilemma of 'what does Mishka want to eat?' I miss her in ways that make my heart ache, but I absolutely know we gave her the best life she could ever have and we worked with her, and the expertise of our wonderful veterinary crew, in exploring every avenue to keep her happy and healthy and, for our efforts, we were more than rewarded in return by the most wonderful, loving, entertaining and endearing little princess we could ever have asked to share such a long and treasured part of our lives with.

Amid the loss and the quietness (without that little voice), a huge part of our daily routine has ended; morning medications, hairball remedies, hip/joint supplements, lactulose to keep the trains running, evening medications and supplements, subcutaneous fluids every other day and a scraggy-looking haircut every month or so. Not forgetting the ongoing efforts and variety of gourmet foods to get her to eat. In spite of it all our precious little Mooky was clearly comfortable, extremely content and happy to be around us all and, as hard as it was to say goodbye, I'm glad she wasn't in too much pain for very long.

The hardest part is knowing that the kindest decision we can make for our furry friends is also the very last thing we want to do.

You are in our hearts forever, Mishka - and when the time comes, we promise to bring tuna, Fancy Feast, Pill Pockets and a baguette!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Surely you jest!

So, while I'm still working on an update about more recent events, I thought I'd add in a more light-hearted moment from the complete and utter insanity that is Vancouver's housing market.

First of all, the lovely 100-year old home that we rented for the past 4 years, is now on the market. Our landlords, having been forced into acting sooner rather than later since we decided to give our notice before they got a few reno's started, clearly realized it's time to get off the pot and put it up for sale or risk it sitting empty while they continue to deliberate. Don't get me wrong, I'm certainly not bitching by any means. After all, their indecisiveness about the house meant we got to live there for a full 4 years, instead of just 9 months, while they figured out what they were going to do.

Anyhow, if you're curious - here's where we lived and, if you've got close to $1,000,000 burning a massive hole in your pocket then why not go take a look. Though, believe me, if I had that amount of money to spend, you would not see me wasting it on uber-inflated property in overrated Vancouver. A petit chateau in France or a casa a la playa in Spain? - Quite possibly. But a slum in this over-hyped city? Not bloody likely.

And if you'd told me a few years ago that I'd one day live in a million-dollar house in Vancouver, I would have laughed my pretty little head off - not to mention that I would've also expected it to be a 6-bedroom, 6 bath mansion with private beach, a massive swimming pool, tennis courts and stables!

Reality is, while I did move to Vancouver, property prices here have escalated far beyond the realms of realistic. Et voilà!

Admittedly our last place was....is...a cute character house in a great neighbourhod and we really loved living there. It shows really well in the photos too - you can even see the efforts of all our elbow-grease in cleaning the place. Though I can't deny that, when I look at that lovely bay window in the living room, I'm reminded - with a distinct lump in my throat - of just how happy our cats were too - all 6 of them that lived with us in this house; 3 of whom passed on during our time there, 3 moved with us to our new place and 1 of whom has since bid us farewell :-(

Naturally friends of ours - one a realtor and the other all mortgage-horny and obsessed with 'upgrading' to a bigger money-pit in the dull old 'burbs - soon piped up with, "You guys should buy it!" - Bless! But seriously, ask yourself - why on earth would we lock ourselves into 25 years of serious debt, use up all our hard-earned savings on the 10% down payment and then pay out a 'mere' $5,200/month on the mortgage for the very same house we've been renting at just $1,400/month. Admittedly the rent was slightly below market average - but who the hell could afford more than $5,000/month in mortgage payments???? Especially on the average meagre salary in this city? Chaining yourself into 25 years of massive debt with no money left for anything.....ever....and yet reside (notice I didn't say live), completely house-poor in the very same place we rented for 75% less with a lot less stress and lot more life!

And, for what it's worth, a million dollar property in Vancouver is definitely not going to live up to your average expectations. If you think the above price is high, on what is really just a 3BR, 2-bath house (including the basement 'suite'), then feast your eyes on this $ Million+ joke:

Yes folks, you too could shell out $1,100,000 for a disgusting teardown property on a piece of neglected land so narrow that the only building you'd get on the same plot would likely be a luxury dog kennel at best. Or maybe a tool shed. But not both! 

Got $1,100,000 to dump on a Vancouver des-res?

Of course you have to take a good look at the interior photos to really appreciate this high-end property, especially (what's left of) the 'kitchen'....notice  the shovel? Literally looks like they'd just finished shovelling their way through years and years of scuzz and shit dirt, took the photos and no doubt ran the heck out of there......laughing all the way?

How about this for Hell's Kitchen? Ramsay's worst nightmare!

 

Lovely looking....erm....1-piece bathroom.
Where's the rest of it?

Vancouver's nice, don't get me wrong, but it's seriously not that nice. And it's nowhere near nice enough to warrant paying more than a million bucks for the privilege of giving up on life just to own a ready-to-bulldoze crack shack such as this. Which, reminds me of one of my favourite sites for a good laugh, "Crack Shack or Mansion" - which could easily include the above property. See how well you score.

Anyhoo, baffled by these two prices, on houses just a block apart on the very same street no less, I felt compelled to inform one of my long-time favourite bloggers and public speakers, Garth Turner, author of the viciously frank blog: greaterfool.ca. A smart man who unapologetically tells it like it really is, no B.S., and writes wonderfully irreverent, blunt and downright sarcastic commentary on the real estate insanity in Canada, especially Vancouver. So, imagine my utter delight when I discovered that the email I sent him (somewhat on a whim last Friday) was actually included in his blog post the very next day! I strongly suspect you'll guess which part stems from my own fair hand. Now that's street-cred!

Suffice to say, we're perfectly happy to continue renting at less than 30% the cost of owning the same type of place in this fairly ordinary city. Now, if we can just get rid of the damn carpenter ants we appear to have unwittingly inherited as room-mates!

Walking a horribly familiar pathway

What started out so well last weekend quickly developed into a strange, melancholy, unsettling and heartbreaking week. The winds of change are not only blowing around us lately, they're approaching gale force and a dark cloud is lurking on the horizon.

Having survived (somewhat knackered) the drawn-out move into our new place - which happened to coincide with a perfectly sunny day, thank goodness - we are still riding the disarray of unpacked boxes and general mayhem of "Where's the....? What did you do with.....? Have you seen the....?" And I'm still trying to figure out just where the heck did I pack my trousers?

And within days of the move we also bid a sad farewell to our much-loved camper van, which we sold for mostly financial reasons, with me still not having a permanent job lined up plus all the incoming costs from moving house - including the fact we've had to pay a full month's rent at both places this month.

Hard to believe relaxing scenes like this won't be
happening for us this summer :-(

But we love that van dearly and, since buying it in September 2006, we've made many wonderful camping and road trip memories and we're really going to miss that ease of a last-minute weekend getaway. We'd like to upgrade and hopefully get a more modern camper next year, though it depends largely on my work situation really, since my current freelance contract is still set to finish any day now and I've nothing lined up after that.

Anyway, the van's gone off to join a rock band apparently, so if you ever hear of a group called 'Ridgewater', we just sold them their first tour bus. I actually like that idea - even if we're still feeling melancholy about selling.

I'd say more, about the van and post many more pictures of our amazing camping trips, but for now even the van isn't the main subject of this post.

Now, if I can write this next part without tears flooding my keyboard, it'll be a miracle.

Over last weekend we noticed Mishka looking more bloated than usual. Assuming it to be the usual chronic constipation she battles (surely not helped by the stress of us moving and packing boxes these past few weeks - although she handled the move really well and seems otherwise quite content) we added an extra dose of lactulose to her daily regime of gastro-intestinal medications....but to no avail. By Monday (3/25) I took her to the vet, fearing she was severely backed-up and might have mega colon. To my initial relief Dr Goldberg felt her tummy and said he really wasn't feeling too much poop in there and suggested an x-ray to see if anything else was going on. When he came back 15 minutes later the words, "I need you to come and look at the x-ray, I'm afraid it's not good news" were not what I expected nor wanted to hear. I could feel the blood drain from my face as we looked at Mishka's cloudy abdominal x-ray. There was almost nothing to see, just a milky cloud inside her abdomen that almost completely concealed her liver, spleen, kidneys etc. Then came the verdict - the bloating is because of severe fluid build-up in her abdomen, otherwise known as ascites and the main cause is usually cancer. He suggested taking a fluid sample via ultrasound and at the same time he drained 200ml of fluid from her abdominal area. That's a crazy amount of fluid and there really is no good news in this scenario. The fluid was sent off for testing, along with her blood and urine sample and we booked an emergency ultrasound the very next day, which confirmed there appears to be a growth in her pancreas plus what look like nodules spreading into her intestine that would signify pancreatic cancer that has possibly already spread.

On Wednesday, when the test results came back, we got the full picture, more or less, and there is no silver lining here. Even though the tests didn't prove 100% conclusive for cancer, the "best" case scenario is severe pancreatitis and/or even FIP (Feline Infectious Peritonitis), which does not bode at all well, least of all in a cat approaching 16 years old who's endured  chronic gastro-intestinal issues in one way or another her whole life. Sadly, the most likely scenario is that she has pancreatic cancer and related abdominal/intestinal complications. Either way the outlook is grim. Our poor little furry princess Moo is in very bad shape and is not going to recover from this. In fact Dr Goldberg gently warned us that this will progress quickly towards a heartbreaking farewell to our very, very loved and wonderful Mishka. And that end feels like it's coming at us like a freight train.

Hard to believe that just a week earlier both Lorne & I were both commenting on how great she seemed. She was happy, eating well, hasn't been sick for ages (though on daily meds all the same) and even seemed to have a renewed spring in her step. She surprised us both recently by jumping up and joining the boys in chasing the laser-pointer toy. She raced after it almost as fast as they did and it's lovely to watch her play.

One week later and the story couldn't be more opposite. The best we can do for her now is to keep her comfortable, give her all our love and come to terms with the sadly inevitable - knowing to take her lead about how she's feeling and accept when the time is right to let her go. This is a horribly familiar road that we've been down too many times in the past few years and it breaks my heart to be here again.

After having the fluid drained last week she actually picked up considerably for a few days, even on Thursday & Friday she seemed like her old self again, was eating really well to the extent that, had we not got the awful diagnosis, it was hard to believe anything was wrong. But, since Saturday, she's been starting to fade. She's eaten virtually nothing since Friday evening, she's lethargic and the bloating came back. I took her back to the vet on Saturday and they were able to take another large amount of fluid from her abdomen. Thankfully she's so easy-going and placid that she tolerates the procedure - called an abdominocentesis - very well, but it's obviously not something we want to keep putting her through and there's a limited number of times it might even continue to have a positive (or any) effect. In fact, while she improved somewhat Saturday afternoon following the procedure, by the evening she seemed withdrawn again and refused to eat.

Bugger, here come the tears again. Deep breath.

Well, in an attempt to try and keep it somewhat together as I write this, let me first post a little collection of photos that I had put together on Facebook when I celebrated the 15th anniversary of this tiny, adorable bundle of fluff coming into my life (Sept. 17, 1997) - the $10 kitten bought on a rainy night at Steamworks pub (Gastown) just before heading home at the end of a beer-filled evening, having heard that a man at the bar had a bag of kittens he was selling.

She was so small when I first brought her home, that Vicky seriously thought she was a Beany Baby toy, laid on the back of the couch.....until Mishka opened her huge eyes.

She was smaller than a 6" side plate

Scary Hallowe'en stance

Hide and....sink.
I'd looked everywhere for her and here she was,
as cosy as anything.

Perhaps my favourite baby pic

Filed under "C" for cuuuuuute!

I used to take her over to Vicky's with me - where Ellee was
immediately enamoured and followed Mishka's every move.

She wasn't at all impressed about being
spayed, nor the cone-head attire.
(Her one and only surgery.)

One of her other favourite places to hide

My little $10 kitten blossomed into the most
stunning supermodel of cats with beautiful long,
glossy hair and the most gentle personality.

And this was in 2011, a lovely and very regal shot of our
Princess Moo, taken by our friend, Mike Sudar.
(You can hardly notice the bad haircut - which we had to start
giving her to calm down the hairball barfing.)

Well, these are mostly older photos and there are so many more beautiful pictures of this adorable little kitty that I could, and will, post. But for now I can't put into words the depth of pain I feel deep in my heart at the thought of being so close to saying goodbye to this most treasured little sweetheart who's been with me every step of the way, my little shadow, for the past 15.5 years - almost my whole 'Vancouver' life.

I honestly don't know how I'm going to get through the empty days ahead when I don't hear that little chatty voice of hers and see those huge eyes.

In my heart-of-hearts I know we've done everything we can for her, taken great care of her and attended to all her medical and emotional needs - to the extent she's still with us at almost 16 years old. (The same little cat that a rude and much less-diplomatic vet (let's call him Dr John Clark of Granville Island Veterinary Clinic) so vehemently cast off as having cancer almost 10 years ago! With a wave of his hand and an admonishing, "This cat has cancer, I'm telling you. We just haven't found it yet, but I know I'm right." Thank goodness Lorne and I did our own research & sought out a 2nd opinion - to the extent she's lived 9 more years! Needless to say we avoided taking any of the cats to see him again.

But with her fighting intestinal issues her whole life, we know we really have exhausted all treatment options, even prior to this latest diagnosis, which we are powerless to fix. It certainly doesn't make this whole thing suck any less, but it brings an ounce of solace knowing Mishka's enjoyed a full and very happy life, knowing only love, affection and the very best attention to whatever she's needed from us and we'll continue to keep her happiness and wellbeing top priority as we continue on this very difficult, short and oh-so-horribly-familiar path.

I  love you with all my heart Mishka and I really, really, REALLY don't want you to go :-(

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

End of the line for this Gravy Train

Well, two gravy-trains to be precise.

Firstly, the contract with my previous employer - for whom I've been freelancing since mid-November last year - and which has already extended almost 2 months beyond the initial end date - is slowly but surely drawing to a close and I'll soon be back to claiming Employment Insurance for the couple more months it's still available to me. Naturally this also means I'd better kick into high gear on the demoralizing and tiresome endurance test of job-hunting. Ho-hum, said Pooh.

To be honest, even though I was quite pleased to leave this job almost 2 years ago, I've enjoyed it much more this second time around, though I suspect that's largely because I'm only a freelancer this time and haven't had to slog myself silly for 11-13hrs/day, nailed to my office chair - which was more the rule than the exception in my previous life here. Plus, I haven't had to focus soley on the proposal-writing side of things but rather I've been involved on a multitude of marketing, writing, proofing and editing projects - perfect for honing my nit-picking, eagle-eyed (anal retentive?), perfectionist skills.

All-in-all it's been a pretty good gig while it's lasted, the money has certainly helped a lot and I've really quite enjoyed getting out and back to work again, using my brain and blowing the dust off my editing/proof-reading and desktop publishing skills. Besides, one can only watch so many daily repeats of What Not To Wear.

I've a couple of good friends still working here too so it's been nice to spend time with them again, albeit non work-based conversation remains somewhat frowned upon in this very corporate environment.There's a small chance they might still call me back in to work/fill-in now and again, if they get really busy and if I'm still not working, but for now, this particular gravy-train is about to reach the terminus station.

And following right behind it is the fabulous house-sitting/rental Gravy Train we embarked upon, 'temporarily'.....four years ago. This particular gravy train generously offered us the luxury of virtually a full, 4-level, corner-property heritage townhouse for little more than we'd ordinarily have to shell out for a tiny, dated and mediocre 1-bedroom apartment in the same area. That area being Vancouver's Mount Pleasant neighbourhood which, if you'd suggested it to me 5-6 years ago, I would more than likely have turned my nose up at the idea since it used to be considerably grungier/seedy.

Home for the past 4 years - Our lovely, spacious corner property duplex: all 4 floors; 

finished basement, main floor, bedrooms on 2nd level and an attic/office conversion.

Complete with a large deck/patio in the back, perfect for a BBQ and enjoying a fat

Cuban cigar and refreshing beer/scotch in summer. (Really going to miss that!)

This whole thing all came about quite by chance in January 2009. I went for a few beers with a group of guys I once worked with (where I was the lone female in an office of 17 men - which certainly taught me to stand up for myself against their innate sexist expectations that I'd do everything for them and happily clean up after them too). A few weeks later that one of those guys, Hugh (who I'd always got along well with) sent me a text out of the blue, "Bit of a long shot - but would you guys be interested in renting our house for a while?".

Turns out that, for more than a year Hugh had actually been working in London (UK) and his wife, Karen (who's actually English), and their two daughters were finally going to move over there to join him - at least until Christmas that same year.

And so it was that, in a sheer coincidence of timing, planets aligning and fortune being on our side (since we'd already been considering a move), we accepted their offer. Basically it was to be short-term and sort of a house-sit really, in that they would store all their furniture and personal belongings in the finished basement suite and we'd have full use of the other 3 levels (the top level being just a small attic conversion into an office/bedroom).


I love the old fireplace/Mantle. Note our
cruelty-free stag's head perched above.

The house is almost 100 years old - which is old by Vancouver standards - and retains much of its character and original fittings. Apparently it's the first duplex (or semi-detached as we'd call it in England) built in Vancouver and we found out recently that the original plans for the city road system and Georgia Viaduct would have meant a highway running right through this very spot. Luckily that never went ahead!

So initially it was fully intended to be just a 9-month deal, hence they gave us a reasonable break on the rent, to the tune of about $700/month below market rental value. With average rental prices so high in Vancouver, you can see why it was easily worth our while to take them up on the offer, even for just 9 months. Well, that was the original plan anyway.

We moved in on a a miserable, cold and wet/snowy day - March 15, 2009 - bringing all our own furntiture etc. and leaving a lot of our boxes unpacked because we knew we'd be moving again soon....or so we thought. As luck would have it, when the anticipated date of Hugh and Karen's return approached (and we were within hours of signing the lease on a new place) they called us from England just in the nick of time to say they were actually staying there for the forseeable (yessss!!!) and were hoping we'd continue living at the house. We agreed a slight increase in rent (still way below market value) and switched to a month-to-month contract that was left open-ended as to how long we might stay here while they remained in London. And this weekend it'll be a full four years - the longest I've lived in any one place since moving to Canada in 1996. In fact the longest in one house since I was a teenager, still living with my parents in Cleethorpes. Ouch that was a long time ago, I hadn't even finished high school.

We've thoroughly enjoyed living in an actual house and I never imagined I'd be able to say I live in a $1 Million home - even if that doesn't actually mean much in Vancouver, considering a crumbling 700 sq.ft. crack-shack/meth lab slated for demolition still goes for upwards of a million dollars! (Bloody ludicrous, I know - and soooo annoying when you see those american House Hunter shows on HGTV where the participants bitch about getting some poxy 3,500 sq.ft, 5-BR, 6-bath  mansion and pool with only 2 acres of land for their 'whopping' $130K budget! Grrrr. Still, that's the price (literally) of living in North America's most expensive city! I can't deny, my heart says I'd much rather be living in Europe for the same money!)

Anyway, before I digress too much on that well-worn rant of mine, let me continue my blather. It's a lovely house, lots of light, big bay windows where the cats spend most of their time staring out and getting all fired up at the slightest glimpse of a bird, a falling leaf or the neighbour's cats, especially Blackie or 'Black Cat' as we nicknamed him, since we didn't know his name for the longest time, (not that 'Blackie' comes as such a surprise.) Never have we seen Mishka get her knickers in such a twist about another cat as she does when Blackie hangs out on the fence, or comes right up to the back door, staring in and taunting her, (see below).

How much is that kitty in the window?

Nap time (Left to right: Louis, Mishka and Mel)

Mel & Louis - ridiculously excited at their first glimpse
of snow (Dec. 2012)

WTF? Come on...you've got 3 black cats already, surely one
more's not gonna hurt? Eh? Whaddaya say? Look into these
eyes and tell me I'm not adorable? Huh?

 "Black Cat" from nextdoor, aka
The Interloper - Mishka's arch nemesis.

So how is it that this gravy train is coming to the end of the line? Well, Hugh and Karen can't decide on how much longer they'll stay in London so they've decided it's a bit crazy (and expensive) to keep their house in Vancouver, so they're 99% decided on putting it up for sale - for approx $900K! Of course friends of ours immediately pipe up with, "You guys should buy it!" but, when you realize that we'd have to use up all our savings AND the mortgage would still be about 3 times what we're paying in rent...plus we'd assume all costs for the things that need fixing around here, it really isn't even a remote possibility. We'd have to have frikkin' rocks in our head to put ourselves in that position....and the wisdom of my favourite blogger, Garth Turner, will tell you that too.

Our good friend John - who's a Realtor in Victoria, though we try not to hold that against him, haha - even suggested we buy the house, live in the basement and rent out the rest. Bless! Yeah, not gonna happen, my friend. Why would we live squished up in the small dark basement while renters get to enjoy the rest of the house, thumping and crashing above our heads - when we'd still have to use up all our savings and pay about another $1800/month for the 'privilege'?

And so, after Karen came out for a week in February to sort out all the stuff she, Hugh and the kids have stored in the basement and attic, we were definitely led to believe they were leaning much more towards selling.....imminently. With talk of getting painters and workmen in and of 'staging' the place (even hinting that we should put some of our own belongings in storage to make their house look better and not risk them losing $30K because it looked so 'cluttered'....cheeky mare! Especially since half the boxes that 'cluttered' the place were stuff we'd been storing in the basement but had kindly moved upstairs purely to give her more room for sorting out her own things down in the basement.) It was clear that Karen no longer sees us as the paying renters/house-sitters but rather as people (and cats, which she clearly doesn't like) living in her house and touching her stuff. Naturally we appreciate we've had an excellent run to have lived here 4 years but it's becoming obvious, on many levels, that we should find ourselves a new place to live.

And that's just what we've done! (well, thanks largely to Lorne, who so diligently scoured the gazillion ads on Craigslist these past few weeks). We've just signed a lease on a cute but small.....as in small...as in not very spacious.....as in the little side of large.....petit and bijou......compact...and did I mention small (??)...townhouse in Kits. In fact it's just 3 blocks from where we lived for a few years before moving into this house - and closer to Vicky and the kids too. In fact only about a 15min walk away. :-)

It's actually a nice, bright (little) 2-level townhouse....all 740 sq.ft. of it - with two balconies. A nicely renovated 2-up-2-down you might say (reminiscent of terraced houses back in England), with a doll-size kitchen, decent living/dining room and 2 bedrooms. And while the cats won't have nearly the same view or constant action right outside the windows, we hope they settle in well and will be buying a new kitty-condo for them to hopefully ease the transition and give them a lookout.

So we'll be back in the old 'hood - our former stomping ground - close to beaches (one of which is a small beach just minutes away where we always enjoyed a cigar, even though that's now banned in Vancouver!...whatever!) and back to the land of Starbucks-wielding, yoga-mat bearing Lululemon Barbies and the 'look at me' musclemen that pose around Kits Beach. Do I sound bitter? I don't mean to, but I can't deny that one of the things I've loved about living where we are, in Mount Pleasant, is that, for the most part anyway, the locals are just a little less stuck-up, fairly low-key and have a relaxed laissez-faire/anything goes attitude. Of course there are a few trendy hipsters, playing it down in their bearded shabby-chic, granola-grunge look, but overall much more ordinary than the Kits-crew tend to be. Mind you, I have always spent most of my weekends shuffling on West 4th or on West Broadway, so it's great to be heading back to my regular/favourite part of town.

Anyhoooo, this has turned into an incredibly-long-winded post simply to say I'm still working (for now) and we're moving house.

Ladies and gentlemen, this gravy train is now pulling into its terminus station. All passengers are requested to disembark and please remember to take all belongings with you. Mind the gap......