October 2023 - The Eventful Month - Part 1| Short Trip to Saigon & The Watches I Wore

Alright, in an effort to reduce the spaces between posts, I've just posted the previous one and jumped right in to beginning this next one. 

 

I started this post on Tuesday, November 7th. Melbourne Cup Day. I didn't place any bets. I gave up on it a few years ago when a horse was being led back to the stables after the race and some idiot in the crowd waved a flag as it went by. This spooked the horse and it reared up and caught a leg on the railings between the track and the crowd. 

It injured itself so badly that it had to be put down later that afternoon. 

So no, I don't consider it 'the sport of kings' anymore.

The Trip

I mentioned in my last post that my wife and I were feeling a little burnt-out and maybe a short trip might be a good idea. Last holiday we had was back in March 2019, when things were simpler. Nobody was hand-sanitising or wearing masks on public transport. There were no 8:00pm curfews or lock-downs of the entire state. The elderly were not being admitted to hospital with persistent coughs, never to return home again. 

Travel bans had eased up back to pre-Covid levels. And we needed a short break from our hectic work schedules.
We decided a six-night stay in Ho Chi Minh City/Saigon would be a good idea. No major plans for sight-seeing. This would be a cruisy holiday where we would take things easy, get massages every day, and get around at a gentler pace. I arranged it through a travel agent in the city and the trip was booked for the first week of October. 

And, me being me, I spent some time deciding on which wristwatch I would be taking with me. 

I've had this solar-powered Citizen Eco-Drive Nighthawk for about five years and I've usually worn it for those occasions or purposes where it might risk getting knocked around a little. Handyman stuff around the house, bike rides, etc. This watch was what collectors refer to as a 'beater'. A watch that you'd wear when you don't want to risk damaging something more expensive or treasured. 

Because I hadn't worn this watch much in recent years, I decided to move it along and promptly sold it on eBay for about $35 dollars more than what I paid for it. 

A few months earlier, I had purchased a Seiko Prospex Solar Diver 200m (Ref. SNE585P) from a local jewellery chain because I liked the idea of a solar-powered set-and-forget quartz wristwatch, which would take over the beater duties of the Citizen Nighthawk. This would be the watch that I'd take with me, along with the Longines Expedition watch that I got back in 2011. I figured I might as well take something that was a little more dressy, for dinners out while we were away. 

 

Excuse the crappy photo. I adjusted the bracelet on the Seiko watch, but I wasn't entirely happy with how secure the links would be, so I switched it over to a rubber strap. That way, I could also adjust the fit of the watch throughout the day if my wrist swelled up a little in the heat during the trip. 

So, wristwatch(es) sorted. Next up, some reading material. I brought along a copy of a Mick Herron stand-alone novel titled Nobody Walks. This book is not part of his Slough House series (see previous post), but it does contain some characters from that series. In the end, I didn't end up getting any reading done. 

I had also brought along a notebook, with the view to writing a bit of a travel journal while I was away. I did do some writing - with mixed results - but I found that whenever I had the time to sit and write, I didn't really feel in the mood for it. 

My wife, meanwhile, had brought along some study notes that she planned to read and collate for an assignment, as part of her Master's Degree, which is in its final stages. 

 

All set. So here below is the transcription of my half-assed travel journal. For the sake of giving it a jaded ex-pat washed-up journalist vibe, I'll switch to Courier font. In Italics. 

And, with the benefit of hindsight, I'll probably add a little more than what I wrote at the time. 

Yes, I'm sure it's cheating.

 

Monday October 2nd

                The drive out to Melbourne Airport was calm and quiet. Our flight was booked for 11:30am departure. Our driver arrived on our doorstep at 8:00am. We used a limousine service rather than a cab. This costs about forty bucks more than a SilverTop, but you get a spacious car and the driver helps with your bags. We were travelling in a late model Mercedes-Benz and it was a very smooth ride. Looking back, I think next trip we'll probably just take a train into the city and then catch the SkyBus to the airport from there. It'll be way cheaper. And we can manage our bags ourselves. 

Got to the Departures Terminal with plenty of time to spare. We'd already done the online check-in the night before, so we proceeded to the shorter queue and checked our suitcases in, once again thinking that we may have over-packed.  

Mrs. Teeritz and I discussed ways of being slightly more savvy travellers while we sat in the airport's Brunetti Cafe with a couple of lattés. We haven't travelled enough to get good at it. 

 

By the way, excuse my handwriting. I'm writing this at 39,000ft. 

Destination is about 4,000 mls/ 6,400 km 

Time to Destination - 7hrs, 50 mins

ETA - 3:36pm

4 hrs behind Oz

- Flight a little tiring. Feeling sleepy.

I have to admit, I don't fly well. It doesn't make me nervous, but it does tend to knock me around a little. My tinnitus flares up a little, my ears block up due to the cabin pressure, perhaps. By the sixth hour, my head began to pound a little. I popped a couple of Panadol and counted down the remaining two hours, as I unwrapped a couple of sticks of gum to deal with the blocked ears prior to landing at Tan Son Nhat Airport in Ho Chi Minh City.

After getting our bags from the carousel, we got into the queue for immigration/arrivals and we were soon dealt with by an officious and very competent clerk who stamped the dog-eared page in my passport. I had purposely put the slight fold in the top corner of the page. It already had the stamps from our previous visit back in 2019 and, for the sake of continuity, I was hoping he'd stamp the same page. Which he did. Cool!

Stepped out of the airport terminal building into the warm Saigon air. It was overcast.

We caught a cab to the hotel* and I was again reminded and amazed by the way traffic operates in Saigon. Probably 70 or 80% of it is made up of motor scooters and it's an intricate ballet of two and four-wheeled vehicles which negotiate around each other at any given time. Our cab driver relied heavily on his horn, as he closed up gaps in traffic before too many scooters zipped up ahead to block his path. Red lights at intersections are a suggestion, it seems, as some scooter riders check left and right before stealing their way across, with little regard for approaching cars which have the right of way. The cars slow down to let them pass, anyway. You hear regular short beeps from scooter and car horns, but I have to say I didn't hear the screeching of tyres or the sound of crunching metal at all during our time there. 

Checked-in to the hotel at around 5:30pm. We were taken to our room and we sat down on the bed and made loose plans for the rest of the evening. We decided, as per usual, to head out and go for a walk to get our bearings. And to look for an ATM teller machine for some funds.

The one thing that took us a bit of getting used to again was the exchange rate. One Vietnamese Dong doesn't translate into any meaningful amount in Australian dollars. 

Basically, 10,000 Vietnamese Dong (VND) equals about $0.65 Aussie cents. So I had to jump onto XE.com more often than I wanted to. Since I carry pen and paper, I quickly jotted down a handy reference;

VND                           AUD

1,000,000                    $65.oo

   500,000                    $32.50

   400,000                    $26.oo

   300,000                    $19.50

   200,000                    $13.oo

   100,000                     $ 6.50

     50,000                     $ 3.25

     20,000                     $ 1.30

     10,000                     $  -.65

I didn't end up using the money clip, opting instead for a small leather RFID blocking credit card holder which contained my bank card, AMEX card, and whatever cash I might carry. This wallet was small enough to fit into my front pockets. I did feel weird carrying three million Dong, even though it only equated to about $195.00 AUD. 

We got back from our walk and decided to hit the small bar on the 1st floor of our hotel. After a quick look around, we took a seat at a low table. This would be where my wife would do most of her study while we were away. The waitress brought over a cocktail menu. I had a quick glance through it and didn't see the drink that I wanted. No big deal. I'd just order it anyway. 

She came back to us about five minutes later and I asked for an Americano cocktail, which is basically one measure of Campari, one of sweet red vermouth, and then topped up with soda water, in a glass over ice. The waitress had a little trouble understanding my order. So, I ended up ordering a Negroni instead, which was listed on the menu. I don't mind Negronis, but it's a very on-trend drink at the moment and I like to take the road less travelled. 

It arrived about ten minutes later. Not bad, but I couldn't help thinking that they may have used Aperol instead of Campari because it had a light orange hue to it rather than a darker blood-orange colouring.  

Later in the evening, we went up to the 24th floor where the roof-top bar and pool were located. The floor below was where the gym and day spa were situated. It was good to find the spa, because we had planned to get daily massages during this trip.

We resolved to make a booking next day. We got to the bar and I ordered a Gin & Tonic. My wife doesn't drink. The air was warm as we sat there looking out at the cityscape under the night sky. Saigon is known for a plethora of roof-top bars and many of the hotels have pools on their roof-tops. That way, lower floors can be dedicated to rooms. 

After this, we went for another walk down the road from the hotel and found a Runam Café on a nearby corner. We visited one of these cafés the last time we were here. It's a small chain, but they make excellent coffee. Truth be told, you really cannot get a bad cup of coffee in Saigon. Every place we visited made a great cup.

 

Tuesday October 3rd

                                             Got up around six am. My body clock is in business for itself. Went down to breakfast buffet. One thing that we began doing about ten years ago whenever we travel- always see if a buffet breakfast is included with the hotel room rate. You can sometimes eat a big breakfast, since there's so much to choose from, and virtually forego having lunch later in the day. 

My wife ordered a latté and it arrived soon after. It was very milky. We suspect that the coffee was Nespresso. It had no kick to it. No major drama. This city has more coffee places than Melbourne. A lot more. 

My wife likes her first cup of the day to be strong. I have to agree. Your first coffee should be an ignition key that wakes you up. 

Headed out for a walk after breakfast and we ended up at a café called Shin Heritage, which we visited a few times when we we last in Ho Chi Minh City. We had a couple of coffees, to make up for the lacklustre ones that we'd had at breakfast. After that, we kept on walking and soon got lost. Again, no major drama. Stopped in a another Runam Café and checked Google Maps on our phones**. Turns out we were 300 metres away from our hotel. We had a couple of cool drinks at this café. I had a Strawberry and Blueberry smoothie and my wife had a Lemon and Mint cordial. 

Later in the afternoon, we headed up to the hotel's day spa for a massage. It was in a quiet, dimly-lit room. I opted for the one-hour full-body massage and felt like jelly by the end of it. 

We had the same the following day.

As I said earlier, this travel journal of mine was half-assed. A couple of days into the trip and I wasn't really keeping tabs on what we did. This probably had more to do with the fact that we had no real plans for this holiday besides walking around the neighbourhood and taking things easy wherever possible. As such, the journal and our photo-taking took a back-seat to us just being there with no definite aims set. 

One day three, we headed out. There are a couple of things that are abundant in Saigon. Cafés and roof-top bars, as already mentioned, and day spas. These spas all vary slightly in terms of services that they offer. Some do massage only, others offer manicures and skin treatments. Most of them have doorways that are situated on street level and you'll usually see two or three ladies sitting on stools outside trying to drum up business, with a casual "Hello, Madame" to my wife as we walk by. 

One such place had an entrance hall with a scooter parked inside it. Two ladies were sitting outside and they greeted us as we walked by. We stopped to look at the pamphlet that they offered us. Foot Massage Acupressure, Facial Reflexology + Head Massage, Manicure Polish, Foot Massage with Paraffin, Special Acne Treatment(!), Pregnancy Massage(!!??), the list went on. And on page three, A Body Relaxing Oil Massage for three hundred and fifty thousand Dong, which worked out to about $21.00AUD.  

We booked two of those for later in the afternoon. Twenty-one bucks was better than the sixty that we had paid at the hotel's day spa. And how bad could it be?

Later in the afternoon, we walked over to this day spa and were ushered up two flights of stairs in this wonderful old building to a group of small rooms. We pointed to the 60 minute Body Relaxing Oil Massage on the list of options and then were led to two tables in another room where we disrobed down to our underwear. Always leave your underwear on, thrill-seekers. Removing them sends a completely different message. That was not what we were after. And I got the impression that this was not that kind of place, anyway.

 

As regular readers may recall, I had bunion surgery on both feet back in September last year. Then, in March this year, I fractured a metatarsal bone in my left foot and have been feeling some pain in it ever since, due to the fact that I walked around with this fracture for ten days or so before getting it attended to properly. As a result, I think the fracture didn't heal properly. 

As a result, I didn't want my feet touched during the massage, so I  showed my masseuse a Google translated sentence that I had prepared before we arrived. In English, it was; "I had both feet operated on last year. Please do not touch my feet."

She read the Vietnamese translation and giggled. She had very limited English, so we explained it to the older masseuse - who spoke better English - and she explained it to my one. 

Later that night, I re-translated the Vietnamese sentence back into English and it read; "I am a magician. I had to send my brothers to another dimension."

Once we stopped laughing, I re-wrote the Vietnamese sentence in Google Translate one word at a time and got vastly different English translations each time. 

Vietnamese has numerous symbols above various letters. I had a feeling they would have different meanings. Back in my hospitality days, a customer told me that the Vietnamese word 'toi' could be pronounced five or six different ways, each with a different meaning. 

A quick question on Google yielded this answer;

Vietnamese has an extensive number of letters with diacritical marks to make tonal distinctions.

 

There you have it. That explained the giggling. She must've thought I was crazy.

 

Anyway, I once read that when you're getting a massage the idea is to relax and just focus on the area that is being worked on. I lay on the table, with my face in the cut-out and began to relax as my masseuse worked on the back of my neck and shoulders. My wife was on the table alongside mine and I heard her masseuse say; "You are very strong." Lady Teeritz does light workouts throughout the week with the weight set that we have out in the car-port. She has sometimes recounted to me the story about actress Linda Hamilton who, when she began training prior to filming "Terminator 2: Judgment Day" in 1991, stated that she wanted to get 'a better back than Madonna's'. 

 

By the end of it, I could have fallen asleep there and then. I felt like jelly. My eyes were bleary as I gingerly got off the table and got dressed. My wife felt the same. We had found our preferred place for massages for the remainder of our trip.

 

During our time in Saigon, my left foot didn't really hurt all that much. Was it the warm weather? I also thought that the high humidity in Vietnam might affect my asthma, but I found no issues with my breathing while we were there. My wife said her eyes didn't feel as dry as they do back home. Her hair did go a little frizzy, though. Not something that I myself had to worry about.

We didn't take many photos this time around. We figured we'd take a holiday from doing so. Therefore, I'll just include a few pics from the time we were here back in 2019. For atmosphere.

I wanted to visit the Hotel Continental again. This is where author Graham Greene stayed, in Room 214 while writing The Quiet American in the early 1950s. Maybe we'd have a drink at their Bar Du Jardin. This time around, the bar was closed to the public. So we headed to the gift shop, which was also closed, and I asked at the reception desk if they still sold the coffee mugs with their logo on it. I had bought one the last time we visited. 

They informed me that these were no longer available. Ahh well...

Here's a shot of the Opera House, a grand old building located near the Continental Hotel. This time around, on the evening we walked by, there was a large crowd gathering outside waiting to be ushered in for some performance that night. A newly-wed couple stood on the steps to have some photos taken, while other random visitors took selfies nearby, with the facade of the Opera House in the background. 

 

At some point during this trip, two things happened to me; my stomach began feeling a little dodgy and I got some kind of skin rash on my forearms and neck. 

My wife and I retraced events, to see if we could determine the cause. We narrowed it down to the day before. We had been walking around the city streets and by around 2:00pm, I was feeling quite hungry, to the point where I was a little light-headed. We had yet to try any of the street food vendors and as we stood on a street corner looking for some place to eat, a young man approached with a laminated menu and I took a quick look at it. Some type of barbecued pork on a skewer. Yep, that would do. My wife's appetite in hot weather tends to diminish, but I was quite ravenous by now. So, the young man led us upstairs to a large dining room and we took a seat at a large table. The place was empty. Was that a sign? I ordered two of the pork skewers and a lemonade. My wife didn't have anything. 

The skewers arrived soon after I placed the order. They were nice. "Are they hot?", my wife asked. 

"Just above warm", was my reply. 

"Be careful, T", she added. 

Once I was done, an older lady brought me the bill and a refresher towel in a sealed sachet. I was feeling the humidity, so I used this towel to wipe down my forearms and the back of my neck to cool off a little. 

Next morning, I felt a little queasy at breakfast and just had some buttered toast and fruit. Looking down at my arms, I noticed a reddish rash and it was slightly itchy. My wife saw that the back and sides of my neck looked pinkish and goose-bumpy. Playing detectives, we reasoned that maybe the warm pork might not have been a good idea and the refresher towel was probably not free of parabens, which I'm allergic to. 

The street food in Vietnam is generally safe to eat, as long as it's hot. Another tip would be to eat from a street vendor where the locals are eating. I'll know for next time. 

So, my appetite took a nose-dive for the rest of the trip. 

We had our massage in the afternoon and while my masseuse was working on my shoulders, I felt her pause for a moment and then felt a finger drag slowly along the back of my neck. She then left the room. Was she getting an axe? 

She returned a few moments later and a felt a cream being applied to my neck and rubbed in. Within a couple of minutes, the itchiness subsided.

 

Friday October 6th

                                             Haven't really kept a travel journal this trip. Too tired or busy. That's okay, though. This holiday was all about taking things easy. Got back onto cigarettes, with very mixed results. I said to my wife a while ago that I'd only smoke when I travel. Silly idea. Takes too long to get off them once I return home. My handwriting's crap, by the way. 

 

Needless to say, a few ugly Australians staying in town, so Mrs Teeritz and I are being our usual selves by counteracting their poor behaviour. We had a quick lunch at My Bahn Mi, a small place that specialises in these pork or chicken filled bread rolls with lettuce and seasoning. A couple came in and sat a few tables away from us. The male was a large, heavy-set guy with close-cropped blonde hair. He ordered a beer. A few minutes later, the waitress brought over a beer bottle in one hand and a frosted tall glass in the other. As she attempted to place these items on the table in front of him, this fellow snatched the bottle from her hand while pushing her other forearm away, indicating that he didn't want the glass. He then polished off half the bottle in one swig and said to her; "Haven't you got bigger bottles?"

The bottle in his hand was a standard 355ml. Very poor behaviour, buddy. Very poor. 

I don't know why it's so hard for some people to remember that they are a guest in a foreign country and should, therefore, present the best of themselves. 

Then again, maybe that WAS the best of him.

 

My appetite was a little better, so I figured I could eat a chicken Bahn Mi without any issues. 

For dinner, we went to the Runam Café near our hotel. My wife ordered a salad and I just ordered some fries. Her plate arrived about fifteen minutes later. Another ten minutes went by. Then another five. My wife called the waitress over and we mentioned that we had ordered some fries also. Shortly afterwards, the manager came over to offer his profuse apologies for the delay. We said it was fine, no problem. Being a hospitality industry veteran, I know that these things happen. We assured him that it was no major drama. He apologised again before retreating. 

My fries arrived about five minutes later. All good. Afterwards, we ordered coffees. A latté for my wife and an affogato for me.  

'Affogato' means 'drowned' in Italian. You basically take an espresso coffee and add a small scoop of vanilla ice cream to it. Drowning it. The ice cream melts, resulting in a creamy golden brown coffee. 

They brought the coffees over. My affogato had a small scoop of vanilla ice cream in it, a little smaller than a golf ball. Then the waitress put another small bowl down in front of me. It had seven or eight more scoops of vanilla in it, with some maple syrup drizzled over it. 

"You sure you'll manage?", my wife asked me with a raised eyebrow as I dipped my teaspoon into the ice cream.

Saturday October 7th

Our final night in Saigon. My handwriting is on holiday also, it seems. 

Today was good. 90 minute massage, light lunch and then to the Rex Hotel for a beer at their roof-top bar. Hot day and not much cooler while we sat there talking about future travel plans. Slow walk back to the hotel. Mrs Teeritz has been the best travel companion.

Wonder if I'll try an egg coffee before we leave? My stomach has been a little stand-offish this trip. I may have lost a kilo.  

 

We had no firm daily plans during our time in Ho Chi Minh City/Saigon this time around. We had gotten a little burnt-out by our respective jobs and this trip was all about taking a breather and recharging our batteries. 

This trip pretty much did that for us.

*We caught a cab to the hotel...

                                                                         

The driver took us for a ride. Really took us for a ride. I was watching the meter while he drove. Towards the end of the journey, it was showing around 2 million Vietnamese Dong, which worked out to about $125AUD. Ouch! 

Feeling head-achey still from the flight, and reasoning that the Aussie limo to Melbourne Airport back home cost a little more, I figured this was a standard cab fare here in Saigon. First mistake. I should have remembered that a lot of things in Saigon are cheaper than back home. 

As we stepped out of Tan Son Nhat Airport, a young lady in corporate black trousers and crisp white shirt asked us if we wanted a taxi. I replied "Yes, a Vinasun taxi, please". Vinasun is one of the few authorised cab companies in Vietnam. She led us over to a cab rank and a driver quickly helped us with our bags. 

"Does the cab have a meter?'', my wife asked me under her breath.

"You have a meter?", I asked the driver as he came around and held the back passenger door open for me.

"Yes, yes, have meter", he replied as he made his way around to the driver's seat.

Second mistake - the cab didn't have the Vinasun livery across its doors.

So, after a half-hour drive - which felt longer than I remember -  where he steered with one hand while checking his cell-phone with the other, we arrived at the hotel and I counted out the Vietnamese Dong that I had brought with me. This money was left-over from our previous trip in 2019. I counted it out. One million eight hundred thousand VND.

Not enough.

"You have Australian dollar?", he asked, a little too hopefully. I had a hundred and ten bucks in my wallet. I handed it over to him while I asked my wife if she'd brought any AUD with her. She hadn't. 

Then I remembered my mobile (cell) phone. I keep it in a leather flip-wallet and, behind the phone itself is an emergency $20 note, designed to get me a cheap lunch and coffee if I ever leave the house without my wallet. I don't do the pay-with-your-phone schtick that I see 90% of people doing these days. 

I fished this folded note out from behind my phone and handed it over to him. The fare was $120AUD and I gave him $130.00; "And ten for you",  I said. 

Seven days later, when it was time to head home, our hotel's Concierge ordered a Vinasun taxi for us. The driver helped with our bags and got us to the airport in about 20 minutes. Then he turned to me and said; "One hundred fifty six thousand."

Had I heard him correctly? Hundred and fifty six thousand VND? That worked out to about twelve bucks AUD. I asked him again; "One hundred and fifty six? Thousand?"

"Yes, one, five, six", he replied.

I gave him about 220,000.oo VND, which covered the cab fare and left him with a four dollar tip, which seemed to make him happy. He fished our cases out of the boot (trunk) and bid us farewell. 

I stood there at the terminal. My wife said; "What's up?"

I explained the cab fare.

"You're joking. Oh my God!"

"Bastard", I said, referring to the driver who took us to our hotel a week earlier. "That bastard", I repeated.

"Do you know how many meals a hundred and twenty bucks would have paid for?", my wife said, shocked. "How many massages?!", she added. 

"That's it T, we're too old to be rubes like this. The bastard."

I hope that driver has ten kids to feed, and I hope they ate well that night. 

So, hepcats, if you need a cab from Tan Son Nhat Airport in Saigon/Ho Chi Minh City, ALWAYS look for a Vinasun taxi.

**Stopped in a another Runam Café and checked Google Maps on our phones...

 

Our mobile phone provider used to be Optus. However, they had a massive data breach last year and, for me, this was the final straw. I switched over to ALDImobile, run by the German supermarket chain which opened up here in Oz about a decade ago. My wife had already defected over to them over a year ago. 

Only thing was that ALDI doesn't have International Roaming from Vietnam. Strangely, though, they DO have Norway. You know, for all the Norwegians who call Australia on a heavily regular basis. 

No huge drama, we thought. We would FaceTime our kids while we were away...until it dawned on us that my wife and I have iPhones and the kids switched over to Android-powered Samsung Galaxy and Google Pixel phones earlier this year.

Another travel-rookie mistake! In the end, we wound up using Instagram video calling with our daughter, just to stay in touch with the kids while we were away. 

And we used free Wi-Fi wherever it was available. 

Which would explain the absolute bombardment of Spam emails I've been getting since we got back from this trip. I'm laughing as I write this. 

Either laugh or cry, buddy.

Laugh or cry.

Next trip, we'll get a couple of $200 dollar data cards for our phones from the Post Office and use them while we're away. A little more research required before then. 

Time to become a little sharper when we travel. 

That damn cab driver! 

Thanks for reading!

Reading/Time No. 3 | May to September 2023 - The Book/s I Read, The Watches I Wore, and a New Watch Alert!

From my last post, of July 8th;

I'll start on the next post sometime in the next week or two.

Sorry!

Actually, the more I think about it, the more I realise that this could become a very long post, so I think I'll write it as a two or three parter. 

May to November is a long stretch of time and it feels like much has happened, to say the least, so splitting a long post into a few parts might make a little more sense.

It's been a busy 2023 so far. Work has been hectic, but in a mostly good way. My feet are okay, except for the slight-to-noticeable degree of pain that I experience with my left foot where I fractured a metatarsal bone back in February. I'm hoping that this will fade over the next six to twelve months. Otherwise, I feel more surgery may be required.  

Most importantly, we had to put our wonderful cat Dussy to sleep a couple of weeks ago, after her health went downhill rapidly. I spent the rest of September feeling miserable about it. Truth be told, I'm still not over it.

I did write about her in my previous post, as I felt I had to get the experience out of my system. She was an extraordinarily wonderful cat that I will love and miss forever. 

However, not to dwell on it here.

The 37mm Longines Spirit got quite some time on the wrist over the last few months. 

Over the last year or so, I've reverted back to smaller sized watches in certain styles. I've been thinking more about the types of watches that I like, and the kind of size that I feel best suits my wrist. I've basically broken it down to a few categories. This is something that I began doing a few years ago and my aim is to end up with a definitive collection of three or four types of watches, in a tight range of sizes. 

For example, the Dive watch. I've been collecting watches since the mid-'90s. I've tried numerous case sizes over the years and have decided that a circa 40mm diameter diver works best on my 6.5 inch wrist (in my humble opinion). Sure, I can carry off a slightly larger size, but I seem to be most comfortable with 40mm, with a give-or-take of 1mm either side. So, 39mm to 41mm tends to be my preference, but I can push to 42mm depending on the watch. My Omega Planet Ocean, Seamaster 300 and Seiko SKX009 are all 42mm and they can tend to dominate the top of my wrist, but that's okay to me because they're such perfectly designed and balanced cases.

 

Books read in May to September

 

I've been on a spy novel binge this year and have predominantly churned through more than a few of Mick Herron's works this year. 

Prior to this, I was slowly trudging through Kim Sherwood's modern Bond story, entitled Double Or Nothing and got two-thirds of the way through it before it (or I) ran aground. More about that later.

I had already listed my gripes with this book in my earlier post from July 8th, so I won't go back into them here. Sherwood writes well enough, without a doubt, but I had to wonder if she was writing this book with a 'literary' writer's idea of how a Bond story should be. Writing Bond can be a razor's edge or tightrope walk, as it can be easy to fall into cliché or pastiche if one isn't careful. A few previous Bond continuation authors have lost their footing, in my view. Sebastian Faulks (Devil May Care) and William Boyd (Solo) spring to mind. 

Very well written, but not memorable. 

 

Oh, before I continue about books, how's about a typecast about the new watch that I got in the middle of May?

 

With this new iteration of the Explorer model, Rolex has applied the numerals and filled them in with their proprietary Chromalight lume so that they glow in the dark with a nice pale blue hue. In normal lighting, the markers, hands and numerals are a stark, bathroom-tile white. In the dark, they go an icy blue.

 

Looking at this photo here, you can see the attention to detail in the lume-filled markers and numerals. 

Very sharply done.
 

Why the Explorer, teeritz?

 

A few reasons. For one, Ian Fleming wrote a similar watch onto Bond's wrist in his second OO7 novel, Live And Let Die, back in 1954. Referring to it as the "the Rolex Oyster Perpetual with large phosphorous numerals", many watch nerds speculated that the watch was an Explorer. 

My theory? Well, Fleming was a stickler for details. Aside from his recipe for Bond's Vesper Martini, he specified the type of car Bond owned - a 1930 Bentley 4-and-a-half litre - right down to the engine modifications made to it, stipulated that Bond like his hard-boiled eggs - speckled eggs taken from French Marans hens - cooked for three-and-a-third minutes and served with Blue Mountain Coffee and toast with Oxford's English Marmalade. Fleming being Fleming, if Bond's Rolex had been an Explorer model, with the word 'EXPLORER' printed across the upper half of the dial, I suspect that he would have mentioned it. 

And I say this even despite the fact that Fleming himself owned and wore a 1016 model Explorer throughout his life.

Methinks that Bond's watch may have been the pre-Explorer watch, the Reference 6150;

This model tends to match Fleming's brief description. 

Anyway, for my money, the current model Explorer would be the closest match to what Bond might have worn in the novels. 

That is my flimsiest reason for getting this watch. 

 

FLASHBACK - Years ago, I got home from work on a warm Summer's night, and we finished dinner, packed the kids into the car and drove down to the beach for a stroll along the water's edge. It was a busy scene, with people in the water and parked out on the sand. A cool breeze blew off the surface of the water as I walked along with my wife, my sandals in one hand and her hand in the other as we kept a lazily watchful eye on the kids. 

A little later, we sat on the low blue-stone wall that separated the sand from the concrete walking path and I saw a middle-aged Asian man walk by. He was wearing a white T-shirt and light grey shorts that stopped half-way down his thighs. A pair of thin, black rectangular glasses were perched on his nose. His immaculate black hair was cut short and greying along the temples. His tanned arms were wiry. On his left wrist was a Rolex Explorer wristwatch, and I recall thinking that it looked sensational on him in the evening sunset light. Golden Hour is a wonderful thing. 

I began to speculate; was it his only watch or did he have a collection? I suspect it was  his only watch - don't ask me why - and it looked damned perfect. 

That image, fleetingly caught, has always stayed with me. 

And, another reason why I went for this watch is because it's just one of the nicer offerings in the current Rolex line-up. Simple as that. And it goes without saying that this watch got a lot of wear throughout the rest of May.

 

Okay, back to our scheduled program. And so, on to Mick Herron's books. I've been bingeing on them this year. I read three of his short story/novellas, The List, The Drop and The Catch. Each of these stories centres on John Bachelor, a low-level operative who has been relegated to keeping an eye on retired spies. Nothing Earth-shattering or of national security, he's merely meant to check up on them once a week, to make sure they're eating properly, taking their medications, keeping out of mischief, etc. Herron has a wonderful writing style, reminiscent of some of Len Deighton's work. The stories are atmospheric and to be taken seriously, but there's an underlying wit and sarcasm to them that counter-balances the trade-craft and spy stuff that occurs in the stories. 

John Bachelor tends to do the bare minimum of work required to keep his job, and he's of the notion that he'll one day be promoted or returned to the higher ranks of MI5, but he just seems not to do enough to increase his chances for redemption from the powers that be. Like the rest of Herron's characters, he's very well drawn. 

While skipping through these three novellas, I persisted with Sherwood's Bond book mentioned above and got two thirds of the way through. I started reading it in mid-April and gave up on it on September 19th. I have been haphazardly keeping a book journal and kept a record of what I've been reading this year. The fact that this book took me five MONTHS to get to page 286 should have told me something. 

Life is too short to waste time on a movie or book that you're not enjoying. 

This book also began to kill my love of reading, given that it was taking me so long to get through it. Coupled with a very busy workload in my job, I soon noticed that the thrill of reading was beginning to fade a little, which I suppose is why I jumped into reading the novellas. Bite-sized books kept me reading.

 

The Tudor Black Bay 58 has been worn a lot in the two-and-a-half years that I've had it. It has in many ways usurped the Rolex Submariner 5513 from its high perch in the collection. 

So much so, that I've been giving some serious thought to selling the Submariner and perhaps replacing it with a more modern model, possibly a Reference 16610 from the early 2000s. I'll have to give a lot more thought before I make a definite decision.
 

And so, back to Herron's works. To date, he has written eight books in his Slough House series. These books revolve around disgraced members of MI5 who have botched assignments in major ways. Rather than being sacked (fired), and to avoid Human Resources red tape and/or wrongful dismissal litigation, they are relegated by HQ to a poorly funded/maintained/empowered division of the intelligence services at Slough House, a drab group of offices located behind a door - that's never used - which is sandwiched between a Chinese take-away restaurant and a newsagent/grocery. The staff enter these ramshackle offices via an entrance at the rear of the building. Up a flight of metal stairs to a door leading in, which always requires a shove to get it opened or closed.

The offices are cold and poorly lit, the stairs creak when somebody takes them. The staff bicker among themselves. As further insult, they are nicknamed 'Slow Horses', also being a pun on the location of their 'headquarters'. 

In charge of this group is one Jackson Lamb, who drinks and smokes too much, doesn't shower often enough and treats them all like idiots, keeping them occupied with mundane and boring tasks, in the hopes that they'll quit the Service. Rumour has it that Lamb was once stationed in Berlin before The Wall came down, but this is yet to be fleshed out in any of the books I've read. 

He routinely insults them, reminds them often enough of the reasons why they are in Slough House, and belches and farts in their presence, but he has an extreme loyalty towards them all and this is evident when his crew are in danger. They are his 'joes', after all. It's a term used throughout these books to refer to field agents. 

Like John le Carré, Herron has created his own jargon. 

I read books three and four back-to-back. They were Spook Street (2017) and London Rules (2018).

Spook Street begins with a suicide bomber detonating his back-pack in a shopping centre. Meanwhile, an attempt is made on the life of David Cartwright, retired spook (a term for spies) who may or may not be showing signs of dementia. His grandson is River Cartwright, one of the Slow Horses in Jackson Lamb's team, who goes to France to investigate the origins of the suicide bomber. 

Old spy David Cartwright's name is Herron's easter-egg/homage to John le Carré, who's real name was David Cornwell.

River Cartwright fumbled a training exercise in the opening pages of the first book Slow Horses (2010), although it is questionable as to whether or not he was at fault. Rumour has it that his grandfather was instrumental in pulling some strings to avoid his grandson getting booted out of the Service entirely, thus we find young River Cartwright relegated to the mind-numbing purgatory of Slough House.

 

The Longines Spirit was worn a lot during September when I was reading Spook Street. The 37mm diameter of this watch does sit quite perfectly on my slender wrist and its dial offers some nice, clear readability. Although, I do find that this watch has more of a 'Winter feel' to it and, therefore, I think it won't be worn so much over the warmer months ahead. I bought a leather strap for it recently and I'll put it through its paces when Winter comes around.  

 

Similar in some ways to the Explorer, this watch also features applied numerals on the dial which have been filled in with Luminous material. 

 

Applied markers as opposed to painted ones;

With applied markers, the dial has small holes drilled into it and the hour markers are then anchored to the dial, offering a three-dimensional aspect to the overall look of the markers or numbers. 

Whereas, a painted dial is just that. The hour markers are stamped onto a flat disc dial, often then painted over with luminous material. Either method works well, but I have to say I do like the extra effort that is made with the applied markers.

The events in the next book London Rules (2013) show some continuation from the previous novel, as the slow horses find themselves caught up in a plot involving a foreign hit squad that has arrived in London. Slough House's resident tech-head, a young IT whiz named Roderick Ho, goes missing. He's so conceited that he's of the belief that he was relegated to this dead-end team because he was too brilliant to remain in MI5. He's young and wears baggy denim and hoodies as his hands dance across computer keyboards while cans of energy drinks and empty pizza boxes pile up around his desk.

Meanwhile, River Cartwright is dealing with some revelations that he uncovered in Spook Street.

 

Herron is adept at characterisation. He gets you invested in the slow horses, even though, to keep things real, he kills off characters as the books go by. His dialogue is spot-on and his characters are consistent, with new one being introduced amid the skullduggery that goes in in the corridors of British Intelligence.

 

The Seiko SKX009K came in handy. There were some days when I was happy to be reminded of what day it was. The day wheel on this watch is in Spanish, hence the 'MAR' is short for 'Martes' (Tuesday), rather than 'March'.

And also, among all the Mick Herron that I read, I also blitzed through Charlie Higson's James Bond novella entitled On His Majesty's Secret Service. 

In this story, Bond is sent to investigate the affairs of a fellow named Athelstan of Wessex, who claims that he is, historically, the rightful heir to England's throne and he plans to disrupt the upcoming coronation of King Charles III. There's more to it than that, but I read it so quickly that I'm having trouble remembering it! I must have been in Slough House too long. It'll need a re-reading at some point. 

I have to say though that it was well written. Higson penned six Young Bond books earlier this century and they were well-received. He has a better understanding of the character of James Bond than many of the continuation authors who have taken a crack at writing a OO7 adventure. 

It would be interesting to read a full-length Bond novel written by him. 

We'll see.

Okay, so I'll park this post here for now. It got a little longer than I thought it would, but it brings things up to speed, as far as the last several months are concerned. 

My wife has been studying over the past two years, working towards a Master's Degree in Counseling and I have been pretty busy at work this year, so we decided that a quick break was in order. We figured a week or so of doing as little as possible might be a good idea, preferably overseas.

So, we organised a short holiday. 

More about that in the next post.

I hope you've all been well and thanks for reading!

The Cat We Said Goodbye To | Dussy. 2007(?) - 2023

This house doesn't feel the same anymore.

Sunday, September 10th*

 (*These underlined dates represent when I actually wrote portions of this post, rather than being a timeline of events. The events took place over a six day period, between September 6th and the 12th.)

I had planned a normal post like the ones before this one. However, our older cat, Dussy, who was diagnosed with kidney issues three years ago is now at end-stage kidney failure, or very close to it, as far as I can tell. I wrote about this diagnosis back in September 2020. 

Back then, the vet had said; "Well, she could last six to twelve months or she could go as long as two to three years."

Sure enough, here we are, three years later and Madame D has spent much time asleep this week and has gone off her food. We've been keeping her hydrated and have fed her small amounts here and there. She's been on a prescription diet these past few years and has never been a real fan of the stuff that she's had to eat. 

As we fear that she's nearing her end - man, it's difficult to write that line - we feel that she may as well eat a few things that she'd actually enjoy. 

 

I've been carrying her to her water bowl and placing her down in front of it. She has quite a thirst, which is a symptom of this ailment. She's much, much lighter than she used to be, and I can feel every ridge along her spine when I stroke her back.

 

Added to this condition, she has, in recent months,  also developed Feline Audiogenic Reflex Seizures, which causes her to flinch if she hears noises of a certain pitch. This can be anything from scrunching up aluminium foil to jingling of car keys.

This is a condition that cats can develop once they get to around fifteen years of age.  

My son has said that he's seen her have two seizures, where she collapsed to the floor and began to salivate for a few minutes. It happened a third time, late on Wednesday night, while my son was on the PlayStation. Once this passed, we brought her into the bedroom and she slept on the end of the bed with a blanket over her. And then it dawned on me that it was the clicking of the PlayStation controller's buttons that most likely were the cause of her three seizures, since they have only occurred when she's been in the lounge room while my son was gaming.   

We've all been feeling down since her condition deteriorated so quickly in the last four days, but my wife reminded me that this is a sixteen year-old cat, after all, and one that has led a good life since she turned up on our (neighbour's) doorstep 14 years ago. She has been well-loved and taken care of. Even our other cat, Bowie, has stepped up to help by lying down against her to keep her warm. Granted, he also gets warm as a result, but there was a time not so long ago when you could barely get these two cats within a few feet of each other, let alone sitting together. 

We have a vet appointment scheduled for both cats tomorrow evening, as they are due for some shots, but it looks like the consultation will divert to discussion regarding ensuring Dussy's comfort and, if it comes down to it, the right time to send her off if she's in too much pain or distress.  

Looking back now as I write this sentence (Friday, 15th), I realise that I wasn't truly prepared for the reality of what would come next.

 

Monday, September 11th

Once my wife and I got home from work, we got the two cats ready for the trip to the vet. Our daughter was coming with us. We soon got into my car and made our way sedately to the vet clinic twenty minutes away. 

Once we got there, the vet dealt with Bowie first, since his consultation was straightforward. He weighs 4.77 kilos, a healthy number in the range between 4.5 and five kilos. 

Attention then turned to Dussy. The vet weighed her and told us that the cat has lost 600 grams since her last visit.  She checked her eyes with a penlight. The cat's pupils did not dilate. 

Prognosis; the last seizure would appear to have caused some neurological damage and may have affected Madame's eyesight. 

The vet felt Dussy's midsection. She feels constipated, she remarked. 

Madame had not had a bowel movement for a few days. 

 

The vet said there might be a few courses of action we could try, but none of these would prolong this cat's life much longer and, more importantly, they would cause her distress.  

This cat was close to the end of it's time.

The vet went on to say that she didn't think it would be wise to wait a few more days. I was asking logical questions, making sensible statements, etc. I didn't want to leave it too late, to the point where it might be 2:00am one night and this cat is in pain or distress. 

My wife and daughter felt the same. The vet told us that she had no appointments booked for the following afternoon at 3:20pm. We made the arrangements and left. 

The ride home was sombre. I was, however, most concerned with giving this beloved pet a painless send-off.

We got the two cats home and gave Dussy a small teaspoon of vanilla ice-cream.

Tuesday, September 12th

 

I got up a little earlier that morning and went to the kitchen. I flicked on the coffee machine and then grabbed the egg carton out of the pantry and cracked one open. I transferred the yolk from one hand to the other, letting the egg-white slip through my fingers before spooning a small amount of the yolk into Dussy's bowl. 

I went and got her off our bed and brought her to her bowl. She gingerly sniffed at the egg before her tongue darted out to eat it. 

I offered her some water afterwards, and then brought her to her litter tray. After that, I put her on a cushion in the lounge, next to a window in the early morning sun.

Then I took a shower before my wife got up. 

Made an espresso, kissed my wife and Have a  good day, hon, then headed to the train station.

I left work at around 1:00pm and made my way home. The kids had kept Madame comfortable. There was her favourite blanket splayed out on the floor near the window in our bedroom and the sunlight shone through.  

I lay down next to her and stroked her head. She hasn't purred for a week now. I held one of her paws, feeling the pads underneath, hoping that she'd recognise that it was me doing this. Hoping that she remembered the sound of my voice or my scent.

It was now beginning to dawn on me. I had less than a couple of hours left with her.

My wife and I would often take a walk after dinner. It might be a short ten-minute stroll around the block or it might be a longer walk around the neighbourhood and we'd be gone about 40 minutes or so.  Dussy would follow us out the front door. We'd walk down our drive-way and Madame would be right behind us. As we'd cross the road in our street - it's a court. One way in or out - Duss would walk a little into the road and then stop. As we got to the end of the street, my wife and I would turn to look behind us and Madame would be standing there, like a sentinel. 

We would get back from the walk and the cat would be at the edge of our driveway. She'd see us and slowly slink her way towards us, out onto the road. As we walked past her, she'd turn and follow us back up the driveway. Unless my wife or I picked her up first. 

Left- March 2009 - the day she landed on our doorstep. A Chocolate-Point Burmese. Not the kind of breed that winds up as a stray. Even the vet that first checked her out was surprised. 

I opened up a can of tuna for her on that day. She became my shadow after that. My family has often commented on how she would choose my lap to sit in at any given time. We'd be sitting in the lounge room watching TV and Madame would make a bee-line for me and hop onto my thighs.

I kept patting her while she lay in the sun. I was starting to feel awful. Lost. The kids were both home and they told me that she'd spent most of the day asleep. I got her a little more vanilla ice-cream on a saucer. I knew this would most likely be her last meal. Afterwards, I carried her to her water bowl. She wasn't interested. 

I smiled and said to her; Good girl. Better to have the taste of vanilla on your palate instead of water. I brought her to her litter tray. Nothing. So, back to her blanket she went. 

My wife got home from work, we got Duss into her carry basket and headed for the veterinary clinic. I took a glance at my wife in the rear-view mirror while I drove. She was crying.  

 

We got to the clinic and were led into one of the suites. The examination table had a plush furry blanket laid across it, the ceiling lights were off and the room was illuminated by a soft glow from a wall lamp.

The vet came in and explained the procedure. She would place a catheter in Dussy's foreleg. Then, the cat would receive a large dose of anaesthetic, effectively an overdose. It would be quick, given Madam's age and frail state. That's all I hoped for, as my eyes welled up. 

Take as long as you need with her,  said the vet before leaving us in the room. We all held onto Dussy for a while. My wife asked if I wanted to hold her while it was done.  

I said 'no'. I couldn't bear that. I'd prefer to hold one of her paws, to let her know I was there. This cat has been my shadow for the last 14 years. I was the sucker who gave her some tuna when she first appeared and she seems to have preferred my lap over those of the other family members.

Okay, I'm gonna stop here for now. 

Sunday, September 17th

The vet returned to the room and asked if we were ready for Dussy to have the catheter inserted. She reminded us that we could have more time if we wanted. I was definitely not in a rush for this procedure to be underway, but I didn't want to prolong the goodbye. Can you tell how my head was in two places?

My son was holding Dussy and he gently passed her over to the vet, who took her into another room to fit the catheter.

This cat has never really had one name. When we first decided to keep her, she was called 'Latté', due to her two-tone shades of brown. Until my wife and I realised how pretentious that sounded. Then we switched her name to 'Wispy', on account of how her tail would sway and curl when she stood, like a thin plume of smoke. 

At some point after that, her name changed to 'Dussy'. This seems to be the one that stuck, more or less. My wife and daughter called her 'Bubble'. My daughter also called her 'Peanut', again probably to do with her colouring, and she also inexplicably called her 'Sticky Chicken' on a regular basis. Oh, and 'Goodjibubble'. Although, that name didn't stick, thank God.

And I sometimes called her 'Monkey' or 'Kangaroo'', to get a rise out of her. Didn't work.  

At any rate, if she had a passport, I'm sure it would list her as Madame Wispola Dusenberg. 

 

A few minutes later, the vet brought our beloved cat back into the room and placed her gingerly onto the blanket. I saw the catheter on her right foreleg, held in place by a strip of blue bandage. I held her left paw and gave the pad a gentle rub as my heart-rate increased a little. 

This was going to happen momentarily. 

I asked my daughter to hold Madame, if she wanted to. Are you sure?, she asked me as tears welled in her eyes. 

I was sure. I knew I wouldn't be able to bear it. 

And, more importantly, I wanted my daughter to have this closeness with this cat. Remember how I said up above that this cat would always seek out my lap to sit in? Well, sometimes, she would choose my wife's lap or my son's lap. Never my daughter's lap. 

This went on for years. From 2009, when she first arrived, till sometime in 2016, when I came home from work to find my daughter, big smile on her face, sitting on the couch with her feet perched on the ottoman, and Madame curled up in her lap. This was an historic event. 

My daughter was seven years old when this cat arrived. Dussy finally sat in her lap when she was 14. 

My daughter waited half a lifetime. 

I recall one year where we were having Sunday lunch. It was my birthday and we had finished eating and I had received and unwrapped my gifts and read the birthday cards that my kids had made for me.
It was a warm Summer's day. The front door was open, with a cool breeze blowing in through the screen door. Our dining area was right near the front porch. My wife glanced at the door. Dussy was standing outside on the front door-mat.
She's got something in her mouth, said my wife as she got up from the table and headed for the door. She opened it and Madame walked in with a bird in her mouth. The cat took a few steps into the dining area and then placed the bird on the floor.
On my birthday.
It was some black bird, with a thin yellow stripe across each wing. Very exotic. I'd never seen one like it, before or since. Probably the last of its species!
Dussy hadn't wrapped it, of course, but it was the thought that counted.

My wife asked our son if he wanted to nurse Dussy one more time. He declined. She then wrapped Dussy in her favourite blanket and put her into my daughter's arms. I stroked this cat across her brow and between her ears. 

The vet once again offered us more time, but we looked at each other, making an agreement with small nods. 

It was time. Logic reminded me of this, even though my heart wanted to back out of this procedure. 

 

Monday, September 18th

 

My daughter held Dussy up a little higher, cradled in her arms like a baby. I held our cat's left paw and gently stroked the pads. The vet took hold of the other paw and attached the syringe to the catheter. I watched her thumb push down on the plunger. She then removed the syringe from the catheter. I looked at Madame's beautiful face. A few seconds later, her tongue slowly poked out from her mouth and I seemed to see the light go out in her eyes. 

I turned away as the tears began to pour out of my eyes and took a step back and sat in one of the chairs against the wall of this tiny room. The vet approached and offered me some tissues. I took the box and said a tearful Thank-you to her.

My head flooded with various thoughts; 

- This was it, there was no way to turn it all back. It was done. 

- I felt a little distraught at seeing her like that, with her pink tongue protruding from her mouth. I didn't want her to look silly or comical in her last moments. My daughter and wife told me later that the tongue retracted while I was sitting in the chair. It was a reflexive action, as Dussy's whole body let go. 

The vet held a stethoscope to Madame's chest. We were quiet. A few seconds later, she nodded. 

Madame was gone. I was grateful to the Gods that it had only taken three seconds or so. 

My daughter asked if I wanted to hold her. I nodded and she passed our cat over to me. I was nervous as I took her in my arms. I didn't want to see her head loll to the side. I wanted to pretend that she was sleeping. I wanted a little time to accept the fact that she was gone. 

I held her in the crook of my arm and stroked the side of her face. I held her paw again for a while. I stroked the top of her head. 

Her body made a sound as a held her. Air was expelled from her lungs. I worried a little right then, not wanting to think that she was in some pain or distress. The vet explained that it was a chemical reaction to the injection.

She told us to take as long as we needed to say goodbye. I have to say that she's been a wonderful vet. She'd said I'm sorry to us more times than she had to, and she shed a few tears herself.  She has dealt with this cat on numerous occasions and always had nice things to say about her. Oh, she's a grand old girl, she remarked a few times, with her lilting Irish accent. 

She has one of those Gaelic names, easy to pronounce, but impossible to spell.

She and my wife left the room for a while. My wife wanted to pay for the procedure and she wanted to make arrangements for the body. 

We had discussed this the day before. Did I want to bury her in the backyard garden?

No. We wouldn't stay at this address forever. 

The decision was made to have her cremated instead, and we would keep her ashes in an urn at home. They would be ready in a couple of weeks.

I held on to her a little while longer, stroking the side of her face. I asked the kids if they were okay. They were feeling a little better. 

I'm not sure how much longer I sat there, holding on to her. Might have been fifteen minutes. I held her paw again and noticed it was feeling colder now. 

My wife came back in and we laid Dussy out on her blanket and wrapped her in it slightly. My wife placed a small handful of freesias between Dussy's paws. She had taken them from our garden before we left the house earlier. 

My daughter took a couple of photos of Madame as she lay there. I took one as well. She looked peaceful and I was glad that her deteriorating health was at an end. It was very difficult seeing her slide so quickly over the last six days. It did indeed happen fast. 

 

I found the care label on the blanket that she was wrapped up in. It was a blanket from West Elm and the print on the care-tag had faded. I took out my pen and wrote on it; "Dussy 2007(?) - 2023. We love you". On the other side of the tag, I added; "ALIASES - WISPY - BUBBLE - PEANUT".

 

I leaned down to Dussy and whispered in her ear; "I love you. You were wonderful. Thank-you". And my eyes welled up again. I stroked her face one last time and kissed her cheek, where her whiskers were. My daughter wanted to say her goodbyes, so I didn't rush her. She spent another five minutes or so with her. I stood just outside the room, glancing back a couple of times. Feeling miserable for myself, but contented by the fact that Madame was now at rest. I didn't want to remember her the way she was in her final week. I wanted to remember her the way she looks in these photos.

We thanked the staff at the veterinary clinic. I made a mental note to write a card for the vet to thank her for her efforts. We left, got in the car and made our way home. 

Wednesday, September 27th

We didn't talk much on the way home. It was done, and I felt okay about having said my goodbyes to this cat. I pulled in to our driveway. We got out of the car and brought the now-empty cat carrier into the house. 

Day-to-day practicality returned shortly afterwards and my wife and I decided to head to our nearby ALDI to get stuff for dinner that evening. 

We soon filled the two shopping bags that we'd brought with us and we approached the ice-cream section in the frozen food aisle. We checked the freezer that usually stocks the Kapiti Nelson Boysenberry ice-creams. It was totally empty, a blank white refrigerated space. 

"Oh, it's a day of loss!", my wife exclaimed with a smile. 

"This is the worst day ever!", I replied, smiling back.

A little bit of black humour to take the pressure off the day's events. We had all been crying an hour or so earlier.

Epilogue

It's now just over two weeks since we said goodbye to this beloved cat. I wasn't firing on all cylinders at work for the rest of the week after we had Dussy put to rest on that Tuesday afternoon. Made a few out-of-character mistakes here and there, as I was still reeling from it all.

As I said at the beginning, this house doesn't feel the same anymore. I get home from work and I don't see Duss curled up on a corner of the couch, punctuating the furniture or floor-space in one room or another. 

I've sat down to watch TV and she hasn't leaped up onto my lap. 

 

We have our younger cat, Bowie, and hes also a Burmese, but he's of a different temperament to her. He walked around a little distracted for the first few days after Duss had gone. I think it's truly dawned on him that she's no longer around. We've been keeping a closer eye on him and he seems to be okay. He comes and goes as he pleases. He even sits on the couch when we're watching TV, which is something that he never did. 

Last weekend, my wife visited the vet clinic to bring in some chocolates that we'd bought, along with a note of thanks from us both to the vet who carried out the procedure. Unbeknownst to me, she was also visiting the vet clinic to collect Madame Dussy's ashes. 

She brought them home in a little cloth draw-string pouch, along with a card from the vet. The ashes themselves were contained in a small plastic Zip-Loc bag. Hardly dignified, but practical. The vet had told us that this is how the pet crematorium packages them. They call it a 'scatter-bag', as some folks like to distribute the ashes in a special or meaningful location. 

I held the plastic bag in the palm of my hand. It was smaller than a cake of soap. I put it back in the draw-string pouch and held on to it a few minutes. My wife would organise a small urn to put them in.

 

It was good to have Madame back home. And I thank the Gods for sending her to us all those years ago. I'll miss her always, but I'm glad to have had her for the time that I did.

She was a source of affection, frustration (at times), friendship, amusement, concern, and above all, love for all of us in this family. 

 

 Thanks for reading.