Goodbye to Another Wonderful Cat | Bowie. 2017 - 2025

Once again, our house feels different. 

We wake up in the morning, and he's not sitting outside our bedroom door. We come home from work, and he's not curled up asleep on a corner of the couch. We prepare dinner, and he doesn't walk in meowing as the plates are placed on the table.

April 30th. It was a Wednesday evening. I got home from work and my wife and daughter said they'd go get us some burgers for dinner. My son was out working, so it would just be the three of us. 

Off they went to a local burger joint (which ended up stuffing up their order) while I sat at the kitchen table taking some lenses off some cameras and swapping them around to see which lens would fit which camera. 

Ten minutes or so later the doorbell rang. It was a neighbour from a few houses down. He had a torch in his hand, as it was beginning to get dark.

"Hi, teeritz, it's ******, from number 4, Do you have a cat?"

I said that we did have a cat, and he explained that his wife had told him that a cat was lying on the nature strip outside their house. 

I headed out there with him and as I got closer to his house, I could see the familiar shape and colour of our cat, Bowie. 

"Oh, no, no, no", I thought to myself as I got closer. 

"Ahh, damn, Bo", I said as I crouched down to feel his chest and back. His eyes were slightly open, pupils fully dilated. He still felt warm, but didn't stir.

He was gone. 

"Oh, dammit", I said as I stood up, wondering what to do next. I thanked my neighbour and he asked if I needed any help. I told him I'd be okay and that I'd just go get a towel and be right back. He waited a minute or so for me to come back. He asked again if I needed any help. I thanked him and told him I'd be alright, as I crouched down and wrapped Bowie up in the towel. Burmese cats are known to be heavy, often described as 'bricks wrapped in silk'. He felt heavier right now as I bid my neighbour a goodnight and headed back to my house a few doors away. 

It was now around six-thirty pm on this chilly Autumn evening. My wife and daughter had been gone about 20 minutes. They should be back soon, I thought to myself as I sat down on the weight bench in our carport and looked down at this little cat in my lap, wondering how I would break the news to them. I stroked his cheek as my eyes welled up. 

"Oh, Bowie", I said as I continued patting him. I wondered if he had been hit by a car, but there were no marks or signs of trauma to his body. The tears kept coming. About ten minutes later, I got a message on my phone from my wife; "Sorry, an idiot took our order". 

That explained the fact that it was now around 30 minutes since they left. It was about twenty minutes later when I saw my wife's car turn into our street. It pulled into the driveway and as I sat on the bench, I looked up at my wife and daughter and shook my head. 

 

"What happened?", my daughter asked as she got out of the car. I explained what had occurred, but I had trouble getting it out. She said we have to take him to the vet, we have to take him to the vet. She was now understandably distraught.

I told her I'd been sitting with him now for over 30 minutes and I didn't think a vet would do any good. I took a slow deep breath and retold what had happened, my voice a little shaky. My wife was still trying to comprehend it. 

 

The above was written about a week after it occurred. I stopped writing because it was all still too raw.  I'll continue now (July 27th) and I'll see how long I last.

 

She had gotten home from work at around 5:45pm and my daughter had brought Bowie over to greet her. He seemed fine and his usual self, she told me. They then discussed dinner plans and I arrived home shortly afterwards.

We didn't see him around anywhere. He must've done his usual thing of heading out for a while before we had dinner. So, nothing unusual so far. My wife and daughter headed out to a local burger joint while I messed around with camera lenses before the doorbell rang and I got the awful news from my neighbour. 

 

Bowie was still wrapped in the towel and we got him into the car and made the short drive to a nearby animal hospital.  The girl at reception listened to our outline of events and called out a vet, who took Bo into another room. We waited about 20 minutes before the vet came out to tell us that there was nothing more that could be done. She said there was some fluid on his lungs and his front claws looked a little shredded. No evidence of impact, but it could have been a car. She based this on the condition of his claws. My wife said later that his claws were already like that and she had been meaning to trim them. We took him home and laid him out on his favourite cushion and draped his little blanket over him. 

All that was left now was to tell our son about it once he got home from work. There was no point in calling him while he was working. We didn't want to upset him. That would come later. 

Needless to say, the ladies of the household were very upset. 

 

Here he is, a few days after we first got him in 2017. He was very wary of us all and spent his first week hunkered down under our daughter's bed. Over the course of a few days, she noticed her socks were going missing. This cat had slowly hoarded a bunch of them and had arranged them in a semi-circle under her bed, like sand-bags. He'd built himself a fort. Took him quite some time to warm up to us all. My son was working nights back then, so he spent the most time with this little guy throughout the day, slowly coaxing him out from under the bed and playing with him during the day. Of course, we had Dussy, our other cat, who was older and she never really got comfortable with the idea of another cat in the house. That's putting it mildly. She hated him and would hiss whenever he came near. She did mellow a little in the last few years of her time with us. Regular readers may recall that she got ill very quickly in September 2023 and we had her put to sleep before her illness got worse.

 

Our son got home from work at around 10:30 that night and we broke the news to him. He was upset, but I think he wanted to hide it. That's okay. My wife and I did remind him that it was important to grieve in his own way and not to keep it bottled up. We told him it was unfair what had happened to Bo but it was important to deal with it. 

The next evening, my wife looked up a few pet cremation services online and found one that had gotten very good reviews. They were located on the other side of town. We made the necessary arrangements and provided a photo of Bowie - the one at the top of this post - and they were great to deal with, I have to say.  

My son brought Bowie into his room on the night that he died and placed him on the chair at his desk. This was a spot that Bo liked to sleep in during the day. 

It was a thoughtful gesture. Our son said that he didn't want Bowie left alone in the lounge room overnight. 

The next evening, we had taken Bo off the couch and placed him on his cushion. The pet cremation driver would be arriving soon. As I tilted Bo's head a little, some blood ran from his nostril. Once again, a reminder that he was truly gone. I dabbed at it with a tissue. 

My wife placed some leaves from a tree next to his head on the cushion. He liked sitting under that tree in Summer, she reminded me. 

In the coming days, I'd spend a few minutes here and there Googling info about how cats can die so suddenly, since I felt that the vet's conclusions were a little vague. 

Can Burmese cats die suddenly?, I Googled.
Yes, it turns out that they can. This breed is susceptible to heart issues. It would seem that he may have had a cardiac arrest. This didn't make me feel any better, but it did provide a possible answer to why he went so young. 

 

(August 3rd)

My wife was miserable in the days after he died. She said she just felt so sad about it, stating that he died so close to home, on a cold evening, without being with his people. 

 

We did, however, remind each other that we had all given him a nice life. 

Friday nights, my wife and I would make pizzas. The kids would be at work, so it was usually just the two of us. Bowie would appear in the dining area while we ate, and he would almost always end up with a piece of pizza crust to munch on, his little nose crinkling as he chewed.

Saturday nights were an especial treat for him. Again, the kids would be working and I would cook fish for my wife and I. 

Despite my cooking a smaller piece of salmon or barramundi for my wife, at her request, she would often not finish the entire piece, and guess who would be waiting for the leftovers?

This would later be followed by his normal 8:30-ish feed of meat. So, he was getting some surf & turf action going on Saturday nights. Living like a prince, he was. 

When I broke the news to my colleagues at work, I got some sympathetic responses from those who also own cats. One of them said; "I don't know which would be worse- a pet getting sick and dying or one that dies suddenly."

I didn't have a response at the time, but I've now had time to think about it, having experienced both outcomes. Dussy went downhill pretty quickly. She had a seizure on a Wednesday night and we saw a rapid downhill change in her health. She had trouble walking after that. The vet also said that her sight had gone. Her condition would worsen quickly. We had her put to rest the following Tuesday. It was very difficult to make the decision but it gave us time to come to terms with it. Not a lot of time, mind you, but enough for us to rally 'round and support each other while we made her as comfortable as we could in the time she had left. 

We would grieve afterwards. 

Whereas with Bowie, he was here at 6:00pm on a Wednesday evening and gone half an hour later. 

So, which would be worse, Lily? 

Losing a pet suddenly is worse. 

It's now just over three months since Bowie died. Till now, we weren't ready to look at getting another cat. However, chez Teeritz is a cat household, so it's only a matter of time. 

Since Bowie's passing, I've often thought that I could see one of our cats from the corner of my eye as I sat in the lounge room or dining area. When I've turned to look, I saw that it was a cardboard box or a shopping bag. My wife has said the same thing. So have the kids. The presence of our departed felines is still felt in this house. 

 

We visited the pet crematorium a week after they came to take Bowie away. We had the option of having his ashes posted back to us, but we didn't even entertain that idea, despite the fact that the crematorium was located way over on the other side of town. 

There was something cold and detached about Bo being sent in the mail. 

My wife and I drove out there on the Saturday morning and collected our little guy.  

We stopped off at a cafe on the way home. The little canister containing his ashes sat on the table between us. 

We soon finished our coffees and headed back to the car as the sun shone and the day warmed up. 

It was time to bring our beloved cat home. 

 

Despite the pain that one can go through when losing a pet, the joy and amusement that they provide far outweigh the grief that you experience once they're gone.  

And that's what I hold on to. 

Bowie lived half as long as our other beloved cat Dussy (still miss her), but he made a big impact on us all, and he had more of an effect on me than I thought he would. 

He will be sorely missed and always remembered in our household and we are grateful for the time that we had with him.

 

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.

 

 

Sunday, March 28th, 2021 - Dental Visits, Cat Health, Farewell Hoover 550M + Recent Wristwatches

Okay, so my last post ran the risk of becoming a very long one, so I stopped it and figured I'd just pick up from where it left off. 

The Tudor Black Bay 58 has still been getting a lot of wear, but I thought I should wean myself off it a little. I decided to replace the ribbon on my 1981 Olivetti Lettera 32. Man, it took me over half an hour! I've been out of practice. 

I wanted to keep the original spools of my machine, although one of them was lost a long time ago. 

Anyway, I thought I had the spools correctly loaded, only to find that one of them was positioned so that it would turn in the wrong direction.

Off they came and I tried again. And again. 

Purple fingers by the time I was done. 

Madame appeared on our doorstep (literally) back in March 2009. The vet that we took her to back then surmised that she was about a year old. Our current vet thinks that she may be older than what we thought. If she was born in 2008, she'd be thirteen now, but we're all thinking that maybe she's a year or so older than that. Either way, her health has declined somewhat over the last year. 

Regular readers may recall that she was diagnosed with kidney failure last year. She's on a special diet and seems to be doing well. However, she began coughing about seven weeks ago. We figured it was a fur-ball, although she's never coughed one up. Quick trip to a nearby pet store and the vet there suggested a very small dose of laxative, to help work the fur through her system. The vet suggested I got to the nearby pharmacy and buy a bottle of laxative. She told me to get a brand that comes in a green and orange bottle. The cat would require 0.5 of a ml. Well, I headed over to the pharmacy and asked for a laxative with the green and orange label. The pharmacist asked me who it was for. 

My cat, I replied. The vet suggested I give her half a mil over a couple of days, I added.
Well, the chemist was now reluctant to sell me this laxative. Oh, I don't think it's made for animals, she said. I informed her that the vet suggested it, saying that the pet store normally carries it, but they are out of stock. 

No dice. They wouldn't sell it to me. I thanked her and headed back to the pet store. 

I spoke to the vet again; They wouldn't sell it to me. I can get heroin easier!   

The vet kept a straight face on hearing that line. Oh dear, did she think I was serious? I wasn't born here.*

She reiterated that this laxative would be safe to use on pets, so I went back to the pharmacy, grabbed the bottle of laxative and headed to the cashier. Paid for it, and got the hell out of there. I gave the cat a couple of doses over the next few days. About four or five days later, she was still coughing. Okay, it wasn't a fur-ball. Time to go back to the vet.

They took a blood sample and ran some x-rays. She has asthma. Two options; a course of steroid tablets or an inhaler. We tried the first option to begin with, which I wasn't crazy about because these tablets have to be broken down by the liver, whereas an inhaler would go directly to the lungs. Half a tablet per day for the first week, then half a tablet every other day for the second week, then monitor the situation from there.The tablets appeared to work, but I didn't like the idea of their long-term use. So, I began getting her used to having a mask against her snout. I used a small plastic container and gently placed it over her nose and mouth. Of course, she resisted this. There's a YouTube video of a lady in Sweden or Denmark showing how she trained her cat to get used to the mask. It takes about a month, with lots of food rewards thrown in, because cats don't do anything for you unless there's something in it for them. 

Tudor Black Bay 58 continues to get a lot of wear, despite the not-100% perfect fit on my wrist. 

Anyway, back to the cat. I ended up purchasing the inhaler from my local pharmacy, since it's the same medicinal version as what we humans would use. Next, I needed a spacer. A number of years ago, it was found that using a spacer with an inhaler would provide a more effective dose. Being a mild asthmatic myself, I would use a Ventolin inhaler like anybody else. Give it a few shakes, put the mouthpiece in your mouth, press down in the inhaler tube and a dose of the medicine would be aerosol-sprayed into your mouth. You would take a deep breath as you press down on the inhaler. Nowadays, doctors and pharmacists highly recommend using a spacer. In layman's terms, let's say you have an aerosol can of, oh I dunno...fly spray, for the purposes of this explanation. Now, if you hold the can about six inches away from a wall and you spray it, you end up with a moist patch on the wall. If, however, you stand back and spray it from three or four feet away, you instead create a light mist on the wall. 

The spacer works along the same lines. Using the inhaler in your mouth, it's a very short distance from your lips to the back of your throat and this deposits much of the medicine onto the throat area. Apparently, you only get around 40% of the inhaled dose delivered into the lungs. Using a spacer, which is about the size of a soda can, but narrower, means that the spray is delivered inside the spacer canister as a mist, which you then inhale, thus providing a higher percentage of the dose. 

So, for cats and dogs, you use a spacer. The better one is called AeroKat. It has a tiny plastic flag inside it which dips down when the animal inhales. Because, a pet isn't gonna tell you that it breathed the dose in correctly. They're funny that way. This spacer comes with two different-sized masks. They're made of soft rubber and they resemble the mouthpiece off a trumpet. I used the smaller one, since cats have a very short space between their nose and mouth, and this one covers both. Madame doesn't inhale with her mouth open, so her nose would be doing all the work. 

First, I practiced with the mouthpiece over her face for a week or so. Followed by the signal word Prinzi , and a few dry treats as a reward. I used the word Prinzi (hopefully, it's a made-up word, but I'm sure it's probably a surname as well. Ha! I just Googled it. It's a suit hire place in Carlton. I've probably driven/walked past it a million times) because I didn't want to utter any actual word that she might here at any other time. Well, as long as she never has to hire a suit...

Anyway, I've been using the spacer with her for about a week. I weaned her off the tablets and introduced the inhaler. If she can get seven or eight inhalations out of it, that should do. Although, she does begin to turn her head to the side, and I'm reluctant to hold her down by force. And she'll also try to swat the mask away from her face with a paw. Her breaths are shallow. The little green plastic flag inside the spacer flutters rather than dips definitively, but it's a start. Anyway, all I can do is try. The rest of the family will also be getting familiar with doing this.  

After all, why should I have all the fun? 

I wore the Tudor Ranger towards the end of February. I got a straight-edged bracelet for it from Geckota, a website that sells various straps and bracelets. I must say it's a great quality bracelet. Very well made and quite sturdy. 

That pamphlet in the photo was given to me by the dentist who would be performing the 1st stage of a titanium implant procedure on two of my teeth.

March 18th.

                      I had the initial consultation with the dentist a few weeks ago and today was the day that a deteriorated root canal - done four years ago - would be extracted. I felt a little nervous in the car on the way to the surgery. 

While this type of operation has become routine in the last few decades, it would still be an intrusive surgery, drawn out over six to 12 months. My primary dentist discussed the two main options. I could have these two implants fitted, or I could get braces. At 55, I'm too old for braces. I pictured myself sitting in my manager's office at my next performance appraisal, negotiating a pay increase with a mouth full of steel. No thanks. 

My wife had braces fitted about ten years ago. She told me that if she could have had the choice all over again, she would have opted for removal of one or two teeth and crowns fitted. The process with braces involved routine adjustment and tightening of the wires over a two year period. This was after the removal of four teeth. The braces basically had to close up the gap left by the extraction of those teeth. 

So, I spent a week thinking about it and decided on the implant surgery instead. This in itself would involve a sinus lift on one section of my jawbone. I lost a tooth about ten years ago and the gum has receded a little, and the bone - which will provide the base for the titanium screw - has thinned out. 

Anyway, I found myself lying in the dentist's chair just over a week ago and this guy deftly removed the crown, after giving me two injections (the second one hurt!). It all went smoothly enough, although I did hear the sound of breaking porcelain as he extracted one of the roots. It was all done within around 25 minutes. He packed my mouth with gauze and gave me prescriptions for a couple of antibiotics and a painkiller. 

I paid for the consultation and tee'd up my next appointment for early June. The gum needs to heal. I bought the medications from my local pharmacy and went home. An hour later, I changed the gauze padding in my mouth and began to feel the slow creep of pain. I've been down this road before. When I had that other tooth removed ten years ago, I played tough guy when I got home and didn't take any paracetamol tablets. An hour later, my jaw felt like it was clamped in a vise. This time 'round, I popped two of the painkillers. 

Soup for dinner later that evening and then one more painkiller before going to bed. Didn't need any more of them after that. This was a very smooth dental procedure. 

That was nine days ago. The area still feels tender, but it's healing nicely, from what I can tell. Stage 2 of this entire procedure will be the big one. They're gonna drill into my gum-line and then put in two titanium screws. And the sinus lift. Apparently, you're not supposed to blow your nose for a couple of weeks after that. Man, if I catch a cold, I'll be in trouble. 

Wednesday, March 24th

                                       I had the day off, and it would be a busy one. Our washing machine finally died on us. It has had some issues in the past and we've had it repaired, but this time, the drum wouldn't spin. We considered getting it repaired, but felt that if it had anything to do with the motor, the logical step would be to replace it rather than repair it, as the price difference between these two options would be marginal. 

We bought this Hoover 550M back in 1999, just after we bought our first house. Needless to say, it has served us well over the two decades that we had it. My wife got online and did some price and feature comparisons. The new machine, a Fisher & Paykel, would be delivered today sometime between midday and 2:00pm. 

Meanwhile, the cat was due for her worming treatment, which I could have done myself, but I had some questions to ask the vet about the asthma treatment. So, an appointment was scheduled for 11:20am. The kids were home, so if I got stuck at the vet, they could deal with the washing machine delivery. 

And, our coffee machine had been playing up lately, which is an indication that it's due for servicing. 

So, I'd be taking that to the repairers as well. 

I had to remove the hoses from the old machine and then get it out into the driveway. The guys delivering the new machine would take away the old one. Time to put on the Hamilton Khaki Auto, which is the beater watch that I use for duties where there's a risk of scratching or scuffing the watch. In saying that, this watch still has no marks on it. I must be more careful than I realise. 

Once I removed the hoses, I tilted the machine at an angle to remove as much water from it as possible. I then wrestled the machine onto a flat trolley that I made ten years ago and wheeled it out to the carport. Took a photo of it, for posterity's sake, and headed back inside. 

Then it was time to coax Madame into her carry-cage for her trip to the vet.

I made the appointment with the same vet I spoke to the last time. The time before that, I dealt with another vet, but I didn't like his bedside manner. Anyway, this vet checked her breathing and heart-rate. She also did a blood-pressure test and took a blood sample. We discussed the management of Madame's asthma. Back to half a tablet every second day, for two weeks, in conjunction with using the inhaler. Drop the tablet dosage to half a tablet every three days for two weeks after that. Hopefully, the inhaler will have taken over after that four-week period on tablets and the condition will be under control. Fingers crossed. 

After the consultation, I stood at the reception counter and was presented with the bill for today's visit. I took a look at it;

I think there's been some mistake. I brought in a cat, not a cheetah, I wanted to say. 

I paid the bill and got the hell out of there. 

Got home, gave Madame some dry treats to take the edge off her ordeal and then decided to clean the coffee machine before I'd take it in for repair. Switched over to the Omega Planet Ocean;

This machine is a Rancilio Silvia V4. It's made for home use and is an absolute workhorse. Especially since my son began drinking coffee. I've told him that three cups a day is considered enough, but I think he's up around five. 

Around 1:00pm, the delivery guys showed up and dropped off the new washing machine. They took the old one away. Vale, Hoover 550M! Your services were greatly appreciated. 

Hooked up the new machine and then took the coffee machine off to get serviced. 

Back home by around three pm.

For the next week or so, it's back on to caffettiera coffee, which is fine. Certainly, it's weaker than an espresso machine's output, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. These Bialetti Mocha Express coffee percolators are permanently stamped into my memory, having seen and used them all my life. Originally designed in 1933, no Italian household was without one. My mother had a standard six-cup model, as well as the huge 12-cup version, which was used for larger gatherings like funeral wakes. Soon as one batch of coffee was made, it would get a quick rinse of hot water before being refilled with ground coffee and water. Then back onto the hotplate it would go. Six or so minutes later, the steam-release valve on the side would start to hiss while the machine itself would emit a sound like a distant steam train as the fresh brew bubbled out of the internal spout, filling the upper section of the pot with steaming hot coffee. The aroma of this coffee always takes me back through my life.

 

Okay, I think that's it for this post. The Tudor Black Bay 58 has gotten the lion's share of time on the wrist since my previous post. I managed to sell a couple of vintage watches that weren't getting any wear. Still a couple more to go. More about that in my next post, I suppose. 

I'm getting a clearer picture of the type of collections I'd like to have. Some items, be they watches, cameras or typewriters, are getting used more than others, so this helps me decide on what to keep. Typewriter-wise, I'm thinking of moving along the Olivetti Studio model. It looks sensational, but man, is it a loud typewriter!

Some more thinking to do on that one.

 

COVID restrictions have been greatly relaxed as of a couple of days ago, but I still take a mask with me when going into a crowded store. I hope you're all keeping safe. 

Continue doing so, and thanks for reading!

* My wife once told me that when the stand-up comedian Lenny Bruce told a joke on stage that didn't get a laugh, he'd remark; I wasn't born here, but I'm gonna die here, referring to the comedian lingo of 'dying on stage'.

So, whenever she or I make a crack that doesn't get a laugh (usually from our kids), we'll say; I wasn't born here...

Monday, September 28th, 2020 - Goodbye Mrs Bond, Oh My Dear Dussy, DVD Culling, Happy Birthday Princess! + Recent Wristwatches

This month saw the passing of Dame Diana Rigg, at the age of 82. She starred in the 1960s British TV series The Avengers and in the later seasons of Game of Thrones in the past decade, as well as appearing on stage and screen throughout her career. 

picture taken from https://www.radiotimes.com Wow, I've never seen this photo before. Cool!

But any Bond fan worth his PPK will know that she played the one woman that Bond has ever married (so far) and therefore she occupies a rare spot in OO7 lore. Rigg starred as Contessa Teresa 'Tracy' Di Vicenzo, the troublesome and wayward daughter of Corsican crime boss Marc-Ange Draco and she delivered a performance that was equal parts strong and brittle.

In their attempts to lure Sean Connery back after he quit the role following the release of 1967's You Only Live Twice, EON Productions offered to cast Brigitte Bardot as Tracy which, in my view, would have been sensational. I mean, sure, Bond would quit the Secret Service to marry somebody who looked like Bardot, but I think Rigg's acting chops were definitely sharper and while Bardot would have been cool - assuming she said 'yes' to the role - I think the part required somebody that we the audience could fall in love with too. You had to believe that Bond would drop everything to marry a girl like her. And Diana Rigg made you believe it.

I'm 54 years old and am now at the age where all the formative characters from the early films that helped make me a James Bond fan are getting older and leaving this life. Roger Moore died in 2017 and some of the major Bond Girls also left us in the past couple of years, most notably Honor Blackman and Tania Mallet, who both appeared in the classic Goldfinger, and Claudine Auger, who starred in Thunderball, as well as Nadja Regin (From Russia With Love and Goldfinger) and Molly Peters (Thunderball). 

Speaking of Bond,  the new trailer for No Time To Die was released in the first week of September.

As you may know, this is Daniel Craig's swansong in the role. No news on who'll be the next OO7, but that hasn't stopped the river of speculation. 

Henry Cavill has once again been mentioned, as has Tom Hardy, fuelling further speculation that Batman/Inception/Tenet director Christopher Nolan could be attached to helm the next movie. Watch the first ten minutes of The Dark Knight Rises or the last 20 minutes of Inception to get an idea of how Nolan would handle a Bond movie. Let him write the screenplay too, I'm begging you. 

I think Henry Cavill would be good, but Tom Hardy just strikes me as too close to Daniel Craig in terms of build and screen presence. I would love to see Sam Claflin (below) as Bond, as he has a look that would be closer to Ian Fleming's original template in the novels. 

In Fleming's book's, Bond is fit, but he's not got the kind of build that Daniel Craig has. He has a leaner physique, more like a swimmer than a body-builder. Claflin has a nice look about him and at age 34, he could probably handle three or four Bond movies over a 12 or fifteen year period.

Anyway, casting for the next Bond is so far away at the moment that it's not really worth considering. As is sometimes the case, some new actor may appear on the horizon in 2022, an actor who hasn't yet made a name for himself. I'm sure there's a youngish English actor out there who's just completed a tv series that's yet to air. Let's say this tv series then becomes big, like a Downton Abbey or Sherlock Holmes. Next thing you know, this actor is the talk of the town. He appears in a film or two and he's soon being touted as a potential Bond. It's happened often enough. 

Anyway, Bond fan must wear Bond watch, so I had the Rolex Submariner 5513 on my wrist in recent weeks;

I was standing outside a shopping centre, wearing a mask on a sunny Spring day, when I glanced down at my watch and thought it might make for a decent photo. While I waited for my wife to finish some grocery shopping, I took a few snaps. As an aside, I have to say that we've been doing more incidental trips to the supermarket to stock up on supplies during this Covid-19 lock-down. Certainly spent more on groceries than usual. The upside is that I filled my car's fuel tank on August 5th (approx.) and it's still only half-empty as of today, September 21st.                                                                 Swings and roundabouts, I suppose. 

 

At the time of writing (Sept 20th), Covid-19 cases here in Victoria have shown significant decreases.

Sept 1st - 73

Sept 5th - 71

Sept 10th - 48

Sept 15th - 46

Sept 20th - 13

It has varied a little up and down throughout this month, but the signs are there that numbers are falling, hopefully to the extent that the current lock-down, due to be softened on September 28th, may be lifted further, to allow more people to return to work. 

Anyway, wait and see.

We took the cats to the vet for their routine shots. I mentioned that Dussy, our older cat, was drinking a little more water than normal in recent months. They told me they'd take a blood and urine sample to check for renal dysfunction and diabetes, since this cat of ours is now around thirteen years old (we think?) and they can be susceptible to these types of issues at that age. 

We got a call from the vet a couple of days later. Our feline has the early stages of renal failure. Her kidneys aren't operating as smoothly as they should in removing waste and purifying the blood. Her condition will deteriorate over time, but we can change her diet in the meantime and this should give her anywhere between six to twelve months or as long as two to three years. 

My wife had her mobile phone on speaker as the vet was explaining all of this. I sat there in stunned silence and then I turned around and saw Madame sitting at my feet, looking up at me and my eyes welled up. I had some questions that I wanted to ask the vet, but I knew my voice would break if I spoke.

I spent a few mopey days dealing with other stuff, such as work emails, chores around the house and such, and then wrote down a few questions for the vet. I called her later in the week and had a brief discussion about where to go from here. She stated that Dussy (also known as 'Wispy'...and a thousand other names that she doesn't answer to) would require a prescription diet consisting of protein-rich canned food which would slow down the degeneration of her kidneys thereby extending her life-span. I still felt bad after hanging up the phone. 

Later in the day, I went to a nearby pet store to buy some of this prescribed food. They had a vet there and she ran me through the feeding portions for this new diet. She also told me not to worry so much about this. A change in diet can add more years to the cat's life than my current vet had stated. Madame may last another five years or more. One fellow over on a wristwatch forum that I visit told me that his cat lived another ten years after a diagnosis of renal failure.  He said his cat outlived the vet! 

My family also reassured me that Madam Dussy is still as spry as she ever was. She's definitely more active than our other cat, Bowie. So, we've been introducing this new food to her over the past few days and she's having no problems with it. She currently weighs 3.15 kilos, which is a slight drop since her last visit to the vet. The idea is to get her up to 4kg and then maintain it. 

We'll see how she goes over the next few months. 

I think she suspects something. They're trying to fatten me up! Trying to ruin my svelte, youthful figure.

I wore the Omega Seamaster Planet Ocean at some point;

The Olympia SF was sold (see previous post). I like the look of it, and the fact that Fleming used one at his house in Jamaica, but I've always found Olympia super-slim typewriters a little loud and rough to type on. My Tower Chieftain III (a Smith-Corona Skyriter by any other name) is a smoother machine, and I still have my Olivetti Lettera 32 - my high school weapon of choice, that I bought brand new in 1981 - and the circa 1958 Groma Kolibri. 

Then, I looked at some other typewriters that I thought of moving along. I laid out the circa 1952 Olivetti Studio;

I really like the design of this typewriter. It's screams 'wartime Italy' , since its design stems back to the Studio 42 model from, yep, 1942. I bet Vittorio De Sica hammered out a few screenplays on one of these throughout this career. The ribbon cover lifts up like the bonnet (hood) of a 1960 Alfa Romeo Sprint (hinged at the front of the lid, rather than the back). This is a solidly-built typewriter and, despite the racket, I love how the keys feel when I type on it. But, man, is this typewriter loud! I could get the platen re-covered by J.J. Short in the US, but I have other priorities. And I suspect that if I ever send a platen to get re-rubberised, the smart thing to do would be to send a few of them in one hit.
 

 And the other typer that I hauled out was the circa 1951 Olympia SM2;

I loaded a sheet of paper into both of them and started typing. I love how the Olivetti looks, but it has a hard touch to the keys and the typeslugs are loud as they hit the platen. The Olympia SM2 is wonderful to type with. I also have a SM3 model from 1954 which types just as nicely. 

So far, it feels like a case of brains vs beauty. I think in the end, the Olivetti will go, but I don't think I'm ready to let it go just yet. This is as much an exercise in de-cluttering as it is anything else. As I've said before, if it ain't being used, it's just taking up space. I have fourteen typewriters, and I'm trying to get it down to a respectable dozen.     

Possibly a Baker's Dozen, the way I'm going. I think I'll have to lay them all out and have a bash at the keys on all of them. I already know that my 1936 Smith-Corona Standard types a little rough, but it's charisma is through the roof!

Have to say I'm really enjoying Any Human Heart, by William Boyd. The protagonist, Logan Mountstuart, has gotten out of Oxford and has tried his hand at writing a few books and selling artwork as World War II looms. Told in the first person, the character of Mountstuart comes off the page, with all of his observations, quirks and flaws.

Okay, I have a lot of DVDs. I haven't counted them but there are quite a few that I've accumulated over the last fifteen or twenty years. Movies, TV show box-sets, Japanese animes, foreign films, etc. As I continue to (slowly) de-clutter here and there, I thought it was time to do something about them. I purchased a DVD ripping software app and began loading films onto a 1Tb portable hard drive. These are films that have no Director's commentaries or worthy (in my view) extras. A lot of them are movies from the '80s, such as The Money Pit, The Fabulous Baker Boys, Bull Durham, Midnight Run. This collection of discs filled up a 6.5 foot tall DVD shelf, two drawers of the tv cabinet, and a wooden chest that was in a corner of the lounge room. Something had to be done. 

Aside from the portable hard drive, I bought some plastic sleeves off eBay. These can hold up to three discs, as well as the cover insert from the DVD's jewel case. 

I also bought some small paper envelopes for CDs. These would be used for the extra discs of any double or triple-disc set. I was then going to hunt around for plastic tubs or boxes that could hold a stack of these DVD sleeves. To my surprise, I found that a standard cardboard wine box would hold anywhere from 70 to 85 films, depending on how many extras discs they came with. Perfect. 

We have another tall DVD shelf in the spare room and that's loaded with music CDs. My wife was getting rid of her entire CD collection and I suggested that I could burn her favourite albums into iTunes and then load them onto the 160 Gb iPod that I bought for her about five years ago that she's never used. One-Sixty Gig should hold every CD in the house. I plan on slipping my CDs into plastic sleeves as well, since a lot of my music is made up of hard-to-find movie scores and soundtracks, a lot of Rolling Stones, Bowie, Springsteen and The Beatles. This is all a big job, but when it's all done, the leftover DVD and CD collections should all fit onto the 6.5 foot tall DVD shelf in the spare room, hopefully with room to spare.

The fiddly part of this task is the TV series boxed-set collections. All seven (or is it eight?) seasons of the Kiefer Sutherland series 24 comprise of 55 discs! Add other shows, such as Mad Men, Alias and The Sopranos and you can see that I'll have my work cut out for me. Thank God I never started buying The Simpsons! I've already started loading Magnum PI onto the hard drive. Once that's done, I may try putting all eight seasons on eBay. Got a soft-spot for this show. More than likely, I'll probably end up watching every episode over the next few years and then delete them from the hard drive. 

So, at the moment, I have a lot of empty DVD jewel cases lying around and a bag full of movies to get rid of, with more on the way as I continue to burn onto the hard drive and/or store into sleeves. Then, the plan is to take them to a nearby nursing home and offer it to them free if they have a TV room for their residents. Failing that, they'll all go to a thrift store. 

Now, the only wild card with this whole process is the portable hard drive. From what I've read, these can degrade over time, rendering their contents useless. Well, I guess I'll just take my chances. Maybe transfer the contents onto a new drive in three to five years or so,  

I wore the Omega Seamaster 300 WatchCo edition while working on this momentous act of folly;

And also the Movember Edition Oris Divers SixtyFive, on a black NATO strap;

My daughter turned 18 this month.  The years have flown by. We made her favourite meal for her birthday (lasagna) and I gave her her presents. She's had an eye on my Pelikan M400 fountain pen for some time, but as you may know, fountain pens require a little more care and feeding than a basic ballpoint pen, so I got her the ballpoint equivalent of my 'milk & honey' pen. And I got a leather NATO strap for her to put on her other Oris watch.

 

 

And then, after dinner, I mixed her up a Grasshopper cocktail;

30ml of Green Crème de Menthe          

30ml of Crème de Cacao                

30ml of cream                                   

Put all three ingredients into a cocktail shaker filled with ice and shake for 20 to 30 seconds and then pour into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a sprinkle of grated chocolate. Serve. 

It basically tastes like a mint-flavoured chocolate bar, but it IS a classic cocktail. Probably goes very nicely with an ice cream dessert. So, she had it along with a tartufo.  

Not a bad way to spend your 18th Birthday in lock-down.

I picked up a $40 bracelet off eBay, to try it out on the Tudor Oyster hand-wound watch that I recently had serviced. I opted to try out a 'straight-edged' bracelet because I already have a couple which feature a curved edge and they just don't fit against the watch's case properly.  Straight-edge bracelets were used on watches during the 1950s. Yes, they leave a gap between case and bracelet, just like a leather strap would, but I have no quibbles with this, as the watch dates back to somewhere between 1958 and say, 1963. This bracelet suits the watch perfectly. It does feel a little cheap, as any $40 buck steel bracelet might, so I may purchase something similar, in a higher price bracket if I find that this one gets more wear. 

I currently still have two watches that have been repaired and are awaiting collection from the watchmaker. He had to close due to the lock-down, so with a bit of luck, I should be able to go pick them up in the next few weeks. And then, time to put a few watches on eBay. 

Friday, September 25th

                                      This statewide lock-down is due to be lifted in the next few days, subject to Covid cases staying low. The last seven days have shown;

18th - 48    19th - 24     20th - 13    21st - 14     22nd -30     23rd -31     24th -10    25th -17              

Deaths 

          5                7                  5                 2                   3                    5                    2                    8

Difficult to tell if the numbers will subside to single digits for a consistent period of time, signalling that our state has this virus under some sort of control.  Either way, my employer has applied for worker permits so that we can return to work in a limited capacity. I'll be heading in to the office next Thursday and Friday, along with the watchmaker, to tackle the work that has mounted up since August 4th. The other staff will do two-day shifts on other days. This two-day roster may well continue through the rest of October and possibly into November as well. 

The office will be given a deep clean twice daily. I plan to wipe down surfaces before and after touching them, but I also plan on staying at my desk as much as possible, to minimise the amount of surfaces that I touch. No couriers are permitted to visit our office. All deliveries will be sent to our post office box address. We'll still conduct Zoom meetings every morning at 10:30, to keep us all in the loop. Till we get back to some kind of normal, or the 'new' normal, that's how things will be. 

Can't say that I've moved mountains during this lock-down period. Glad to have gotten the DVD task underway and I started exercising also, though not on as regular basis as I'd like. I'll have to work out a proper routine for it. 

Still, the family have been together throughout this time and nobody has picked up an axe and wiped everybody else out. We've all gotten along fine, with only minor fraying of tempers here and there. Not only that, but I filled the tank of my car on August 5th and I still have half a tank left over. The only driving I've done over the past two months has been to the nearby supermarket, staying within the 5 kilometre radius of my house. 

Yessiree, Bob, I'll be glad when this whole mess is over. 

And a couple more watch photos. I also wore the Citizen Eco-Drive Nighthawk this month;

And the Sinn 103 St Sa Chronograph;
 

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

Stay safe!