A Quiet Morning

For most of the last few years I had three alarm clocks. The first was my internal clock which prevents me from sleeping past 6:30. I'm not saying I didn't go back to sleep on some days, but no matter what I wake up at 6:30. The second was my trusty Sony clock radio alarm clock which has been with me since college. It's not overly pretty, but it's certainly effective. The third was the most effective, the most annoying, and the one that didn't go off this morning.

Wyatt would would sit outside the bed room door and voice his displeasure that we were not awake, that he had not been provided his morning portion of canned food, or that nobody had picked him up and given him some attention. It would start at 6:45. Without fail. This morning I was awake well before my internal alarm clock said I should be. Well before the Sony charmed me with it's harsh alarm chime. I was waiting for my third alarm clock to come. I was sure last night was just a bad dream. Sadly, reality set in. Wyatt is gone.

We called the vet and have made his final arrangements. I had to take him to the office this morning. I was OK until the lady asked if she could take him away. I don't remember saying "ok", but I must have. Because she took his box and carried him gently away from me. For the last time.

I paid for his arrangements. I don't remember what it cost. I came home. I was OK. Then I went to look in Wyatt's recent acquisition -- a left over box from the move that had been used to pack blankets, old soccer bibs, and other soft possessions. Wyatt had made a nest in there. For the last few weeks I had chuckled as I watched him hop up into that box. I had done the same as I would go over and look in and see what we called a "cat-ball" curled up, asleep. I know it's foolish and childish, but I looked in the box hoping to see him. No dice. At that point reality set in. My pet is gone. No more cat-balls. No more funny gymnastics. No more finding him in different perches or hiding places.

And no more alarm clock. Something I complained about until it wasn't there. But something I miss. Greatly.

I Just Lost My Best Friend

They say dogs are man's best friend, but I am not sure this tells the entire tale. I would suggest that your best friend is your pet. Be it dog, cat, lizard, or bird. There's something special about the bond between a person and their pet. Today I lost my pet.

Wyatt - a rescue cat from the Greenville, N.C. animal shelter in 2003, wasn't supposed to be anything more than a present for my new wife. However, he soon became much more than that. I'd grown up with dogs. And around all manner of animal. But Wyatt was my first pet. He chose me. Whenever I was sitting down, he would come up and curl up on me or beside me. Whenever I didn't feel well he would appear and purr. Some people think cats aren't affectionate. But mine was. My cat could fetch. My cat would come when called. My cat...... was my best friend.

Today I lost him. And I don't know why. There was no warning. There was no sign of him not being well. We had played this morning. He seemed to be his usual self. Then as I was cleaning up I realized I had left the storage closet open. I knew he would be in there. Despite my best efforts, I was never able to correct him of thinking he owned the place. And whenever there was a chance to find a new hiding place or perch to sleep on....Wyatt was there. I saw his tail between two chairs and immediately snapped at him to get out. He didn't move. So I reached in to get him to move or pull him out. At that point I knew that my friend wasn't going to wake up from this nap.

Wyatt had just turned seven years old. He'd been with me through thick and thin. Through learning to be a husband in those first months of marriage, through six moves, through law school, and many other of life's trials. He never judged. He was always there in his own way. Whenever a day went poorly, he was there. Whenever a day went well, he was there. It didn't matter, Wyatt always stayed steady.

Some of the things I miss the most already are the mornings where he'd make sure we were up because it was time for breakfast. I miss making him "dance" when a song would come on TV or the radio. I miss throwing rolled up ice cream sandwich paper across the room and watching him fetch. I miss playing "feather" and watching him dart around trying to capture it. I miss watching him climb his tower. Or the bookcases. Or sometimes the fridge. I miss feeding him shrimp or chicken or even crab when that's what we were having because, while canned food was good, nothing beat sea food. I miss finding him in a pile of blankets or in my chair. I miss watching him wrestle with our new puppy. I miss....my friend.

I can't believe the last words I spoke towards him were in annoyance. I wish I could take those back. I didn't mean it. I thought it was just another case of him claiming territory that wasn't supposed to be his. If I would have only known that he had tried to find a peaceful place to pass on. If I had only known he wasn't well. If I had only done more. Been more attentive. But wouldn't there have been signs? Was I too self-absorbed to notice them?

Last night he curled up with me while we were watching TV. I scratched his chin and he made sure he was as close as possible. About an hour later I got up to go to bed - making sure he was still comfortable. It was our custom. I wish now that I'd stayed up or would have been more attentive. Why didn't I play with him more today instead of forcing myself to focus on other things. Did he need attention? Did I not notice my pet was in trouble? Maybe there was a sign he didn't feel well. Maybe I missed something.

Regardless I have to be thankful that, if he was suffering, he isn't any more. And if he was going to pick a time to pass on he at least did it while I was home and in a place he felt comfortable. I wish he'd have let me be with him, but I guess he knew that would have broken my heart completely. I hope he wasn't in any pain and I hope I was able to give him as good a life as possible. God knows I tried. He was the first pet I ever bought on my own and the first one who ever decided that I was his pet as much as he was mine. I can't believe he's gone. And with so little warning.

I hope he's in a better place and I hope that one day our paths will cross again. Until then I will look forward to seeing my pet again. I miss him so terribly much already.

Farewell, Wyatt. I love you.

Being Homeless Leads To Perspective

Previously I wrote about or impending move into a new house. Tracy and I were so excited. We were pre-approved. We were within our budget. We were living frugally and we were packing our lives away into boxes. It was a hassle. It was tough. But it was worth it. At least that's what we told ourselves as we continued our to work hard and continued to pack.

And then the bottom fell out.

Our mortgage lender informed us that all that solid footing she told us about didn't exist. She told us that the initial underwriting and pre-approval she had provided were not good. And so we went into panic mode. We transferred the loan to another lender who assured us we were fine. We went through the process again. We were pre-approved. Again. And then more of these "professional business people" dropped the ball. While it doesn't make any sense to recount gory details the bottom line was that we were told we couldn't afford to exist with a mortgage payment that was - literally - 45 percent of our current RENT payments. As in our rent is more than double what these people told us we could afford.

The reason? I'm self-employed and apparently a legal deduction for mileage to coach a soccer team that is taken with the consent of the IRS means I cannot afford a home. At least according to the new lending laws. I have no desire to get into a political commentary, but I feel like Tracy and I work hard. We have both built our own businesses. We enjoy a comfortable life but it's hardly glitz and glamour. We are the "poster children" for stated income loans according to one lender. But those loans are no longer available and because we fall into a couple of loopholes in the law it would appear as though we aren't currently capable of owning a home. At least not according to these lenders. Because of that we were forced to move our boxes into a POD (which, by the way is a great company) and our lives into a much smaller apartment.

I am sure we'll attempt to buy a home again in the future. But for now we're extremely soured on that whole idea and process.

A Little Help?

As most anyone can tell you, the market for employment sucks. And if you've just dropped six figures on a law school education, you're probably not too thrilled with your income prospects. Rather than dwell on my graduating class' employment percentage (which appears to be in the low teens if you are scoring at home), I have set out looking for alternative ways to use my soon to materialize J.D.

I've looked at operations, education, indoctrination, incantations, and even a bit of mutilation. Not one of those sectors is hiring at this point. It appears as though I'm going to set up my own shop with some highly capable friends. I think there's success in the future, but I learned long ago that putting all your eggs in one basket usually leads to disaster. Armed with such wisdom I am looking to supplement the earnings of a first year attorney with some side income. One such side job opportunity resulted in a meeting with a big shot in that field thanks to the efforts of my father, who was happy to leverage his contacts to get me in front of the "right people". Perhaps I'm out of practice in such interactions, but this meeting was an unmitigated disaster.

I arrived early and waited. No big deal I figured, this is playing the game. And it's better to be early for a meeting than late...especially when you are the one looking for the help. After this captain of industry arrived and dispensed with the random small talk, we got down to business. She asked me what I was looking for. I responded with the specifics (specifically a way to supplement my soon to (I hope) materialize income with some part time work). Apparently I was either being obtuse, shady, or maybe I was speaking another language. Why? Because for the next 25 minutes she sat there explaining how I shouldn't be running away from my profession just because of hard times; that I need to stop attempting to use other peoples' relationships for personal gain; and to read a book. (Side note: The book is called "What Color Is Your Parachute")

After absorbing the initial battery of unsolicited advice, I got the following gems: "You should look to move away from here, because you are putting a tight collar on your future", and "my nephew worked in Italy and France for two years and then came back and had a great market for his services. Maybe you should look into that."

Shortly after this motivational, intercontinental anecdote she abruptly gathered her bags and thanked me for meeting her and took off to [presumably] bigger and better things. I was left to sit and wonder what just happened. I went in hoping to get some advice on how to find some part time work to offset the risk of navigating a small business in this economy. Instead I got an audit of a life and character I'm not sure I'm living. Though - one way or another - I came away having learned a good deal.