last will and distribution of meager assets

I went into my company's intranet to remove my mother from my life insurance beneficiary list. When I was there I realized I didn't know any suitable replacements. I'm not rolling in money, but I have a 401(k) and other odds and ends. 

I don't have any relatives who have done anything to deserve the money.

Ian* can fend for himself and he never even bothers to call me.

I don't trust Rachel* to take proper care of cats as she is poor at delegating, but so distrustful that she'd rather have too many animals than to trust another rescue with a few of them. And since I am on a campaign to remove every cat from my current home, it makes no sense to leave it to her except on an extremely short-term basis.

Add in the fact that I don't trust nonprofits, and I am genuinely stuck for a beneficiary.

* See The Usual Suspects.

as Cronauer would say, a hot and shitty month

I apologize for the lack of updates, but I don't like posting if all news is depressing. But here goes anyway. 

I said goodbye to Toby yesterday as his FIP had progressed to where the supportive therapy didn't make any difference. He had lost half his body weight and would only drink water, and was wobbly. The only thing left to do was to watch him starve and this didn't seem fair.

My clearing out the house and my mother's belongings has slowed to a crawl. I am always getting roped into weekend cat-related stuff that I would rather skip. So I spent a couple of hours yesterday composing a letter to Rachel, the other cat group board directors, and the current volunteers who have responsible roles. It was a simple "I need out, and we need a plan to make it happen".

Not all of this is others' faults. I foolish accepted two feral cats from a rural shelter so they wouldn't be euthanized, and one promptly became very ill with something called calici as the rural shelter had zero budget. Not even for vaccines. So every night I give this poor half-grown tabby sub-cutaneous fluids, syringe feed him, and do other things that piss him off.  I have seen no improvement in five days but he's not dead so I shall persevere.

The light at the end of the tunnel is the sale of my mother's house. I finally drowned Medicaid with enough paperwork to convince them to remove their lien on the property and the buyer is still in place. So I am hoping that this will be settled - and I'll receive some cash - by the end of the month. This will help me kick things into higher gear. 

Now it's really time to speed up my departure

A few days ago, a notice appeared in our break room. It stated that when the current supply of Keurig coffee cups (aka K-cups) ran out, the management would no longer supply them. 

I told this to Ian earlier today and he laughed. "They might have well just put a sign up that says FUCK YOU", he said. He was right.

The company's financial backing is provided by a private equity fund called Lone Star Funds, so this sort of insulting economizing is par for the course. Equity firms have this mantra: Squeeze all the money you can out of your assets, because even one smallish recession might put it out of business.

I should be closing the sale of my mother's house later this month, so that will be a relief, albeit a sad one.

Although the kitten tsunami is frustrating myattempts to rehome my remaining foster animals, Rachel has said that she would live in Ian's house, cats and all, if I departed north for another job. Considering the gig economy, my age and what I do for a living, I'm leaning more toward taking long-term contracts initially.

Keeping busy also helps me cope with a new and painful loss. Toby the cat was recently diagnosed with feline infectious peritonitis, which only gives him a few more weeks to live. His original symptom was renal failure but it cost me over $2,000 for the kindly vet to reach an eventual diagnosis. (I should point out that the vet's rates are quite reasonable compared to others.) 

Toby won't eat properly - he will only lick the gravy off of his favorite canned foods - but still is quite keen on Temptations treats. All I can do is provide the occasional sub-cutaneous fluid drip and a lot of brushing, which he especially likes. 

* See The Usual Suspects.

time to speed up my departure

Although pay raises were not officially announced, I took a peek at my May 31 pay slip and saw that I got hosed as expected.  I now take home around $120.00 more per month. 

It's tempted to try to figure out exactly why we're so undervalued (my boss should have gotten more, but she got just what I did). But my hunch is that since we show up every day and we do good work with a minimum of complaining, we're considered to be people who will always put up with being badly paid. And the only way to get more money is to go find another job. 

I find this strategy stupid and humiliating, so when I find another job I won't be available for counter-offers.

Other than being fucked on salary, I like this job.  It's too bad about the management.

more odd dreams

Yesterday afternoon was one of those rare times when I find myself barely able to get home from work as I need sleep immediately. Perhaps my usual nights of mediocre sleep quality build up over time and result in one of these 12-hour dead rests.

I began with a trip to visit Cincinnati*. I don't think I was invited, because when I arrived he wasn't home. But his mother was there with two other relatives. His mother was wary until I explained why I was there. But she appeared to be sensible and knew of my existence, and suggested I try to talk things out with her son. 

Cincinnati eventually arrived on his bike and although he looked at me warily as well, he didn't ask me to leave. We ended up cleaning his bike and related gear together. We didn't talk about our dead relationship, but he did answer my cycle-related questions. 

(In real life I'm planning to buy a better bike soon, so I can join a local group. Also I understand that Chicago is a cyclist's heaven when weather permits.)

I woke up for a little while, then decided to go back to sleep. And I went back to the house where I'd lived as a teenager.

The dream version of the house looked almost identical to the real-life combined grocery store house, which I found on Google (the name on the sign is that of the proprietor who bought the business from my mother):

We lived behind the store. There was a door in the back of the store that led directly to the house's kitchen - something I always disliked.

Anyway, back to the dream. I noticed someone sitting next to the front door with a guitar, even though the business is deserted. I go closer and realize to my delight that it's Jason Vieaux. (I've seen him in concert; he is an amazing guitarist.)

I decide to introduce myself and that I used to live here, which interests him. I don't ask him what he's doing there. We walk around the place, which appears to be uninhabited.  I notice some cats living underneath. We talk about guitars for a while; I tell him I've just switched over to silk and steel strings (something I did in real life) and he approves. 

After a few minutes of looking in windows and seeing nothing but dust-covered, abandoned furniture, I spot a small version of the old gas oven I grew up with. I ask Jason to help me drag it out, and he's fine with this.

Not much happens after this. Too bad I wasn't able to talk him into a lesson.

* See The Usual Suspects.