This Just in From Chatz

 Thinking vs Thinking We Think

Back From the Precipice for Now

 I was in the hospital for four days.  I have been out four days now and am just starting to feel a little better.  I may never get totally well.  This might be the Big One.  I have been short winded all my life, and it has gotten progressively worse as I have aged.  I went in for a routine test last Thursday, and my breathing was so labored that they decided to keep me.  I spent the night in the emergency room because there was no room for me in the hospital until morning when they shipped me off to Petoskey.  Our own hospital was converted to an outpatient clinic some years ago.  They can do a lot of things there but, if you need to stay overnight, they ship you to Petoskey.  

I guess this might sound worse than it is.  I am fine as long as I don't do anything, I just start breathing heavy when I walk or bend over. I first noticed it when I was in the army.  In those days, I could walk or march all day, but I was only good for about a mile at "double time"|, which is what they called jogging.  Now I get breathless just walking any distance at all.  I suspect this is all due to the bout of rheumatic fever that I had as a kid.  They declared me cured at the age of 10, but I was never able to compete with other kids at sports.  That didn't bother, me since I never developed an interest in competitive sports anyway. 

The docs at the hospital couldn't find anything wrong with my lungs, but they said I had a dangerously irregular heartbeat that they called "A-fib".  After several tests and a couple of invasive procedures, they said my heartbeat was okay but wouldn't guarantee it would stay that way.  They prescribed several medications, but I'm not sure that I will take any of them.  I plan to consult with my regular physician, but for now their side effects all sound worse than my original problem.  I understand that not everybody experiences these side effects but, with my history, I am at elevated risk.  Meanwhile, the doc said that fixing my heartbeat "might help" with my breathing problem, but he didn't say how long it would take before I noticed any difference.  I didn't notice any improvement the first three days, but it seems to be a little better today. 

I guess I can't complain, lots of people my age are in worse shape than I am, and some of them are dead.  I have already lived longer than any of my male relatives.  Nevertheless, I like it here and am not eager to advance to the next level of existence.  If I do die, let the record show that I am doing it under protest.

Post Solstice

A sad story indeed Uncle Ken, but lovingly told.  Reading it reminded me of how oblivious I can be when considering the realities of others.  We are all profoundly different and I often forget that.

How is Daisy taking the absence of her sister?  If you are looking for a new companion for her I think there are feline shelters that care for older cats, maybe you'd want to check them out.

Not a pet owner myself but one of the nice things about my neighborhood is the abundance of our canine friends; I'm always meeting new ones as I stroll through the shady streets.  People sure like to talk about their dogs and usually respond favorably when I ask "How's the pup doing today?"  We'll gab a bit and most of the mutts are very friendly and well socialized; it's like I have thirty or forty dogs but I don't have to walk them, feed them, or take them to the vet.  Selfish, I know, but an apartment is no place for a dog, in my opinion, unless you want one of those little yappy annoyances.  Which I don't.

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The further I go down the rabbit hole the weirder this whole AI business seems to me.  I think there are dozens of companies hawking their own versions, each with its own specialties; some are free, some are subscription based, and I'm sure there are others that we'll never hear about.  The kicker is the giant data centers that are being built for further AI goodness, comprising many acres of farmland and sucking up shitloads of electricity.  These things have got to cost billions and I can't figure out how they can make any money.  But money isn't what it used to be and I feel like a dinosaur when I pay cash at the store.  It's always amusing when the young cashiers try to make change, especially when I give them $22 for something that costs $17.  All I need is a five dollar bill but they have trouble grasping that concept. especially when they give me back five singles.  As for coins, forget it!

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...Cheboygan's Main Street has evolved into an artsy-fartsy kind of place.

That's a healthy sign, I think.  Smaller cities and towns have been clobbered economically; if it isn't Walmart, it's Covid or whatever the next big thing is.  It seems like there is a resilient sense of community in Cheboygan and little shops, even if they're artsy-fartsy, provide social engagement that big stores can't provide.

Bullshitting Indeed

 As soon as I get some spare time, I plan to throw a little bull shit at Chatz, just to see what he does with it.  Will he call me on it, or will he join in the fun by throwing some back at me?  Sure, I could talk to real people, but that has gotten stale for me over the years.  This injects some novelty into the equation.  I think I know enough not to get carried away with this, but I can see how it might be dangerous for impressionable young minds.  

Sorry to hear about Uncle Ken's cat tragedy.  My last dog died in 2008, and I never replaced him.  After being around dogs for most of my life, I wanted to see what it would be like without one.  We talk about getting another pet from time to time, but it always comes back to the fact that, at this point in our lives, we can barely take care of ourselves.  We certainly don't need another dependent in the house.  

We don't get around much anymore, but I have noticed that Cheboygan's Main Street has evolved into an artsy-fartsy kind of place.  I remember when it was all bars and hardware stores, but nothing lasts forever.

bullshitting

 Probably I shouldn't have gone on that way.   It didn't seem right to just say she died and once I got to writing it it just all came out.

I had some guys over to shampoo the rugs between cats, and sometimes they have to move stuff around and when I came back and went to move the table the leg came off in my hand.  I'm guessing it came off when they moved the table and they said oh shit.  Let's just prop it up here and maybe the old guy will never notice.  

Well I got it out of my parents' house when I left their attic about forty years ago, and likely they had it about forty years before then.  Reckon I better be careful making sudden moves, not that I make very many.  

Artificial consciousness I don't know.  How would we know?  If it had consciousness what would be artificial about it?  Just the fact that we, Who are not God created it?  Back when I was reading Isaac Asimov there were stories of scientists mashing together a bunch of organic chemicals and zapping them with electricity to imitate lightning and they made some wee critters, but anymore those tales have been debunked.

Some say the wee critters don't have consciousness, but I think they have a little bit, and maybe the worms a little more and then the fish still more, and maybe the mammals quite a bit.  Seems like my cat is as conscious as me.  

See this is fun, like a bull session in a college dorm or a barracks, what Old Dog calls bar talk.  Just shooting off your mouth and seeing where it goes.  I read some of what Chatz had to say and he bored me stiff. 

A sad story

 I have had cats for all of my life except for a maybe five years in the late seventies.  My eighth cat, Sweetie, died in February.  I wondered about getting another one in that I am 80 years old.  Most of my indoor cats have lived close to 20 years and I didn't want to die and leave my cat in a lurch.  Maybe I should not have any more.

But it gets lonely living all by yourself.  Sometimes my cats would come greet me when they heard the key in the lock, though more often they would just lift their sleepy lids and then drift back off.  But still they were glad to have me around to amuse them or do some little chore for them.  So I'm pretty sure they were happy to see me come home.  It put a little pep in my step coming home knowing somebody would be glad to see me when I arrive.  

Knowing that nobody cared whether I came home or not was depressing.  Maybe I could get a ten year old cat, that would give me pretty good odds I thought.

Scanning the anti cruelty and the pound and a local place called Paws it didn't seem like they had any cats of that age.  In fact most all of the cats were like one year old.  I suspected that they might be lying because most people will prefer a younger cat, but I don't know.

A lot of people in Marina City  have cats, and since the apartments are all the same it might be less traumatic for the cat to move to another apartment rather than crosstown or whatever.  Almost on a whim I put a post on the Marina City fb page, and a week later I got a reply.

There was a woman, Bea, who had been doing a lot of cat sitting for a guy in the towers and he had died recently and she took his cats in.  She also had a cat of her own who had diabetes and her cat and the new cats didn't get along, and she was living in a studio apartment.

I had only been expecting to get one, but two were even better.  She brought them over and they looked good enough for me and she left them with me.  Oh this was a great deal.  Good for Bea because it made her situation so much easier.  Good for her cat because now it could get uninterrupted care, Good for the other two cats because now they had a whole one bedroom apartment to run around in, and good for lonely Ken.

The two sisters, (Gibby, who I renamed Georgia, and Addison who I renamed Daisy)  who records indicate are from the same litter were very skittish at first, hiding in nooks and crannies only their scared eyes showing.  But after a week they got a little adjusted, Georgia, much more than Daisy.  In a new home cats always act like they have been kidnapped by an evil demon and scurry off at the sight of you, but after awhile they get used to you and it becomes their home where they can saunter as they please.

Georgia began jumping on my art table and jumping into my lap when I took to the Lazy Boy.  What a wonderful deal this had been.  I had a happy home again.

But then one day I noticed that Georgia wasn't eating anything, and then the next day she didn't eat either.  The internet said if your cat has not eaten in two days you should take her to the vets.

The vet gave her nutrients and some fluids and an appetite stimulant, and I brought her home, but still she was not eating, then she vomited a big pool of yellow green and the vet said to bring her in.  She probably had diabetes, and she was in poor shape and needed to go into the hospital for probably a couple days.  This was Friday, then Saturday, then Sunday.  Diabetes, maybe heart trouble, maybe her kidneys.  She was lethargic, and then pepped up a bit, and then another step back.  

Monday morning I was to take her home.  She definitely had diabetes, which meant I would have to give her two shots a day, and there were some other issues that likely would have to be dealt with, oh and a shitload of money gone.  But I would be happy to be be bringing her home, bringing a sick sweet kitty home.

That morning I had to wait for Walgreens to open so I could pick up some insulin to bring with me to the hospital.  They didn't open until nine and I was just out the door, just locking the door behind me when the vet called.  Not good, and now a blood clot.  They wanted my permission to ease her way over the rainbow bridge.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

Um, okay, sure I understand, you did the best you could, and I know you are sorry and all, and what can you do?

Shit.

Fuck.  

It was hard all that day, but by the next morning I was like well, life has to go on.  But it still comes back to me from time to time.  I only had her for about a month, and she was only friendly to me for about a week, but it still gets to me in unexpected moments.

Life goes on.

We are all penciled in.

Artificially Intelligible

I was glad to see that the big snapping turtle is back in the news and quite surprised that there are two more lurking about in the Goose Island area.  Almost makes me want to rent a kayak or canoe and check 'em out but they are smaller than I thought, adults being only 8-12 inches long.  The camera adds a few pounds, I guess.  Another fun fact is that if you have a valid fishing license, like The Old Dog, "Common Snapping turtles can only be taken from the wild between June 15 and October 15."  Good eating, or so I've read.  Somebody with a lot of time on their hands should pester their local politicians to protect these critters, don't you think?

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Unlike my colleagues, I am not enthralled with any of the many AI agents.  To me, this is another instance of just being able to do something doesn't mean you should do it.  There is a lack of engagement that I find bothersome, like self-driving cars, but that's my opinion.  You guys do what you want but you might want to do a search for “ChatGPT-induced psychosis.”  Why not go outside and chit-chat with human beings?  There are plenty out there, all sizes, shapes and ages, with opinions you wouldn't believe.

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Lot of things going on up Beaglesonia way, if the Cheboygan Tribune can be believed.  Have you and Lady Beagles checked out that new coffee house?  Better than Starbucks, I bet.

And Uncle Ken, it looks like your watercolor group gets all the latest info.  What's the kitty kat situation?  Sounds like you have a new addition, and how did your table lose a leg?  Did someone steal it?