Another Orbit
Jan. 20th, 2021 09:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tcpipIt appears that I have completed another orbit around the sun; my fifty-third. This year, at least, I managed to remember it. Whilst the day itself is nothing special (and to be honest, I prefer it that way), it does bring the opportunity for reflection of successes, failures, and remaining opportunities, of which there are a few in each basket. I could be simply content with my lot, but I don't feel like fading away. There is still much that I wish to do, and especially much I wish to write about; hundreds of thousands of words of text in scattered notes. Perhaps it was my upbringing with science fiction, or perhaps an even stronger interest and formal study in history (especially the history of technology), but I have this inkling that if I am to contribute anything meaningful to this world it will be after I shuttle off this mortal coil that my contributions will perhaps see the light of day, hopefully, more than a walking shadow who struts upon the stage, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
If this seems to have taken a melancholic turn part of it is inspired by recently being in the company of the last hours of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lei_loo's aged old cat, Horse. My sensitivities mean I often try to take the view of an animal's mind. Most do not have a particularly sophisticated language, nor particularly developed capacities for forward planning (the rat is an exception in both cases). But animals do feel, and they do have memories, and they do "think in pictures". The poor thing had kidney failure, a typical death sentence for such animals, and had foul-smelling mouth ulcers from which the antibiotics had so long failed to cure. For what it was worth, I forwarded the necessary money a couple of times to give it at least for more weeks of life. Doped up on buprenorphine, the creature would have felt little pain and continued to do cat-like things (still trying to sniff out mice), albeit with wobbly legs. Then the home euthanasia vet came to visit, another sedative applied, and the green-dream of pentobarbitone injected. Surrounded by housemates and friends, the cat passed quietly, its body donated for trainee vets.
A day prior I was awarded the opportunity to present a talk on The Year of the Rat at the 1st Unitarian-Universalist Fellowship of Melbourne, of which I have provided an linked transcript, which includes a story of a Buddhist pilgrimage from some 24 years prior, the Bramble Cay Melomys Day for extinction events, and the story of APOPO's Hero Rats, all on the second anniversary of the death of Sam Savage, author of Firmin. On my recommendation, the accompanying music was La Festin from Ratatouille and the reading was Robert Southey's God's Judgment on a Wicked Bishop, a favourite rat-related poem (the real Bishop Hatto died on January 18). Having referenced the remarkable intellectual and social abilities of my favourite rodents, my conclusions were unsurprisingly advocacy for animal welfare.
If this seems to have taken a melancholic turn part of it is inspired by recently being in the company of the last hours of
lei_loo's aged old cat, Horse. My sensitivities mean I often try to take the view of an animal's mind. Most do not have a particularly sophisticated language, nor particularly developed capacities for forward planning (the rat is an exception in both cases). But animals do feel, and they do have memories, and they do "think in pictures". The poor thing had kidney failure, a typical death sentence for such animals, and had foul-smelling mouth ulcers from which the antibiotics had so long failed to cure. For what it was worth, I forwarded the necessary money a couple of times to give it at least for more weeks of life. Doped up on buprenorphine, the creature would have felt little pain and continued to do cat-like things (still trying to sniff out mice), albeit with wobbly legs. Then the home euthanasia vet came to visit, another sedative applied, and the green-dream of pentobarbitone injected. Surrounded by housemates and friends, the cat passed quietly, its body donated for trainee vets. A day prior I was awarded the opportunity to present a talk on The Year of the Rat at the 1st Unitarian-Universalist Fellowship of Melbourne, of which I have provided an linked transcript, which includes a story of a Buddhist pilgrimage from some 24 years prior, the Bramble Cay Melomys Day for extinction events, and the story of APOPO's Hero Rats, all on the second anniversary of the death of Sam Savage, author of Firmin. On my recommendation, the accompanying music was La Festin from Ratatouille and the reading was Robert Southey's God's Judgment on a Wicked Bishop, a favourite rat-related poem (the real Bishop Hatto died on January 18). Having referenced the remarkable intellectual and social abilities of my favourite rodents, my conclusions were unsurprisingly advocacy for animal welfare.
