Friday Morning Cats and Mimosas, the Triumphant Return

I decided to run away from Christmas, which meant that I was in Brooklyn, NY and Wales MA over the holidays. It was delightful, except for the distinct lack of feline companionship. I did play Neko Atsume quite obsessively, but those cats don't purr. (What was the game designer thinking, really?)

I returned home Monday evening. The little black kittens seemed neither pleased nor surprised to see me. They were pretty much, "Oh, you. Ok, you." Lady Jane Grey seemed quite pleased to see me, and rolled around in her chair enthusiastically when I petted her. Arwen retreated to her cave under the bed and glared at me balefully, and Naomi decided that I was a cat-eating monster and fled before the terror that is me. Behold! I am Lydy! Once I got in the bed, Arwen forgave me, or at least, came to sit on me, complain bitterly at length, and periodically nibble on my wrist to make sure that I hadn't magically transformed into a tasty treat while I was gone.

Naomi, as I mentioned earlier, has kidney disease, and is eating only very intermittently. She really should be eating kidney food, but that appears to bear a striking resemblance to the instructions to "first stand the cat on the newspaper." She does nibble on the kidney kibble, but throws up one of the types of kidney canned food, and doesn't care for the other. Pamela and I have been tempting her with various styles of wet food, some of which she eats, some of which she doesn't, some of which entrance her for a day or two, none of which appear to be appealing long-term. We trade email about what she's eaten, since I feed her in the morning when I get home from work and Pamela feeds her during the day.

The other morning, Naomi roundly refused to eat any of a food that had previously been acceptable, and I sent email to Pamela that started out, "The feeding of cats is a difficult matter, it's not just one of your holiday games." She responded with an email starting with, "You may think I'm as mad as a hatter when I tell you a cat must have three different foods." It amused us, though I don't know it's furthered the goal of actually putting calories in the damn cat.

I spent Christmas at Toad Woods, Geri Sullivan's house, and that was just utterly wonderful. Geri is a superb hostess, the company outstanding, and the food...omg the food. So Much Food. Geri gave me a stocking, and in it was a toy just for Lady Jane. I gave it to her when I got home. Here is a picture of LJG and the Toy that Geri Sent:




(I wanted one that showed LJG's face, but most of those are too blurry, because she really, really, _really_ liked that toy.)

Epics and Isolations

One of the high points of my time in NYC was Patrick and Teresa's New Year's Day party. It was more fun that I can even come close to describing. So many people. Shawna McCarthy was there, and I got to squee at her about how much I had loved Isaac Asimov's Science Fiction Magazine when she had been chief editor. It had been a very lonely period of my life, and the magazine mattered to me so very much. She looked very pleased, though she said a bit wistfully that no one remembers that she did that. Which shocked me. I remember. And it mattered. A lot. It also mattered that she was a girl, and it suggested to me that maybe, you know, girls could...do things.

I got to meet Jim Henley, which was an especial treat. I remember reading him back during the second Iraq war, and he was so very wise and sensible. He's a lovely man, funny and interesting and genuinely kind. He also has a very nice wife, who I didn't get to talk to as much as I would have liked. And a bit of ego boo: Patrick sent Jim email to confirm that they really were going to come up from Silver Springs, MD to the party, and said that if he did, Lydy Nickerson would fan-girl squee at him. Jim's response was (para-quoted), "Lydy Nickerson of the File 770 Nickersons, who always says smart things?" (I don't actually. And not nearly as many smart things as Jim does, but I'm totally taking that ego boo and running.)

So many people were there. Ellen Datlow, Moshe Feder, Avram Grumer, Julia the blogger whose last name I've lost but I like so very much, Bear, Lynch and lots of other people. Really interesting people. This was an epic party. Utterly epic.

The high point, for me, was Scott Lynch reading his epic smackdown of John C. Wright. If you haven't read it, you should. It's at http://scottlynch.us/blog/2016/01/01/what-we-talk-about-when-we-talk-about-lying-crazypants-liars-who-lie/ He did funny voices for Wright and everything. There were many interjections from the crowd, many of us (ok, me) seriously inebriated. If you've ever read Scott, you'll know that exceptionally gifted with the clever and profane turn of phrase. It was a great bonding experience.

Scott also posted the smackdown on his blog. Since he has an I.Q. greater than that of a potato, he closed comments. Good on him. The next day, which was Patrick's birthday, was occasioned by many people responding to the post with kind and or snarky encouragement. It was a lovely birthday present.

In watching all this, I am struck by how incredibly isolating being the target of the kind of abuse that Patrick has been the target of can be. It is significantly exacerbated by the fact that his professional integrity is being impugned, and there are very few ways that he can respond that don't feed into spiraling feedback loops that make him look unprofessional. Despite the fact that John C. Wright's accusations were utter lies, and the fact that they were viciously personal, there is very little that Patrick could say, publicly, which wouldn't feed into the "news cycle" and just make the whole thing worse. And while the people who love him and are intimate with him can reassure him that they don't believe this shite, the rest of the world remains silent. It's hard to send a note of support to someone you don't know. All of this is exacerbated by Patrick very sensibly triaging his on-line time, not reading the fora where a lot of this is discussed, since a) who the hell has that much time and b) it's too easy to come across trolls that will simply cause unnecessary upset. But it does mean that he also doesn't see the people who say, "Jesus, that JCW guy's fucked up."

Abuse is almost always isolating. I am immensely grateful that Scott Lynch posted his rant, which then gave so many people a reason to send Patrick a quick note of support.

On a less serious note, man that party was epic. Thank god for friends and lovers and brilliant editors and gifted ranters and people who will be kind to me when I'm entirely too drunk. People. People are remarkably awesome. Who knew?