I saw the signs. The weight loss. The wakefulness at unusual times of the day. I've sensed that something was wrong. When Squeak was awake at 5:30 Friday evening, I had an impulse to skip yoga class and stay with her. But my logic told me that I was overreacting. It wasn't like it was with Gladys. Squeak appeared healthy. She was active. She wasn't having any trouble with her movements, like Gladys did. She was struggling strongly with the vet's assistant, who was clipping her nails, just last Thursday.

I fed Gladden and Squeak at 8:30 tonight, as usual. Gladden seemed rather skittish, and Squeak wasn't coming out of the house. I panicked. I opened the lid of the house and tilted it a little to see what Squeak was doing. All I could see was the tip of her tail, and it wasn't moving. I took the house out of the cage. My fear was confirmed. Squeak was dead. I started crying. Phillip came into the bedroom to see what was wrong. He started screaming. I just sat there for the longest time. Then I found a cardboard box and lined it with one of my old shirts. I picked Squeak up and lifted her out of the house. She kicked against me. She was breathing. She was alive, but barely moving.

Phillip called our veterinarian. A recording directed us to an emergency line. The woman on the phone said that they didn't handle exotic animals, but gave me the phone number of an emergency clinic in Lynnwood.

I drove up Interstate 5, passing 70 MPH at times. Squeak died in Phillip's hands before we got there. The veterinarian in Lynnwood confirmed Squeak's death, and refused to charge us any fee.

I called my parents. I emailed Pet. I had to write this down. There is little else that I am motivated to do right now. I'll write to Kelly tomorrow.

Gladys Night's Little Pip, Squeak was six years old.

Phillip and I did our now-traditional Saturday afternoon trip to the library to play Armada on Neopets. Phillip reserved a computer at the Capitol Hill branch. Instead of reserving my computer at Capitol Hill or downtown, I chose the Montlake branch, mostly for a change of pace. Also, I was curious to see where anyone could squeeze computers into that teeny, tiny storefront library. When the Henry branch was closed, during its demolition and the building of the new Capitol Hill branch library, Montlake was my chosen branch to pick up for books I put on hold. It was nostalgic to see the place again.

Lisa was back last night. She made up for lost time, which made it her most intensive yoga class I've attended. We did lots of circular muscle flexing in our legs. I feel like I'm progressing a lot. I'm still finding it easier to bend my legs than to straighten them.

It was strangely easy for me to slip into a meditative state during last night's yoga class. I missed a couple of Lisa's instructions when I got too deep into the pose I was holding. It was like I was having a problem concentrating - in the sense that I was concentrating too easily.

I'm feeling very good this morning.

Since Phillip and I are government employees, we both had today off.

We started the day by taking Squeak to the vet, to get her nails trimmed. Along the way to Fremont, the odometer in the Prius passed 9000 miles. The car will be two years old in February.

Squeak has always been skinny. Shortly after Gladys died, Squeak began putting on weight. We were happy to see that happen - the extra weight looked good on her. But then she started losing it again. The vet's assistant noted that on her last visit, Squeak weighed 100 grams. (That was after the weight gain began.) Today, Squeak weighed 73. Since this was only her second weighing, we're not sure if Squeak is back to her original adult weight, or if she's losing weight still.

Squeak should be happy tonight, when she discovers that she's not sticking to fabric anymore.

After we got home, and put Squeak back in bed, Phillip went back to bed, too. I walked up to QFC. I bought a flashlight and a tape measure (which we needed), some shampoo and deodorant and razor blades (which I needed), and some Blue Sky natural soda (on impulse). I looked for valve stem caps to replace the one missing from the Prius, but couldn't find any. I'm glad that something close to a Fred Meyer is back on Broadway.

I did some writing this morning. I started the minutes from last Tuesday's Church Council meeting. I wrote some more of Rolling Wabi-Sabi. Writers' Group is this Sunday.

I spent most of the rest of this day off reading Cuba 15, a novel by Nancy Osa. I found this book on the Seattle Public Library's Young Adult reading list. This is a terrific book. It's the story of a girl in Chicago whose Cuban grandmother is determined to give her a traditional quinceañero - a coming-of-age ceremony for fifteen-year-old girls. It's very believable, with great character development, and manages to be funny and serious without going overboard with either.

I'm also reading another great book. It's The Map That Changed The World, by Simon Winchester. Kurt had recommended it during Phillip's birthday dinner. I put it on hold at the library, but then when I was at the Central Library last Saturday, I discovered that I had put the wrong book on hold. (I found it on the shelf.) I had the name wrong, forgot the author, and had reserved A Map Of The World, by Jane Hamilton. I cancelled my hold, and found the correct book also on the shelf. The wrong book is a novel. The correct one is the true story of William Smith, who created the world's first geological map, and became the founder of modern geology. He was born in 1769, at a time when people had absolute proof (the tracing of generations in The Bible) that the world was created at 9:00 AM, Monday, October 23, 4004 B.C., and hadn't changed since. The Earth, therefore, was exactly 5,772 years, four months, and sixteen days old when William Smith was born. He would eventually challenge that notion. This is fascinating stuff.

The mother/daughter reading pair were on the 60 this morning. They sat in the seats directly in front of me. This morning, the mother brought a comic book to read aloud. I could barely hear her, but I made out enough to figure out she was reading an Archie and Jughead comic - which she read like a children's story book. It was rather fun to eavesdrop.

Meanwhile, across the aisle, a blind woman was talking to another woman. I couldn't figure out if they knew each other, or if the sighted woman was being a friendly, helpful stranger. The blind woman was trying to find a street, but she wasn't sure of the cross street, and seemed to have difficulty describing what it was she was trying to find. The strange thing was that neither woman seemed to be in any distress. It didn't seem to bother the blind woman that she was on a moving bus with little idea of where she was going, and the sighted woman didn't seem at all frustrated with the lack of communication. They sounded like any two people having a conversation on a bus.

I looked out the window and listened to bits of Jughead's conversation as it blended with bits of the address deduction. At times, I couldn't figure out which conversation I was overhearing. I enjoyed it.

It's been a couple of weeks since I cut my hair short (again). It's been out of respect for Phillip's feelings that I kept the pony tail for as long as I did. I like my hair better when it's short. No one at work had seen my hair this short before, of course. (It's not as short as it was in Holland.) All of my co-workers like the short hair, except for Catherine, who told me that she misses the pony tail. I realized this morning that no one at church has seen my hair this short. (I skipped the last two Sundays.)

This post has been leading up to an amusing remark Cindy made before this morning's service. After complimenting me on my new haircut (to Phillip's chagrin), she pointed out that Wayne is the last long-haired man at Central. She's right. Bruce cut his pony tail off last year. Wayne seems to like his hair long - or maybe he's respecting Cindy's feelings.

Wayne and Cindy are husband and wife. Wayne is on the Church Council with me.