Log Book:

0307 - Awakened by team leader, code name Mom. Didn’t set alarm, because knew Mom would accomplish task.

0310 – Geared up in “I’d Rather Be Punching You” shirt and comfortable shoes.

0331 - Heated up leftover green bean casserole. Dumped in coffee mug for mobile sustenance needs. Set off with Mom for rendezvous with rest of team.

0348 - Made contact with remaining team member, code name Sister. Proceeded to first destination.

0402 - Arrived at Checkpoint A (aka Kohl’s). Observed a long line of invaders waiting to enter through right-hand door. Entered through left-hand door, where no line existed.

0403 - Ran up the down escalator. Poor strategy, not to be attempted in future skirmishes.

The record continues in this fashion for many hours, ending with a cease-fire at approximately 1600 hours.

Mission Review Notes:

Politeness is suspended on Black Thursday. Shoving through lines, sweeping abandoned carts out of the way, and selfishly snatching the last $1.99 DVD are perfectly acceptable here.

Although rudeness will be tolerated, cluelessness will not. Stopping to chat in front of the half-price sock display will earn you a none-too-subtle nudge out of the way. Driving on the wrong side of your half of the parking lot aisle could result in twisted steel and mangled facial features.

You can’t break the rules until you learn them well, son. And you have to know which ones to break.

It is unwise to enter battle without reinforcements. It’s frequently necessary to station a combatant in line while further shopping commences. Checkout lines make Disneyland on a holiday look like a slow day at the bank. Suck it up, soldier. Occasionally, it’s necessary for a team member to break ranks and proceed by car to another checkpoint before all rations are depleted. This is not the same thing as leaving a man behind. This is strategy.

This is not a scene for the weak of will, faint of heart, or male of gender. You must be vigilant, heartless, and often brutal. Be prepared to let go of the $0.49 Almond Roca with a limit of one if it means gathering twelve $4.99 microplush blankets to give as gifts to everyone on your list.

People who brag to their line-neighbors that they didn’t start shopping at 4am are just dumb and inefficient. Not only are they partaking of the craziest shopping day of the year, but they didn’t even get there early enough to get the best deals.

It’s crazy out there. You may find yourself in a head-on auto collision while attempting to use the center turn lane (the aftermath of two such accidents were witnessed during this mission). You may find your cart overturned and your ankles bleeding, or you may find yourself overturning someone else’s cart and running over their ankles. You may cry in desperation or shout in triumph. Take your meds, eat a hearty breakfast, wear your pointy shoes, and survive.

Do not delude yourself that this mission has anything to do with saving a dollar. It is entirely possible, likely even, that you will spend more on Black Thursday than is necessary or prudent. It’s about the thrill of the chase, the feats of strategy and logistical maneuvering, and the gambling.

It’s more like a season of Survivor: The Mall. Or a silent auction where you get so desperate to win anything at all that you write in an ill-advised bid for the Hamhock-of-the-Month Club, just to be able to take something home.

Godspeed, Black Thursday Warriors of 2007. See you next year.

10. An array of more food than could ever be consumed by a small army. But there are surprisingly few leftovers. Oink!

9. Grab a plate from one of the many tables set up (each with a different themed table setting) and chow down at the buffet-style meal. Grabbing a plate saves your seat. And the kids’ table is the cool table.

8. Eat around 1:00pm, lament the inability to close the top button on your pants, and then continue to graze for the rest of the day.

7. Cranberry sauce from the can. The smooth kind of cranberry sauce.

6. Tons of black olives to stick on your fingers and then eat.

5. Layered salad. Good to have some greenery in the diet. Even if it is slathered with mayo and coated in cheese and bacon.

4. Pumpkin spice cake — a new addition this year (actually a birthday cake, but luckily birthdays happen every year too), and it’s mighty tasty.

3. Sneaking bits of crispy turkey skin. And brazenly snatching whole hunks of crispy turkey skin.

2. Gravy served in a soup tureen. A really big soup tureen. Or a coffee pot.

1. ADS! Must spend hours poring over the various circulars, making notes, comparing prices, re-checking ads for deals that may have materialized since the last time they were read, debating the value and inconvenience of rebates, and developing a plan of attack for Black Friday.

She was born on September 22, 1999, so that makes her about seven and a half years old. That’s not enough time. She was a sweet kitty.

It’s weird how much I miss her, having not seen her more than once or twice a week for months. Maybe it’s not so much that I miss her, but that I know she won’t be there the next time I stick my head under the bathroom sink. She won’t ever again knead my head while I’m trying to sleep, or stand behind me silently and creep me out. I won’t ever again get to pet her plushy fur and tickle her cold little toes and kiss her on her little black nose. I won’t ever get to see the pinkness of her ears showing through her solid gray, or feel the crick at the end of her tail. Or pick her up and force her to snuggle with me while she squirms to get away.

No more sniffy tours. No more tuna yowling. No more sweet little kisses between her and Guinness or between her and Tulla.

It’s so unnerving that she was fine just this morning. My poor little baby was having seizures and in terrible pain. She went into arrest and they couldn’t revive her.

The technician brought her out on a little fuzzy blanket, and it was like she was sleeping. As I petted her body, I kept imagining that she was doing all the things she would have done if she’d just been sleeping. Like twitching her ears, flicking her tail, stretching and wiggling in happiness.

Except that one of her eyes was still open. The other was squished shut against the blanket, but her right eye was open, and it was like looking into a clear glass marble. Jose wasn’t in there anymore. At a glance, it was her, but there was something missing when I looked more deeply. I really wanted to close her eye, but I couldn’t do it for some reason, and part of me didn’t want to.

We had to decide what to do with her body. The choices were burial, cremation to keep the ashes, or group cremation. I can’t stand the thought of her little body rotting in the earth, so burial was out immediately. And keeping her ashes seems so morbid. It’s just her body, not her little spirit. I’d rather have photos to remind me of her life, not ashes to remind me of her death. So we decided on group cremation. I can’t even think about that — my little baby cat being shoveled into an incinerator with a bunch of other well-loved pets.

The horrible thing is that I kept thinking inappropriate thoughts while I was saying my good-byes to Jose. All kinds of terrible thoughts would pop into my head. Things like “One down, three to go” and “At least Guinness will be happy now.” It was terrible. I didn’t want to be thinking those things, but my mind was all over the place and weird little phrases kept drifting through.

It’s Cinco de Mayo today. We always joked that today was Jose’s holiday, because she’s Jose Cuervo, our little Mexicat. Guinness has St. Patrick’s Day, Buca has April Fools’ Day, and I guess Tulla never got a holiday.

I can’t believe my little Jose is gone. It was just so sudden. I get a phone message that she’s acting unwell and that they’re taking her to the emergency vet. I get in the car and drive to the vet. When I arrive, everyone’s outside and Chris tells me that Jose passed away. It just doesn’t make sense. She was just fine.

Almost nobody will miss her, because nobody else knew her. She was a scaredy-cat, paranoid in the extreme, and pathologically suspicious of anyone other than Chris and me. But she was so sweet. So loveable and loving and affectionate. She was a weird little ball of anxiety, but there were times when she was so relaxed and blissful that it made my heart ache.

I miss her, and I love her. She was a good kitty, and if there’s any justice in the universe, she’s in some kitty heaven rolling around in catnip, chasing a string, and eating all the tuna she can get her little teeth on.