Throwback Thurs: Cinnamon

I found some old notebooks at the bottom of the box last weekend – including one my first ever journals.  The first three entries frankly brought me to tears. They are all about my first cat Cinnamon.

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Thurs, Feb. 18, 1997

Today I haven’t been feeling well so I called Mom and came home sick. I’ve slept most of the afternoon and I am about to go to bed.

Vic, a kid in my class, asked me on the 4 if I would go out with him. It was the morning after Cinnamen [sic] had been put down so I was still upset. He kept on pressuring me until Brittney started to beat him up. [I feel like I need to define “beat up” was usually with a piece of PAPER]

I am having a rough year so far. Vic is only making it worse. [God, I feel so sorry for him.  His timing was TERRIBLE – but it doesn’t excuse his behavior] I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do. I am terribly confused and frightening. [over 20 years later – I don’t remember why I used the word “frightened” but it makes me ANGRY.  Fear is not one of the steps of grief.]

I don’t want to go out with anybody right now because of Cinnamen, [sic] but if I don’t go out with Vic he will act like an idiot. [and this is MY problem?]

I DON’T KNOW WHAT I SHOULD DO!! [all caps doesn’t do justice to the middle-schooler’s ability to express herself… :)]

I wish someone could help me understand my problems and work through them. [Nope. Pretty sure that’s called “growing up” honey.]


Firstly, writing really helps me cement a memory.  That is almost EXACTLY how I remember that month.  I put down Cinnamon on the 3rd, Vic tried to ask me out THE NEXT MORNING, I told him “no, I just lost my cat” and he spent MONTHS harassing me (literally, in my diary the entry is in MAY when Mom and I got the Vice Principal involved and this is AFTER the entry “I talked to the school councilor ’cause he threatened suicide if I wouldn’t date him.”) I am so glad I don’t have that kind of drama now. I didn’t realize I was such a dramatic little brat then. But reading those entries now… wow.

And almost every entry “I don’t feel good” just reminds me that I don’t feel that way anymore ever since I (essentially) stopped eating peppers.  I was a little icky over the weekend but that was my own fault (I went to a Mexican restaurant) and it still wasn’t THAT bad.   It was 12-18 hrs of “meh” attitude towards most foods.

So yeah, there we go.  21 years ago I wrote through my own personal “horror.” I thought it was then – I have more executive function now to process the choices I was struggling with them.  Literally, look it up!  You don’t finish growing your brain until about 25, so at ~12 I didn’t have as much brain power; and these were HARD things.  Ok, some of them are STILL hard and scary for the post-25 age group.  Relationships (even ones that aren’t romantic) are HARD.


Here’s how it goes (maybe this is only funny in MY head…).  This name has two possible conversations when meeting people:

Dog growling and snarling.

Stranger: Wow your dog isn’t too friendly, is he.

Owner: No, my dog is Friendly.

Dog growls and lunges.

Stranger: Ummm… no, your dog is definitely not friendly.

Owner: I’m telling you, the dog IS Friendly.

Stranger: That isn’t any definition of friendly I’d ever use.

Owner: But he IS Friendly.


Dog wags tail and grins at people.

Stranger: Wow! What a friendly dog.

Owner: Yup. Friendly.

Dog wriggles from shoulders down because of that tail-wag.

Stranger: I don’t think I’ve seen such a sweetie.

Owner: No, he’s Friendly.

Stranger: Well yeah, I said that…


I’m telling you – perfect dog name.  As the owner you could have some damn fun conversations.

Memories: Poor Little Mousey….

Poor little mousey.
Dead little mousey.
Mousey with no head.
I only wanted to play…

I grew up with this snippet of a poem.  I don’t even remember any more of it.  The problem of course is when mousey still has a head.  When mousey is scared witless.  When mousey is trying to hide under your dresser and the kitty REALLY thinks its a fun toy.  When Genkii REALLY is trying to grab mousey to take to Mommy.  Who is happily asleep in bed.

Yes, I woke up one morning at 7am, and Genkii had found a mouse. I was living in my parents’ basement while unemployed and although this was unusual – well mice have the reputation for getting into places they don’t belong for well-deserved reasons.

Genkii had gotten the mouse to my bedroom. I have no idea how. Did he already catch it once? Was it luck that it ran to this room? (I looked later – it’s “exit” was NOT along these walls)

It  was trying desperately to find a “Safe” place.  He caught it at one point and looked up at me.  I know my cat.  He was trying to get it up to mommy.  Fortunately, the thing was squirming like…. well… like a mouse caught by a cat.  It got out of his mouth and dashed beneath furniture.

I had already grabbed my cell phone and called my parents upstairs. They brought down a broom, a dustpan, and a little trashcan. Dad caught the mouse in the trashcan and they took it for release outside. Somewhere far enough away it can’t get back inside (hopefully). I grew up with hunting cats, so this was exactly the procedure I expected (and wanted).

If I had been up, about, and dressed I would have been more OK with these events. In-and-of themselves I don’t mind mice too much.  It really is the fact that Genkii wanted to bring it TO MY BED that made me unhappy. He didn’t (and doesn’t) know how to kill. Do you know how much I would scream like a total girl if I woke up to a mouse running on my face? I’d rather never find out.

When I moved out of my parents basement a few months later, I found a dead mouse in the bottom of a box a few feet from where the cat food was. The mouse was the saddest remains I’ve ever seen – it hadn’t been caught (so to speak) by my cats. It had starved to death.

I love my cat, but he is never going to be a great hunter. He gets confounded by moths and butterflies. But he does love his Mommy and would gladly give them all to me…