I love reading the Erotic Services section on Craigslist. I had no idea there were so many little whores in the Bay Area. Professionals, at any rate.

Yesterday my mom's cat Nitro died. He'd been struggling with liver cancer for a month and yesterday morning at 4 am, she had to finally have him put to sleep.

Nitro was a great guy. I never before met a cat who shook hands and played fetch. Knowing he -- and my mom -- were suffering broke my heart. I called her yesterday because I just had a feeling. Turns out she'd gotten at least one other call like that. Maybe people know. We have radar.

I'm having a hard time these days as I struggle with the idea this this isn't something we're getting away from. Everyone -- we're all going to die. We don't know where and we don't know how. We only know it's inevitable. And even I -- the master of getting out of it, whatever It is -- won't escape.

Adam on this old crone who was screaming in Russian on her cell phone: "Who does she have to talk to who isn't dead?"

Then he went up and told her to be quiet. Not so nicely. Later, when she got louder again, he went back up and said: "You're screaming again." He kind of scared me when he did it. But I like how assertive he can get when needed.

I don't do nearly as much journalism as in the past, and I sometimes forget how much fun it can be to talk to sources. I've had fun this morning.

Looks like I'm going to be opening up my wallet and saying ah, both for Oliver's dental and for my show. I met with Martin yesterday and we're starting to hash out what needs to be done and how it's got to happen. Awesome.

Oliver's bloodwork is back. Crabby old bastard has healthy kidney and liver function. Thyroid is not in yet, but it's likely a dental thing which I am more than happy to open my wallet for. I almost cried with happiness.

All you need to know about Adam

It was raining when we brought Oliver back from the vet on Friday. Adam took the carrier out of the car, pulled off his jacket, and draped it over said carrier. "I know I'm a dork," he said, "but I don't want him to get wet."

Last night

Warren said something really great to me. We were hanging out with him and Carl at Lanesplitter, and I was telling them about Friday.

On Friday, Adam and I took Oliver to the vet for a limp and what we suspected was a cold. The limp turned out to be an ingrown claw, and the vet also noticed a drop in weight. He's down from 12.6 pounds in late October to 12.0 today. She asked permission to do a blood panel to find out what, if anything, may be going on.

I gave permission, got off the phone, and broke down. Oliver is 19 years old and in the near-decade I've had him, I've never had anything but a positive report from the vet.

When we picked him up later that day, the vet told me to relax. "He's in amazing shape for such an old cat," she said. "Cats usually live 15-16 years, tops. Oliver's doing great."

I should know tomorrow about the bloodwork results. It could be kidney disease, or a thyroid problem, or diabetes, or arthritis. He's also developed this completely bizarre habit of shrieking over his food -- Adam and I will come running at top speed, and Oliver will be standing there over his bowl looking as confused and dopey as ever. It's as if he's unaware that he screamed at all.

No one ever said being a pet owner is easy. He looks happy, he seems comfortable, he's eating and being social and doing everything a healthy cat does. But I was telling Warren and Carl all this, and Warren said: "Allison, not to minimize your cat being as old as he is, but every day he lives is a victory. I've seen you come so far in the time you've had him. You've done so much."

It made me feel good.