1466: Lara Laid to Rest

IMG_2592A day I had a feeling that was coming, but didn’t want to think about happened today: our pet rat Lara passed away, from the looks of things during the night or the early hours. We came into the lounge for breakfast and she was just lying there, sleeping peacefully underneath the little log cabin in her cage. She didn’t look as if she had suffered; she had just obviously thought it was time to pass on, so fell asleep and didn’t wake up.

While I had maybe been expecting and worrying about this for a lot longer than was strictly necessary — she was a pretty old lady, as rats go, and she’d obviously been developing a few health problems over time — that doesn’t stop it being any less upsetting and sad to see it come to pass, however peacefully she passed away.

Lara was part of our family. She was not only the first pet I’ve ever owned myself — along with her cagemate Willow, who was taken from us well before her time — but an important part of the home Andie and I have built for ourselves. She was a presence I had grown accustomed to; I enjoyed seeing her face peeking out of a Pop-Tarts box — she loved hiding in boxes — and to see how she’d scurry frantically to the cage door at the prospect of treats. Especially yogurt. She loved yogurt.

She had her own distinct personality that developed over time. We initially called her Lara because in the original pairing of her and Willow, she was the one who came out of her box first and started exploring the cage, climbing all around it like the Tomb Raider heroine. (Willow, conversely, was shy and meek, much like her namesake in Buffy the Vampire Slayer.) As she grew older, she became a little chubby and discovered the concept of “comfort”. We’d put a hammock with a furry lining in the cage and she’d often be found reclining in there; we gave her some pieces of an old towel, and she’d always find wherever she thought was the best possible place to put them, then sit and relax on them as her newer, slightly younger cagemate Lucy would buzz around her excitedly.

Seeing Lucy today is making me feel a bit sad. As I type this, I can see her climbing around the cage, sneezing and inxeplicably digging in the food bowl as she always does, but she seems to be a little down from her usual energy levels. I couldn’t tell you for sure whether or not rats actually “feel” anything emotionally, but my gut tells me that Lucy is lonely, and that she misses Lara; she has spent much of the day tucked up in the Pop-Tarts box her cagemate loved so, and would only come out with a bit of encouragement. I certainly know that Lara felt very attached to Lucy: any time we’d take Lucy out of the cage for whatever reason — to take her to the vets, for example — Lara would panic and begin frantically searching around for her uncharacteristically energetically, so I can’t help but feel Lucy probably feels something similar. Only for her, Lara isn’t coming back. I feel sorry for the poor little thing, so I have little doubt she’s probably going to get quite spoiled over the next few days.

This is always the saddest, worst part of owning pets. They offer such warmth, happiness and companionship when they’re alive that it’s difficult not to feel like a member of your family has passed on when their time is eventually up. I still find death quite difficult to deal with, to be honest, though I don’t think that’s necessarily a particularly bad trait to have in the grand scheme of things.

So it was that we said goodbye to Lara earlier. Living in a third-floor flat, we don’t have a garden of our own, but fortunately the border of our building’s car park has some soily flower beds. We laid her to rest in a fresh Pop-Tarts box, dug her a grave and planted some flowers above her.

I hope that wherever she’s going next that she is happy, and that she thinks back fondly on the time she spent with us, and with Lucy.

Goodbye, Lara. We love you.

#oneaday Day 626: Farewell, Mr Jobs

“Your work is going to fill a large part of your life, and the only way to be truly satisfied is to do what you believe is great work. And the only way to do great work is to love what you do,” said Steve Jobs to a group of Stanford University graduates during a commencement speech in 2005. “If you haven’t found it yet, keep looking. Don’t settle. As with all matters of the heart, you’ll know when you find it. And, like any great relationship, it just gets better and better as the years roll on.”

Wise words from a great man — who sadly passed away yesterday, aged just 56. I’m actually quite sad about this because, although I obviously didn’t know the man personally, he’s had a profound impact on my life. I’m not the only one, either — this morning various social networks are filling up with tributes to Jobs, his life and the influence that his company Apple’s products have had on their lives. My good buddy AJ Minotti, for example, noted that he’s been podcasting with his brother for four years now — and this is longer than anything else he’s ever committed himself to in his life, whether that’s work, school or relationships. Podcasting defines him, and although podcasting may well have come along in a different form with a different name had Apple not pushed it as a publishing medium, in his mind it’s inextricably associated with Jobs and Apple as a whole.

For me, my exposure to Apple products began with an early stint as a freelance writer for the Official Nintendo Magazine in the UK. I was putting together walkthroughs for Turok 2, Star Wars: Battle for Naboo and Banjo-Tooie. To take screen grabs from these titles, I had to play the game through a video capture card linked to a Mac and take shots from the video feed as I played through. I’m not sure exactly why they used the (then-OS 9 sporting) Macs for their office work, but I guess it was due to the supposedly common knowledge that Mac software was good for creative and design work.

Subsequently, I got myself an iPod with a 20GB hard drive. At the time, I couldn’t imagine ever being able to fill it — but having graduated to it from a 32MB (yes, really) MP3 player it was a revelation to be able to carry that much music around with me in my pocket. I took it everywhere with me, and it lasted a good few years, too. It moved house with me several times, remained an almost permanent attachment to my car stereo and joined me at the gym on many occasions. I came to know and love the music on it and, to this day, that first iPod is one of my favourite pieces of technology I’ve ever owned.

After joining Apple back in 2007, I got my first exposure to the modern OSX Mac, and I was instantly smitten. Here was a system that ran smoothly and efficiently, did what I wanted it to do with minimum fuss and yet still remained powerful enough to let you tweak it as you saw fit. The online community agreed, too, and Macs remain a great platform for independent publishers to release awesome and useful applications, utilities and — to a lesser extent, admittedly — games.

It was the creativity side of things that really grabbed me though. Apple’s iLife suite was excellent, allowing you to do things that many inexperienced users who came through the doors of the store assumed to be difficult, challenging or demanding on their computers. Things like editing and organising photos; editing video; making a DVD; or producing professional sounding music — all of it was within reach of the average user, and all of those applications gave users a firm understanding of the concepts they’d need to be familiar with prior to graduating on to more advanced, professional software.

When my role changed from the in-store “Mac Specialist” salesperson position to the in-store “Creative” personal trainer position, I got to spend all day every day working with these applications, teaching people how to use them, presenting workshops and tutorials on them with genuine enthusiasm — I believed in these products because I’d used them extensively myself — and even training new members of staff on what they needed to know about the computers and their applications. It was, for a very long time, absolutely the best job I ever had, and I felt very much what Steve described when he was addressing those Stanford graduates in 2005. I’m sorry that I had to leave — but, without going into too many details, poor in-store leadership that seemingly rejected many of the core values of the Apple credo meant that I, and several others, saw little choice but to move on to pastures new. In my case, this pretty much marked the “beginning of the end” for me, as from that point I was to only have one more short-term teaching job before a year of unemployment and the collapse of my marriage — along with my life as I knew it, of course. I won’t lie — I regret some of the choices I made back then, but what’s passed is passed, and you can’t change what’s already gone by.

Besides, nowadays things are seemingly back on track, of course. In Apple terms, I still use my Mac every day for work. While it’s getting on in years a bit and, like a faithful old dog, is a little sickly and decides not to do what it’s told at times — Apple products don’t break, you know, yeah, right — it’s still my weapon of choice for all sorts of things: browsing the web, working on documents, working with photos, making music. While I have my PC for gaming, now, Macs will always be a part of my life, as will my trusty iPhone, which never leaves my side.

In short, Steve Jobs has — at least indirectly — had a profound impact on my life. As an employee, he was an inspirational leader with an obvious vision for where he wanted the company to go, and even for those who aren’t Apple “fanboys” it’s difficult to deny that he was a figure in the tech industry who commanded — demanded — respect. He will be greatly missed by all — whether they knew him personally or not.

Farewell, Mr Jobs — and thank you for the good times.

#oneaday, Day 331: Like A Ro-ogue, Killed For The Very First Time

Horatio Spankington was one of several children to a Serf, and a credit to his family. He had brown eyes, curly red hair and a dark complexion, lending him a somewhat distinctive look that his father often joked would probably “end him up in some freak show somewhere”.

He joined the ranks of the Paladins at an early age, and by the time he was 18 he had determined that it was time to go dungeon-delving. He rented a room in a small village above a notorious dungeon, and prepared for the long quest ahead.

One morning, he awoke, and his God spoke to him, granting him the power to detect evil things. Rushing straight for the stairs down into the dungeon, he was eager to try out his new power. Concentrating as hard as he could, he prayed fervently for sight beyond sight, to see where the evil things dwelled.

The effort caused him to faint out cold for a few minutes. When he awoke, all was as it was before, though he wasn’t in a hurry to ask his God for anything else for a little while.

He pulled out the makeshift weapons and armour that he had acquired, and lit his torch. He looked around.

“What a boring place,” he thought.

He looked around the room he found himself in and found a curious scrap of paper on the floor. It read “pro redam.”

“Pro redam,” he said out loud. Suddenly, he felt more knowledgeable, and figured that he could probably figure out exactly what the next thing he looked at was, whatever it might turn out to be. He stowed the magic scroll in his pack and headed for a tunnel in the wall nearest to him.

The tunnel was quite long, and went around several twisting corners, but eventually led him to a long, narrow room. There was a curious smell in the room. He gazed around, looking for the source of the stench and eventually found it in the form of a patch of grey mould. Figuring that he may as well cleanse the dungeon of filth as well as evil, he strode boldly toward the grey mould, broadsword in hand.

The mould let out a cloud of spores, which tickled his nose and made him sneeze. Undeterred, he whacked the patch of mould with the flat of his sword, dispersing it.

He looked around the room. There was nothing of interest here, save several tunnels in the walls. He chose one and strode valiantly into it.

After a couple of twists and turns, he came to a closed door. Trying the handle, he found it to be unlocked, so he opened it carefully and peered into the room beyond. He couldn’t see anything in there, so he stepped through the archway and took a look around.

The room was pretty dark, so he walked along the walls, using the light from his torch to get his bearings. His first impressions were correct; there was little of note here. In fact, the room was more of a wide corridor, with two tunnels leading off in different directions at one side, and another closed door at the other.

He tried the handle on the door, and found it to be locked. Pulling out a safety pin he always kept for emergencies such as this, he inserted it into the lock and fumbled around inexpertly and to his surprise, succeeded in opening the door. He stepped through the doorway cautiously, unsure what he might find beyond.

The corridor beyond the door extended for a short distance and turned a few corners before opening up into a large, light room. This, too, was empty of interesting details, but there were tunnels leading off in a number of directions, along with another door in one wall.

Figuring that the doors hadn’t steered him wrong yet, he headed for the door and tried the handle. It was locked, but again he tried his safety-pin trick and to his surprise, it worked.

Beyond the door was a long, twisting and turning corridor that seemed to go on forever. Eventually, it opened up into a long, thin room, and there was that terrible smell again. Another patch of mould sat waiting for him. Feeling bold, he charged for it.

Suddenly, an acrid black smoke filled his nostrils and stung his eyes. He tried to brush it away, but he couldn’t. He tried to blink his eyes clear, but he couldn’t see anything. The smoke was too thick. He staggered around blindly, setting off the trap several more times, stinging his eyes more and more each time.

The stench of the mould was getting stronger and stronger. He flailed wildly at the mould, trying to destroy it, but he felt the spores blow up his nose, into his throat, filling his lungs. He began to feel sick.

Something crawled on him. It felt blubbering and icky, and he heard a chewing sound. He still couldn’t see, and the foul smell and darkness were confusing him.

He felt weak. Finally, coughing up blood and vomit, he barged head-first into a granite wall, collapsed onto his back and whimpered.

Horatio Spankington died just 50 feet below the surface of the earth. Few people mourned his passing, least of all the family of the drooling village idiot he claimed to have “accidentally” killed upon leaving a shop one morning.

The dungeon lay unconquered still. Many had come to tackle its dangers. None had survived so far.

Try it for yourself if you can stomach a bit of hardcore ASCII dungeon-crawling. Download Angband here.