Stacy Horn is really a 40-year-old New Yorker, strikingly conscious of her life is actually over. In Waiting for My Cats to Die: A Morbid Memoir, Ms. Horn writes of her personal experiences, past and provides, looking for some the reassurance of the fact that jane is eventually gonna die. “We’ve all find out about how men rebel their midlife crises time and time again and over. Yeah, yeah. What do women do? This book can tell you. I’ve started to rebel in all forms of ways. My pain has to be your amusement.” Yet this book isn’t only for middle aged women. We can all on-line massage therapy schools this book about love and hope. Loss and fear. Life and death.
The initial question most readers – including myself – ask is, “Why does she want her cats to die?” There can be a severe misunderstanding here among cat-lovers around the globe. Stacy adores her cats. She lives, breathes, and works well with their expereince of living. Basically, her cats, Veets and Beams are typically she has on the planet. Once they die, then she could quit. Oddly enough, her felines are laden with medical problems. They are both diabetic, and Beams has kidney disease. Stacy goes thru extreme lengths to ensure they are alive, including insulin injections for many years both, every twelve hours. I find this sort of love for a dog very endearing, and I admire Stacy on her behalf immense dedication for them, whether or not it does seem a tad obsessive.
Speaking of obsessions, Stacy is enthusiastic about death. “I go back to death exactly the same I can’t stop touching an aching tooth with my tongue to ascertain if it still hurts. Death. Still terrifying? Yes. How about now? Yes. And now? Yes. Death is in the heart from the midlife crisis.” She goes toward every death movie, reads every death book. She even had the belongings associated with an eighty-eight yr old woman who died, choosing the most obscure things – a seventy-something-year-old appendix, one example is. Small, short chapters on death are scattered sporadically over the book. Stacy visits abandoned cemeteries and funeral homes housing forgotten ashes. She wants to “unearth the unremembered…if I can resurrect these abandoned histories, I win.”
Meanwhile, when Stacy is really living, runs a New-York-based internet company – Echo. She has been credited as one in the industry’s first women to start out such a venture, and has now been around roughly decade. She is constantly for the phone company’s hit list, falling deep into debt, and desperately selling Echo. In the end however, no sale transpires, and Stacy continues to be owner. Taking numerous polls from her Echo users, she puts their statistics inside book. “Are you content?,” and “What does one miss the most from from your younger years?,” being some questions that happen to be asked.
Waiting for My Cats to Die: A Morbid Memoir is really an insightful and interesting reflection, not simply on the facets of death, but life itself. It is THE reason you are never to guage a book by its cover. What I enjoyed most relating to this book was how honest and straight-forward Stacy Horn involved all her thoughts, feelings, and dreams. “I believe it is comforting – and liberating – to admit that I are not aware of anything. Neither does someone else.” I found myself devouring each page numerous times, almost like I could gain in information from it after each read. Although she and I live totally different lives, I could connect, relate, and truly cherish Stacy. This is not your average mid-life crisis, self-helper. Stacy Horn stirs your soul to revel in her very own seemingly average life, urging that you enjoy your small glory moments and get it fast.