Grumpy Cates talks about stuff

This might come as a surprise to you, but I am not a cat person. I am an animal person. I have actually always wanted a dog. At the beginning of this year I decided to get a cat, because I felt I needed a substantial animal in my life (no offence to Onesie, my hamster!), and a dog wouldn’t fit into my life right now.

I didn’t know what to expect, nor did I know what kind of cat I wanted. I ended up choosing a lovely black and white cat called Milo. Well, he chose me, really. He was 4 years old when I adopted him and made himself at home straight away. He was always with me. He was my best buddy. And he was taken too soon, just 8.5 months later. The night when my neighbour brought his body over to me haunts me. How warm he still was. How he looked like he was sleeping, curled up in my arms one last time. I regularly replay that night in my mind. Desperately wishing that I hadn’t stayed in town after work that day, as he would have been shut inside with me already instead of being out by himself. I hopelessly try to turn back the clock and make things better. I know his death was sudden and not painful, because other than his head he was still in perfect condition. I know that he loved me, and knew that I loved him. I know that I gave him a lovely chapter of his life. My heart is still so broken. But I’ve already told my boy’s story. This post is not about him.

That weekend, I decided I needed a distraction. A very kind friend took me to some local cat rescue centres. I went with an open mind - I wasn’t specifically looking to get a new cat, but wouldn’t rule it out if I did find someone I clicked with. Obviously I had nothing in particular in mind, as I hadn’t been planning on that week’s events. I had wanted another cat, but knew that Milo might have had... difficulties.

We saw a lot of cats that day. A lot of lovely cats, who I’m sure I would have grown to love and who I knew needed homes. None of them lit me up, though, so I just enjoyed having the chance to meet them and give them some fuss. That was, of course, until we entered a room full of kittens at the last centre we went to. I hadn’t expected to be getting kittens. But they were so, so cute. I felt bad for all of the other adult cats who so desperately needed homes, as I’m sure kittens always get picked first. But I needed to take care of myself, and kittens would provide me with a totally new experience to Milo. I saw this litter and I knew - my friend knew too. They were the ones. There were 3 kittens in the litter, but I only wanted to take 2 for financial and spatial reasons. Two were tabbies and one was totally black. I initially fell for both of the tabbies, as I’m sure most people do. That is why cat adoption centres are full of black cats. I’m ashamed to say I did that. Fortunately, I was talked into taking the black one and one of the tabbies. It was so, so difficult to choose between the tabbies, but I’ve been told that the boy I left behind found a new home later that week too.

These kittens. They are such characters. I am so pleased I have them. They are no replacement for Milo, but they dull the pain of mourning. They make me smile. They make me laugh out loud. They are so, so special. I had several friends tell me that they hadn’t wanted to suggest it as it was so soon, but that I had definitely done the right thing.

Toddy, the tabby, was ill for the first two weeks. He was very quiet and very tense and very, very sad. I’m pleased to report that he’s feeling much better now and has really come out of his shell. He’s so relaxed and loves to roll over for a belly rub. He will clamber onto my lap to be with me, and he will lay in my arms if I pick him up for a cuddle. He is extra fluffy, and he gets extra meals right now because being sick made him skinny. He plays with toys less than his sister, but now starts at least 50% of their games of chase. He has short legs and still looks extra baby-like, so everything he does is multiplied in cuteness. His bum-wiggle when he’s getting ready to pounce is just about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.

Catniss, my black cat, is so mischievous. I couldn’t be more happy that I took her, and I’m sad to think that my initial attraction to the tabbies could have left such an amazing little cat struggling to find a home. She is so playful, so fast, so entertained by everything. She doesn’t like being picked up, but she will happily climb all over you as long as it’s on her terms. At the same time, she is so, so loving. She will be the cat that sits and licks me. That purrs as soon as I stroke her. That quite literally crawls into my arms when I’m in bed. I cannot believe it is possible to be so mischievous and so loving at the same time.

Milo was my cat. He was my first cat. Given I live alone, he was also my best friend, the one I spent the most time with, and my biggest priority in life at this time. I adopted him in February of this year, and he died suddenly three days ago in an accident (presumed a car).

This has been so difficult for me. I’d like to write about him.

I found Milo in a Cats Protection adoption centre. He pretty much picked me. I just knew that he was the right cat for me as soon as we met. When I took him home, I was warned that he probably wouldn’t come near me for a few days. In fact, he came straight out of the pet carrier and sat next to me on the sofa. That was it, he was home.

From then on, our journey began. We built such a strong relationship. He loved me in a way that no one else can. So unconditionally, so purely, so honestly. Things were simple between us, we knew where we each stood. We became a part of each other’s furniture. We enjoyed spending time together.

Here are just some of the things I loved the most about Milo:

- His eyes. He had the deepest, most meaningful eyes. Sometimes he looked at me with such contentment I felt like we’d been lovers in a past life. Sometimes I was sure he could see straight through me. Those beautiful, knowing, understanding eyes. I can’t believe I’ll never get to look into them again. 

- The way he greeted me when I came home from work. He’d come running from wherever he was outside, lead the way to the front door, and wait for me to open it before he went in. We had the *best* cuddles when I came home. So much purring. He’d rub his face against mine with such love. It was my favourite part of every day.

- How shouty he was! I have never met such a vocal cat before. He had so much to say. And the most pathetic, high-pitched miaow that shouldn’t have belonged to his body. Miaow miaow miaow miaow miaow.

- He used to sit so nicely at his placemat when I was preparing his food. So neatly. So politely.

- His prim and properness. Milo took himself very seriously. Even at his most relaxed, he rarely let himself go. The way he sat was so regal, so important, so considered, and so beautiful. 

- His manners in bed. My dearest Milo would always sleep by my feet. He took up so little room that I rarely knew he was there. He hardly ever woke me up in the night, and only attacked my feet if I’d kicked him in my sleep (and I feel his actions were justified). When I woke up in the morning, he would stand up, stretch, and saunter up to my head so we could give each other attention. 

- Sometimes when he yawned he let out *the* cutest squeaky noise I have ever heard in my life.

- His attitude towards other cats was at times problematic. But it was also a part of what made him Milo. Picking fights with the neighbourhood cats was stressful for me, but I’m sure he had his reasons?? I enjoyed mocking his social skills. He would walk up to another cat, sit next to them, and just start yowling at them. Poor Milo. He really didn’t know how to make friends.

- His poor hunting skills. Dearest Milo did try his best. But he was just awful. Instead of saving me from spiders, he would give them a tap with his paw and then watch them run away. When he pounced on moths, they would have flown to the other side of the room and Milo would still be looking for it around the area of his paws. So special. So cute.

- His purring. Sometimes I would just say his name, and he would look at me and purr. He would knead my bed with his front paws whilst looking up at me and purring. Sounds kinda weird when I write it down. But he was telling me how happy he was that I was there.

- The weekend before I lost him, I had a lot of friends round. Milo still chose to sit on my lap and pretty much shunned everyone else. I felt so proud. So proud to have such a bond with another creature. So proud to have proof. So proud that my friends could finally see how amazing he was.

Milo, mate, I fucking love you. I will never know exactly what happened to you, but it will haunt me for a long time to come. I am glad that you were returned to me and I got to hold you and say goodbye in my own time.

Next week I will have been in my job for a year. I can’t really call it a new job anymore (although compared to the rest of my colleagues I might as well call it my new job for the next decade!). Here are the things that have happened:

- This is the longest I have been in full time employment. I am not worn down, I have not been fired, and I am not bored. I was really really worried at the prospect of permanent full time employment in case I got bored. It hasn’t happened. Yet. I was also really worried that I wasn’t up to standard for a proper professional job yet. I was wrong. Everything’s fine. I even teach now. At a university. Wow.

- This is the longest I have stayed in one city since before I went to uni [the first time] when I was 18. Moving around so often has made it difficult for me to feel settled anywhere or to call somewhere home. This is changing now. Stability is really really good for me.

- I finished my masters with a Distinction. That was nice. And I’m now doing a postgrad certificate at work which I was somewhat coerced into but I’m doing really well in that too.

- I got Onesie the hamster. She’s a total dude. Getting a hamster when you rely on public transport is hard and I had to go all the way to Walsall to get her. She must be special.

- I got Milo the cat. I was never allowed pets when I was a kid. I was also more of a dog person. And allergic to cats. But I got him anyway, and he puts a smile on my face every single day. Cats are amazing companions (although he has attacked me while I’m writing this and made my hip bleed. Dick). I wouldn’t be without him now though.

- New friends. I think it’s taken me longer to make proper friends in Birmingham than it had following previous moves. But I’m finally getting there, and I’m really hopeful that my new friendship group will be around me for many years to come.

- My reffing has improved immensely. A year ago I was useless enough that it wouldn’t make a difference if I was there or not. Now I’m going to be head reffing my first open bout this weekend. My, how times change.

- My home. Despite sharing my home with colonies of nightmare-inducing spiders, I am so so happy to finally live in a house rather than a block of apartments. It’s something I really really wanted. Being out of the city centre. Lots of grass around. It’s 100% worth the commute to work.

- My mental health. On the whole, on the up. Massively. The most stable I’ve ever been. Probably maybe. Except the occasional blip. But they’re over quickly now.

- Making the most of weekends. I’ve been doing lots of cool stuff lately. Jigsaw puzzles, origami, Lego, drawing. Weekends are about winding down. I love them.

- Went on my first proper holiday in over a decade. I went horse riding in Spain. I went alone. That’s proper brave. And I had a really great time. So great that I’m going back in September. Horses horses horses.

- Followed my favourite poet (Andrea Gibson) around the country on her UK tour. This involved going to Scotland for the first time, sleeping in lots of hostels (in May I stayed in 6 different hostels), doing things alone which would previously have stressed me the hell out. It was fantastic. And Andrea Gibson loved me. Almost as much as I love her.

Slowly, and then all at once. That’s how reffing has been for me. I started “reffing” over a year ago. I didn’t make any calls for months. Literally months. I have yet to see another ref go *quite* as long as I did before making any calls.

Months later, I called a back block. And then I called cuts. Cut here, cut there, cut everywhere. Cuts were all I called for a good few more months.

I transitioned to my new league in October, a good six months after starting to “ref”. I wasn’t any use. I cried a lot. I was stressed. I regressed back to making no calls at all. And then just cuts. I feared every moment when Violet Attack got a power jam because I just couldn’t keep up and that woman is FIERCE.

Over the next few months, out of stubbornness, I kept at it and made progress. I started making more calls. Different calls. Even on blockers instead of just jammers. I started looking not just at the skaters' feet (although I still struggle with this. Why can’t refs just be 5 times taller than players?!).

In the last two months, however, things have really got interesting. The “grown ups” have been away a lot and I’ve found myself being the most experienced(?!) ref at training. I’ve stepped out of my comfort zone and taken on the role of head ref at most of our scrims in the last few weeks. I’ve never had training in rear inside pack reffing, I’ve just had to figure it out as I go along. I’m not doing too badly. Obviously I miss things, but I’m only human and I’m still learning. I think I will always still be learning.

People come to me with rules questions now. Baby zebras have looked to me for guidance. I’ve grown CONFIDENT in my penalty calls. Or at least faked confidence. NSOs on the infield keep commenting on how much I’ve changed recently. It’s good.

In February, I reffed my first proper game. I was on the outside, I didn’t make any calls, I was shitting myself.

There are days when I can’t get out of bed. Today was one of those days. It’s not laziness (most of the time!), it’s just that I can’t. Those days happen far less often than they used to, but they are just as intense when they do.

Mental health. It’s the reason I simultaneously want to be entirely alone but also with people. It's the reason I avoid most social situations. It’s the reason I have harmed myself in many different ways over the last 15 years. It’s the reason I’ve been on and off meds for a long time. It’s the reason I’m going through my second round of therapy. It’s the reason why I don’t drink alcohol anymore. It’s the reason my animals are so important to me. It’s the reason doctors are in disagreement over whether I have chronic depression or borderline personality disorder. It’s the reason I am entitled to tick the ‘disabled’ button on demographic questionnaires. It’s the reason I have days when I just can’t push through the brain fog enough to be productive.

I am getting better. I have solidly been sticking to this round of meds for longer than I ever have before. I have had the least number of days off sick from work than in past jobs. People who haven’t known me longer than a year or two don’t actually realise I’m a mess, just think I’m a bit… quirky. I’m bloody proud of that. Although I am also not ashamed to be the way that I am. My mental health, whatever state, is an intrinsic part of who I am, and I am willing to be open about it wherever I go.

I started reffing just over a year ago. I didn’t get into roller derby with the intention of reffing, and I didn’t enjoy it for a very long time.

So then, why did I start it? Basically, I’d been skating for a while with the league I was with at the time and laps were the only thing keeping me back from participating fully with the big girls. The lovely refs saw I was reasonably rules-savvy and invited me to start reffing to get some more skate time in. I think I was so touched by their invite that I cried. I kept up training to be a ref and also training to be a skater for a long time. I wasn’t particularly good at either.

In reality, reffing made me feel horrible for a very long time. I’ve never second guessed myself so much in my life. Looking at what’s in front of you is HARD, and it took a long time to actually start to SEE what was right in front of me. It took several months before I called a single penalty. And several months more before I started calling anything that wasn’t a cut. Those first months were awful. So much doubt, so much bringing myself down. So much pressure from myself, and from skaters caught in the heat of the moment on the track. Being a baby zebra is hard.

But I stuck at it. Out of stubbornness, mostly. Gradually my training to play the game took a back seat as I got more and more anxious about not being good enough. I got caught in a cycle of avoiding training through anxiety, and then being even more anxious because I was avoiding training. It was a poisonous loop for me, and I had to escape it. And I’ll tell you what, I feel SO much better for having chosen to focus just on reffing for now. It’s still one of my goals to play in at least a cherry popper some time, but right now is not the right time for me, and I am okay with that.

So anyway, REFFING. It is only in the last couple of months that I’ve really started to finally “get” it. I’m growing more and more confident with each session. I’m calling a range of different penalties, seeing more, understanding more, just generally getting the hang of it more. I’ve even head reffed a few scrims and taken on the pack definition role. If you’d asked me to do that more than a couple of months ago I would’ve laughed in your face and probably thrown up. But I’ve enjoyed the challenge. I’ve made mistakes, of course, but I think I’ve done an alright job for someone so new to it. And just the fact that I can say that loud and genuinely mean it shows so so much personal growth.

So there we have it. After many months of stressing out, I no longer get nervous, no longer hate myself, no longer hate reffing. I’m really, really enjoying myself. I love the officials community, you really feel a part of something no matter where you go and who you're reffing with.

1. It is almost impossible to choose. And when you finally find Your Cat, you still feel bad for not rescuing all the others too.

2. You will become an expert at cleaning up vomit.

3. Cat litter is a total bitch to transport if you don’t own a car.

4. The scratching post will be completely ignored by your cat but makes a great living room table.

5. A cat is much smaller than a human but still takes up the same amount of space in your bed.

6. Hair bands make the best cat toys.

7. Watching a cat fall off something might just be the funniest thing you ever lay eyes on.

8. Your cat’s miaow will be insanely cute before you hear it so much it’s more annoying than Nickelback.

9. Just because they’re purring doesn’t mean you’re safe.

This post is long overdue. I wish I'd written it on the day that it happened because I was so full of excitement, but I shall reflect now.

On 14th February 2015 I reffed my first public bout. Two, actually, as there was also a cherry popper.

I was on OPR. I was terrified. But when the first whistle blew, it actually wasn't that scary. It was just like at training. I'm not sure why that surprised me, because it's all the same game! I didn't call any penalties in the first game, although I did my usual hesitating on something I saw and then deciding not to call it a few times. In theory this is fine, because if the ref is in doubt then they shouldn't call the penalty. But I probably should've called them. No matter. I was useful in other ways. I kept up rotation, I did a lot of nods, and I made a lot of no-call decisions. Feedback from the inside is that there was always an OPR in the right place at the right time. And I would have called some penalties if other refs hadn't beaten me to them. It's always reassuring though to know that how you have interpreted points in the game is how others have too.

Next game - the real one with real teams! Still on OPR. AND I CALLED A PENALTY. I was really pleased with it too, as it was a false start -> failure to yield. There's a bit of a story behind why this pleases me - the very first interleague scrim I reffed was big and scary to me because I didn't know either of the teams. I was on OPR and full of worry the entire time. I saw a skater commit a false start and *knew* I should've called it, but I didn't. I chickened out. But this time, exactly the same scenario but in my first public event, I saw it and I did it. I did it right. So proud of myself. Granted, the skater didn't hear me and it took about 3 of us calling it before she realised, over halfway round the track. But I have been assured that it wasn't my fault - other OPRs who were much further away than the skater who was standing right in front of me had heard it. 

I didn't make any other calls, but the other OPRs weren't making any either and I genuinely don't think I was missing much. I did lots of good communication with the inside, I repeated other refs' calls when the skater hadn't heard, and I kept rotation and kept my cool.

I came out feeling like I was useful, feeling good about myself, and wanting to do more.

I have decided that 2014 was a year of transition. It was a journey to enable me to achieve in 2015. I am going to do big things in 2015.

My goals are as follows:

1. Ref my first open game. Ok, so I already have a date in January for this, but the challenge is to actually turn up and not totally bottle it.

2. Pass my minimum skills. It has been a long year with regards to mins. I am now within touching distance, and I will be entering 2015 with only my laps to get. So basically this goal is to get my laps!

3. Play in an open game. I like to dabble in both officiating and playing, but I took up derby with the intention of playing the game at least once. I will play in a cherry popper in 2015 if it kills me.

4. Run a 5k. I set myself this goal in 2013 and achieved it, but totally let myself go in 2014. I am going to get back on track.

5. Go on my first holiday in a decade. Okay, so this date is also already set, but once again it will be a challenge not to bottle it. Going on holiday alone is going to be scary but there will be horses so I have to go.

6. Learn to drive and save up for a car. I have never sat behind the wheel of a car before, but my intention is to have my licence by the end of the year. I have also never successfully managed to save money before, so that will be just as much of a challenge.

7. Excel at my job. This year I got the education required for my job and started getting settled. In 2015 I am going to push myself to be innovative and not get complacent.

8. Get back into my favourite pair of jeans and stay there. I know everyone says they want to lose weight, but I put on three stone in the last year and that is absolutely shameful.

9. Sort out my mental health. I have a proper assessment with a psychologist in January. In 2015 I will seek and follow treatment that will help me to manage my own brain.

I am a trainee ref. I started earlier this year. It took me MONTHS before I made a single call. I was terrified of messing up, and this silenced me. It’s only in the last couple of months I’ve started making calls. They’re getting more frequent and more confident, and I couldn’t be happier to have broken my silence. It was HARD and completely mentally draining.

Refs do *so* many things at once. They might be measuring distances, watching for skaters of both teams to be close to each other, and looking at a group of 10 skaters for penalties. Alternatively they might be focused on one skater, but also be looking at who is around them, who is in front of them, counting, looking for penalties, and looking for the jam to be called off. All at the same time!! Whilst dodging people! On skates!!

It takes a lot of hard work and dedication to learn to ref. There is so much stuff going on all at once, and it can be really hard to know where to look. Especially when starting out, there is just a sea of skaters, all doing skatery things. How do you know where to look and what’s going on?! It is an acquired skill. It takes a lot of time.

Bearing this in mind, if you are a skater please don’t be too hard on your refs. Particularly if they are still in training. You wouldn’t expect a skater to be pre-packaged and ready for the game without any training and graft. The same goes for refs - we’re human too! If a skater makes a mistake, you get over it and move on. If a ref makes a mistake, it often feels like we get chased with pitchforks and fire.

Shouting maybe-penalties at a trainee ref is going to do nothing but make them unsure of themselves - this won't benefit you in the long-run. Contesting their decision on your entire way to the box undermines them as a ref and makes them doubt themselves in a way they never have before. Getting mad because the jam wasn’t called off right away when you were surrounded by the pack is frustrating, but not the ref’s fault - especially when the crew is low. Scrims are practice for us as well. Maybe we missed a call, maybe we made a wrong call, maybe we were a point out, maybe we actually did okay. It happened, we all learn, we all move on.

From a personal stance, I find it really difficult to deal with skaters shouting maybe-penalties at me and contesting my decisions in an unhelpful manner. My own expectations for myself are already too high, I don’t need others’ unrealistic expectations of me too. I’m hard enough on myself already, trust me. This is supposed to be a hobby, but the extent to which I hate myself for not being perfect already is a lot to deal with.

I spend a lot of time NSOing, I enjoy it. I spend several hours most weekends NSOing, often travelling a considerable distance across the country to do so and paying for the privilege. I know I’m not alone in this.

But we are an invisible army. If we do our jobs well, no one notices us. Which is fine, the sport is roller derby, we are not playing the sport. But it would be nice to be appreciated sometimes. Many teams will come over and do the token “Thank you refs and NSOs” at the end of a game, but is this enough? What about all the people who don’t acknowledge us? The audience? The announcers? The photographers?

I don’t want glory, I’m happy just getting on with what I get on with. I do it for fun, after all. But a bit more recognition that we actually exist would be nice. I am often rubbed up the wrong way by roller derby photography. Obviously the skaters are snapped, and the refs get a lot of pictures too, but where are the NSOs? There might be the occasional photo of the jam timer, or penalty box timers just happening to be stood in the background behind a seated skater, but we are seemingly ignored. Many people give up a lot of time to NSO and their participation is largely undocumented. I suppose we’re just not exciting to look at.

But without NSOs volunteering their time and inevitably fading into the background, roller derby couldn’t happen. I was recently at a tournament with eight teams, three ref crews, and two NSO crews. The NSOs were “working” the most out of everybody, and yet they are the ones missing from almost all of the photos that I have seen (thus far). Professional photographers took group photos at the end of the day - of the teams and the ref crews.

I am a bad person for what I am about to write, but I just need to vent. 

The future of derby for me is uncertain. I've sort of been losing enthusiasm over the past few weeks. Maybe partly because I've just started a new full-time job and moved to a new city, but it's just not making me excited anymore. My small wins seem to be few and far between these days, and I still have the "do I want to be a ref or a skater??" thing lingering over my head. At the same time, my confidence levels have dropped massively lately and I'm not totally sure why. So lots of confusion, some disillusionment, and a whole lot of meh.

And now my rock has left the league. Before I sound like a total arse, I'd like to say that she is well within her rights to do so. She has her reasons and I completely understand why what has happened has happened and that it is absolutely the right thing for her to do. I only want the best for her, honestly. She means so many things to me. But she is my zebramom, my best friend, and the person who has always offered me every inch of support that she can give. And I don't know what's going to happen to me now. I cannot be the only active ref in the league - I am a trainee and still hardly any use even as part of a crew. There is no one left to spend a heap of time actively training me and I can't train myself. Even if I wanted to figure out a way to get on top of my own learning, I wouldn't have the confidence to stand there, by myself, in front of the whole team of advanced skaters and just get on with it. I cannot do that, that is not a personality trait that I have. I need someone to be there with me, doing what I'm doing.

So I don't know where I go from here. I don't want to quit reffing completely, but I can't train at my own league. I could go back to being a skater full-time, but as I'm the only person left at my not-newbie-not-advanced-maybe-kind-of-intermediate-type level it's a bit of a permanent battle against my scumbag brain. And, you know, my rock isn't there. 

So many thoughts and emotions, so much confusion. So little direction.

I totally don't understand where I'm at in derby at the moment. Sometimes I [attempt to] ref, sometimes I [attempt to] have a go at skatering. I'm shit at both. 

With the reffing, I feel like the progress I'm making is absolutely minuscule. I've been at it for quite a few months now and just don't feel like I'm getting anywhere. I've called a total of 3 penalties in scrims since I started back in like March. Three. That's pathetic. I just can't see things properly. It's too fast, and I am only capable of looking at and thinking about one thing at a time. I know the rules, I know the signals and the verbal cues, I just can't put it into practice. It's frustrating hearing skaters get mad when I don't make a call (which is basically all the time) and a lot of the time I know they're right. It's frustrating when something happens too fast for me to see it properly and then I hesitate over something and ultimately fuck up. It's frustrating listening to my head tell me that I should have done something that I didn't. It's frustrating when I'm asked about something after it happened and I just can't remember. 

With the skatering, I have recently taken a big knock to the little confidence that I had. I'm now the only non-mins passed skater taking part in the advanced sessions and I feel like I'm being left behind and I just don't feel like I'm good enough to join in anymore. The only skill I have left to pass is laps, and I am still 3-4 laps off of that, having made absolutely no progress since March time even though I give it everything I have. I'm not allowed to scrim until I have those stupid fucking laps, so it feels like I'll never actually get to play the sport that takes up all of my life outside of work. I don't even think I want to play it anyway right now because I just feel so completely useless and know I wouldn't be of any help to the team.