obituary – Pain In The Bud

Remembering Sir Patrick Stewart, Icon And Starfleet Captain

From a small village in the UK to Hollywood and the command seat of the USS Enterprise, Patrick Stewart entertained generations of dreamers and showed us that a sharp mind is always better than a heavy fist.

In one of my favorite Star Trek episodes ever, dubbed “The Survivors,” Captain Jean-Luc Picard and the USS Enterprise-D are dispatched to a Federation colony in response to a desperate distress call.

A mysterious alien armada had arrived in orbit and began bombarding the planet without warning. By the time the Enterprise arrives at Delta Rana IV, the colony planet, the ship’s sensors report total devastation except for one tiny, perfectly square patch of land where a lone house still stands unscathed, its lawn as green as ever even as ruins smolder in the distance.

A futuristic white building set against a dramatic mountainous landscape, featuring sparse greenery and rocky terrain in the foreground. — The Uxbridge home on Rana IV, a combination of a live-action shot and a matte painting. Credit: Paramount

Kevin and Rishon Uxbridge, an elderly couple, live in the home but refuse to be rescued. They tell Captain Picard they’re going to tough it out on the scorched, desolate colony world, and they’re strangely unconcerned by the reappearance of one of the alien ships, which deploys powerful weapons to chase the Enterprise away several times.

After a cat-and-mouse game between the alien vessel and the Enterprise, Picard realizes there’s something deeply wrong with the Uxbridges, catches Kevin in a lie and questions the couple. That’s when Kevin Uxbridge admits he’s not human – he’s a powerful, immortal energy-based being called a Douwd who had sworn himself to pacifism and married a human woman.

But when the invading Husnock armada destroyed the colony, and took the life of his beloved wife Rishon, Kevin lost his mind and in a moment of grief and rage wiped out the Husnock.

“You don’t understand the scope of my crime,” Kevin tells Picard and his crew. “I didn’t kill just one Husnock, or a hundred, or a thousand. I killed them all. All Husnock everywhere. Are eleven thousand people worth fifty billion? Is the love of a woman worth the destruction of an entire species? This is the sin I tried so hard to keep you from learning now. Why I wanted to chase you from Rana.”

A starship gliding through space near a planet, with the title 'The Survivors' displayed prominently. — The episode’s title card, with the Enterprise pictured in orbit around Rana IV. Credit: Paramount

The episode ends on a somber note as Picard leaves Kevin and the resurrected Rishon to themselves, telling Kevin: “We’re not qualified to be your judges. We have no law to fit your crime. You’re free to return to the planet and to make Rishon live again.”

Just before the credits roll, Patrick Stewart’s theatrical voice cuts in for a captain’s log.

“We are departing the Rana system for Starbase One Three Three. We leave behind a being of extraordinary power and conscience. I am not certain if he should be praised or condemned. Only that he should be left alone.”

The episode is a fine example of the way Patrick Stewart played Picard, not as a swashbuckling, frequently-brawling, alien-skirt-chasing captain in the mold of James T. Kirk, but as a cerebral leader who was primarily an explorer and diplomat, not a military commander.

Time and again, Stewart imbued Picard with the judicious, insightful demeanor that would become the character’s trademark. When Captain Picard was at the helm, you felt confident that in this fictional world, humanity was sending its absolute best to represent our species among the stars.

Stewart was one of my heroes as a 90s kid who grew up on reruns of The Next Generation, and I loved Star Trek despite getting years worth of shit for it from literally everyone – my brother, my friends, girlfriends, cousins, coworkers, even my mom.

The English actor, who was knighted by Queen Elizabeth in 2010, passed away Thursday. He was 86 years old.

To most of us, he was Picard and the X-Men’s Professor Xavier, but he was so much more than that. He was a bona fide stage actor, spending most of his early career playing just about every role Shakespeare had to offer. He’s played Moby Dick‘s Captain Ahab, A Christmas Carol‘s Ebenezer Scrooge, and took on a shocking role as white supremacist leader Darcy Banker in the 2015 thriller Green Room, showing his considerable range. Most recently Stewart lent his voice to a character in this year’s The Sheep Detectives. It was his last role to be released while he still lived, with his final appearance yet to hit screens in the upcoming Avengers: Doomsday.

A man in a formal suit gestures confidently while seated at a table, showcasing a professional demeanor in a well-lit office setting. — Stewart as Professor Charles Xavier, leader of the X-Men. Stewart played the role in nine movies across 27 years. Credit: Fox

Most people will remember him fondly as Picard during a seven-season run that straddled the late 1980s and early 90s. As strange as it may seem now, The Next Generation was widely expected to fail, with critics expressing skepticism that audiences would warm to a starship Enterprise without Kirk, Scotty, Bones, Uhura, Chekov, Sulu and Spock.

“Can a New Crew and a ‘Bald Frenchman’ Starship Enterprise Live Up to the Legend?” TV Guide asked in a 1987 feature previewing the new show.

Stewart, for his part, was told not to unpack his bags. His agent assured him the series would fail and Stewart would be back in London, sipping his Earl Gray tea and reading for theater roles again within a few weeks.

After admittedly finding the show and its premise ridiculous, Stewart gradually began to understand Star Trek’s significance in the public imagination, and the opportunities it afforded him as the face of the franchise.

“When it first started, I didn’t think that I would survive beyond the pilot,” Steward later said. “I thought the producers would come to their senses and realize they’d made a grave error in casting me. I was certain that I’d be on my way back to London… Eventually, it became clear to me that not only wasn’t I going to go away, the series wasn’t going to go away. I stayed, and have relished every moment.”

The Englishman led a revival of the 1960s franchise that spawned two more TV series set in Picard’s era (Deep Space Nine and Voyager), the unfairly-maligned Star Trek Enterprise, four theatrical releases featuring The Next Generation crew, and the modern era of Star Trek that includes Discovery, Strange New Worlds and Picard, which saw Steward reprise his most famous role as the iconic captain – now an admiral – is called upon once again to use his wit, insight and skills as a starship commander to save the Federation of Planets.

A group of seven characters dressed in futuristic uniforms posed in a starship bridge setting, featuring a mix of male and female figures with diverse hairstyles and facial expressions. — The last hurrah: Steward and original cast members reunited for the third season of Picard, sending the characters out on a high note as they saved the Federation one last time. Credit: Paramount

Stewart was known as a consummate gentleman, a man who grew up poor in a home where domestic violence was a regular occurrence, an advocate for women and animals, and a voice who urged calm during turbulent times. The only time I ever saw the man express anger toward anyone was during an awards show in London in 2010, when he lashed out at James Corden for appearing disengaged and disinterested while hosting the event.

And really, who among us has never had an urge to yell at James Corden, whom Balthazar restaurateur Keith McNally once described as a “tiny little cretin”?

The actor also kept in touch with fans through social media, showing his gift for self-deprecation and sharing moments from his life, like his first-ever slice of pizza in 2013.

Stewart had his first slice of pizza at 72 years old. Credit: Patrick Stewart/Instagram

Unlike William Shatner, who famously went to low Earth orbit and experienced the Overview Effect’s powerful feelings of awe and human connectedness reported by many astronauts, Stewart never went to space.

But he wasn’t quiet about his feelings, and when asked about Star Trek’s Utopian vision of the future, he didn’t sugar-coat his opinion of humanity.

“I would like to see us get this place right first before we have the arrogance to put significantly flawed civilizations out onto other planets,” he said, “even though they may be utterly uninhabited.”

I’d like to think Stewart is sitting in the captain’s seat of a celestial Enterprise right now, finally getting a proper look at new life and new civilizations. And when he looks back at our pale blue dot, I hope he sees us appealing to our better angels to “get this place right.”

Stewart with his cat, Glen. h/t Leah A.: Thanks, Leah!

‘No One Goes Hungry On Our Watch’: A Pet Food Pantry And A Tribute To An Incredible Cat

Misty the Cat “was an agent of chaos and misrule,” had a Krameresque entrance style and was deeply loved by his people.

With inflation taking a major toll on families over the last few years, one of the most frequently cited reasons for surrendering pets is that their people can’t afford them anymore.

A vet tech in Ohio is trying to prevent that from happening to people in her area with The Little Black Cat Collective, a pet food pantry she founded in honor of her late rescue cat, Lila, who died at 16 years old.

Laura Zavadil founded the pantry — which also helps people with dogs, guinea pigs, ferrets and rabbits — in 2021, and since then it’s grown, serving “30 to 40 families and more than 200 animals each month,” she told her hometown newspaper, the Vindicator of Warren, Ohio.

“I wanted to do my part to help the community through struggles,” Zavadil told the paper. “The pantry’s main goal is to get the needs of these animals met and help the people, but also — considering the limited amount of shelter space in the area — if it means the animals can stay in the home, that’s just icing on the cake.”

Remembering Misty the Cat, whose death “drained all the colour from the world”

Speaking of honoring deceased pets, Keith Miller has a heck of a tribute to his cat, Misty, in The Guardian.

It’s been six months since Keith Miller’s beloved cat (pictured above), came up to him “with a series of unusual cries, stretched his mouth wide like a yawning lion, shivered, collapsed and died.” Misty, Miller wrote, “was a fortnight shy of his ninth birthday,” and his absence has been keenly felt.

Tributes are difficult to write, and tributes to pets may be harder still. It’s tough to feel you’re doing justice to an animal you loved while conveying their personality, and in the back of your mind you’re thinking of the people who don’t get it, who don’t have pets and might find your tribute saccharine or melodramatic.

Miller strikes just the right notes and makes the reader feel Misty’s loss without knowing the little guy.

“I have thought a lot about this particular cat and this particular loss. I think what most pains and enrages me about it has something to do with the role Misty played in our life: a larger-than-life vibe, faux-heroic and mock-epic (and so often richly comic). He used to skid on the floor when he came into a room, like Kramer in Seinfeld. He was an agent of chaos and misrule, knocking objects off surfaces with gallumphing carelessness one day, dead-eyed precision the next. He was gormless yet prodigious, a fluffier cousin of Homer Simpson. He didn’t shyly solicit affection, as his sister does; he demanded it by right, thrusting his jaw up and out like Mussolini to accept strokes on his throat and chest.

All in all, he didn’t really have the makings of a tragic character. And he wasn’t a will-o’-the-wisp, either, on loan from another world, as most cats are. His unscheduled exit wasn’t just an emotional body blow; it was a violation of the rules of genre.”

The Mussolini bit resonated with me, since I’ve referred to Bud as “a furry little Genghis Khan” on occasion, and often joke that he’s a tyrant ruling over the place with an iron paw. Miller’s homage to his pal isn’t overly long, and I recommend reading the whole thing.

Ode To Cosmo: The Best Dog I’ve Known

Cosmo, the goodest goodboy, showed me how much love animals have to give. Without Cosmo, there would be no Buddy.

Growing up, my experience with dogs was mostly limited to Sparky, my friend’s demonic Chow who had sunk his teeth into every member of his human family and most of my friends.

Four of us formed a punk/rock band as teenagers and when we’d practice at my friend Rob’s house, he had to put Sparky into the fenced-in yard for our benefit. As we jammed and I fell into the revelry of trading off guitar solos, I’d look over and see that hellspawn of a canine, face pressed against the glass, slobber oozing from his mouth as he radiated hate. I’d taunted Sparky once, stupidly and ignorantly, and he never forgot it. That glass was the only thing between me and a mauling of biblical proportions.

I was not fond of dogs, so in 2010 it was with reservation that I agreed to dog sit Cosmo, the Chihuahua-terrier mix adopted about two years earlier by my brother and his wife.

Cosmo was a lost puppy wandering the streets of Oceanside, California, when he was picked up by animal control, transferred to a shelter and put up for adoption. We don’t know exactly when he was born, how he got separated from his mom or how long he wandered the busy streets of that city.

What I do know is that it was impossible to stay ambivalent about him for long. Not with his zest for life, his puppy-like energy or his sweet nature. “Sweet” is an over-used word when it comes to animals. I wouldn’t use it to describe Bud despite the fact that he’s my cat and I love him, but it describes Cosmo perfectly. He doesn’t have an angry bone in his tiny body. He’s trusting, he has a huge heart and if you’re one of his favorite people, he’ll never let you forget it.

My brother and his wife saw their opening when I let the little guy jump into my lap, something I’d never allowed any animal to do. At the time it was so out of character for me, my brother took a photo to prove it happened.

So when they moved from Oceanside to Manhattan and planned a long weekend away, they asked me to dog sit and I agreed. At the time I was working evening shifts as a journalist for Newsday, the New York tabloid. I went from my office on 35th St. near Madison Square Garden to my brother’s apartment on 65th, gave Cosmo his dinner and took him for his walk. It was eventful: He barked and charged at a dog three times his size as if challenging the big mutt to a battle of nerves, and must have sensed me looking at a cute girl walking her dog because he made a beeline for her and refused to relax until we spoke to each other. Cosmo was an excellent wingman.

I put Cosmo in his crate that first night. It’ll be fine, Mike and Jen said. He’s cool with his crate, they said. He won’t keep you up all night, they said.

None of that was true. Cosmo barked and barked until I let him out of his crate, then barked some more until I let him into the bedroom and on the bed.

And that’s how I went from someone who could barely deal with animals to a fool letting a Chihuahua-terrier mix cuddle with me so I could finally get to sleep. Better to let the little stinker on the bed than be a zombie at work, I thought.

We fell into a rhythm that week. I’d come home, walk him around the quiet upper west side at night, and we’d watch a movie together on the couch before crashing.

While Bud is typical of his species and has the inexplicable ability to claim 80 percent of the bed despite his small size, Cosmo’s footprint on the bed grew smaller that week as he gently pushed down any barriers I’d previously maintained. I’d wake to find his little paws resting on my arm, or his body squeezed between my arm and my ribcage. Chihuahuas are true burrowers.

Cosmo traveled the world with Mike and Jen. He was a California sunshine dog, then a New York City dog, then a Washington, D.C. dog. He was with them for their years in Japan and, until very recently, their post in Ukraine.

Cosmo hated every minute in that dark, frigid country, even before Vladimir Putin started a bloody war there. He was overjoyed when the family moved from bone-chilling Ukraine back to sunny Virginia, unaware that he’d missed a war by a week though undoubtedly bummed that Mike, his favorite human, remained in the country for the next five months helping Ukrainian friends.

Before they left for Tokyo in 2017, a veterinarian told Mike that Cosmo, already suffering from several ailments, probably wouldn’t live another two years.

That was more than five years ago. Cosmo made it to almost 15 years old. He was mostly deaf and nearly blind. His eyes became milky from cataracts. He limped and it took real effort to pump his little legs when Mike took him for his walks. He wasn’t able to jump up on the couch anymore, and signaled when he wanted a human to pick him up and put him in a comfortable spot.

By the summer of 2022, the little guy was on borrowed time.

My brother, ever stoic, seemed to accept it as he cradled Cosmo like a baby and told me Cosmo had cancer one night last summer. Mike doesn’t often show his emotions, but I know he’s crushed. He loved that dog. The dog adored him.

I’m not good at masking my emotions, at least when it comes to things like this. I started writing this blog post that same night before bed, a few hours after Mike told me Cosmo was dying. Tears welled in my eyes as I thought of Cosmo as a puppy wandering the streets in Oceanside, and his days as an old, tired dog. (I can imagine my brother reading this and thinking, “You pussy.” But hey, we’re all different. I’m the witty one, obviously. Also, I have more hair.)

Before we crashed on that night last summer, Mike and I watched a movie. Cosmo looked at me and gestured with his paw, signaling that he wanted up. I picked him up gently, put him down on the couch, and he nestled into my side like old times.

“He hardly does that with anyone,” Mike told me.

But that’s because we were pals. Cosmo was my buddy before there was a Buddy. Without Cosmo to show me animals could be a source of great joy, there’d be no Buddy in my life and no Pain In The Bud. Buddy would be living with someone else, and his name would probably be Rufus, or maybe Mr. Jerk. It’s difficult to imagine anyone loving him like I do, or being best pals with him. In a very real way, Cosmo gave me that gift.

Back in 2019, before PITB had its own domain and was read by a handful of friends and relatives, I wrote about Cosmo. That’s him in New York at a family gathering at my aunt’s house, and on the balcony of the apartment in Tokyo. It’s shocking to see how much he aged in only a few years.

Cosmo in Cali — Cosmo on the beach in San Diego. As a puppy he was separated from his mom and siblings and wandered the streets of Oceanside before animal control scooped him up. Credit: BoBB (Brother of Big Buddy)

At the risk of overdoing the anecdotes, I think the following one is illustrative of what a good dog Cosmo is.

A few years ago a bunch of us were hanging out at night drinking beer and talking around a backyard fire pit when everyone went to crash except Jen, Mike’s wife. She wanted to stay up a while longer and I agreed, so we went inside to get more beer with Cosmo following us in. The temperature had dropped and the little guy was shivering.

When we went back outside, Cosmo hesitated by the door. He wanted to hang but he was freezing and didn’t know I’d brought out a few blankets. But when I called to him he came anyway, jumped into my lap and looked at me with gratitude when I swaddled him in the blankets and moved closer to the fire. He trusted me. He knew I wasn’t going to let him freeze.

I will never forget the adventures we’ve had together. The time in California when he was barely more than a puppy and got away from me on a walk, leading me on a chase through the parking lot as I wondered how I’d explain to Mike and Jen that their beloved dog was gone. I did an entire lap around the development and was gassed out when I saw the little guy had returned to the house and was waiting for me on the front steps with a look on his face that seemed to say “Where ya been, dude? Couldn’t keep up?” Cheeky bastard.

The time I was dog-sitting again and he refused to do his business on his morning walk, then dropped a fresh turd on the gleaming marble floor of the Manhattan high rise where Mike and Jen lived, right in front of a rush of commuters exiting the lobby elevators.

Cosmo napping — In his layer years Cosmo could give Bud a run for his money when it came to napping. Credit: BoBB or SiLoBB.

The subsequent dog-sitting stints, when we’d hang out on the couch and watch horror movies, jolting upright together during jump-scares.

The time we all went hiking in a state park near Albany and a huge bird-of-prey began circling above, apparently deciding Cosmo would make a nice lunch. (Jen had to pick him up and cradle him protectively on the walk, and the bird eventually went in search of easier pickings.)

The first time I babysat for my newborn niece, fresh off of learning how to change a diaper by watching a Youtube video, and began to freak out as she cried and Cosmo barked. They seemed to be stuck in a feedback loop and for a panicked moment I thought I was in way over my head. Cosmo took the arrival of the girls in stride. He’d gone from the center of his human parents’ world to still very much loved, but forced to share time, affection and attention with one little human, then another. He never took it out on the kids even when they occasionally played too rough, as all kids do.

And of course that first hesitant occasion in California when I allowed him to climb into my lap and decided not all animals were bad after all.

If not for Cosmo — and, coincidentally, a friend’s super friendly tuxedo cat who was also named Cosmo — I would not have known my allergies could be managed as an adult, and I would almost certainly not have looked into adopting a cat. I was coming off a brutal few months of seasonal affective disorder and for the first time I gave the idea serious thought. Cosmo showed me that animals could be good friends, stress relievers and a constant source of entertainment, as well as loyal and never judgmental. (Well, mostly…I do think Bud’s judging me every time I go to the kitchen and don’t fetch him a snack.)

Buddy owes a debt to Cosmo even though he’d never admit it.

It’s the night after Thanksgiving 2022 and I’m trying to finish this blog post after letting it rest for months. On Thanksgiving Day, Cosmo didn’t seem to recognize me in a noisy house full of family, but tonight he ran to the door to greet me, barking happily and pressing his paws against my legs just like old times. He spent the next few hours in my lap, soaking up my body heat as I scratched his head and back.

It’s Dec. 29. Cosmo spent the holidays by the fireplace, swaddled in blankets. Normally no one, human or animal, would sit that close to a fire. For Cosmo, it was the only way to stop shivering as the heating system struggled against record-breaking cold.

Cosmo burrowing — Cosmo loved to burrow anywhere he could.

It’s now early August and my brother is visiting with his wife and kids. This is the last time I will see Cosmo, but neither of us knows it.

I’m relieved to see he recognizes me. The last time he was in New York there were too many people, too much commotion for an old dog. Now he wags his tail and jumps up like a puppy, and I bend down, rub his head and tell him how happy I am to see him.

Aug. 16, 2023:

Cosmo died at about 11:30 pm in Mike’s arms, in Mike and Jen’s bed, his bed. He’d been having a rough couple of days and after he’d been sick a few times and soiled himself that evening, it became clear the end was near. They were at their vacation home in the Outer Banks at the time, and the nearest emergency vet was more than an hour away. Cosmo wouldn’t have made it anyway.

Cosmo was a happy dog, but he was never happier than when he was with Mike, and I have no doubt that there’s no place he’d rather have been, no person he’d rather have holding him in those last few hours. He died with the people who loved him most, after living almost 15 years as part of their family.

I spoke to my brother the day after Cosmo passed and checked in with him a day or two later to ask how he was handling Cosmo’s death.

“Honestly, having never had a pet before, I was not expecting to be this impacted by his death,” he texted back. “It’s shitty.”

Indeed. I mourn Cosmo knowing that the day will come when I’ll mourn my own best little buddy.

If there’s any real downside to opening your home and your heart to an animal, it’s the fact that their time on Earth is unfairly short. Some people say the pain of losing them is too much, but no matter how difficult it is, it can’t compare to the years of companionship, memories and love. As my canine friend crosses the fabled rainbow bridge, he’s taught me one last lesson about pets: To cherish the time we have and remember that, one day, we’ll happily trade a puked-on carpet, a broken guitar or a scratched-up chair just to have a little more time with them.