Of pointless effort

[smokingboot]

'Italaiturra Olascuaga? Deep Basque,' said my cousin of the two names I have been trying to chase up forever. Just like that. He recited the family surnames and when I see him again on Sunday I will get him to count them out so we can work out where the names come in. Loosely counting in my head, they sound about 4 back from Grandfather, but I am not sure. I've been trying to find these names in Iberian databases for ages. I had been so proud to discover their origins. 'Why didn't you just ask me?' He said, 'It's obvious.' Well not to me. Among the Martins, De Gracias, Romeros and all those solidly Spanish names, they stand out like strange cultic epithets, especially Olasquagga, which, given two gs and a q gains a vaguely Lovecraftian air. Written mistakes were easy because the repetition of family names is often oral lore. People don't see it written down, it's recited to them by their elders. Corrected by my mother the names at least became traceable, though given that my cousin could tell me straight off the bat where they came from, my efforts were needless. How was I to know that he knew? It's good to have him confirm my efforts though.

As to Monty Scabcat, I have been informed that they are dressing his wounds with honey and bandages each day, and are relieved to inform me that his blood is at least coagulating now. WTF was it doing before? The good news is that he has neither leukemia nor FHIV. The bad news is, as they told me with aghast tone, 'He is not going to be leaving hospital any time soon, these wounds are horrific!' Really? Well, I never gathered that from staring at his raw blood covered skinless neck for 6 months while feeding him. Clearly I was yelling down the phone at these people to come and help because I had nothing better to do with my time.
Pfff.