Ode to Bob

Tomorrow we put one of our beloved cats down.  His name is Bob, and he has a massive tumor on one side that has all but defeated him at this point.  I am so relieved that we have the option to take him to the vet's office and put him down in peace.  We know his time is near, and my husband and I want to be with him during his last moments.

A couple years ago, we had another gray cat who had grown thin and who had multiple health problems.  We had taken her to the vet several times recently, but didn't know that she had such a short time left.  We came home one night after being out to dinner with friends and found her little body, cold and stiff, stretched out under our bed.  It was past ten o'clock, so we quietly found our shovels and dug a hole in our backyard using our headlamps for light.  Many times, I have thought back to what her final moments may have been like; how our other cats and dog may have reacted, what she may have been feeling, and her little heart maybe racing towards the end.  That's probably not how it happened, but her dramatic pose has made me wonder if her last moments may have been frantic, confused, or painful.

Do not attempt to remove toy!

And our little Bob.  He used to be such a sleek, strong boy.  He used to be big.  My husband told me after one of his checkups years ago that the vet put his hands around the lower part of Bob's ribcage and explained that he was getting to be a bit "pear-shaped" and was in need of a diet.  Although Bob was typically so docile in the exam room, his ears went back and he shot the veterinarian one of his looks.  Ah, yes.  To know Bob, is to know that he can look you in the eyes for a split second and he will let you know that he is considering clawing your eyes out while you sleep.  (Or while awake... ask my husband with the once-scratched cornea about that one.)  I spent the early years of my relationship with my husband in fear of Bob and his violent glances.  Attempts to win him over by scratching his chin or massaging that area behind his ears (the cat, not the husband) were met with "Don't touch him there!" or "Never put your hand in front of his face!"  I will never forget this particular evening a few months into our relationship.  We were sitting next to each other on the couch, watching a movie.  Bob jumped onto the couch, walked over to one side, then walked back to me and plopped onto my lap.  Shocked, I asked my then-boyfriend what I should do.

"Don't. Do. Anything."

And we've been fine ever since.  My worries of the relationship not surviving because the cat didn't approve-- quashed.  It still took years before I really learned how to pet Bob, and I never got to a point where I could just pick him up and hug him, but we came to an understanding that evening.  Don't F with me, and I won't claw your eyes out while you sleep... or something like that.  Mostly I came to an understanding, and that gray kitty has allowed me to enjoy life under the same roof with him ever since.

Bob, it may be we're overdue to take you in.  Anyone who beholds the site of your cancerous mass seem to think that you should not still be alive (like the neighbors who thought your entrails were hanging out of your left haunch).  It's been hard though.  Thanks for finally letting me pet you whenever, however I want to.  You have had some sweet, docile moments in your life before, but the last month has been all sweet and docile.  I am so sorry it's ending like this.  Since we got the diagnosis, your progression with this tumor has been rapid and slow all at once.  Now that the time is here, it seems too soon.  I am a little afraid for tomorrow but I know that it's the right thing to do.  I don't believe in heaven, but if it existed, I'm sure our animals would be there with us.  I can't imagine a place that doesn't have the joy and fullness that our pets bring to us being any sort of reward for good behavior here on earth.  And I'm pretty sure a cat like you could make it in.

Are You There PMS? It's Me, Margaret

Okay, so that's a lie. My name is not Margaret.  And I don't know if I really have PMS (thus the question). I'm just *hoping* I have PMS.  Yeah... because I need some good excuse for this bad funk I'm in.  I don't feel like being a wife, mother, employee, or friend right now. I feel as though being "good" for anyone who is depending on me is too much effort.  I won't rant about what's irking me because it's petty and inconsequential. I hope it's just PMS for a few reasons:

1. Temporary nature of PMS
2. Hormones are to blame for me being a jack@$$, not me!
3. No need to see a doctor or medicate (aside from a big bowl of ice cream)

Reasons I hope it's not PMS:

1. PERIODS.

My baby is nine months old, which means about a year and a half has passed since I've worn the scarlet letter (can I say that??). I am happy without, but I suppose I must face this at some point. I can't breastfeed forever, nor would I want to (discussion of that in a future post).

Well peeps, short and sweet is what you get when my computer's down (again!) and I am forced to type on my phone, which for some reason does not auto-correct in blogger. Yup, labor of love right there. And don't worry about me.  I'll be fine. I've been trying to run/work out the steam, and I'm sure going to bed at a reasonable hour wouldn't hurt either.

Next time, I promise a post that is not a complaint, rant, or other form of negativity. But damned if it doesn't feel good to get it out of my system :)