Tuesday, May 03, 2011


The place that did The Runt's ashes is named Whispering Pines, which I suppose is better than Fiery Fiery Furnaces.

I started to get my whistle back. A little. It came out as sad little disjointed squawks. Then it went away again. I'm sure my co-workers are grateful.

As much as you guys are probably thinking, "Holy shit, she killed her cat", trust me, you are not thinking it as much as I am. Although I do keep trying not to beat myself up too much. Then again, I'm sure that Hitler considered himself a pretty decent guy, too.

A week after The Runt's death, we had some pretty major storms here, with, like, tornados and flooding and shit. And friends were calling me at ten o'clock at night, all, "OMG, are you going to be evacuated? Do we need to come help you get away?" And I was all, like, "meh". The park next door flooded pretty big-time, and my crawlspace was full of water, and I was just, "whatever." I guess a death pretty much numbs you to everything else.

The crying has finally eased up, although I do spontaneously sob at odd moments, usually while in line at a store or similarly surrounded by strangers.

The gutters finally got done. The day they came to do the install, it was pouring rain. Those poor bastards spend two-and-a-half hours up on ladders tearing off the old gutters and installing the new ones. They looked like they'd just gone swimming by the time they were done.

I found a pretty wooden box at an antiques store for The Runt's ashes, only to discover when I got it home that it was not big enough for both his ashes and his nuk-nuk towel. I'll keep looking.

There is supposed to be more flooding tomorrow. Whatever.

The Michigan Bulb magnolia tree I planted last year has a leaf on it! One. Leaf. Go tree!


the queen said...

The nice thing about ashes is that some can go here, some there. Mom is at her family grave and in my garden and in her garden. Some in the box, some in the yard.

Holly said...

You did NOT kill your cat. He died naturally from something he had been born with and was living with. He may have died as a kitten, or he may have made it a few more years, but he was a happy, well loved cat and slipped out on his own time. I know I would feel the same way, anyway, but it bears repeating: this is not your fault. You loved him and brought him in to the vet and did the very best with the information and circumstances you were given.

Big hug to you. It's so sad.

rockygrace said...

the queen, that reminds me of my dad's memorial service. Don't ever try to scatter ashes on a windy day ...

And Holly, thank you. The "what ifs" are what's hard.

Badass Nature Girl said...

Some thing tells me that even if you had started The Runt on meds, thinking that would help, and he passed away three days into it, you'd still feel guilt. I am sorry that you feel responsible for his death some how, but you just aren't. There's a lot of things in life that are just 'spontaneous' and no matter how much research you do, doctors you see, or meds you try, when it's time, it's time and nobody sees it coming.

rockygrace said...

You know, someone - I think it might have been ~~Silk on her blog - was talking about Knut the polar bear who died young, and how nature, well, weeds out the defects.

I certainly don't think of The Runt as a "defect", but yeah, maybe the cards were just stacked wrong.

It still sucks.