The list

This list is taped under a light switch in my kitchen.  It's Little Girl's list from the summer before last; the summer of 2011.  I can't quite bring myself to take it down.

After The Runt died in April of 2011, Little Girl mourned.  And then she tested positive for a bum heart, the same thing that The Runt succumbed to.  And she went on heart meds.  And she kept right on hunting; she always loved to hunt.  I think I started the tally to remind myself that while I was trying to prepare myself for the possible loss of her, she was still very much alive.  And hunting.  And not concerned one whit about her stupid ol' bum heart.

And she lived until November of 2011.  Over a year ago now.  You can see how many conquests she had between May 16, when I started the list, and November.  And those were only the ones she brought to me!  I still think of her; maybe that's why I can't take the list down.  I still think of her, and she still matters.  As The Runt matters, and Rocky, and Ghost and Spooky and Elbows and all of the other cats I've had over the years.  They still matter.

So sometimes when I get down, when I start to worry about how I'm not making a real difference in the world, when I start to fret over how I'm not making my mark, I try to remind myself that we all leave our marks.  It might be a tally taped to a light switch, or it might be fond memories thought by someone we ourselves only thought of briefly, but we all were here.  We all left marks.

And we all matter.

Dear Rocky,

It's been several months now, and I just wanted to let you know that I miss you and think about you every day.

I have your ashes in a pretty container in my living room, along with some photos of you and a clipping of your fur.

It was a good fifteen years, wasn't it? All the adventures you had, and we had together. You were the best cat I ever had. I hope you enjoyed having me as an owner as much I enjoyed having you for a pet. You were truly one in a million, and I love you very much.

Love,

Me

This Never Woulda Happened When Rocky Was Alive, Part Two

I wrote earlier about the exploding rabbit population in my neighborhood, and how Rocky used to chase the rabbits off. All but ONE rabbit, that is ......

One night, several years ago, I was sleeping soundly. I had left the bathroom window open, as usual in the summer months, so Rocky could go in and out. So there I was, sound asleep, in the middle of the night, when I was rudely awakened by a sudden "thump" on my chest. I looked down to discover that Rocky had brought in a baby rabbit, jumped up on the bed with it, and dropped it right on top of me.

Well! Little baby bunny, who was very much alive, started screaming. Have you ever heard the screaming noise a rabbit makes? It's really quite impressive. And the rabbit shot off the bed, followed by Rocky, followed by me.

And everybody went tearing around the apartment, round and round and round, until I managed to grab a towel, throw him over Mr. Bunny, shut Rocky in the bedroom, get the rabbit downstairs, and let him go in the yard.

And that was the last time I left the bathroom window open at night.

I should reiterate, to my knowledge, Rocky never actually killed any wild animals, except for mice. The ones he didn't run off, he would bring into the apartment. Very much alive. Thanks, Rocky!

I miss you.

This Never Woulda Happened When Rocky Was Alive

My neighborhood is experiencing a rabbit population explosion. I counted four in a neighbor's backyard the other night.

Now, I have nothing against rabbits. I really enjoy watching them hop around and play. And neither I nor any of my neighbors have vegetable gardens, so we don't have to worry about rabbit-inflicted food loss. But this summer is the first in many years that there have been rabbits in the area, and it finally hit me why: Rocky's not around to run them off anymore.

Now, Rocky never actually killed the rabbits. His policy regarding the local wildlife was very much "bring 'em back alive". Oh, except for mice. He would dissect mice with great pleasure, eating only the tasty bits, and leaving the guts and feet in tidy piles on the back porch for me to step in when I went out in the morning to get the newspaper. Aaahhh, memories.

The first live item he brought into the apartment was a chipmunk. A very frisky chipmunk, who scurried hither and yon for two days. I would hear the chipmunk in the bedroom, or the kitchen, or wherever, and I would pick Rocky up and take him to the chipmunk, and all Rocky would do is give the chipmunk an affectionate nudge. I think Rocky was looking for a pet. But then, of course, the chipmunk would go scurrying elsewhere, everywhere of course except the open front door.

So on the second day, I determined it was time to help reunite the chipmunk with his natural environment. I got the broom and the cat and tried to herd the chipmunk outside. Instead, the chipmunk went running into the bathroom and up into the tub. "Perfect!", I thought. "I'll just put the chipmunk in ........ something ........... and take him outside!"

I grabbed a plastic mixing bowl and a piece of cardboard for a cover and headed into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind me so as to prevent the chipmunk from heading back out into the apartment. You know where this is going, right? I put the bowl over the chipmunk, slid the cardboard under the bowl, and picked up the whole kit and kaboodle, with one hand under the bowl and one hand on top of the cardboard. Then I went to open the door, and ....... yeah....... not so much. I had no way to turn the door handle, as both hands were occupied with chipmunk containment.

So! I did the only thing I could think of (which is usually the worst possible option, in any given situation, given my thought processes), and placed the covered bowl against my stomach, holding it in place with one hand and using the other to open up the door. Success! And I headed out the back door, down the stairs, and across the back yard with the chipmunk scrabbling wildly in the bowl. I set the bowl on the ground, took off the cardboard, and the chipmunk ran happily away, surely to tell his friends about his adventure.

And Rocky spent the next few days sniffing about the apartment, looking for his missing friend.

Coming soon: Rocky graduates from chipmunks to rabbits.

Heresy

I am thinking about getting another cat. Or two.

I know, I KNOW. I feel terrible guilt just thinking about it. Or writing it down. But I'm just so damn lonely and sad right now, and I did something really bad last night.

I went to an animal shelter. NOT the nice clean shelter where I donated Rocky's food. This was another local shelter, a kind-of-skeevy, smelly, noisy shelter. And I felt so damn bad for those poor cats that I was ready to pile every single one of them into my car and take them home with me.

I did not, of course. Although such was my desperation that there were two cats in particular that I was ready to take home. And I was all, like, "no no no don't do anything rash step back and think about this and maybe come back in a week and if they're still here it was meant to be and .........." Oh, I am losing it.

So I went home, took several deep breaths (or sobs .... hey, if the shoe fits), and thought about the situation. I remembered that at one point the nice shelter where I took Rocky's food was looking for "foster families" to take in cats on a temporary basis until there was room for them at the shelter. I don't know if they're still doing this, but .......... I called and left a message on their answering machine, saying I might be interested.

Also, goldfish. I am going to get a goldfish bowl this weekend and a couple of fish.

I keep trying to tell myself that I'm not a terrible person for thinking about getting another cat. Or two. I miss Rocky terribly. I'm just lonely. And sad.

Still So Damn Sad ........

......... that a contestant on American Idol singing "Let It Be" can reduce me to a sobbing mess.

Sixteen

Wednesday would have been Rocky's sixteenth birthday. I was looking through old photos, trying to pick out some good ones to put with his ashes, when I came across some from when I first brought Rocky home. He was six weeks old when I picked him out of his litter of strays, and I had to wait a couple of weeks until he was fully weaned before I could bring him home. Until looking at those old photos, I had forgotten how impossibly tiny he was back then. Just a little ball of fluff.

What a cutie! (The cat, not that horrible chair.)

Ashes

I took the day off yesterday, as I figured I'd probably be pretty tired from my day of flying on Monday. I was correct! I got home around 8:30 p.m., went to bed at midnight, and slept until almost 11 a.m. It was another day of crappy weather, with sleet! and rain! and freezing rain! You know the drill. I was ready to go right back to Texas.

I packed up Rocky's leftover food and took it to the Animal Care Council, which runs a cat shelter. I had never been there before. It was really spacious and clean, and it did not smell like cats at all. Impressive! All the cats looked well-cared-for. They keep the cats in big rooms with couches and chairs and cat-climbing toys.

Then I went to the vet's and picked up Rocky's ashes. I brought them home and put them in the box my sister and I picked out. The package of ashes looked kind of lonely in the box, so I went to the craft store and got some potpourri to put in the box. That looked better. I put the bag with Rocky's fur clippings on top of the ashes. It's comforting to have him home.

Random Notes From Texas (!)

1. It was in the seventies today and sunny. I wore shorts! I can prove it! I have pictures!

2. Arlington is much bigger than I thought, with a population of over 330,000 people.

3. We drove around the new Dallas Cowboys stadium, which is under construction and very impressive. My sister stopped so that I could get some pictures for the guys at work. The new Cowboys stadium is right across the road from the Ballpark at Arlington, the home of the Texas Rangers baseball team.

3. We had lunch yesterday at my sister's country club. Impressive!

4. My sister and I made a deal - I would clean her patio furniture and she would prepare my income tax returns (which were complicated by last year's craft show sales). So yesterday, she got clean patio furniture and I got my taxes done. Sweet!

5. I introduced my sister to YouTube last night. She enjoyed the Sarah Silverman/Jimmy Kimmel videos as much as I did, which I guess goes to prove that sense of humor is in some part genetic. (By the way, I have never liked Sarah Silverman, but that Matt Damon video? Brilliant.)
6. We wore our matching "Bad Daughter Leading a Sinful Lifestyle - Texas Tour 08" t-shirts today. Heh-heh.

7. After my poor sister chauffeured me all over town(s), I found a box that I liked for Rocky's ashes in an antiques store. It's a little metal hinged box, and I think it will suit him.

8. As part of our search for a box for Rocky, we went to Trader's Village today, which is supposedly the largest flea market in this part of Texas. Neither my sister or I were impressed. Too much new crap, not enough neat old stuff. But, the people-watching was fun.

9. Beef brisket barbeque is very good. Chicken-fried steak, not so much. But the white gravy they serve with it is very, very good.

Disconnect

I petted Rocky as he died, but somehow his death does not seem real to me.

I (supposedly) leave for Texas tomorrow, but somehow that doesn't seem real either.

I don't know where I am right now, but it's not here.

Army

"Well, I thought about the Army
Dad said, 'Son, you're fuckin' high'".........

From "Army", by Ben Folds Five

Right now, this song is about the only thing that cheers me up. I put it on "repeat", crank it up, and dance around the kitchen. Is fun.

Thank You

I just wanted to say thank you to everyone for all of your kind words, especially Letti and Exador, who I know just faced losses of their own.


I will resume posting soon. Right now I am still in that spontaneous-breaking-into-tears stage. (At the grocery store! On the phone with the cable company! In a meeting with a client OMFG! Right now as I am writing this!)


And for those of you who are rolling your eyes and thinking, "will she just get over it already!?!", I have two words for you, and I'm pretty sure you can figure out what they are.


Oh! And if you are at work, and you hear that a co-worker has to make a decision regarding their pet, just extend your condolences. It is NOT A GOOD TIME to launch into a heartbreaking story about the death of your own pet, complete with tears and a segue into grave-digging in mid-winter. DO NOT DO THIS.


Thanks again, everyone. Your words have helped me more than I can say. This would have been much more difficult without you.

Rocky

March 1992 - February 19, 2008

Goodbye, my friend.

Green

While waiting for x-rays to develop at the vet's yesterday afternoon, I looked out the window and there were little green shoots poking up from the ground. It gave me a little hope that even though I am awash in sadness right now, the world is turning, and I will not feel this sadness and grief forever.

I found out yesterday that the "List" does indeed work. Rocky had an awful time Saturday night, and when he wasn't doing any better by yesterday afternoon, I made the call. The vet asked me to meet him at the office ("as soon as you can get there"), and when I arrived, the vet's wife, who is also one of his assistants, had come along as well. Those two people used their entire Sunday afternoon (a day when they were not even on call) to try to help Rocky.

They put Rocky in an oxygen tent to try to get him comfortable, and we discussed the options. The vet wanted to get some x-rays, do a fecal sample, and go from there. He explained that if things looked grim from the x-rays, it may be time to make a decision. He said he had basically tried everything he could, and if the x-rays looked bad, he could give me a referral to the Cornell Veterinary School, who are the local go-to guys for tough cases. I said that I was not willing to let Rocky suffer any further, and that if the x-rays looked bad, I wanted to ...... well ...... you know.

The vet developed the x-rays, and said that they did not look any worse than the previous x-rays. He explained that Rocky's decline might have something to do with stuff trying to work its way out of his lungs. The fecal tests came back negative, which means there is probably not a parasitic infection.

Because Rocky is bright-eyed and eating and drinking well, the vet suggested we give it one last shot. So they switched his antibiotics, and currently he is on oxygen 24/7. The vet said that if Rocky is going to turn around, he will do so by tomorrow. If tomorrow comes and he is still not better, we are going to ...... you know. Because I will not allow him to suffer. I will not wait until he is glassy-eyed and suffocating. I feel that this is the last, best thing I can do for him.

There Is, Indeed, A "List"

While at the vet's yesterday afternoon, the vet let me know that although his office would be closed this weekend, another local vet would be taking his emergency calls. Then he said, "We're going to put you on the "list". If you need to call this weekend, and you get the answering service, just tell them you're on the "list", and they'll put you right through to me". Hmmm. I always suspected such "lists" existed, but I never knew for sure until now.

Comforting and disquieting, all at the same time.

The vet called last night with the results of the lab work from yesterday. He said that Rocky had a very high white blood cell count. I said, "that means cancer, right?" And he said, "no, that means infection, as opposed to cancer". He said that he was actually encouraged by the finding, because it will help to narrow things down, and it is pointing away from cancer. I have to take his word on this, because I know nothing about things medical.

So, Rocky will continue on the antibiotics, and we go back on Monday for more x-rays.

Rocky Update

Rocky seems to be breathing a bit easier after starting the antibiotics. Although I must say, they are giving him the most spectacular case of "the runs" I have ever seen.

The vet's office just called. The vet tech said the lab tests revealed "no significant findings". When I asked if that was good or bad, she said, "good".

The vet wants to see Rocky at 2 o'clock today, I assume for more x-rays.

Again, please wish Rocky luck.

Right Now

Right now, Rocky is at home, on massive doses of antibiotics, on the off chance that they might help.

Right now, there are no answers. We are waiting for the lab results from the needle aspiration.

Right now, I have to go. Right now.

Maybe a Cough Drop Would Help?

Rocky has to go to the vet tonight. Several weeks ago (right about the time the vet switched his arthritis meds, it occurs to me now), he started in with a "hairball cough". If you have a cat, you know what I'm talking about here. He never actually puked up any hairballs, just coughed. I kept thinking it would go away, and then I started thinking maybe I should call the vet ..... and ...... yeah. Time passes. You know how that goes.

So here it is several weeks later, and yesterday he started in with what I call "wet breathing". Ewwwwwww. You know how when you have a cold, and you're all congested, and it sounds like you are breathing underwater, because your lungs are so full of crud? And you're just kind of ..... wheezing? Yeah. That's what Rocky's doing. And when you combine "hairball cough" with "wet breathing", that's a pretty scary sound right there. Oh! And when he purrs, it sounds like a freaking FREIGHT TRAIN.

While it really doesn't seem to bother HIM at all, it is freaking ME the fuck out. So at 11:30 last night, I was up in the attic in my PJs, hauling down the humidifier, then rummaging through my desk looking for the instructions, and getting the whole thing set up, trying to ease poor kitty's labored breathing.

It didn't help. So! At five o'clock tonight, we have a date with the vet. Hopefully we can get this breathing thing straightened out, because it is scaring ME to death. Oh, and while we're there, his nails need to be clipped back, and he's got these weird lumps on his neck, and I think it's time to try some new arthritis meds, and he needs some more flea stuff, and ..... we could be there for a while.

Wish us luck!

Sardines

Because I am evidently illiterate, I discovered this weekend that I had not been feeding Rocky anchovies. Instead, I had bought him a can (tin?) of sardines. It even says so right on the box, "SARDINES".

Which begs two questions:

1. Just exactly how stupid am I?

2. If sardines are not the little end-to-end fish, what are? Anchovies?

I am an idiot. And also sorely in need of some remedial reading lessons.

Anchovies

Oh dear Lord, the cat likes anchovies.


Last week, I gave him some of the fish I was having for dinner (NOT anchovies, other fish), and he really liked it. SO, in my continuing effort to put some weight on him, I thought I'd pick up some fresh fish at the store for him.


Eight bucks a pound? Not so much. Now, Rocky will (for some inexplicable reason) not eat tuna. Tuna juice? Oh hell yes. The actual tuna? Nope. And I am not willing to eat tuna sandwiches for the rest of my life so that he can have his tuna juice fix. So after nixing the fresh stuff, I thought, wait, they selled canned fish other than tuna, right? So I headed for the tuna aisle, and sure enough, there was canned salmon, sardines, and anchovies. The anchovies were the cheapest, so guess which I bought?


I got home and cracked open the tin of anchovies, and OH MY GOD it was gross. For some reason, I thought that anchovies were those little teeny fish that came all packed in the tin head-to-tail. Maybe that's sardines? Cause it sure ain't anchovies, or at least the (cheap cheap cheap) anchovies I bought, which were probably canned in China and contain high amounts of lead and plutonium.


These anchovies? Are gross. Big chunks of grayish-pinkish fishy material, with SCALES, and lots of stinky juuuiiiiccccce. (Shiver) And Rocky? LOVES THEM. Loves loves loves.


Me? I do not know if I can get past the visual. Also the stink factor. The fact that people voluntarily put this stuff on pizza floors me. There oughta be a law.

Oh, and we're not even gonna talk about the post-anchovy litterbox.