|
2010-01-02 - 11:43 a.m.
Frequently, when told how many cats I have, people will ask me to name them all. It used to be kind of fun, to zoom through the list...Smudge, Smitten, Oscar, Diamond, Bear Walter, Felicity and more recently, Charles Beaker Le Dickens. Then I would go through with the names I actually used for the cats on a daily basis (because you know cats have at least three different names)...Smurdge, Mitten, Moop, Bubby, Bay Bay, Fishy Marie and Beep. Cute, right? Now days when people ask me how many cats I flinch a little because I have to remember that I am missing one. But then I remember that I don't have to admit that out loud because the number is still seven. I didn't have to subtract a number from my seven since there was already a cat waiting, literally, on our doorstep to become part of this household. But when people ask me to name my seven cats I flat out refuse. Because I don't want to say that list without Bubby. To say that I am having a difficult time with his loss would be an understatement. But I don't tell anybody this because, you know, people already can't understand why I took the three days off work that I did after he died. Anyway. I am not doing well with the whole thing. I need to talk to a vet for a long time because I just can't understand or accept what went wrong. I wake in a panic most nights thinking that I should have done more, I shouldn't have listened to them when they said they were certain he wouldn't survive. It's so hard because there isn't a reason for his death. No one really knows WHY his lungs filled with fluid or WHY his body didn't fight the very mild respiratory virus all my cats got (they all sneezed for a few days and that was that). His bloodwork, done just seven days before he got sick, was perfect. I had even bragged about my almost fifteen year old cat having had a perfect physical. Then, twelve days later, he was dead. I just don't get it. I plan to write my way through it (probably not anymore about it here though) because my other tactics are not working and I seem to be regressing at the moment. Normally I am very proficient at putting things out my mind. But I sure do miss my Bubby. More than I've ever missed anything, actually. The new kitty, by the way, is named Sully. He's been around for a long time, but only since this past summer had he really been friendly with us. We aren't even sure he doesn't already "belong" to somebody else. But we aren't holding him hostage, he goes out pretty much whenever he wants but he is always comes back here within hours (or minutes when it's cold). He has chosen his own home. He's a handsome fellow and his nonchalant way of moving in here won my heart. He seemingly has no concern with what is going on around him. He is very NOT neurotic unlike my other cats. He wanted to move in here and he basically just strolled in and commenced with his wild playing and gluttonous consumption of cream and cat food. He's a good cat. In other news. Eh. There is a lot of other news but I haven't the time to begin that all now. I will be writing more around here. I need/want to get back to it. I miss myself. |
|
