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the latest
waddle: good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03 elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01 building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19 ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09 my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04
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After a few weeks of teasing us with the classic Monty Python "not dead yet" routine, The Cat finally was taken to the vet for the last time on Saturday. We are sad. But it really was time. She had lost a further three pounds in three weeks, she had more or less stopped eating and yet kept throwing up some horrible substance that was not food, she was unsteady on her feet, she was starting to hide under the bed for long stretches, and there was a smell. Although we still loved her, it was starting to become an arms'-length kind of love, a "wow you may be family but you are seriously gross" kind of love. It almost seemed like an instinctual, caveperson reaction---a member of the tribe is ailing and close to death! We must distance ourselves, and go on with the hunt! So yeah. It costs money to have the vet kill your cat, were you aware? For some reason I thought it would be free or close to it. But they were very nice about the whole thing, so I really don't mind. We had Nora say goodbye before Cat was loaded into her carrier, and emphasized that she was going to die and would not be coming back, and it really sounded quite bleak when I put it that way but with a preschooler I guess it is best to be clear. Nora still seemed to think that death = instant skeletonization, and my creepy little scientist has requested a viewing of "the cat's bone" (by which she means skeleton---to Nora it is all one giant bone) several times. We are getting the ashes back (which I think I will just put away and not explain) but not the bones, and I don't even think that would ever be an option unless your vet was also a taxidermist (eww). Sorry, Nora. A day later the real kid-sadness set in, with Nora saying that she was sad that the cat died, requesting a picture, etc, and watching her stare at that photograph while her eyes well up with tears, all brave and grown-up-like, was the thing that finally put my heart through the paper shredder. She had trouble going to sleep that night, so I sat with her much longer than I normally would for any non-illness reason, and I kept having to go back in when she'd start crying again, and then I would come back out and cry and snap at LT in frustration, "Her cat is dead! There is nothing we can do!" I hate it when there is nothing you can do. She never seemed to extrapolate the cat dying to other family members dying, or her own death, so it was not fear but simple, heartbreakingly pure grief that kept her from sleeping. Which made it all the harder, because I rule at rationalizing fear to the small but death is just death. We don't have our cat anymore. Blargh.
ON A LIGHTER NOTE smartypantsmimi: PLACE wiener in BREAD. AND ANOTHER THING "A stumbling block to success with self-service bars is a fear of the complexity and number of choices one can offer." FEAR! The greatest stumbling block to success! The terror of too much choice! Such wisdom. Such deep, Kentucky wisdom. ---mimi smartypants has a hole in her bucket. |
