Monday, March 9, 2009

I'm going to miss you.







Frosty. He came into my life right after we bought the house. Baby Girl had just died. She was poisoned by former "neighbors" in my old area - a terrible area.


One night, Bubba hollered at the door. I opened it. He'd brought a friend home. A friend, who by the looks of things, was homeless. His fur was coming out in patches, he had deep abrasions on his neck from scratching at his ears, which were a mess from ear mites. He was a wreck.


Even so, he ran in terror from Heather-with-a-can-of-tuna. It took a good month to convince him we were OK, and that petting was an enjoyable activity. He used to flinch every time I'd stroke his patchy fur, as he gobbled down his cat food.


Eventually, we persuaded him into the house. After a few weeks of hiding under the bed, he decided he liked living in the house. He and Bubba always got on amazingly well. I used to tease Bubba and tell him he could pick out all my cats from now on.


Little did we know, at the time, Frosty was already an old man. He'd get into mischief with Bubba, bringing in LIVE things through the pet door, wrestling with his brother, and playing pounce-and-chase outside in the morning as we left for work.


In the meantime, I was in very bad shape. My undiagnosed bipolar disorder was out of control. I was battling suicidal depressions and terrifying manias - complete with hallucinations, paranoia, and delusions. Neither one bothered Frosty one bit, who'd clamber up in my lap like you see above. He'd just climb in, knead me for a bit, and fall asleep.


One night, as I seriously contemplated suicide, he climbed up, into my lap, and put his front paws on my left shoulder. He laid his head against my cheek and purred gently. I sobbed and sobbed as I stroked him.


Somehow, Frosty had a way of making it all better, no matter what. I used to tell myself that no, I couldn't commit suicide. What would happen to Frosty? He'd be screwed. I couldn't hurt him like that. I had to drag myself through one more hour, one more day, for Frosty if not for myself. Somehow, I'd make it, my little "Precious" purring away in my bed, in my lap, by my side.


He loved his Daddy, too. You can see Frosty curled up in Daddy's armpit as he worked on the computer. See, Ron was already a mess when Frosty came to live with us. He is completely blind, and he's got hemiparesis due to a head injury and stroke. Ron can barely get to the bathroom on his own, and at work he uses a wheelchair.
Last year, things got even worse. Ron had a violent allergic reaction to an antibiotic. By now, my bipolar disorder had been diagnosed and pretty well controlled with medication. Ron suffers from agonizing nerve pain, tingling, sensitivity to touch, everything tasted bad.. his life was hell.
That's when Frosty began appearing by Ron's pillow. One night he woke me up, delighted. "Heather, he's snoring!" I laughed with Ron as we listened to Frosty's gentle snores. Frosty loved to sleep by Ron's pillow at night (when Ron was awake) and then move over to my pillow in the morning. He'd nap with me in the afternoons and come visit in my lap for a few hours in the evening. I'd thank him for his attention and stroke him gently.
He loved to lay on my knitting, effectively bringing progress to a halt. Usually, I'd let him get away with it.
I had no idea he was such an old man. I'm ashamed to admit if I'd known he was 8+ years old, I'd have never considered adopting him back in 2004. I'm glad I didn't know, because I would have cheated myself out of the best cat, ever. He was perfect for us, very sensitive and loving. He knew when we needed him.
Ron is teasing me now, Bubba's six years old and next year he'll be a "senior". "You're running Heather's Home for the Aged." I'm glad I did.
I will definitely strongly consider adopting another older cat. If it's half as wonderful as Frosty, it'll be the best thing I ever did.
It's not loving him that hurt. It's losing Frosty's love that hurts. I loved him the most of any cat I'd ever had, and I know he's happy now.
I am glad that God made it so very clear that it was Frosty's time. I'm glad it was old age; and nothing I could have prevented or treated had I had more money.
I'm so very glad I knew him. He was a gift from God.



No comments: