Mangled

I almost hate to write this.  It will be post 3334.  That's a lot of posting.  Some AI could come along and mine my personality. 

I would exist in a formless void, online. No thanks. 

Life is hard enough as it is. 

I didn't sleep well last night, I got perhaps 4 hours of sleep.  I also had cats sleeping on my legs so I couldn't roll over. 

After the events I don't plan to evict them, so I just have to live with it.  I couldn't bear to recall the last thing I did to my healthy cat was shove it out of bed, then something developed and I had to put it down. 

I am choosing, for my last healthy memory of Gravy, the following: He liked to lay on the top shelf of the kitty condo.  He would stick his paws out at odd angles (which I could see as a horrible omen of the injury to come), with little pink pads facing out. 

I liked to walk by, adjust myself, and kiss the pads on his feet.  He would always raise his head and look at me, I would pet him and coo, and then I would move on to whatever it was I was doing.  I can still feel those warm pink pads on my lips. 

That's going to be my memory. 

For Bubba (the last one to go before Gravy), it's Bubba, come in from the pet door, meowing proudly, a rat in his mouth.  The tail went all the way to the ground as the rat screeched, the noise blending with Bubba's very loud, proud, meows "I got a rat". 

He was so, damned, proud. 

Or I could say it was the one time he got in my lap.  Ron had had a blackout the night before and things looked very hopeless.  I wondered if I would even be living with Ron in a few months.  I had signed him up for Intervention, which failed (Ron said later it's a good thing it did as he would have left rather than stop drinking).   The sleep deprivation and verbal abuse were taking a terrible toll on me, and I was massively depressed. 

I couldn't see a way out of it, and I collapsed into a backyard chair, totally depressed.  Bubba was patrolling the yard, and he came over.  I petted him and he got in my lap.  It was freezing out, and I wasn't dressed for it, but I sat out there, in the chair, with nice warm Bubba in my lap giving me hope that things would get better.   He sat there for at least 20 minutes, and he never did it again. 

I guess that's what you do: you take the good memory and you hang onto it.  I recall my grandmother (the good one), calling me after Ron's accident, very concerned.  I also recall her taking me grocery shopping and getting what I wanted.  That's a big deal for a child from a large family.  She also admired my needlework and encouraged me in my "old timey" hobbies.  She was very kind and supportive. 

My other grandmother was psychotic and paranoid, and wanted nothing to do with me.  I made overtures, repeatedly, but she was not interested.  At any rate, I tried, she wasn't interested, and I have taken away an important object lesson in taking one's pills as directed. 

I was not close to my mother.  I cried when she died because I didn't have a mother, but I never had a mother.  I believe she tried her best but I needed far more than she could give. 

I don't mean to say I was unusually demanding, but I, as an infant, needed a certain level of care, which I didn't get.  It was a blessing when I went into daycare, the only thing my poor baffled father could do.  They didn't have nannies for the middle class back then and my mother was insanely jealous. 

I do, however, have one good memory.  She visited me once when I was about 10.  We were both manic, I realize now.  She had a convertible (my dad's always driven convertibles, too), and we drove off into the sun, singing.  She also encouraged me in rock collecting, something I didn't pursue in the long run.  She encouraged me to think, something I needed. 

Everyone was busy wringing their hands and trying to figure out special PE classes, she just said, enjoy reading, use your brain, crafts are fun. 

But that's about all.  So I hang onto my ONE good memory and move on. 

My adoptive mother, the one who bought my first box of tampons, taught me about sex, told me my horrible acne would improve, and helped encourage my love of cats, is still alive.  She is in pretty good shape, too. 

My Dad is in much better shape than Ron.  Since Dad was my primary caregiver when I was little I am a Daddy's Girl. 

If I worry about losing one of my humans I worry about Ron.  He takes Tylenol with alcohol.  He doesn't eat his vegetables.  He is sedentary.  He has a clot filter. 

If I allow myself to worry, which I don't. 

I mean, look at Torbie.  She is old, she is obese.  I figured for certain she would be the next to die.  But she wasn't.  She's curled up with Ron and Gravy is in cold storage or smoking cinders. 

You just don't know.  For that matter, I could be the next to die.  I do what I can to take care of myself but anything could be going on. 

But, like I said, I don't allow myself to worry about that kind of stuff. 

It isn't as easy as it sounds.  It is more like hardcore, heavy, grappling than a simple flick of the wrist.  But I would be consumed by a million worries. 

And you know what?  I never once worried about how to stop Gravy from getting - mauled.  I never once worried about the cats' safety outside.  I had mild worries about them hit by a car but Bubba lived the streets for over 10 years.  He was fine, right? 

So I didn't worry, never even thought to worry, about keeping Gravy safe.  I'm not flogging myself, just pointing it out. 

And even if I had worried there's not much I could have done, short of building a catio, which we are doing. 

NOW.

Worrying about the bad thing does not prevent it from happening, and the bad thing that happens was probably never on your worry list to begin with. 

So, back to my day.  I got up, took my shower, did my God Time before I got on the computer later. 

We went to work.  We stocked, I used up everything I had.  We got our soda delivery.  The guy was having low blood sugar so I gave him a honey bun.  That fixed him up right quick. 

We got the coffee machine set up.  Barely.  We still need some inventory but we will get it all eventually. 

He suggested I get a very dark roast ground, so I will look tomorrow.  I will need some more instruction on care & feeding of this VERY complicated beast. 

I don't want to think about that. 

We went to the bank and deposited a check.  We went to the mall to try to find Ron a new fanny pack, but they don't have the one he likes.  He may have to use the army surplus one I got him off Amazon. 

We came home and I took a short nap, again with cats in the bed.  Biscuit was so tightly cuddled against me I had butt cramps.  But I didn't evict him.  He realized, I think, and left on his own. 

I slept for about 2 hours.  I woke up just in time for the handyman. 

He came out and did the consult for the catio.  It will be about 15 feet long, and 7 feet wide. 

[The people behind us put their dog in the backyard, and it is baying a lot.  I hope they take it in again before I go to bed.  They normally do.  That dog is my #1 suspect on what hurt Gravy.]

We will see how it looks when it's finished.  I have a persistent fear it will not confine the cats.  I pray it does.  I really do. 

I don't want anyone else getting mangled. 

Sacrifice my sleep

No headache today. 

We woke up, I took my shower.  I cried a little looking in my closet, remembering how Gravy loved to sleep on the top shelf. 

We went to Home Depot.  We wanted to look at supplies for the catio.  I found some good pvc coated wire with 3x4 inch openings.  It is 3 feet tall and 50 feet long.  We got a roll.  I also got some seeds because they were on sale. 

Happily, later in the day, our handyman said he would be by tomorrow, with a helper, to build the catio.  He will bring all the supplies.  Excellent. 

So, tomorrow, I should have a safe kitty space. 

Torbie, the old fat tortie tabby, looks like she will be the "bad" girl with trying to get out.  The other cats seem to be better behaved. 

We went home and I put the giant roll of wire near my chair.  I took a nap for a couple of hours. 

Ron wanted to go to the Waffle House so we did that. 

That's when we found out the plans for tomorrow. 

Now, honestly, I never fall asleep before 8 on an early morning wakeup eve.  I will be "lucky" to get 6 hours of sleep. 

That said, I usually compensate by getting a nice nap when I do get home from work.  But the guys are coming. 

I will absolutely sacrifice my sleep so the cats have a safe place to hang out.  I am glad to know in advance, though. 

Maybe it won't take them long to build and I can get some sleep anyway. 

I know this, tomorrow will be long and crazy, but hopefully a good ending with safe cats in their enclosure. 

I can't go through another Gravy any time soon.  It has been awful. 

Migraine

I developed a horrible migraine and nearly threw up in a paratransit cab. 

We had a long ride to Walmart and I bought cat food.  I was out of the Gravy Lovers flavor and Biscuit really loves that - they all do. 

He will eat "Seafood Nightmare" (Cod, Sole, and Shrimp), but he loves the gravy best. 

I went anyway, after a shower and God Time. 

I literally had just enough time to buy the cat food before our ride came to take us home. 

I bought various flavors and threw some "Tuna in gravy" in at the end.  I nearly vomited on the way home but no one knew. 

When I got in the house Biscuit did a happy prance when he saw me holding a new case of cat food, so I gave him some Tuna in Gravy.  He did a good job on it, too. 

Then I got queasy again and went in the bedroom.  I took out my puke bucket and did some rapid breathing over it. 

I couldn't help but remember the time I ate steak and salad when I took my medication.  When I got home I vomited into my bucket. Biscuit and Gravy set up on either side of me and watched with delight as it all made a return.  They found the process enthralling and made me laugh, which of course made me feel better.  I'll never forget Gravy putting his paws on the edge of the bucket and examining the contents. 

Once I felt I could hold it down, I took a Phenergan and went to bed. Torbie laid in the center of my bed, in a very uncomfortable configuration.  I slept with her for a few hours, moved her by my head, and she stomped off in an indignant huff, choosing to sleep under Ron's armpit. 

The headache's almost gone now, I got hungry, and ate some pasta. 

Tomorrow we go to the home improvement store to look for ideas on the catio. 

All pets go to heaven

I've encountered some real creeps in my day, none of them the last few days, who really believe there are no companion animals in Heaven. 

Bullshit. 

God loves animals, otherwise he wouldn't have filled the earth with them.  He created animals before he even created humanity!  Adam's first job was naming the animals. 

It is well documented, my husband died.  He was dead and went to heaven.  When he says heaven is full of loved companion animals, I believe him. 

When the Bible tells me there will be no more pain or sorrow, I believe it. 

Jeremiah 29:11 [Full Chapter]

For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, says the Lord, thoughts of peace and not of evil, to give you a future and a hope.

 

That doesn't sound like he's going to put our precious' to "sleep forever" as I was told when my stepfather died. 

 

I have a whole roster of "graduated" animals.  I look forward to seeing them again and hope they do too. 

 

My Dad, not an emotionally insightful man, once said he believed I had attachment disorder.  Basically, due to my mother's neglect and abandonment, I have a hard time bonding.  That's the short version.  I agree completely.  I don't trust easily and once I have given my loyalty it is impossible to shake.   

 

I had a hard time bonding with the cats when I first got them actually.  Except Bubba.  I met him on my runs and he won me over with his skittishness.  When I found out he was homeless and starving it was natural to bring him into my home. 

 

I found Baby Girl the first in a garbage can, eating trash.  Again, I could relate, I bonded pretty fast.  She died a horrible poisoning death several months later.  Bastards. 

 

Times like that I wish I did have a gun, to put the poor animal out of her misery. 

 

Bubba actually brought Frosty home to me, to save.  I was pretty pissed at him, the first night he spent in my house Frosty actually peed on a chair - one Baby Girl the first had loved, and I had to throw it out.  I almost put Frosty back on the street again but Ron begged me to give him another chance, after a neutering. 

 

He got neutered, stopped pissing, and became a wonderful lap baby.  We had a very tight bond.  When I was suicidal he used to climb in my lap and put his head on my shoulder.  I could actually pick him up, go to the bathroom with him in my lap, clean up, pick him up again, flush, and go back to "our" chair. 

 

I was crushed when Baby Girl died and fell into a massive depression.  I did when Frosty died.  I had barely crawled out of it before a big family reunion.  Had Frosty died closer to the event I would have been a massive downer.  As it was I did a decent job fronting and I was medicated by this point. 

 

I still miss them, I always will. 

 

I didn't want Baby Girl the Second (current Baby Girl) at all.  I kept trying to give her away but Ron had bonded, called her "my cat" and said we were keeping her.  I didn't really bond with her until the night Bubba died (they got on great, by the way), when she crawled into bed with me.  We consoled each other until Ron, completely wasted, came by waving a bag of treats. 

 

After that point I realized she did have a sweet and loving heart, she's just more aloof.  I will never find her in my lap or even in my bed (save the once) but she's a good girl and she loves her Daddy.  She likes to lie next to his leg as he lays in bed.  When Ron's at home, he's in bed, so that works out great for both of them.  She likes to lie in my bedroom doorway, that's her love language for me.  I talk to her and pet her as I pass. 

 

I loved Torbie but I had a hard time bonding due to severe depression after Bubba died.  That time did give Ron and Torbie time to bond, though.  He hadn't been impressed with her at the shelter. 

 

I didn't want Biscuit and Gravy, but I couldn't leave them there to be tortured, starved, and dead.  I tried to find them a rescue, boy I tried everything, but no joy.  The minute I brought them home they ate and crawled into my bed.  For the next week, all they did was eat and sleep in my bed with me.  They won me over pretty fast! 

 

Not to mention they were still half-grown kittens and adorable in that regard.  They had precious markings and everyone liked them because they weren't black (bigots!).   Again, Ron begged to keep them, so we did. 

 

I don't regret it but I sure miss Gravy.  Gravy was more Ron's cat but I used to kiss his paws when he stuck them off the kitty condo.  He seldom slept with me and never got in my lap, but I loved him hard. 

 

Ron's been consoling me, doing a pretty good job of it, and telling me they are waiting for me in Heaven.  I just need to hang in there, he says, and I will see them one day. 

 

I believe him.  I believe in a loving God who does this. 

 

I can't imagine anyone promoting a God who wouldn't. 

Not as bonded

It was just an awful day. 

I slept horribly, had nightmares, and woke with a migraine 2 hours after I finally fell asleep.  I had to take the OTC headache pills, which really messed up my sleep patterns.  Cue more nightmares and very restless sleep, mixed with profound grieving over Gravy because I knew only a miracle would change Ron's mind about putting him down. 

I got up and took my shower, remembering, of course, how Gravy used to stick his head in the curtain to say hello when he was a kitten. 

I went and did my God Time, remembering how he liked to sleep next to me as I prayed and did my Bible study. 

I fed Biscuit and Baby Girl, remembering Gravy liked to eat his namesake. 

Our ride was late, and long, and we were cheated of an hour's work time.  I barely had time to get the sandwiches. 

I had to choose between helping Ron and doing my own work, and threw it in favor of helping Ron - because we were both already pretty emotional. 

We went to the bank (we had to, after the deposit we paid yesterday at the vet).  While there the boss called and said he is bringing the equipment tomorrow, instead of next week.  That totally screws everything to hell. 

Then I got to go to the vet and put the cat down.  That was all around horrible.  Don't get me wrong, they were nice, they were compassionate, but they clearly thought we were assholes for not "trying" surgery. 

1.  $3,500 is a whole lot of money for something that is not guaranteed to work.
2.  Quiet bedrest would be nearly impossible in our household. 
3.  Amputation still has pain, a recovery period, and was a bargain at "only" $700-$100. 

Now, money means nothing to me when it comes to my cats.  We had already spent over $500 plus cab fare.  I didn't care about that.  If they could have slapped a cast on him and been done with it, great.  I had a blind cat but the vet assured me the eye wasn't bothering her, so I spent plenty in fees to get her checked out and cared for. 

I just resented them acting as if 1. everyone had 10K sitting in an account for their cats.  2.  anyone who didn't, was heartless or stupid. 

They kept trying to tell us to amputate or do the surgery, he might make a full recovery, but Ron was adamant he didn't want Gravy to suffer at all.  There was only one answer for that. 

It wasn't my call, Gravy was Ron's cat.  I did tell Ron things would be quite different if we were talking about Biscuit. 

Ron did some dirty techniques in response to that.  I knew someone who kept their cat alive long past when they should have.  In addition to insulin shots,, the animal was incontinent and had to live outside.  The last time I saw him, he was skinny and miserable, practically begging someone to put him down.  

Anyway, Ron referred to me by that woman's name and said I was "cruel" to even think about it. 

I can honestly say if it had been my call alone, I would have done the amputation, not because I was too cheap for surgery but I don't have much faith it would have worked.  Not after seeing that X-ray.

But it wasn't my call alone.  I changed my mind when they brought in poor Gravy.  His pupils were huge, he was clearly terrified, and he was howling the way he had in the cab.  He was miserable.  Poor thing probably thought we had dumped him at the hospital. 

I didn't want him to live like that.  He collapsed on the table, not even trying to get up, and licked our hands frantically as we petted him.  I don't know if I ever mentioned this, but that was kind of Gravy's "thing". 

He loved to lick our hands. 

He did that until the vet came in and did her thing, he collapsed with his tongue out, in mid-lick.  I didn't feel bad about what we had done but I felt very sorry for myself.   I cried a lot. 

Ron will probably get very drunk and then cry a lot.  Gravy was mainly "his" cat. 

It's interesting how cats pick their people.  Biscuit is "mine" - primarily because I feed the num-nums.  Baby Girl is "Ron's".  Torbie is both of ours.  She is currently laying on Ron as he sleeps. 

Earlier, she was curled up in my lap, purring. 

We got halfway home before we remembered the cat carrier, we had to go back for it. 

By the way, I opted for "you deal with the body" option the way I did with Frosty and Bubs.  Ron and I didn't want mementos, pawprints, or urns.  Where would I put any of that?  I have loads of photos to cry over. 

When I got home I let the cats smell my hands so they could figure out what had happened, in their own way. 

Every time, I go to that hospital, I end up with a dead cat.  I don't blame the hospital but I hate going there.  They always put us in room 3.  Maybe that is the cat room, I don't know. 

I am really tired of walking out of there leaving dead children behind.  It's awful. 

Ron and I have decided to build a catio (cat patio, enclosed and safe but still "outside").  We feel they will be a lot happier and healthier if we don't let them roam anymore. 

It has been nearly impossible to confine them because Ron is blind, slow, and has mobility devices.  He can't dart out the door, or in.  The cats can.  They get out. 

I suppose I will have to round them all up and lock them in a room when we leave, leave them there until we return, and only open the door after Ron is in the house with the door locked.  God help us if someone knocks on the door, or I get a package. 

But I have to think it will be "better" than crying over another dead, mangled, cat. 

Biscuit is lying by my foot.  He probably wants dinner but is using his good manners. 

It's the least I can do after taking his brother away.  Thank God they are not as bonded as they were. 

When I found him, he was starving, flea-ridden, skinny, and food-aggressive, with an abscess on his tail.  I took him home, fed him, loved him, got him fixed, shots, etc.  I tried to find a rescue to take him but no one was interested. 

At the very least he had well over a year of being spoiled rotten, instead of being thrown out into a busy street to die (as the other woman was threatening). 

I just wish we could have had more time. 

A better life than that

From my Facebook:

Gravy broke his leg somehow, very badly. He's at the hospital and will most likely be put down tomorrow. We are waiting on one final call from an orthopedic surgeon about what can be done.
I hold out hope for a 3-legged cat but Ron is adamant. He thinks it would be too cruel to put him through a long recovery process.
Man, this just sucks.

• I knew something was wrong yesterday but I couldn't put my finger on it. 
• I will never get that awful X-ray out of my head.
• The vet doesn't know how it happened and said she had never seen a fracture like that.
• He kept trying to stand on his broken leg.
• The x-ray looked like the leg had nearly been torn off. 
• I can't get that x-ray out of my head.

I had way too much caffeine, I hope I can sleep tonight.  Biscuit was extra sweet when I came home, I think he knows something is up. 

I am too depressed to write any more.  Gravy is the white cat with gray markings and white on his tail.  He had a little fang that stuck out on his lower jaw - the vet said it was likely his jaw was dislocated at some point due to abuse. 

I gave him a better life than that, at least. 

Fight film

The morning was pretty uneventful.  I woke up, did my God time, took my shower, got dressed (not in that order) and went to Walmart with Ron. 

I had a pretty bad headache but I had eaten one of those cookie/brownie hybrid things from Domino's pizza, which I blamed for the headache.  We also had a weather front come through with some showers. 

We went to Walmart and Ron spent most of the money.  I just got some energy bars and toilet paper, basically. 

Ron got a fan, a lot of cat treats, etc. 

We came home and I put everything up (except, as it turns out, the ice cream), and took a nap as the ice cream slowly thawed in my tote bag. 

When I got up, I got online for a little bit and then Ron and I went to the mall.  He loved the teriyaki place.  Our ride was very late and not a very good driver. 

He actually parked adjacent to a fight occurring in the parking lot, being filmed by two unrelated (different race) adults.  I am probably on tape carefully steering Ron around the mayhem, which seemed to be mainly gutter ghettotalk, trash talking with the occasional punch.  The police showed up as we left, or I would have found them in the mall and told them about the fight before it got worse. 

"The people filming it" Ron said "Were actually feeding the behavior.  How can anyone back down or apologize on camera?"  I agreed. 

Just another sign of the end times, rather than get help, they wanted to film it so they could youtube it and show it to their friends. 

Sad, sad, sad. 

I got the food (an order of Teriyaki, and some burritos from Taco Bell for Ron) and found Ron, ate one of my tacos, and our ride showed up.  She wasn't in a big hurry to get us home, probably worried she would get "an extra trip" (drivers hate them) so close to checkout time.  We got home and Ron ate his food, very disappointed in the teriyaki.  Last time, he said, it wasn't very good, and this time it was "bad' too.  They must have changed the sauce. 

I wasn't real happy when I heard kids from #6 in my front yard chasing a cat, but the cat got away and the kids realized I was watching.  I figure if I make a big fuss about them leaving the cats alone they will just pester the cats.  I will make it "fun"  and "forbidden" to bother the cats. 

The cats are smart enough to avoid the children, they are on the naughty list with the cats.  I have to remind myself the cats can certainly run away. 

I have to pick my battles.  Now, if the kids are going in the backyard after the cats I will call the police to come give them a little lecture about trespassing, because they all know they don't have permission to come into my yard. 

I ate my other taco and took my pills.  I looked for my ice cream, didn't find it, and realized, to my horror, I must have left it in the tote bag. 

That was a mess.  I was pretty upset.  Ron was still raving (not in a positive manner) about the teriyaki and thought I was upset at him, so he left and went in his bedroom. 

I cleaned up the mess and drank what was left of the ice cream.  The cookie dough bites were still tasty. 

I hope I don't get another headache tomorrow. 

My cycle's about done, happily.  I will run a load of all -whites and bleach them when I'm sure we're done. 

My other clothes still look pretty good, but my work keys are digging a hole in my back pocket.  I either need to patch it or get a new pair of shorts.  They are bermudas, black, in a 20W.  I can get another pair pretty easy but I think I'll stick with denim for my work clothes.  These are more a twill. 

I just hope I can sleep OK tonight, I took some caffeine headache tablets earlier and they can mess me up when it comes to bedtime. 

Tomorrow we do truck day and get a whole truckload of merchandise.