Goodbye, Angel

The part of Angel's story I know started when a lady near Rolla. MO was driving down the road and saw the car in front of her slow down on the shoulder. The window went down, a cat was tossed out, and the car drove on.

She (I never knew her name) stopped to rescue the young, snow-white, pregnant cat, tended her injuries, and took her and her eventual kitten into her home. She named the mama cat Angel, her son, Monster. (Neither name fit the cat's character, but they stuck.) But then she went into a nursing home, and the cats needed a new home. Eventually, via my son's friend's girlfriend's friend, they wended their way into his care. When Joe moved home for a time after college, the cats came with him. With the exception of the year after Joe married, they have stayed with me ever since, and that was almost ten years ago. 

To the other household animals, Angel was a brat kitty, ruling the house with a velvet-clad, iron paw. To me, she showed only her sweet side, jumping up on my lap to purr at me any time I settled down. 

Having the cats helped to save my sanity during the pandemic. During the cold and dark days after Joe and Rita moved out, and there was not yet a vaccine, I spent too many afternoons alone. I curled up on the sofa beneath a blanket and just stared at the quiet my life had suddenly become. Inevitably, shortly after I lay down, I would have a purring white companion (or two). They turned my pity parties into cuddle sessions, were a critical part of helping me to stay grounded.

I've been keeping a close eye on Angel for the last couple of months. It was clear arthritis was settling in. No longer did she easily vault to the countertops - instead she always stopped on the chairs on the way up, and at times, even that jump was beyond her. 

Then, with the hottest weather this year, she abandoned even the sofa, preferring to spend her time curled up in a corner of the living room, clearly in some pain. I had a couple of stern talks with her. She was sixteen-ish, didn't she know my cats all live to be nineteen or twenty?

She purred just a bit, just enough to let me know she had heard, but didn't move. 

She was a sad corner kitty.

I wanted to put off making the vet appointment; I knew what they were going to say, and I didn't want to hear it. With a heavy heart, I took her on in anyways, and after drawing some blood so we could figure out what was going on with her, the vet gave me some pain meds to ease her hips.

The pain meds helped a lot, but it was clear Angel still did NOT feel good. I got the test results the next day - all the numbers were askew. She wasn't going to get better.

I made one last appointment for her, just a few days later. I was grateful for those days, a chance to say goodbye. I gave her extra love and lots of formerly forbidden bits of people food until the hour came to leave. 

I put her into the carrier one last time, then drove to the vet even though my heart was screaming, "NO!" But I couldn't leave her hurting in her corner any longer. She depended on me to do right by her, and so I did. Her last moments were peaceful. I was petting her as she relaxed in my lap; she never even noticed when the vet gave her first the one shot, then the second. I kept petting her, telling her how much light and love she'd brought into my life, long after the vet said she'd crossed over the bridge, then quietly left the room to leave me to cry.

Goodbye, Angel. I like to believe I will see you again one day. That I will walk into the room, and as you used to do after I'd been gone for a bit, you will oh-so-nonchalantly stroll over the moment I sit down, hop into my lap and give me a longed-for kitty hug. 

Until then, Rest in Peace.

Family Weekend

This past weekend's trip to Minnesota had two purposes:

One, I needed to deliver Sophia back home. We, as I had hoped, had a great week together. We went shopping some, out to eat some, yoga-d some. She didn't seem to mind hanging out with just me, and I enjoyed having her around.

Two, I wanted to attend another niece's graduation party. Onnika's high school years were rocky. Between her mother's death halfway through her first year and covid which hit halfway through the next, she was treading water at best, barely holding her own. I knew this, but also knew her problems weren't mine to fix. Fortunately, she has a great dad and he listened and worked with her and found her the help she needed. She switched schools to get away from the ghosts, and was able to regain her footing in time to finish her coursework and graduate on schedule.

I haven't seen her much in the past few years; she's avoided the few family get-togethers we've had. When I did see her in those years, her struggle was written all over her face, body, clothes. So it was a welcome change to be greeted as we pulled into the yard by the sprite I remembered from of old. 

She was radiant in her long white skirt, soft pink blouse, and coordinating random locks of bright pink hair. Her rose-colored, heart-shaped glasses told a story of their own. I stepped out of the car into her waiting arms. She held me close, and whispered, "I did it. Mom would be proud of me."

Yeah, baby, she would be at that. No doubt in my mind. *surreptitiously wipes a stray tear*

The rest of the afternoon sped by in a rush as I attempted to catch up on the lives of my family who were able to attend the celebration. I hadn't seen some of them since Covid, so there was a lot of catching up to do - fortunately for my anxious heart, they are all doing well. I heard no new stories of illness or failed relationships. *whew*

It did my heart good to see them; to renew the bonds of kinship. 

Love Is.

Teen Week Reprise

 

For the last twenty-odd years, teen week has been one of my favorite weeks of the summer.

It started when my daughter hit her teen years - I thought it would be fun for her to get to spend some time with her cousins, and so a lovely tradition was born. The kids would come in for a week or so to splash in the pool, walk to the local shops and just hang out. (Aside: This is how I found out what your cart looks like when you take five teenage girls to the grocery store and tell them to each pick out two things they want - you get nine kinds of fruit and seven kinds of ice cream. I still think those are good choices...)

I enjoyed watching them relax and enjoy themselves, and having friends also kept my kids busy and out of trouble. One of those win-win situations in life.

The tradition took a break for several years when I ran away from home in the camper van - it took a while for my life to settle out after that - but for the last three summers, I've gotten a delightful reprise as the youngest of my nieces have opted to come down, even though I no longer have teens of my own or a pool to draw them in.

Sophia arrived this weekend for what, since she's about to enter her senior year of high school, will probably be my last hurrah. I was a bit unsure how this would work, since this is the first time ever I've hosted just one teen. Usually they come in herds. I know what to do with the herds - make sure they have food, water and transportation to their activity of choice, then all you need to do is sit back and enjoy the interplay. With just one teen, that interplay becomes problematic.

However, once she got here, and we sat down to talk over some of our hopes and ideas for the week, my uneasiness lifted. She is independent and largely self-entertaining. She has some definite ideas around what she'd like to do, so I don't have to make stuff up, and amazingly enough, seems to think I'm an acceptable substitute for company her own age. 

This will be fun!

Scattered Thoughts

I. Can't. Even. 

The Illinois 4th of July shooting. The orphaned toddler, a COVID baby. His parents, relieved to finally be able to take him out and do normal 4th of July things, like a community parade. 

My emotions are a churning mass of anger and grief. What needs to happen to stop the madness? Why are military-grade killing weapons available outside the military? Why? 

I'm not even trying to make sense of it any more.

But I am trying to reground, recenter my core. To find light anyways, because "darkness cannot drive out darkness, only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that." (MLK Jr)

It's a work in progress.

=========

I went to see Kevin. There are still no traces of active bed bugs to be found. I am calling the war won.

ALL of the grout I'd used to repair the shower turned out to be bad; it just turned to powder rather than curing. Which made cleanup easy. The re-regrouting work has been finished, and the shower is good as new. 

I had a small water leak. I found it when working with the sprinkler guy to fix a leak in that system - he fixed the problem, but the meter still showed a small drip somewhere, so I started turning off plumbing fixtures. The problem turned out to be the toilet in the basement. It's accessible, easy to fix, and I can turn it off for a week or two or ten until I get around to buying new toilet guts. *whew* That could have been SO much worse.

I tell myself, "See? SOME problems are solvable!"

And, as big as the other problems are, they, too, shall pass.

Breathe. Anyways.