Try, Try Again

I crossed my fingers as I stepped into the shower after the caulk cured a couple of weeks ago, hoping against hope my line-of-caulk defense had fixed the problem. I stepped out, pulled my test cloth out of the damaged portion of the wall, saw it was wet, and heaved a disappointed sigh.

Back to the drawing board.

I had Joe bring over the magical Fein MultiMaster tool, which makes it easy to cut a fine line into wood and plaster, so I could dig into the wall without causing any more harm. While he was here, I had him take a look at the damage. I mean, what good is it to raise your own engineer if you can't take shameless advantage of his knowledge now and again?

He studied the area for a few minutes, then pointed to the corner where the door meets the shower curb as the likely culprit. It was a good theory.

I do my best critical thinking before noon, so got up the next morning, got out the Fein tool, and carefully cut away all the rotten lumber. Once I got everything cleared away, I was able to get my fingers up into the wall where the damage had started. Immediately, I felt a gap in the liner. 

I switched to the shower side of the wall, poked for just a moment at the line of grout, and it fell away. I could now see daylight inside the damaged portion of the wall. *WHEW* I've found it's MUCH easier to resolve an issue if you have some idea where the problem originates.

I caulked the hole, then added another blob of caulk as insurance. I let it cure, then took a deep breath and tested the repair. This time, my test cloth was dry, the problem found, the leak stopped.

I started to raise my heart in celebration, then paused, took a deep breath and stepped back a ways.

Yes, my caulk job fixed the leak. But trusting a line of caulk to permanently repair a build problem is a lot like taping a piece of plastic over a broken window to keep out the rain. It'll work for a while, but sure as day follows night, it'll fail over time.

So, I've called in a repair team. As opposed to coming armed with youth and bravado, these guys have years of experience under their belts; they've done this before. I've seen the work they do, and know they can easily tackle my little job and NOT break my pretty glass surround. (Or, if they do, their insurance will make it good.).  I gave them all the details; they're supposed to get back with me with a quote tomorrow.

This solution feels better. This way, once I close up that hole in the wall, I know it'll be able to stay closed.

I'll repair it right. I'll repair it once. I'll sleep better.

Goodbye, Monster

Monster was the best of kitties. A big cat, he weighed between 15 and 20 pounds for most of his life. A cat of simple tastes, he loved boxes, blankets, and bugs.

Once he came to live with me, until he got too stiff this past year, I never had to swat a fly - he'd stalk them until the unwary creature came within reach and then pounce. He had a high success rate. Bugs!!!

If there was a blanket, or blanket-like object folded on the bed, chair, floor, or counter, he was on it. He'd look at the cloth with delight as he calculated how best to settle his bulk. Then he'd carefully lower himself directly onto the center of the item with a look of immense satisfaction. Blanket!!!

And any discarded box, paper bag, suitcase, etc., was his for the investigating. He'd hop in at first opportunity, happily exploring the confines of the space. Box!!!

He first came into my life, along with his mother, Angel, when Joe came home from college. They stayed for a few years, long enough to worm themselves into my heart. When they left with Joe when he got married, they left kitty-shaped holes in my day-to-day life. All three returned, along with Joe's wife, baby, dog and adopted stray, when they lived here while we were working to make their new home habitable during Covid, and I fell in love with the cats all over again.

The new digs were ready enough in December of 2020 for Joe and his family to move in. I was looking at going from sixty to zero, with no companionship after they left, so asked if they would leave Angel and Monster with me. They readily agreed, and so instead of facing the rest of the Covid time alone, I had warm creatures to purr at me, to help me along the way. (Angel got sick, and I had to say goodbye to her almost two years ago already.)

Monster had the best purr. When I'd settle myself for sleep at night, he'd hop on the bed, put his front paws onto one of my forearms, and start to purr. The sound and vibration would quiet my whirling thoughts and I'd drift off, often on or beyond the edge of sleep before he stopped his ministrations for the night. If I twitched, he was gone, so I learned to settle for sleep without tossing and turning.

It was when they first lived here that Monster discovered the magical BOX WITH WATER in the kitchen. I was in the midst of remodeling, and so I didn't kick him out immediately when he jumped into the sink one day. The box clearly needed investigating!. On a whim, I turned on a small stream of water to see what he'd do - and that was that. I had a cat in my sink from then on. He was SO HAPPY to get his drinks that way, I never had the heart to turn him away.

Angel ruled the roost, and after she died, he seemed to ride on a wave of contentment. No longer did he have to share the tuna juice, or the preferred-for-the-moment best bed. It was all his! He wasn't quite as happy once THAT DOG, Sylvester, arrived, but he learned to hold his own and they figured out how to coexist.

He was getting old, and spent most of his time this last year happily snoozing in his favorite bed. Then, last month, I realized his food consumption had drastically dropped. He was losing weight rapidly. I moved the dish from its high point in the living room to the kitchen counter, and that helped for a few days, but then he quit eating altogether.

I had a heavy heart when I took him to the vet this past week. Old kitties suffer from a number of ailments; none of them are easily treatable. As I was talking to the doctor about options, he was absentmindedly petting Monster, who tucked his head into the corner between the man's arm and stomach, clearly not feeling well. I decided, by giving up food, Monster had done his best to tell me his preference for treatment. It was time to let go. 

I stayed as the sedative took effect, petting him and telling him he was the best of kitties as he drifted off. I kept stroking his soft fur, one last time, as the vet came back in and gave him that last shot. As he quietly stopped breathing, my tears flowed freely. 

Since then, to quiet my soul, I've been repeating Mary Oliver's words of wisdom (from In Blackwater Woods):

To live in this world

you must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it go,

to let it go

Goodbye, Monster. You were the best of kitties. 

May you run free in a place where there are enough bugs to catch, but not enough to pester you. May there be a comfortable blanket for you to settle on when you want to rest. And, of course, may there be a BOX WITH WATER, the best thing ever.