slightly relevant

Friday night I went out to the bar with some friends, one of whom was the one whose farm I sent Scooter to live on. It has been about two months since I brought him out there, and while he didn’t seem to be living the way I had envisioned (driving them all mad with his chatter and cuddles), he still seemed to be adjusting well enough. But that night she informed me that the previous day she had found him laying under the corner of her house, lifeless. :( She gave him a little burial for me, and from what she told me, he was still a big and heavy cat.

I thought that I was okay. I was sad, obviously, and disappointed. But I wasn’t sitting there sobbing at the counter. We had some fun and some drinks. Then after a couple hours we made our way to another bar where I had another drink. A couple hours later I headed home. I got on my computer to talk to a couple friends. I told them about Scooter. And I started bawling. It’s a good thing I had a box of tissues on my desk because by the time I was done, my little trash can was overflowing. It especially didn’t help when my friend asked me how he died. I told him that we don’t know for sure, but we suspect it was a snake bite, since he liked to hang out under her house where a lot of snakes live also. And do you know what my friend said in response? Not anything consoling or comforting. He said “or maybe he died of a broken heart”. That motherfucker. X(

You know, I didn’t want him to die. Certainly not! I thought that bringing him out there would be a winning answer for all of us. He could be outside and free to do as he pleased without harming anyone. I could have a clean home. And Genny could have some god damn peace. I didn’t want the little bastard to go and fucking die on me. Now all I’m left with is the feeling that maybe all I did was send him to his untimely death. My little baby. My fat little motherfucker of a cat. I loved him so much. I just wanted him to be free and happy. Not god damn dead.

Little Scoot-Patoot, I took you in as a baby and I raised you the best I could. I loved you with all the love I had to give. I sang to you and you sang back. I bought you all the accessories you could ever want. You were my little baby and I will never forget you. I can only hope that your last two months were enjoyable, and that your last moments alive were not spent in any sort of torture. Rest in peace, little baby.

(P.S. No, I do not intend to tell my parents. I will never hear the end of it, and I really don’t need any more grief right now. Sigh.)

Is it supposed to hurt this bad?

Is it supposed to be this hard?

How is one supposed to handle this much heartache?

Why should I be allowed to love someone so much that I am in physical pain?

Where does it end?

How do I do this?

I think I am cracking again…

A Goodbye
On July 6 I brought Scooter to a new home. As we all know, this is something I have been trying to do for years now. The cat is just unfit for living indoors. I love him dearly, but the cuteness factor was not worth the stress and high blood pressure. So I found the solution when my friend, who lives on a ranch/farm, suggested that I bring him to live out in the country. She said some other people had brought their cats out there and they had adjusted well. I thought this would be the perfect solution, because he will be outdoors, but still around plenty of people and other animals.

So I brought the fat little bastard out there. It took him a little while to come out from under stuff (like my car) but we brought him to the patio to hang out with Marie, the cross-eyed pregnant kitty. He had food, water, shelter, shade, and he’d already made friends with two of the locals (Marie, and Daisy the gold retriever).

I left him there, at peace, knowing he would be fine and would adjust quickly to his new surroundings, even if he IS a scaredy-cat. Genovieve is thrilled. She misses him a little bit from time to time, but for the most part she is purely blissful. She’s happy and cuddly and talkative and playful. She and I are happy. :) It’s a goodbye. But it’s also a new beginning, for all of us.

A Funeral
A couple weeks ago, Ley and I were driving to Corpus to visit some family and have some fun (it was her grandfather’s 80th birthday, and I was going to visit my SIL and nephews). On the way there, I got a phone call from my mom. She said my great aunt had been found dead in her chair. (Notice I did not say that she “passed away” because, quite frankly, I find that term to be rather trite and perhaps a bit too polite. :P) In any case, that following Monday I drove with my family to the tiny little town of Basile, Louisiana for the funeral. That night we went to a family visitation / viewing at the funeral home. I’m not too good with family gatherings, or large crowds of any kind, so I was a bit uncomfortable and felt like everyone was staring at me. But I’m glad I went. That part was probably the most special to me. There was a very sweet memorial put together for her with pictures and stories and mementos. It was really touching, and I even cried a little bit. She was such a sweet, wonderful woman.

Next morning was the actual funeral. It was Catholic, so there was lots of standing and kneeling and repeating-after-me. But I was very glad to be able to pay tribute to a woman as special as her.

An Illness
The day I came back from the funeral, I had a terrible pain in my jaw. It was so bad that I could barely open my mouth at all, to eat or drink or speak. Next day I was struck with the flu. By the end of the day I was moping around with a fever and all sorts of symptoms. I was pretty sure I had a sinus infection because the whole thing started with the jaw pain. Over the next couple of days, it started to get better, so I was going about my business. But by Sunday, I was in the pits of fiery hell. My throat was on FIRE. I could barely breathe, let alone speak or laugh or cough, without my throat being caused excruciating pain. So Monday morning I made a doctor’s appointment straight away.

The doctor sent me home with a diagnosis of: sinus infection, ear infection, and throat infection. She took one look at my throat and literally said “oh my god”. I was handed a bag full of samples of some medicine to clear up my symptoms, and a prescription for an antibiotic which she said that I “desperately needed”. Today my voice still sounds rather gruff, but no more throat pain. Just lots of coughing and plenty of weakness all over. And nose running and all that crap. Ugh. Ugh ugh ugh.

A Strange Happening
Yesterday evening, when I was busy feeling like a hefty sack of crap, I got a knock on my door. I thought I should probably answer it because it could be one of my family members coming to check on me since I wasn’t answering my phone. It was not, however, one of my family members. It was a lady wearing something reminiscent of a biohazard suit. A ghetto biohazard suit. Some long black plastic suit thing, with gloves, and a face mask. She informed me that my neighbor across the sidewalk (basically the building next door, but our doors are on the side, so they face each other) had passed away (her words, not mine).

She asked me when the trash was picked up, so I gave her the details, and she informed that they would just put the trash there to be picked up the following morning. Then she told me that the woman had died on July 4. Which left me wondering if they had just now found her and that’s why they were wearing the biohazard suits. And if they had just now found her, how did they know she had died on July 4? Perhaps the woman just lived in pure mess, since apparently she had lived there for 13 years, and THAT is why they needed the biohazard suits? It was all quite curious, but I really did not want to inquire.