When Life Ain't Funny

I haven't blogged because I couldn't bring myself to talk about it. If you put something down on paper, it makes it more real, and I have not wanted more real.

But everyone needs the rest of the story, I guess.

If you haven't read the previous blog, "The Funeral that didn't Happen", scroll and read it before you read this one. It's all true, every last word.

On the evening of day six, November 8, of Frost's recovery, he started sneezing. 

The next morning you could hear a whistling noise in his nose; he was stuffed up.  He had gotten sick like this the year before, as had one of our other cats.

I felt ice around my heart – they had both been very, very sick, but because of being in excellent health otherwise, had pulled through.

Frost had not been in excellent health this year. He had lost more than half his body weight.

We took him to the vet who gave him a vitamin shot and some fluid. He was having a hard time eating dry food, so we fed him wet food with gravy, which he loved.

He held his own, but couldn’t seem to get well again. He slept a lot, mostly wanting in Husband’s lap. He’d come downstairs with us in the morning and go up at night to sleep between Husband and me.

But he kept getting weaker, sleeping more. Then one night, instead of trying to jump on the bed, he got in the dog crate with the dog. Bonnie looked nervous at first, as this had never, ever happened with any cat, but I guess Frost needed the body heat, and Bonnie acquiesced.

He wasn’t in pain, just getting weaker, so we decided to take care of him and let nature take its course.

On December 5, almost a month after his miraculous healing, Frost died. 

Not from the horrible diagnosis, but from something more like the common cold.

Frost Ambush Hill was almost thirteen years old.

We buried him with all our other pets who have come and gone during the years. We made sure The Great White Hunter had his frog tucked beside him.

We cried. I'm crying right now as I write this.

No  more racing to get in the coat closest every time the door was opened.

No more jumping on the bed just before the fitted sheet was put on, so he could growl and threaten.

No more rushing to make sure another cat was okay if he heard a yowl from a stepped on tail.

No more jumping on the sink waiting for a drink from the faucet.

No more standing on the sewing machine, using his paw to separate the blinds so he could watch Husband walk the dog, crying piteously the whole time.

No more hearing that "Brrrt, Brrrrt," noise as he laid the frog at our feet or put it at the front door, so Husband could brag on him when Husband came from outside.

No more rescuing the frog from water dishes, wringing him out to dry on the window sill.

No  more sneaking sweet photos of Frost asleep on or by Husband, content.

No more.

I am still sad, Daughter is incredibly sad, and know I’m pretty clueless about how much Husband misses his buddy, because he keeps it to himself, mostly.

But there's something positive here, too. When Frost got so incredibly ill, and he was in such pain, it was like a nightmare. We couldn't bear it, and when we thought they were coming to put him down, I can't describe how wrong it all felt. But this time, his time, it was a peaceful thing. He was with us, he wasn't in pain. He just slowly shut down, on his own time, still eating till the day before he died. Still in Husband's lap - up until just a few minutes before he died, when we let him stretch out on his blanket to be more comfortable.

What a blessing it was to keep him for almost a month, to care for him, to love him, to cuddle with him. To make him happy in any way we could. 

I'm thankful for that.

If you are not an animal person you may say we need to get over it.

Just a cat, you say?

Well, you obviously never met Frost.

 

 

 

 

See  you soon, buddy. Don't forget to greet me with the frog.

2019

Kathi looks back at the year 2019. Has to lie down.

WHEW!

I'll say one thing for last year, it was different.

In February I suddenly couldn't walk. That is a very scary thing, please don't try it.  I was in a wheel chair for more than four months. Thanks to aquatic physical therapy and major medications, I was able to start walking again without surgery.

But when I was slap dab in the middle of physical therapy I got sick. Sick like I ain't never been sick before. I had blood sepsis, the e-coli kind and like ta died. After being in the hospital for six days, I got to go home.

It was a month before I was able to restart physical therapy, and some of the pain has never left me. 

Daughter totaled her car in a horrific wreck that pretty much left her unscathed. She'd been out of debt for two weeks. Hello, car payments.

Our beloved Frost died. We are still grieving.

Christmas was different.  Other Brother and his son had the "real" flu, and his son's children had a stomach bug that was nasty, which they lovingly gave to their mother so she could puke all Christmas Eve night.

We visited one another (some of us) separately and from a distance. 

Now Daughter and Husband are sick - sore throats, congestion, lethargy. And I have become an elderberry syrup-aholic.

The good: During my physical disruption and illness and afterward, I was shown so much love. I shiver to think about it. Of course, Husband and Daughter were champs and took care of me like they thought I was irreplaceable. So many friends brought me good stuff, food for me and my family, presents I love, and their companionship, which was the best. I know I can't repay them, but I hope they know how much I love them.

Daughter wasn't hurt in that wreck, other than a slightly sore neck and fear of driving in that curve again. Her neck is healed, and she's driving that curve a little braver every day.

After our cat was given the death sentence but recovered, we were able to have another month with him before he succumbed to another illness. That month was filled with warmth and love.

Christmas Eve was met with Daughter and I cooking a big dinner for us and Boyfriend. The works: baked chicken and dressing, sweet potato casserole, green onions, cucumbers, radishes, yeast rolls, deviled eggs, mashed potatoes and green beans.

The can of green beans was the very last jar from the very last canning Mother and I did together. It will be our last canning, and we both know it. Made me feel very sad. She's had to give up most of what was her outside life - pound cakes that everyone begged for, the best fried chicken and hush puppies on the planet, making the dressing instead of Daughter and me making it, canning. Notice how all this revolves around food? She still wants you to eat if you come to the house, even if she can't cook it anymore.

What do I hope for this  new year?  No more wheel chair, ever. Better health, less pain. A connected, loving family. No tragedies. 

I guess the same thing everyone else wishes for.

Happy New Year to you all.