Finding Joy in Snarkville

Please forgive the extended absence, but things beyond my control have kept me away and then I got out of the habit.  So, I could bring you laughs a minute or I could tell you exactly what is going on in my brain.

The past 24 hours I’ve been smacked in the middle of my forehead with the concept of a blessing.  Oh sure, I could talk for hours about how I have a loving husband, an amazing child, my health, and many other trite things.  However, I’m thinking more in terms of when you think everything is off the rails and then (often on the other side of it) you realize that it was truly a good thing.

Yesterday, I spent the night without my luggage in Atlanta.  Why?  Because we spent 45 minutes waiting for a gate, only to have the gate changed to the furtherest gate from where we needed to be in ATLANTA.  We ran.  We missed the flight.  However, since it was the airline’s fault, we got meals AND an all expense paid trip to the local hotel.  Whoa, control the excitement.  (I ought to say that I didn’t sleep much last night and I may be a bit giddy.) I called my parents to tell them what was up and casually mentioned, “You know, this could be a good thing.  We won’t be on the road at midnight on New Year’s Eve.”  And I think I was right.  We had no delays, no gate issues and our bags appeared when we did.  Though the trip lasted 24 straight hours, I think it all worked out for the best.

Now for the bitter sweet one.  This morning we had five animals, 4 cats and a dog.  Yes, I fully accept we are insane.  The eldest of the animals is *MY* cat.  We got a call while we were gone that he wasn’t doing well.  I have known for some time that he was declining and the time was coming.  I never expected that I’d come home from my trip and need to take him to the vet.  Tonight, we have four animals — a nearly respectable 3 cats and a dog.

Let me tell you about my cat.  I was single in 1996 and living alone in an apartment and I thought I wanted a cat.  I mentioned it to a co-worker and one day I got this odd call.  My co-worker’s friend’s son had lured three kittens from under the porch of the crazy cat ladies house (it was about to be tented) and would I be interested in one of them.  Um, let me come see.  Now I wanted a black and white “cow” cat; I was presented with a 1 pound lump of ginger tabby fur.  He was covered in poop, because the boy had feed him canned cat food — and I seriously think the cat wasn’t fully weaned.  He was also covered in fleas.

For two weeks he was feral and lived behind my couch afraid of everyone.  I took him to the vet and asked about the hope he’d be a lap cat.  He told me talk to him and he’d be ok.  One night I woke up to a kitten nose in my nose.  He slept with me ever since.

I named him Hobbes.  Yes, after the comic of Calvin and Hobbes.  Hobbes talked to me.  He’d tell me about his day and I’d tell him about mine.  He snuggled with me when I was sick.  He made single life better for me.

Hobbes was the subject of my first conversation with Prince.  It was talking about pets that got us talking to each other.  Hobbes liked Prince and came up to him right away.  Prince doesn’t believe this, because Hobbes snuggled with me more — but face it, he was my cat.

My cat saw me through a marriage and a baby — after being there when I was single.  His fur soaked lots of tears.  When I was pregnant, his favorite thing to do was to sit on my belly and purr for Duke.  While babies scared Hobbes, Duke was as much his as mine and he was ever watchful of the child.

Hobbes had a flaw.  He puked. Alot. Ok, so he could not tolerate food changes and needed to find the right food that would stay down.  I’ve cleaned up a ton of puke in 13 years.  But he was mine — and gave us all many laughs when I’d step in the puke puddle in the middle of the night.

Today, we finally arrived home and Hobbes was seriously unwell.  Worried about money, I wanted to wait, but Prince insisted we call.  He did and it was reasonable and I took him in to say goodbye.  He had such labored breathing when I arrived that there was an emergency called until I said, “I want nothing done.  It is time.”

I have cried.  I have said good bye.  I have no regrets — Hobbes and I had 13 years and I wouldn’t give those up to avoid the pain I feel now.

I came home and was finishing a show before getting taken to a diner for dinner (Prince wisely knows I’m not cooking the night I traveled 24 hours straight and put my cat down).  Behind me a cat pukes.  I declare, “It’s not my cat*.”  And that, strangely, feels good.

*Prince has a cat; the dog has a cat; and Duke has a cat.  I don’t know who the dog belongs to.  And, no — I don’t want a cat — I’m fine being without a cat for a bit.  Perhaps Duke will share.

This entry was posted on Thursday, January 1st, 2009 at 7:32 pm and is filed under A hairball - nobody touch it. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.