So it's been a couple of weeks

And as we suspected, the feelings have changed. Of course, we miss Roo. I think we always will. But the overwhelming urge to breakdown and sob has finally subsided. I think the re-arrangement of the whole apartment helped, as I was seeing her ghost everywhere: at the food bowl, on my pillow, etc etc etc. Now we can look at the pictures of her all over the fridge and smile while we get a little teary.

Kiki seems to be adjusting to her life as the only cat. We have discussed getting another, but it's hard to know what is the best thing. Kiki is fifteen. She has been with other non-sister cats before, but I can't say she ever really liked them. I mean, maybe the cat roommates in college cause they were all young at the time. It's hard to say. Of course, we humans would love another furry baby, but we are fully aware that Kiki got the short end of the stick since Roo was so sick, and if we brought home another cat now, she would have to share the attention again... BUT she would have a catpanion to spend her time with.

I WISH SHE COULD JUST TELL US IF SHE WANTED A KITTY. Maybe she would like a kitten to terrorize.

Do you have any experience with introducing a young cat to an old cat?

This.

Cats are so awesome.

Sometimes you need a change of pace.

Friday was a rough day. I picked up Roo's ashes. They came in a nice wooden box with a note from the crematorium. Morbid and thoughtful at the same time. The box comes with a little lock and two keys. We haven't opened it yet, and I doubt we will. I am just glad I didn't have to buy an urn.

After that sad event, I had to drop my sister's car off at the airport. I really enjoyed zipping around in it, it's faster and smoother than the old red volvo. Rode the rail home, spent the afternoon drinking beer alone and cutting my hair off in the bathroom with dull scissors:



It worked out okay, I am pretty happy with it, but the whole experience reminded me an awful lot of art school in the nineties (only I shaved my head that time.)

The next morning marked a week since we put her down. I woke up early, watched some terrible tv on netflix with Kiki. We snuggled hard and let Trever sleep in. The plan was to re-arrange the whole apartment. We had a late start; after banana chocolate chip pancakes and coffee, we ran a couple errands, and stopped at home to drop off my ice cream before heading to home depot for bird seed. He was driving, started to take the left out of our street but then changed his mind and took the right. GOOD THING! The lady at the end of our street was cleaning out her garage. We mistook it for a yard sale, she corrected us, but then said, "That dresser is free, though, if you want it!"

I swear, Roo was looking down at us. She knew that a new piece of furniture was just the incentive we needed to clean and re-arrange and reset our home. And lordy, the dresser is beautiful. Here is just a taste:



There is a still a lot to do at home, but the change feels pretty good so far.

I am changed by the past week.

I feel a hollow spot. I don't want to smile. I don't want to listen to hip hop. I feel acutely aware of things in my life that make me unhappy. My eyes look different.

I got a call today that Roo's ashes are ready to be picked up.

I saw a bird with it's wing mangled and stuck in the middle of the road. All the cars in that lane kept swerving to avoid it, when really it need to be put out of it's misery. I almost turned around to do it. Instead I got home and sat in my sister's car in my driveway and cried.

Am I supposed to get an urn? Should I sprinkle her ashes somewhere? No place seems appropriate. I could put her ashes into ink and get a tattoo of her face. So far that makes the most sense. Anyone want to buy me a tattoo?

The only things that I get any sense of relief from: listening to the 69 Love Songs, watching 90210 (yes, the new terrible one) and thrifting. Since I've had a terrible cold, there's been less bourbon drinking, which is probably okay, but man, it sucks to sit here with my feelings and really FEEL them. Bourbon is good numbing agent.

Kiki and I have been exchanging meaningful glances. We both know this is going to be an adjustment.

Kiki.

She seems listless. I think she is enjoying having our full attention, but there is this sadness on her face. The cats didn't sleep together, they barely ever sat next to each other (usually I forced them). I mean, they did when they were little, but it's hard for me to remember a time when they were cuddly with each other except for in the first few months I had them. Mostly, they fought. HARD. Like cartoon style cat fights, rolling balls of fluffy limbs, hissing and growling, fur flying. Usually they both had scabs after. And I think that's how they liked it. I know it's been hard on Kiki, watching her sister get sick, and having no one to really get rowdy with. Sometimes I think she would like a young cat to beat up. But at the same time, fifteen seems like a good age to be an only cat. I don't know. I just worry that when I go back to work tomorrow she will lay in the closet all day, feeling lonely. And I don't want that. Maybe I should get her some fish to stare at.

We haven't washed Roo's scarf, or the blanket she decided was hers. We put them on the two chairs that Kiki frequents the most, and she has been sleeping with them. I hope it gives her comfort. As for us, we have determined that in order to move on and not keep thinking we will see Roo sitting there, we need to re-arrange the everything. Every thing. Which will be tricky because our apartment is only so big. Also, we probably should not renew our lease. (we were thinking of not renewing anyways, so this is even more of an incentive, I guess. Or the opposite? What if she haunts this place? Maybe I want to remember? I DON'T KNOW. All I know is I need to chop my hair all off.)

I am basically all fucked up over this.

I took this polaroid on Friday. The sister cats, enjoying the sunny porch together. I am so heartbroken. I know the pain will start to fade, but I will never stop missing my Roo. Poor Kiki, alone after fifteen years of being with her sister every day. The whole thing is so sad.

RIP my sweet girl, we will always love you.

I don't know what to say.

I am feeling a sadness like I have never known. I am sitting at the desk typing this, Kiki is on the chair behind me and Roo is in the open window, watching the world.




Tomorrow morning we will bring Roo the vet, and there is a large possibility that we will not be bringing her home with us. I feel so much pain. These cats are my heart. This is a real pain that I am feeling. And if anyone tries to cut it down, I will punch them in the fucking face.

I knew it would happen. That's what happens, to animals. You get to watch them live their whole life while you live just a part of yours. You create their world. And you can control their end. It's beautiful and painful and totally fucking worth it. I wouldn't trade my time with my cats for anything in the world.

That being said, I feel really fucking terrible right now.

suck-city

Emailing with the vet about our options is really fucking depressing, and the last place in the world I want be is at work.

Excuse me while I go cry in the bathroom, and please don't comment about the makeup running down my face, thanks.

maybe not.

I have been thinking about writing this for awhile. So. Here goes:

I have always wanted to be a mom. I remember telling Meghan that when we lived in Brighton, how I didn't have big career goals like she did, that I would be happy with a husband that I loved, a couple of kids, and a garden to grow food. If I had to have a job, all that I could ask is that the job didn't make me miserable. I wasn't looking for too much, I didn't think. I mean, sure, the American Dream, isn't it what we all want, right?

So I just kept moving through life, trying to pin down something, or someone. Working retail, like lots of art school graduates do. Being a serial monogamist, hoping that eventually one of these dudes would be the ONE. Most relationships had a two year time limit, and then one of the two of us would realize we weren't happy. Usually it was me. When I moved back to the city after one of those endings, I realized that a guy at work, who I didn't like for a long time, and then became my friend, I actually DID have feelings for. Turns out, he had them for me, too, and thus we began a relationship that would make it PAST the two year mark. It was good for awhile but then it wasn't good. Because I am an east coast kid at heart, and I always will be, and he had a love affair with California. Unfortunately, things dragged on WAY TOO LONG. He was not forthright with his feelings. He knew about my wanting babies. I remember one conversation that stung... in the morning, he said "Last night I had a nightmare." I asked him what it was about. He said "You were pregnant. " OH. Thanks. Glad that would be a nightmare. This was after we had been together for over three years. Nice, real nice.

I should mention here that I was on hormonal birth control from the age of fifteen until the age of 27, when I finally had had enough of the bullshit. I went off the pill and I never looked back. Purchased a copy of Taking Charge of Your Fertility, asked him to read it with me; he didn't. He didn't like condoms, didn't want to learn about my cycle, didn't trust me, or biology. So basically our sex life dried up, in a major way.

Here now I will cut the story very short. No one needs to hear all about the long sad year it took for us to finally break up after over four years of being together. But there is a point in that year that is the reason for this post. In a last ditch effort to save something, save us, I decided that we needed to have more sex. At this point, we knew he was moving away to the west coast, and had talked about what this meant for us, supposed plans involving me following him there. (puh-lease, we both knew that was a lie, he didn't want me to, I wasn't going to drive my old lady cats across country) Our time left together was short. And I didn't want to not have sex because he was afraid.

So I made the decision to get an IUD.

I should say now, before I go any further, that I have lots of friends who have them, the hormonal and non-hormonal kinds, and they love them. Rave about them, in fact. And despite what happened to me, I am still an advocate for IUDs, and I wanted so badly for it to work for me. But it didn't. You know in those commercials for drugs, or, hey, IUDs, they mention side effects and the small percentage of people that have serious problems? That was me. I got my IUD, went through the painful insertion, had cramps for a couple days, and then waited to feel normal again. We tried having sex. It hurt. Walking hurt. Sitting hurt. Basically everything hurt. I went a couple weeks, the pain slightly eased, but never really went away. So I called my obgyn (who I love, so much) and made an appt. Turns out, my uterus was trying to expel it, as it was pretty low down, but otherwise, everything appeared fine. I had a decision to make, either leave it in and hope that my body got used to it, or take it out. I said TAKE IT OUT, cause I didn't want to be uncomfortable anymore. Decision made, IUD removed, body back to normal.

Or so I thought.

We were staying at my sister's house while she was on vacation with the rest of the family. It had been maybe two days since I had it removed. We were driving in to the city, and on the way there, I had these terrible pains in my abdomen. I mean, gut-wrenching-tears-down-the-face pain. Made a couple calls to my doctors. I had taken my temp in the morning when I woke, it was normal, and by the time we got back to my shitty little apartment in the city, less than an hour later, it had spiked to 102 degrees. Called the doc again, she said for me to come right in, and when I got to her, she pretty much just looked at me, and said that I had to go to the hospital right away.

Turns out, an infection in your uterus is pretty fucking painful, and also, pretty dangerous. I spent three days hooked up to three different IVs of antibiotics, in hopes that we caught everything in the nick of time, so I wouldn't have any problems in the future. My friend Jenny visited me in the hospital. She drew me a card with a uterus on it. We made up a song called FU IUD. My boyfriend, he was there for one day. He never was that good with illness or taking care of me when I needed it. My sister called me from Maine, and ask me if I was "ruined". I couldn't answer.

That was August of 2009. He left for the west coast that October, we broke up. I dated some dudes. I drank a lot of whiskey. I moved. Had some shitty roommates.

And in February of 2010, I met Trever (aka Cat Dad) and we fell in love.

He is a family man. He loves his sisters, he loves babies. He would be the best dad. I know he would. I never went back on any birth control. We used condoms in the beginning, until we both knew we were together, and then it was all timing, knowing that if anything happened, we would embrace it and make it work. Sometimes, we are intentionally careless. It's not that we are trying to have a baby, but we are not trying not to. I am thirty-three years old. I spent twelve years putting hormones in my body, started doing that before I was even done developing. I can't imagine what that does to a young girl's body, not to mention brain (hello, crazy all through college, I wonder why) Try to get back on a natural path, only to nearly destroy myself with an IUD. My periods are painful now. I worry a lot. At my last pap smear appt, my ladydoc and I talked about it, the prospect of my being "ruined", and she said there is a test I could do, but it involves shooting dye into my parts, and there are possible side effects, and quite frankly, I am not willing to risk it. Everything "appears" to be in working order, but since I have never been pregnant, we won't know if it is, until it happens. I sit with these thoughts often. I try to imagine having a baby. It's getting harder to imagine it. So I am now moving forward with other aspects of my life, figuring out what will make me happy, what I want to do with my life, and trying not to dwell on it. It's easier when I read the news and focus on how fucked up this country, and this world are, and how I don't know how I would explain the evils of it all to a little kid, or how I could raise them to not be assholes, like so many tiny brats I see every day at work and in the world. Not to mention, there are already enough fucking people in this world, who am I to be selfish and want to add more?

It may never happen for us.

So we will go through this life being cat parents, and we will be okay with that because there are SO MANY CATS in the world that need love. And we have so much love to give them.

FIN

real quick like

Since I am back to my five day work week, the cats are feeling neglected, and it shows. I don't like how it makes us all feel. I requested Easter Sunday off (normally Sundays are a work day for me) and ended up with six days in a row of work in order to get Saturday & Sunday off. This was weighing heavily on my mind, knowing that six days would go by and the cats would only see me in the evenings, SO tomorrow I am taking a personal day to deal with "business matters", those matters being the business of cat-petting, porch-sitting and bird watching with my two best girls.

And don't forget: I like my cats more than I will ever like you.