Old(er) Dogs

The dogs are behaving badly.  I’m not sure why, except that maybe as the weather has been getting colder and they have been in the house more, they are probably stir-crazy.  It’s a bad time for our dogs.  They are getting older and crankier.  It’s hard to reason with them. 

Toby has decided that he can do just about anything he wants (which he can – he’s my boy).  He jumps up on the couch with every opportunity.  He hasn’t yet learned that it’s only couch time with me once in a while and only after Daddy’s gone to bed, so we don’t get in trouble.  He’s the only one I let up, because he’s the only one that I trust not to have an accident.

Sky has gotten crotchety.  She hurts.  Her legs hurt, and her back hurts and we think she gets headaches.  We probably should have put her down over the summer but neither of us can bear it and we hope she goes in her sleep.  She growls at the other two dogs and plays too rough with the cat, and she emits a sense of panic if she gets too excited.  She’s almost like a kid that’s had too much sugar and we have to calm her down.  But she’s a good old girl, and she loves us (mainly him) so much.

Bella, our baby now 10, is still very active.  She’s getting more vocal as Sky’s health declines.  The German shepherd in her is making its appearance and it’s loud and annoying.  I tell her to change her barks up a bit, but no; she chooses the same monotone bark over and over and over…  But she’s still a baby.  She’s the one that needs to be cuddled during thunderstorms or after the fire alarm erupts from the ceiling.

Yes, they are all turning into the epitome of the “classic senior citizen”, and that’s okay.  Where else would we feel unconditional love?  With people there are always conditions, but with dogs it seems there are none.  Sure you have to feed them, but even if you didn’t they would probably find something on their own.  It might not smell great and they would probably roll in it first, but they would persevere. 

I’ve come home to books ripped up on the floor and yelled and swatted their furry butts and sent them outside until I cooled off and the minute I let them in they still loved me.  There was no cold shoulder.  No hateful sideways glances, just pure joy that I was there.  Oh, if we could all be like that, what a world it would be!

So I guess I will cuddle my senior dogs and love them up and get covered with hair and slobbery dog kisses.  No matter how badly they’re behaving, I know I’ve done worse, and they always pardon me.  It makes their “bad” attitude totally forgivable.  

I Can Drink A Little Or A Latte

Tim’s.  I love Tim’s.  I don’t ever drink coffee, but if there’s a Tim’s nearby I will drink a latte.  I used to love cappuccino, but a latte is my newest love. 

And please don’t judge me for this, please.  I do not jump on the pumpkin bandwagon every year.  Pumpkin spice everything is not my secret sin.  However, upon trying Tim Horton’s Pumpkin Pie Latte, I have become a devoted fan.  And here’s the funny part.  When I first ordered it I thought I was getting an apple pie latte.  No, they don’t even serve one and that shows you just how connected I am to the real world – not very.  I found this out the next time I went in and asked for one.  That was three lattes ago.

It’s a good thing we don’t have a Tim’s in my tiny village and that I would have to drive twenty miles out of my way every day if I wanted one on my way to work.  Good for my purse and my waistline.  I’m sure if I was counting calories I would be counting for a while. 

It’s not just coffee – it is a processed whip cream (that is heavenly) and crumbles of what I believe is supposed to be a flavorful pie crust.  Whatever it is, it works.  To me, it is a paper cup full of warmth and goodness that makes my mind peaceful and forgiving.  It makes my sunny days sunnier and my rainy days a time for reflection.  It slows me down and helps me reflect on what I’m grateful for and what better time of the year to do that.

So thank you Tim Horton, for creating such a lovely product that makes my time seem worthwhile to me.  There is goodness in the world.  It’s at Tim Horton’s.

Check out the great customer service:  https://youtu.be/NldwVy6e4Kc

It’s like they give out smiles.

Free At Last!

The fear in her heart raced with itself.  The pounding wouldn’t subside as people in white masks, showing only their eyes reached for her, grasped her limbs with their gloved hands and pulled her towards them.  She could hear them murmuring but could not decipher the words although the tone was a mixture of sadness and hushed excitement. They took her from one receptacle and placed her in another, the first one hard and cold and bright, the second warm and soft.  As they closed it her heart continued to race.  Where was she going?  Who were these people?  Where was she going?  What would they do to her?  What hadn’t been done to her?  Was she in for more pain, more uncertainty?  She felt the earth move under her, and finally the soft hum and gentle rocking put her to sleep. 

Awake and alert as soon as the vehicle stopped she gazed in the darkness for some sort of sign that all would be good.  A door opened, then another.  Light spilled in to where she had been held, caged and alone.  At least she thought she had been alone.  Sounds and smells assaulted her senses, as if this were the first time she opened her eyes or took a breath.  There were others!  As they tried to communicate, her captors began unloading the receptacles, one by one. 

Out into the warm sunlight on a grassy yard, they were set down, one by one.  The openings to their cages were opened all at once by a personal attendant.  And that voice!  Oh, that soft voice!  It sounded so gentle!  Not harmful at all.  She looked around.  Then she looked down.  What was this?  She sniffed the air.  It smelled so good!  Not like chemicals or soap or metal!  As she stepped out, cautious but curious, she grew wondrous as to what was on the bottom of her feet.  Soft and cool, she laid down upon it and was still for just a moment.  She looked around.  The others were watching her.  All of  them.  No one else had ventured out yet.  She was the first, and danger be damned!  This soft floor felt marvelous and she rolled and squirmed and memories, distant though they were, pooled up from somewhere within.  She had done this before, as a young puppy, with her brothers and sisters!  She had forgotten, after years of torture that she was a dog, not a thing to be prodded and shaved and hooked up to machines.  She was a beagle, of proud heritage, with a nose that could smell amazing things that no other living being near her could.  She stopped wiggling for a minute and looked up.  Her tongue hanging out of her mouth, her eyes bright. 

“Woof!”  she exclaimed.  It came out as a whisper, as her vocal chords had been cut years ago to keep her quiet in the lab.  (No one wants to hear dogs bark and cry while they do experiments on them.)  But it was a woof nonetheless and the others heard her and so had their attendants and all of them, with their eyes bright, seemed to smile – human and canine.

“Good girl!” someone said, tears running down their face. 

Another beagle stepped out of a carrier, then another.  Freedom had come, although they had no idea that they were waiting for it.  All had lived to see the day when they could walk on the grass, sniff other dogs, and run and play.  At the moment most were shell shocked and it would take days, months, maybe even years for them to trust the hand attached to a human being, but with time anything is possible.  It was possible for these dogs to survive horrors that we wouldn’t want to inflict on our own.  Now we could give them the life, the love, and the care they so deserved.

She looked up and closed her eyes against the brightness and the warmth of the sun.  It was a good day to be alive.  It was a very good day.  Her heart was full and no longer racing.  With a wag of her tail she set off to make new friends.

Jack's Flag

     On my walk today I detoured by Jack's on Goodrich Street.  Every once in awhile I walk by there.  Last week there was a deer out back on his neighbor's lawn.  Today there was a yard sale. 
     There were a lot of old things so I stopped, thinking I might find something of his, maybe lost in his attic til now.  I asked the woman taking the money and she said that no, none of it belonged to him.  She asked me why and I told her that Jack was a very good friend and that when he passed I never received anything and I didn't realize that there had been an auction to get rid of his belongings. 
     She told me to wait, then opened his garage.  His flag was rolled up and in the rafters.  His flag.  Not one that he carried into battle or was draped on his coffin, but the flag he had been flying on his house.  She got it down for me and as she placed it in my hands she told me she had felt him in the house.  She felt that he had been a good person.  I assured her, through my tears, that he was. 
     Just the other day I was talking to D about how much I still missed Jack and how I wished I had something, besides memories, of him.  We agreed that the memories were enough.  Today, I believe that Jack decided that maybe I could have a little bit more. 
     Thank you Jack.  I miss you and love you.  I know what that flag means to you, and I am honored to care for it for you. 

The Start of Goodbye

            It’s happening.  We’ve been waiting for it and knew the time was coming.  Our old girl, Sky, is feeling her age.  This morning we woke up to pitiful cries coming from the living room.  D usually gets up with the dogs, and it’s been getting earlier and earlier.  I told him this morning (at 4:30am) to put in his ear plugs and wait until five.  They need to learn one just does not get up at the crack of dawn when one goes to bed AFTER dark.  So he gets up at five (4:55) and goes downstairs to find our girl in a mess of pain.

Sometimes I feel like such an ogre. 

So he gives her an aspirin, lets them out, feeds them and then later comes upstairs to tell me that she is really sore.  We know that this has been coming.  She’s been very stiff in her hind legs for a while now and when she walks up steps her hind end actually hops.  Luckily she doesn’t have to use steps all the time.

She’s been incontinent off and on, and we know it’s not behavioral.  Last night she lost control and pooped a little in the house.  I told him when I went upstairs to bed.  We know this isn’t good and this is finally what prompted me to have my old dog, Jack, put down.  Not because I didn’t want to clean up messes – I would have forever, if he was happy, if his quality of life was good.  But he wasn’t happy and he was hanging around for me.  It was the hardest decision I ever made. 

Now the decision belongs to D.  Sky is his dog.  All I can do is let him know of my experiences.  I’ve had dogs and cats all my life.  Sky is his first dog and from the way she looks at him I believe she absolutely adores him. 

When I came downstairs to get ready to leave for work she got up and walked out to the kitchen to see me.  Her legs were so much stiffer than I’ve ever seen them and I was afraid she was going to fall over.  D wondered if maybe there were pills the vet could give her to make her comfortable, but I think a cortisone shot will make a difference.  He wonders if it’s his fault she has lost her muscle tone and is so frail.  I told him that some old dogs get fat, some lose weight, but they all get old and this is normal.  I told him it wasn’t his fault.  She cannot stay a puppy forever, no matter how little gray she sports. 

We’ve been lucky to have her as long as we have.  We know she is between 12 and 14 years old.  She was hit by a car when she was a puppy and within the last several years her back legs hurt when she exercises too much.  She loves to swim but she won’t stop once she’s in the water.  She’ll cry as she paddles but she won’t get out.  And she’ll bite at the bubbles until her tummy fills with water.  It breaks our hearts to keep her out of the water, but she’s so obsessive compulsive we can’t let her in for fear we won’t get her out.

If only they all went peacefully in their sleep.  I held a cat once while he was dying.  His lungs were filling up with fluid and there was nothing I could do but hold him and talk to him and pray it went quickly for him.  His family had abandoned him and he adopted me.  I never want to lose another animal like that.  I never want her to feel helpless and in pain and not in control of herself. 

 

This will be a hard summer of saying goodbye.  I hope we do her justice and make her as comfortable as she can be and I hope when the time comes he will know it was the only decision he could make for her.  And that it was the right decision.

 

 

PAD Day 7 - Love

Beagle Love

Liquid brown eyes stare

Up at me, glowing brightly
Surely this is love.

Days Like These

It's days like these that I realize out of the 222 friends on Facebook, I have no true, real friend.  I used to have friends that I partied with, then we grew up and apart.  I used to have friends that I worked with, then I moved to an office that doesn't foster friendships and I am alone.  I have a long-term boyfriend, but his views oppose mine and therefore I cannot even cry in front of him because of this.  What should be the happiest time of my life, is becoming a sorrow that I just can't deal with.
My daughter is in jail.  She goes for sentencing soon and is planning on leaving her husband when she is released.  I'm thrilled that she is trying to put her life together - he is the reason she has been in trouble in the last five years.  He is controlling and abusive and if he dropped dead it wouldn't hurt my feelings, in fact I would go to his funeral.  No, the part of all this is losing the kids.  By law, because my daughter is not their natural mother, and because he is a giant douche bag, we will not get visitation.  I want to see the kids and remind them that we love them, but they are being punished, by us, for stealing and are not allowed at the house right now.  My bf won't back down and I haven't asked him to.  It's important for us to follow through.  But their father has them call and ask us if they can come over and when we say no, but let's get together Sunday afternoon, he has them hang up.  The girl is eleven.  She knows what's up and how to survive.  The boy, my heart, my little soul mate, is struggling so hard.  He's trying to please a crooked father by stealing, and yet he knows it's wrong.  Before he hangs up I tell him I love him.  He doesn't answer.  I know he heard me.  I know I'm on speaker phone.  I don't know if his father will let me take them Sunday.  I don't know anything.  All I know is I miss them.  I miss the hugs, the I love you's, the holding my hand, the constant "mema this, mema that, mema can we...".
I don't know what to do.  I can't call my mom because my daughter doesn't want her to know her plans.  I don't want her to tell me what I've done wrong and what she is going to do to fix it.  I just miss those kids and the fun we had and because one asshole doesn't want to deal with them, or wants me to take them so he can party, I will lose any time I can reinforce my love for them.
God this hurts.  I don't know how much more I can take.  I don't understand why God would put these children in my life and me in theirs and then take them away from me and me from them.  I don't get it!  And the worst part is I know they don't understand why I'm not there and I will not have a chance to explain it.
I wish I had someone to talk with about it.  I can't afford counseling and I don't have any friends, not real friends, that want to deal with me and my problems.  I never thought I needed anyone and after getting burned by a couple friends I figured I was better off on my own, but I really need one right now.

Pondering Cal

This morning after I was ready for work, I straightened the covers on the bed and looked at the cat.  He was sleeping on my boyfriend’s side of the bed.  Almost a year ago I looked at my girl cat, probably in the same position as he was in at that moment.  I remember this because less than a week later she had died.  That morning I may or may not have walked over and scratched her under her chin, which she loved, and I do not feel guilty if I didn’t.  I loved that cat so well, and she loved me back just as much, so if I left her alone it was because I knew it was ok. 
 

But this morning I went over and scratched his head.  He woke up and did his little “Why are you touching me?” meow, and I scratched a little more.  He’s come a long way in a year, and I’m glad he has, but I still miss her every day and want that closeness back. 
 

Cal has always been weird, for lack of a better word.  My daughter brought him home from somewhere in town.  She said a woman was giving kittens away in the park.  He was too young to leave his mother and we had no one to give him back to, so I ended up feeding him by hand, literally.  He licked formula off my finger because I couldn’t get him to use a bottle, and he wouldn’t use a dish for another week.  I thought that this would be great because it would form a bond between us, but he never warmed up to me.  When my boyfriend moved in with us he would sit with him, never with me.  I was kind of jealous but I also know animals and they have their own people.
 

Cal has always been in pain.  Whether it’s been his back or his skin, we have always had to be careful with him.  Cuddling has never been an option.  However, there were minutes where he let me hold him, not long but usually long enough to get a photo.  Shortly after AJ passed I noticed Cal sleeping on my pillow.  He used to do it sporadically, but now it’s almost an everyday occurrence once I am in the shower.  He’s moving into her territory.  They used to argue.  She only had the upstairs of the house because one of the dogs wanted to eat her.  When Cal entered she would sometimes hiss or yell at him and they would swat each other.  She probably intimidated the hell out of him, all four or five pounds of her to his whopping thirteen.  Now that she’s gone, Cal’s skin has cleared up.  I’m able to hold him for probably four, five minutes tops.  That’s good enough for me.
 

He doesn’t bite as much as he used to.  He talks to us more, like she did.  He comes when he’s called and seems to enjoy our company.  He’s learning to hunt.  He’s coming out of his shell.  Sometimes I think she is guiding him, but most of the time I think he is just learning to love us.
 

Do I miss her?  With all my heart and soul.  Do I wish she were home with me, safe and sound?  Absolutely.  But I am so glad that Cal is still developing and moving forward every day.  He’s ten years old.  He’s got a lifetime ahead of him and as long as he keeps progressing, I’ll keep trying.  Every once in a while I think about getting a new kitten, one that would be like her, but I have a huge fear as to what it would do to him.  We’ve come too far to back track now.  I think we need to be a one cat house for a bit longer. 
 

I know Cal would agree with me on this.




Cal in his younger, thinner days

 

Twenty-Seven Years

Twenty-seven years.  Twenty-seven years ago I woke up to the news that you were gone.  I know I’m not the only one who remembers, but I know that I only remember my version.  I know that others heard differently, maybe through a phone call, or a police visit.  I heard about it on the radio and when I yelled no, that it couldn’t be you, my family told me I was dreaming.  If only I had been.  Maybe the memories of you are made sweeter because you left us so young with everything ahead of you.  I know that we would have drifted apart, that we already had started to in some ways.  We were just kids then, as you will always be. 

I wonder who you would be today.  I have a feeling you would have stayed here and not moved on.  I can see you hanging out at the garage with the guys and running into you every once in a while at the river.  Would we even talk?  I know there are others that played, that stayed, and we never talk.  They don’t seem to have grown at all, and that would be my worry.  Would I even like you now had you never died?  Would you still be the jock living your high school glory, over and over and over?  Would you still believe that every girl wanted you?  Because they wouldn’t.  I still remember how I felt about 40-something guys when I was seventeen.  They were gross.  But guys of a certain age don’t think that way.  They still think that they are God’s gift and look at those girls like they are giving them a compliment, not the heebie jeebies. 

I say these things because I don’t want you to be a saint.  I also say them because this is the first time I realized that I might know who you would be and it almost makes me glad you are gone.

You were an alcoholic; you just didn’t realize it yet.  We all had an idea of it, but you were so much fun, up to that point where you wanted to fight.  And it was such a hairpin point too.  You never knew when it would happen but knew immediately when it did and it didn’t seem to bother you that you took everyone along for the ride.  I remember sitting in the backseat wondering if we would survive to see the morning.  Then, one day, you didn’t.

I took the lesson to heart.  For a couple years I refused to ride with anyone drunk, tried to pry keys out of their hands, talked to them about you so they wouldn’t do the same thing.  I didn’t stop partying.  I was just more careful, for a while, anyway. 

Then there were the nights I drove home holding one hand over an eye, trying to see straight.  Seeing shooting stars and believing they were deceased friends and family guiding me home.  Maybe they were – who knows?  I like to think so, because I saw more shooting stars at 2:30 in the morning than I have at any other time in my life.  I took on the attitude that you only live once, “Only the Good Die Young” became my song, I felt a connection to James Dean, and my life became one fast and crazy and sad place to be.  Sleeping with anyone I felt a strong connection to was my way to keep them alive, since I had refused to sleep with you. 

The ghost of you was always there in those years right after you died, influencing my decisions.  I hadn’t realized it until now.  Eventually you have faded from our minds.  We remember you fondly as a good guy, the ladies’ man, the good son, brother, friend.  Your name comes up at your family member’s funerals, maybe at the milestone of a niece or nephew, looking at school pictures, or just sitting around reminiscing.  It’s not awkward anymore, although it is still sad.  When I hear ACDC or George Thorogood I still smile and think that you’re the subject to “Bad to the Bone”.  I will always remember our secret late nights by the river, parked in your car and making out, never going any farther than kisses.  Our dream of a little house with a white picket fence became a reality without you.

 

Needless to say, I still miss you.

 

Eulogy For My Cat

My cat died.  She was sixteen years old.  Her name was AJ.  She had belonged to an ex-boyfriend of mine.  When I met her she was just a little thing.  A little ball of gray fur and big green eyes.  When I was done having sex with my then-lover, he left the room.  She came over to me and I picked her up and held her to my chest.  We stared into each other’s eyes for the longest time, neither looking away.  I had heard if you did this with a cat they became yours forever, but that it was rare.  I don’t know who looked away first, but we were both hooked.  When he left to go to jail or something he asked me to take her and I did.  Then he asked me to bring her to his kids, and I did.  It hurt to let her go, but she was theirs.  Several days later I was asked to pick her up and she’s been mine ever since.  That was sixteen years ago. 

AJ used to fly around the room when she was a kitten.  She’d get a running start and then bounce off the walls.  It was hilarious to watch.  She slept with me every night.  She would climb up my legs and sit on my shoulder when she was just a baby, and a little older. 

AJ moved with me every time I found a new place to live.  I always let her outside a couple days after moving because she loved being outdoors.  She was a hunter and a sun-baby, although she loved to sit under my hostas in the afternoon sun.  She disappeared a couple times, but she always came back.  This last move she spent two weeks at a neighbor’s house with her two girls.  I had no idea until my next door neighbor came to me after a walk and told me where she was.  They had named her Madonna (which was an appropriate name for her) and fed her wet food.  Their mom was very willing to give my girl back to me, but I told myself if she went back there I was going to let her stay.  She never did, but I didn’t want to hold her back from what she wanted. 

She loved it outside and would cry to be out all the time except for the winter.  Then she would get all squirrely sometimes from being in the house so long.  She liked to climb and we would find her peeking out of the neighbor’s pontoon boat, or scaling the roof of their house.  She would sit up there and look out over us, and once they moved away she would look into their windows at what, we didn’t know, but there must have been birds or rodents or something in there.  A couple times I had to coax her out of trees, not because she couldn’t come down on her own, but because I was afraid she would get stuck. 

She used to love riding in the car when she was younger.  She’d lie down in the back window and yowl.  I’d yowl with her.  She definitely had part of my soul and I had hers.  Every once in a while she would give me a little kiss on my cheek or chin.  It was hardly an everyday occurrence and whenever it happened I felt like I had just won something.  It was like she was saying that she loved me and I was ok by her standards. 

AJ taught me how to speak cat.  She had a beautiful big mouth and sometimes we would meow back and forth to each other, getting louder and louder until either she or I would soft meow and quiet it down.  Anyone with a talker cat knows what I’m talking about.  I wish I had gotten video of her voice because even though I can imitate her pretty well, it’s not the same when she doesn’t answer back.  It was also hard to get a good photo of her because she would squint her eyes at me, but I got a few and I’m glad.  I got a video of her in the catnip I grew for her last year.  Glad about that too. 

She never got big.  She always looked like a kitten – small and thin.  For a couple summers she bulked up and got muscular, but I think the hunting was good in those years. 

AJ was an upstairs cat.  She didn’t get along well with one of our dogs, so to keep her safe we installed a gate and gave her the run of the upstairs – no dogs allowed.  The bathroom was her private dining room and every morning she woke us up with her loud meows before she even got off the bed, letting us know that she was hungry and wanted food NOW.  I would meow back at her and then tell her to “c’mon, we’ll get some food for ya.”  She was definitely a creature of habit and had us do everything we could to keep those habits, and we loved her for it. 

She was allergic to the red dye in cat food.  We had to spend more money for better food but she felt better for it so it was worth it. 

She tolerated Cal and Sky, but loved Jack (gone now for several years), Toby, and Bella. 

When I would lie on my back she would crawl up on to my chest and bump my chin with her head.  She slept on the bed on a pillow between us.  She would lick my boyfriend’s hair.  At first it annoyed him, but they grew so close and I think it was her way of letting him know that he was accepted.  I also think she liked the salt.  She would purr so loudly that I called her my little percolator.  Such a big sound from such a small kitty.  Many nights after I had fallen asleep on my side, I would wake up to find her sleeping on top of me, between my arm and hip.  She fit so perfectly there.  I loved to wake up in the middle of the night and see her silhouetted against the night sky.  She was beautiful in profile, and when she was like that, looking out at the night, it made me wonder what she saw, what she thought. 

She listened to me laugh and cry.  She listened to me rant and she allowed me to love her more than any other cat I have ever loved.  She was my best friend. 

When she was miffed with something or someone, or if she was tracking a bird or squirrel, her tail would whip back and forth.  She loved to do this at night, on her pillow and hit our heads if we weren’t paying attention to her.   

AJ had claws that wouldn’t retract.  They weren’t out super far or anything like that; they were just always there when you picked her up.  She didn’t mean to dig (you knew it when she did).  When we lived in the rental house it had a side yard and it was full of moles.  One day I looked out and saw her playing with them.  She literally threw them into the air and hit them like you would a baseball.  It was hilarious until she ate one.  I don’t think she ever ate another one after that.  They did not agree with her tender tummy.  When I moved into that place and let her out she disappeared and I called and cried for her and eventually she came home and I hugged her and held her and didn’t scold her.  I wish this was one of those times.   

My last morning with AJ was Tuesday, August 6, 2013.  I had gotten ready for work and was heading to the bedroom door to go downstairs.  I turned around and decided to pull the blankets up over the pillows.  AJ was on my boyfriend’s side of the bed, lying down.  I pulled up my side and went over to the other side.  I picked her up, pulled the blankets up, then set her down again.  Usually she’ll jump from the bed but she lay back down and I scratched her head and gave her a kiss.  I told her I would see her later. 

I can’t talk about what happened because it is tragic and violent and not something I think she thought through carefully enough.  Looking back on the past week I can see now that she was planning it.  Call me crazy if you want, but she was a smart cat.  She was getting old and her body was hurting.  I saw it in her walk, in her unsteadiness, in her frailty.  She was still my kitten, but my old kitten.  She never sat in the driveway.  If she did, she would get up and wander away when the car pulled in.  The last week she just stared down the car.  She was waiting for the hit.  I think she thought it would be quick.   

I picture her on my dad’s knee, him sitting at our kitchen table at the old house.  Every morning he would have his coffee and she would lie on his leg while he sat and smoked.  I think of that now, and immediately after she died, I know she is with him, that he is holding her now.  That she’s purring and talking to him now instead of me.  And he’s answering her.  Not like I did, but with words cause he’ll know what she’s saying.  I want to talk to her one last time.  I want to hold her one last time and not let go, not let her out of the house, out of my sight. 

Over the last several weeks as I have looked back over our time together I realize that after all the time I thought I was a dog person I am actually a cat person.  She has given us so many memories, good ones, that will probably ruin us for another cat.