passing

In obvious follow-up to the last post, we said goodbye to our cat this past Tuesday.

She was ridiculously stoic to the end, eating when she never should have wanted to and trying to walk around when she was almost entirely unable. After spending 13 of her 19 or 20 years with us, she left us as calmly as she did everything else.

We’re starting to do okay.  Our dog is feeling better than he did before his illness began and we’re in the final stages of sorting his diet and medications out.  Mr. Q and I are stopping short of asking each other if we’ve fed the cat or given her meds, but it’s difficult to go into certain rooms or past the scratch posts that are still around.  The Magpie knows that her kitty is not here and knows that she “left her body”.  But she now gets very worried that anyone leaving the house might not come back.  This only happens when she’s over tired (and that happens a little more often now that the Magpie is back to refusing naps and has caught a cold).   We’re a little apprehensive to ask our baby sitter over for a while, but we know at some point, we must.

She’s had a confusing couple of weeks and she’s held out remarkably well.  Far better than her parents, on several occasions.  She’s had to deal with so much more and she’s gotten away with so much more.  And now we have to ask her to get back to the regular old routine – the one with left over Hallowe’en candy and the impending doom loom of Christmas.

We need a few weeks of nothing.  Normal.  No illness.  No crisis.  I need sleep.  Mr.Q needs sleep.  The Magpie needs to see us take the dog for his nightly walk and come back.  Every time.

 

time freeze

Like brain freeze, time freeze stuns.  Everything slows down.  Days, dates and relative time frames become blurred and grossly warped.  I’m sure there’s some equation that could define exponential oddness where yesterday seems like forever ago, but I just can’t think that clearly.

Here are the last two weekends in quick and dirty numbers:

• 2: the number of pets we have
• 2: the number of pets who have been to the animal emergency
• 13: the dog’s age.
• 8: the number of days ago that the dog went in with a gastric hemorrhage.
• 1: the number of nights the dog stayed at the hospital.
• 4: the  number of meds the dog has been on to help him recover.
• 1: the number of new meds were trying for his arthritis that have been implicated in the gastric hemorrhage.

The dog will be fine.  He’s starting back in on his regular food and we will readjust his current arthritis medications without introducing any more new ones.  He was not happy.  He gave us a horrible scare.  But he’s happier now than he has been in a while.

• 20: the age of the cat.  Ish.  She may be 19.  Or 21.
• 1: the number of days ago that the cat went in to the hospital with acute renal failure.
• 1800: the level of her creatinine.  (a by product in the blood, indicative of kidney function)
• 80: the upper limit of the normal range for a cat’s creatinine.
• 1: the number of months ago that her blood tests were normal.

The cat has had chronic kidney failure for years.  But it hasn’t changed until recently.  She’s had a few infections and a few strong antibiotics to help kick them.  Her own arthritis has flared up.  And, now, her kidneys have decided it’s too much.  What we don’t know is if there are any other factors affecting her.  And, worse still, we don’t know if the unknown is correctable and how her kidneys might fare in the aftermath.

Add all that up.  It’s not good.

She comes back to the local clinic tomorrow morning.  We have a consultation tomorrow afternoon.

mid transit epiphany

I’d much rather that people stop trying to make me think less of others.

ummm, hi. yeah, how have you been?

Okay, so it’s been a month.

Alright, fine.  It’s been over a month.

But I was off work two of those weeks and mentally on holiday, so they don’t really count.

It was a crazy week before leaving work – the downside to having my own desk is that it has to be in order before I go – it was a crazy first week off with cleaning and major house reorganization and it was a lovely second week off with a little travel and very little internet.  Now, everyone’s back at their day jobs.  Toddler classes have started and my distance ed course has begun.  Throw in the usual family dinners, company and two holidays in one month (we get Thanksgiving in a few weeks in this neck of the woods), one anniversary and one birthday and this next month is also going to be crazy.

So what’s a girl to do?

Why, look longingly at houses that she won’t be buying, of course!

I could blame Jodi and say that all her tales of moving have got me in the mood (but I won’t, because some of those tales scared me!).  I could blame all the cleaning we did around here that got me in the headspace of rooms, paint and feng shui (but I can’t, because I realized how much I like this place in the process).  I could blame the sudden, unseasonal rash of For Sale signs.

Okay, that sounds good.

As does the fact that we have now been in our townhouse for over 9 years and that’s really kind of freaking me out.  This place was purchased on a 5-10 year plan.  There was no plan other than that: we might stay here for 5 to 10 years.  Those years are almost up.  Does that mean we have to move?  No.  But we could.

So I look.

And now Mr.Q has to set a price max and show me exactly what adjustments would be required in the budget before I start accidentally stopping by open houses…

question of the decade

Student?  What are you going to do with the rest of your life?

Got a job and maybe a place?  When are you going to get married/settle down/find someone special?

Got all that and a kid?  So, when are you having another?

This from people who know that we’re strongly leaning toward keeping our family at three.  Surprisingly, the only ones not asking are my parents.  For the record, we’re not permanently committing ourselves to anything for another couple of years, but that’s mostly just because we’re lazy.

It’s as though everyone is waiting for an I told you so or I knew it moment.  Not to be said out loud, of course, but in significant glances between each other – those with two or three critters of their own – and in sighs at all the baby stuff we’ve already donated or sold.

Every now and then, there is some soul tormenting themselves with the same question.  For example, my physiotherapist who, on my second visit, gave me his entire story, both sides of the argument and his hopeless lack of conclusion.

But I’m no more capable of helping anyone else reach their decision than, it seems, others are able to prevent their curiousity with the status of my uterus.

Good thing I’ve had lots of chances to get my answer together.