For ten years, our lives have been punctuated by the sounds of the tags on his collar, jingling as he made his way trough the house or scratched an itch, their noise so familiar that whenever he’d get a new rabies tag and dog license, I’d have to readjust to the new sound. Our mornings and evenings rung to the sound of jingle bells on the back door that he would ring when he wanted to be let out.

And now things feel quiet and thick because he’s gone.

I don’t want to talk about his decline or the last few weeks when it became obvious that he was feeling worse.

I want to talk about his boundless energy and curiosity.  I want to talk about him swimming until he couldn’t walk anymore, but if you’d throw the ball one more time?  He couldn’t help himself and would run in after it.

I want to talk about how hard he worked to protect from all things he deemed threats.  Namely, cats with hunched up backs and little boys with dark hair. (But he did protect me that one time the threat seemed real.  Really.)

I want to talk about how he tolerated babies and cats.  I want to talk about how he was sure Littlebit was a puppy and would watch, unwaveringly, anyone besides Big Daddy and me who’d try to touch her or hold her.  I want to talk about how he’d bring her his rawhides to share.

I want to talk about how much Baby Bee loved him.  I want to talk about the time I caught him laying down with her sitting in between his front paws like she was sitting on his lap. I want you to know, that he submitted to small injustices with nothing but a sigh.

I want you to know because that’s what is worth remembering.

Jack

No One Is Sure-January 3, 2012

When I was a new bride, I was newly pregnant and three hundred and fifty miles away from home. I was lonely; sad and depressed. I loved Big Daddy with all my heart, but it was hard being in a new place and learning to adjust to so many changes. I missed my friends and family, but I also missed my cats.

So, I asked for a cat. And, Big Daddy never says no and so we went to the local animal rescue to find someone for me. And we did. A homely, scrawny, cross-eyed cat. He wasn’t pretty, but I knew I’d love him anyhow. However, we didn’t have enough documentation with us and they didn’t allow us to adopt him.

Big Daddy and I were upset. We’d both been so excited. Big Daddy had never had a cat or a dog and it was depressing to consider returning to our apartment, empty handed. In a fit of optimism, we’d laid out the litter box and bought the cat milk and the kitten chow. Big Daddy suggested we drive north and visit his family. They’d have a copy of the advertiser, a local classified only publication, where people frequently gave away kittens. I agreed.

Halfway between our apartment and Big Daddy’s parents house was a pet store and on a whim, we stopped in. She was there. Tiny and alone. The kid working at the shop told us he’d ask the store to hold her for him, but he hadn’t been able to take her and all her litermates had been adopted. I picked her up and she scrambled up my shirt.  I loved her right away.

We took her home. She slept, like all of our babies have, in the middle. She made our apartment feel like a home. But, more than that, she comforted me. She cared for me. She followed me. She stayed near me. She tolerated my tears. And slept on top of me.

She has made up our home since the beginning. She had always been where home was. No matter the changes in life or the location. She wasn’t the kindest of animals and friends will tell stories of her territorial, anti-social behavior,but she loved me and she love Big Daddy.

A few months ago, I noticed some lumps on her chest during a belly rubbing. They caused her no pain and I monitored them, but a few weeks ago the situation worsened and she went in for sugary to remove as many tumors as they could. It was cancer and her prognosis was poor.

Yesterday morning, she caught my eye.  I could tell she was weak.  When I picked her up, her body felt cold and her breathing was labored.  I called out for Big Daddy and while he called the vet, I laid on the floor.  SHe had wanted down and had crawled under our bed.  I stretched my arm as far as I could and pet her as we regarded each other.  For the last time.

Twelve years of marriage.  Every year we’ve had.

Three children.

A dog, two other cats and six separate addresses.

She has accompanied us with every step.  And yesterday morning, she fought us valiantly to stay in her home as we tried to transport her to the vet and she died in my arms, with her head tucked under my chin before Big Daddy could even pull out of the garage.

Big Daddy and I walked through the sodden grass together and buried her together.  The three of us alone.  Like we started.  We tucked her in under the pear tree that blooms in the spring and is the last tree to turn color in the fall; a bright rich red.

She was more than a cat. She bore witness to each chapter of our lives and she was my friend. I miss her more than I can say.

I love cats because I enjoy my home; and little by little, they become its visible soul. – Jean Cocteau.

It’s true and she was ours.

In loving memory of Shelby Cat. July 1999-December 2012.

Usually, in October, my anxiety begins to ramp up.  It usually catches me unaware.  October was when the shit hit the fan for my family.  Things changed. Forever.

In October 2005 my anxiety, in general, spirled out of control and I found myself in a six month battle that left me weak, mentally, and feeble.  Incapable.

This year, I was ready for October.  I’d been off my anti-anxiety and anti-depression medications for a while, but I was willing to go back on if I needed them.  Thankfully, I didn’t.  I skated through October.  Mostly.  By the end of the month, I’d begun to be unsettled. Skittish. Angry.

Depressed.

I thought that, maybe, once I exited October that I’d feel okay.  I decided to wait it out.  When October exited, I felt rattled,but okay, but as people with depression know, the darkness had already begun to seep around the corners.

Depression has been hard for me to admit.  It’s been far easier for me to admit that I am prone to anxiety that will cripple me and leave me afraid to leave the house which seems a LOT more abnormal, but I can’t admit to depression.

Two weeks ago, I cried on Big Daddy’s shoulder (he assures me they’re big and can handle the job).  I love my life.  From the top to the bottom I LOVE it.  I love BIg Daddy.  I love our girls, our home, my family, our pets.  I love it so much.

“Why can’t I just be happy?”, I sputtered out through tears and some snot.  “I have everything I want.  Why can’t I be happy?”.

I’d never tell you that you should be happy with your life and use that to ward away depression.  I know better than that, but me?  Well, I’m a boot strap girl. An overachieving oldest child.  Everything in the world can be fixed and made right if only I put forth more personal effort.    I know that’s not really true, but it’s always how I’ve felt.  And I hate that I can’t finesse my way through episodes of depression.

And that, my friends, is where I’m at right now.  Pulling myself along as best I can.  Slugging it out with depression. Planning on winning.  Not blogging because the effort is just too much.  I’m feeling better, slightly, and am at least to the “fake it ’til I feel it” point and plan on having a great Christmas.

You’ll be seeing more of me.