(no subject)
I entirely skipped March. Jinkies.
The weather has transitioned into a comfortable, if not slightly cold for my tastes season of Spring. It did it rather quickly, and unlike last year, didn't offer a tease of a warm week followed by more cruel winter.
Since I posted last, one of my cats, Bobbie, suddenly started losing weight. Eventually she started acting lethargic, and I had to take her to the vet. Since she had already lost so much weight, her liver was beginning to fail, from processing all the fat her body used, and the cost to save her was in the thousands, to hospitalize her. I couldn't afford it.
I had to euthanize her instead.
I was visibly upset. The whole situation distraught me more than a lot of the cats I've lost thus far. Bobbie was the nicest, most loving cat I've ever had. She lived a life of turmoil, and was more than grateful for any love she could receive. One of our cats had adapted into a position of harassing her, to a degree you couldn't easily fathom. It got to the point where, for years, the cat spent a good portion of her life on top of a tower. A 1 foot by 2 feet tower, approximately 7-8 feet tall. She was the only one that could jump up there, rendering it as her only bastion of peace and safety. My grandmother was very enamored with the cats signs of affection -- it would just place a paw on her shoulder, her back, where ever, and would occasionally hug her from behind -- no claws -- unprovoked. Just to show her she was there.
I drove Bobbie all the way to Middletown, to the 24 hour animal hospital there, and even then, as scared as she was, she was purring too much for the doctor to get a read on her heart rate, because I was dowsing her with affection to keep her calm, and it was working. Too well. Some cats purr when they're exceedingly scared, but that wasn't the case here.
The cat wanted love more than food, and the only time she bothered anyone was to get it. And when she got it, she would just lick you, in appreciation.
The other part of the situation that disturbs me so, is that I could've saved her -- I've always before been in a situation where the cat's death was inevitable, and we were just offering mercy. But in this case, the what-if's haunt me. What if Bobbie would've made it? What if I could've had her treated cheaper elsewhere? What if it was something terminal, and she died anyway? What if it was just a simple cold and I just had to hospitalize her over the weekend, and she'd be right as rain?
I couldn't find out what made her sick to begin with, as the doctor said her liver failure would already screw with the results of tests they could run to find out the cause. Not to mention the tests themselves would be quite expensive.
I had to make a judgement call. And I believed it was the right decision -- but I've never been a confident man. I'll never be the type to feel secure with any decision.
All I know is it upset me badly. Even though I already knew what I had to do, the nurses still had to give me 15 minutes to regain my composure. Or more accurately, I kept talking, but I could no longer face them. I just kept talking while facing the door. My voice was wavey and gravelly, like a murderer over a ham radio.
But what bothers me the most is that I don't have even a single picture of any of my cats that have died. They were MY cats, moreso than any others. I raised them, along with their mother -- their father died before they were born, not that I'm saying I took it's place -- and watched them grow up. They all lived at least 10 years. Yet, the most I have is a blurry picture of one of them taken by a shitty cell phone.
I tried convincing myself that I didn't want pictures anyway, that it wasn't the kind of person I was, but it isn't true. I really wish I had some.
I'm acting quite silly, considering they're just animals, but they're my family. For better or worse, it's the type of person I am -- I can watch them blow up a whale and I laugh to pieces, but I don't have much else for family. It doesn't have to make sense.
Other than that, I bought a bike. I want to get outside more this summer, last summer I exercised lots, which is great, but it was all indoors. I want to be outdoors. Do more aerobic things, less anaerobic things. I rode it around a lot already, but am worried I look a bit like a clownshoe. I tried to single out what exactly made me think so, and I think it's the casual clothing. You see guys riding bikes with those latex shirts and shorts, and if you saw that guy in Wal-mart he'd look dumb, but he looks normal on a bike, with mirrored shades and a giant helmet. Put a regular guy like me on a bike and it looks like I friggen stole it. Like I just came across a bike and started riding it.
I can't think of anything else important.
The weather has transitioned into a comfortable, if not slightly cold for my tastes season of Spring. It did it rather quickly, and unlike last year, didn't offer a tease of a warm week followed by more cruel winter.
Since I posted last, one of my cats, Bobbie, suddenly started losing weight. Eventually she started acting lethargic, and I had to take her to the vet. Since she had already lost so much weight, her liver was beginning to fail, from processing all the fat her body used, and the cost to save her was in the thousands, to hospitalize her. I couldn't afford it.
I had to euthanize her instead.
I was visibly upset. The whole situation distraught me more than a lot of the cats I've lost thus far. Bobbie was the nicest, most loving cat I've ever had. She lived a life of turmoil, and was more than grateful for any love she could receive. One of our cats had adapted into a position of harassing her, to a degree you couldn't easily fathom. It got to the point where, for years, the cat spent a good portion of her life on top of a tower. A 1 foot by 2 feet tower, approximately 7-8 feet tall. She was the only one that could jump up there, rendering it as her only bastion of peace and safety. My grandmother was very enamored with the cats signs of affection -- it would just place a paw on her shoulder, her back, where ever, and would occasionally hug her from behind -- no claws -- unprovoked. Just to show her she was there.
I drove Bobbie all the way to Middletown, to the 24 hour animal hospital there, and even then, as scared as she was, she was purring too much for the doctor to get a read on her heart rate, because I was dowsing her with affection to keep her calm, and it was working. Too well. Some cats purr when they're exceedingly scared, but that wasn't the case here.
The cat wanted love more than food, and the only time she bothered anyone was to get it. And when she got it, she would just lick you, in appreciation.
The other part of the situation that disturbs me so, is that I could've saved her -- I've always before been in a situation where the cat's death was inevitable, and we were just offering mercy. But in this case, the what-if's haunt me. What if Bobbie would've made it? What if I could've had her treated cheaper elsewhere? What if it was something terminal, and she died anyway? What if it was just a simple cold and I just had to hospitalize her over the weekend, and she'd be right as rain?
I couldn't find out what made her sick to begin with, as the doctor said her liver failure would already screw with the results of tests they could run to find out the cause. Not to mention the tests themselves would be quite expensive.
I had to make a judgement call. And I believed it was the right decision -- but I've never been a confident man. I'll never be the type to feel secure with any decision.
All I know is it upset me badly. Even though I already knew what I had to do, the nurses still had to give me 15 minutes to regain my composure. Or more accurately, I kept talking, but I could no longer face them. I just kept talking while facing the door. My voice was wavey and gravelly, like a murderer over a ham radio.
But what bothers me the most is that I don't have even a single picture of any of my cats that have died. They were MY cats, moreso than any others. I raised them, along with their mother -- their father died before they were born, not that I'm saying I took it's place -- and watched them grow up. They all lived at least 10 years. Yet, the most I have is a blurry picture of one of them taken by a shitty cell phone.
I tried convincing myself that I didn't want pictures anyway, that it wasn't the kind of person I was, but it isn't true. I really wish I had some.
I'm acting quite silly, considering they're just animals, but they're my family. For better or worse, it's the type of person I am -- I can watch them blow up a whale and I laugh to pieces, but I don't have much else for family. It doesn't have to make sense.
Other than that, I bought a bike. I want to get outside more this summer, last summer I exercised lots, which is great, but it was all indoors. I want to be outdoors. Do more aerobic things, less anaerobic things. I rode it around a lot already, but am worried I look a bit like a clownshoe. I tried to single out what exactly made me think so, and I think it's the casual clothing. You see guys riding bikes with those latex shirts and shorts, and if you saw that guy in Wal-mart he'd look dumb, but he looks normal on a bike, with mirrored shades and a giant helmet. Put a regular guy like me on a bike and it looks like I friggen stole it. Like I just came across a bike and started riding it.
I can't think of anything else important.