* CLICK *

Ugh, I intended for this post to be a photo retrospective of sorts - a cool visual way to end ICLW week. But I just made the fatal error of spending a bit too much time looking at the photos we have of Thomas in the hospital. And now, well, I'm spent.

The very hospital-y shots we have of him are always so shocking. Precious, of course, but startling. In my mind, he's the peaceful, gorgeous baby in the pictures we have framed in our bedroom and living room. No tubes, no wires - no obvious evidence of a hospital. The ones in which the hospital is not disguised, however, always take my breath away. In a bad way.

So this is going to have to do, this funny shot of me covered in cats. It was late summer of 2004, and I was doing what I did best during the first 10 weeks or so of my pregnancy with Thomas. Tired? Who me?

Whilst I was making good use of the couch, I became a mattress for Lucy (our cat) and my sister's two kittens who we were cat-sitting that week.

Apparently cats dig you when you're pregnant. Like, a lot.

Luckily Lucy still digs me now, pregnant or not, which is pretty nice. Pretty nice indeed.

Thanks to everyone who stopped by for ICLW! It was so nice to "meet" you, and I appreciate your visits and your comments more than you know!

Sometimes when we get bored...

...we put stuff (like furry toy mice) on the cats' heads.

They don't always like it.

Sucks to be them.

A six month span

Then (July '09)


And now (January '10)



And some random beauty shots which, although providing a certain amount of evidence to the contrary, do not mean that I'm turning into the crazy cat lady.

Mostly.

I love my cat...

...and she loves me.

Clearly.

In his shoes

I had to make a last minute trip to the vet with Lucy yesterday to get a nasty little rash on her chin looked at.

She's fine. It's either feline acne or an allergic reaction to a new food I gave her. We left with reassurances and an antibiotic to clear up the infection.

I'm sure it would have gone away on its own, to be honest, but late Thursday night Dr. Google told me it could be cancer and I panicked. As I am wont to do.

Especially at this time of year.

In fact, this will be the first Christmas in three years that I haven't run to the doctor with a suspected life-threatening aliment of my own. In 2006 it was breast cancer. Last year a serious heart condition.

This year I opted to subject the cat to the drama instead, since I can't seem to find anything wrong with myself. Knock on wood.

Anyway, as we were sitting in the waiting room prior to her appointment, I overheard the vet give an elderly couple very bad news about their dog. I only heard bits and pieces, but there was an enlarged heart, fluid in the lungs and nothing to be done but minimize the symptoms of whatever was eventually going to kill her. Finally, I heard him tell them they had a difficult decision to make.

And I felt the panic rising.

No music to distract me, no chatter from other pet owners, no ringing phones. Just me and Lucy and the vet's words of doom creeping out from beneath the exam room door.

A minute or so later an old man left the exam room, his eyes red and wet with tears, and went to walk the parking lot while his wife stayed with their dog.

It was agonizing.

And all I could think was, Please, please don't put their dog to sleep while I'm sitting her. Please don't make me watch them pay for their dog's euthanasia while I sit here, useless and small, in your hard gray office chair. Please don't make me."

In the end, because I guess they've done this sort of thing before, they took me first. And so I was the one who stood at the counter paying while the teary-eyed old man, who'd come back into the office while Lucy and I were in the exam room, sat behind me and watched.

I tried to keep my voice low. I tried not to sound happy that my cat was alive and well. And I didn't look at him on my way out in case he didn't want me to see his pain - or my relief that I wasn't in his shoes.

It wasn't until later that it dawned on me. This is what people with living children must think about me. I must look like the sad old man on the bench in the vet's waiting room with tears in my eyes.

Well, to those who sneak a glance, anyway.

Love the one you're with

P.S. Thanks so much for all the comments - and the concern and advice. I have so much in my head right now, a picture is all I have the energy for.

Of Mice and Men. And Cats.

Note to self:

If you go shopping after taking the cat to the vet, change your shirt. The 15 pounds of fur shed upon spotting the carrier - which is then instantly deposited all over the front of you - is very, very noticeable under the lights of the dairy aisle.

Tiny, airless veterinary exam rooms will make you very hot. The remaining fur on the cat will stick to all the humid, exposed skin you have. You will look like a sweaty Yeti approximately 2.7 seconds after entering the room. Just accept it. Pretend you didn't notice the vet noticing your furry, glistening skin and being amused by it.

A 12-year old cat who has already lost three fangs to gum disease will likely require further dental work and extractions. Be prepared for the overwhelming feelings of fear and dread associated with subjecting a small thing you love to medical intervention. It's not your fault. Your history is fucking with your brain.

It's okay to decide to return the flea treatment the vet recommended because it's toxic and means you can't properly cuddle your 12-year old, mostly toothless cat who you are terrified you're going to lose when you send her back off to have her dental work done. If she doesn't have fleas now, she's probably not going to, particularly given how infrequently she's actually out in the backyard. And if she does get them, you can deal with it then instead. Proper cuddles are way more important at the moment.

It's okay to be this attached to a cat. You loved her before you even knew your Beloved. You have a long history. She has been a security blanket and a comfort and an amusing little friend through times more difficult than you ever dreamed you'd face. You are as close as two beings from two different species can be. It's okay. It's okay. It's okay.

Ain't love grand?

It's not easy to get stuff done when someone loves you this much...