2:42 a.m.: Bosco's Benediction

Laying, eyes closed
trying to focus my mind's eye on any random happy thought;
trying to figure out
how to pull the train of midlife with it's heavy cargo,
trying to understand the nature of the beast of life,
and coming up empty.
Sighing. Sleep is not simple.

My Saviour hops up on the bed.
Finding the sweet spot,
his body nestled above my right shoulder
and the pillow,
his nose nuzzling my neck,
he purrs his benediction:
"sleep, sleep, sleep,
you are loved
this is what matters
because you worry about everyone else
I will take care of you"
When my breathing slows, and calms
his purring quiets and he himself heaves a last
contented sigh.
His paw reaches across my chest and comes to
rest on my heart.
I am loved.
This is what matters.

Tough Old Broad

It's true what they say about our pets: that we learn more from them than they do from us. It's certainly the case with our old cat Lulu. She has not been beautiful for a long time, she wheezes, she sneezes, she has pooped on the carpet for about eight years (I need to write a really glowing review of my Spotbot on Amazon - it's the hardest working machine out there), and she has the most unpleasant "meow" you've ever heard.

But she has taught me so much. About asking for what you need, about telling people what you need and about TAKING what you need if people aren't listening to you. She started the pooping business when Joe-Henry was about four months old. Right in front of his changing table. I stepped in it. We've taken her to the vet at least once a year for the last eight, with the vet saying, "well, I don't know what to tell you. there's nothing physically wrong with her". And you'd think that we'd maybe give up on her, or try to give her away, or find her a home where she could just sit on someone's lap and be petted non-stop until she got tired of it and moved. I'd be lying if I said we'd never even think of such a thing. Truth is, we did try once to find her a new home. It was right before we moved. We thought she wouldn't be able to handle the changes of a long trek. I put up an ad on Craigslist, but got nothing but grief, so after an hour I took it down. She was, for better and worse, our cat. I couldn't let those nasty people have her. Yes, she was a crabby mess, but she was our crabby mess. She drove in the car with my husband who headed up a month before Joe-Henry and I. She crapped in the car twenty minutes into a two-day drive. The car still smells nasty. Not like poop, but not like anything good, either.

Joe-Henry has been her savior on more than one occasion. We've all been driven to moments of madness by her messes. Especially dear Charley, who shares a bathroom with her. He has had the lion's share of cleaning to do. But even he loves her. He has given her his heart, and she has given hers to all of us, as well. If it doesn't come wrapped in a satiny bow, well so be it. It is what it is, and she is who she is, and that's just been our life with her. She still gets on our bed every night, she still snuggles up at story time with Joe-Henry, we all stroke her mangy head and love her and tell her she's beautiful. Then she usually wheezes and sneezes and yells at us to pet her better and more. And we comply.

But the last few weeks, there has been something different about her. She seems confused. She's gotten much skinnier. Even though she has missed the litter box for eight years, she has always managed to keep things in the vicinity of it. But not lately. She's bringing her business upstairs, and this morning I found a big mess in Joe-Henry's room. And the bathroom. And the hallway.

I didn't feel angry at her, I just felt like she was telling me it was time. She's unhappy and in pain and done.

So this afternoon we are taking her in to the vet. We're saying goodbye as I type this. Joe-Henry is petting her, and I will have a good amount of time with her too. As frustrating as our relationship has been, I love her so much. And I will miss her wheezy old self.

Lulu, I have learned so much from you. Thank you for that.

Spring Break

JH and I are heading south tomorrow to see Grandma and Grandpa in California.

Don't tell the cat.

This Makes Me Hot

I just ordered this gorgeous little item from Amazon, refurbished, for $87.00.

Since our cat has declared war on us (she has been on a campaign for the last 6 years and 10 months to send Joe-Henry BACK WHERE HE CAME FROM) and keeps pooping on the carpet, I found something that will make my mornings (and afternoons) a little easier.

Free Shipping, too.

I'm damp with anticipation.

our good cat

Lulu's gotten a lot of bad press lately, but I think it's time to write about her good qualities.

Ummmmm.... she's persistent?

In any case, I think I should give some space to our "Good Cat", the one who doesn't crap on the floor, or sneeze in your food while you're eating. His name is Pould (rhymes with "would" or "should") and he's a grand old man. We got him as a kitten shortly after we got married, so he's about 13. He's diabetic now, but still very regal. He used to be pretty feisty, but now he's just kind of tolerant, in his own way. Lulu bugs him, but he puts up with her for the most part. And he's nothing if not photogenic. He was very patient as he posed for these photos in his sunny spot under the skylight.

cat sh*t crazy

I was on my way downstairs to my office to post something lovely about spring, with pretty pictures of the flowers in my garden, but I got sidetracked. By a big, runny pile of poo on the carpet outside the bathroom where we have not one, but two litterboxes. For our two cats. But only one of them has become my nemisis. Her name is Lulu. And I look forward to the day she moves on to her great reward. I don't feel a bit guilty when I say it can't happen soon enough for me.

Which is not to say we don't love her. We do. We MUST. Because I don't think she would have lasted this long anywhere else. I tried to find her a good home last year before the move, because a) I didn't think she'd make the trip, and b) I believe she needs a home where she can be the only cat, a home with no children, a home with someone who does nothing but pet her endlessly and feed her and snuggle her. But really, how do you market a cat like Lulu. "Free to loving home. Wheezing old cat who digs her claws into every piece of furniture, has constant runny poo and uses entire home for a litter box." I did my best with the ad. I tried humor and love and all I got in return was scorn and condemnation from rabid animal lovers. Someone actually told me I was a flake and soon I'd be trying to give my son away. I took the ad off within an hour. So yes, she made the trip, but not without spraying cat poop all over our car within the first twenty minutes of a twenty hour drive. (My darling husband was driving that car - we followed three weeks later. He still has flashbacks. And the car still smells.)

Believe me when I say we've tried everything. Ev.Ry.Thing. New food. New litter. Separate litter boxes. Giving her more love and attention than someone who shits on your carpet every day twice a day for six years has any right to get. We take her to the vet about every six months, convinced that she's on her last legs, and they never find anything wrong. They do a battery of tests, and then say, "I think it's behavioral. Try this." It might be more cost effective to just use that two hundred dollars to wipe up the mess off the floor. THEN flush it down the toilet. At least something would be accomplished. The last time I took her, he did some tests and gave me some antibiotic for her wheezing, but asked if I wanted to wait a couple days before getting it, just in case the blood tests came back with dire predictions. I told him that I'd just get it now, because even if he said she was on her way out, she'd live another three years just to spite me. She's just a crabby, crappy, scrappy old lady.

The first time she did it was when Joe-Henry was four weeks old. She did it right in front of his changing table. Convinced she was really sick, we got some meds from the vet. Mind you, we had a four week old baby, and were as scruffy and sleep deprived as we could be. But we tried. Charley held her wrapped in a towel, and I tried to administer the dropper full of pink goo. She crapped down the front of my sweet husband, and the medicine wound up in my hair. We left it at that. She once managed to dig a pair of $600 compression stockings OUT OF THE HAMPER to do her business on them. Say what you will, she's a great communicator. And the thing is: Joe-Henry ADORES her. He pets her gently, talks to her sweetly and softly and reminds us not to scold her too loudly. He is perhaps the only reason she's not gone.

We have another cat too. A good cat. He's been with us since we first got married and he's a grand old man. He's got diabetes, which we treat and he tolerates, and he's dignified and loving. If it weren't for him, I'd definitely not be a cat person anymore.

I dream of life after Lulu. Clean carpet. (New carpet.) No more cat hair (she sheds like crazy). No more loud wheezing waking me in the night.

I know, I know. I'll probably miss her.

But I'd really like to find out.

PS: The best stain remover for pet stuff in carpet is Folex.