B.A.B.

Big Ass Baby rant begins now:

I realize he was a pet, and pets die everyday.  It's hard on everyone in the family.  The empty cat napper, the silence compared to the way he would announce his arrival in any room with a healthy "Yello!" - they haunt us all.

He was a small orange tabby, but he was also there- for almost sixteen years.  He far outdoes the fathers of both my children in the sheer amount of time we spent together.  He was stable, which has been hard to come by in my world.

It's not like I didn't know it was coming.  He'd been getting steadily slower and skinnier for the last year or so.  When Cory was little, she learned about judging if your pet was at a healthy weight by giving them a "healthy hug" and judging how much jiggle they were sporting.  In the last couple months, Oliver's spine became cruelly pronounced, right down to the knob at the very top, and when I rubbed his head, I could feel the shape of his skull under my fingers.  I knew.  There was no denying it.
And as anyone who has lost a pet or loved one will tell you, knowing made not a bit of difference.

So, as I sit here in the dark of two a.m., missing my cat, I am struck with the worst sort of anxiety.  Who will be next?  I rather suspect it will be Gizmo, which as I live and breathe, will lay me completely out.

Did I tell you I almost bought a baby sling to carry Oliver around in the last month?  It was like this brilliant idea, and when I ran it past Tim, he smiled kindly, and said, "Why do you want a baby sling?"  Earnestly, I explained that we knew Oliver didn't have much time left, and I wanted him to feel as loved and NOT ALONE as he possibly could.  I gave it a trial run one evening with my most over-sized scarf, and Oliver did not approve.  He kept peeking over the edge, certain I was going to trip and send us both careening to the floor.  He would brave gravity on his own terms, thank you very much.  That idea out the window, I fed him his favorite soft cat food on demand, carried him as much as he allowed, and on two memorable occasions, bathed him.  I had never bathed a cat before, and I can only say if it weren't for our trusting relationship, it could've gone much worse.

This afternoon, I tried to rock Gizmo like a baby while singing to him, and he just looked at me like I'd completely lost my mind.  When he could, he wiggled out of my arms, and went to the nap at the end of the bed like a normal dog.  He may have given me a couple of mistrustful glances over his shoulder as he went.  There was no satisfaction to be had there.

Quite honestly, I wanted to hop in my car and drive down to Mom and Dad's, and rock each one of them for a little while, too.  What if today was my last chance?

You can see my anxiety has went completely through the roof.  How is anyone supposed to go about their daily life with these damn clocks just ticking away? I can't even hear myself think.  And by the way, if you think about it long enough, it'll drive you mad.

I'm quite certain that's the reason I distanced myself from Jacob, and pretty much everyone I loved after the accident.  Who wants to give their heart away, only to have it returned in a box, satin-lined or not?

To love another person as much as the one you lost was to set yourself for that particular brand of hell all over again.  Why go there?  What a fool's game; the odds will never be in your favor.

Anxious and angry.