Guilty

I was such a huge fan of my cat Ray, possibly the greatest cat whoever lived.

I never meant to get a new cat so soon after he died, but I found Pete in the parking lot of the last library I worked in, and he needed a home. He upgraded his life, moving to Irvington, then to our new house in SE, where he explored the great outdoors once again.

I think he likes men better than women, because he doesn't seem to pay much attention other than when I am in bed. He prefers J., and sometimes I'm jealous. I think he knew I wasn't over Ray.

Recently, he's been sick, and when I am not angry at him for peeing outisde of his litterbox, I am feeling guilty for my distance. I hope this is past us soon, and that it's not too late to be a better mom.

Running Behind

I am running late on most things in my life lately, and especially the time to write or reflect on them.

I still can’t believe that I again have a new job, just when I had finally learned how to do the old one, and after only being at my last library a year and a half.

I already miss Rockwood. Somehow I doubt I’ll ever have another job where I can play Charlie’s Angels at work again.

If I’d had more than a few days to think about the job, I don’t know if I would have made the same decision. But I have been in overdrive mode for so long now that I couldn’t pass up the opportunity.

Switching jobs made me realize that it was time to bring Ray home. He’s been sitting on my desk in a little tin since June. I never meant to bring him to work. When I went to pick up his ashes at Dove Lewis, they had lost them. I still feel badly about my interaction with the receptionist that day. It wasn’t her fault someone had lost Ray. But finding out no one knew where the ashes of my 16 year old cat that I’d just spent five thousand dollars on and who died anyway didn’t put in a very rational state. I let the receptionist know exactly what I thought and felt about the situation.

When Ray was located a few hours later, she called to let me know they would Fed Ex him overnight to wherever I wanted and I thought it would be easier to just have him sent to work. I kept forgetting to bring him home. I think I just didn’t want him there, I didn’t want to deal with my own feelings, and then I felt guilty when I impulsively brought home the cat that had moved into the parking lot of the library. At first I thought I was just fostering him. I wish I’d named him a little more thoughtfully, but I didn’t think I was keeping him, I needed something to call him, and Pete came to mind, after all the Peter Pans I have ever dated. Since I think I’m done doing that now, Pete will be my last one.

I loved Ray’s intensity, but lately, I am really appreciating Pete’s lighter approach to life and especially his fondness for rubber bands. I have had more than enough drama in my life these past three years and I am ready to relax.

Bad Timing

To the cat that harasses me every time I leave the library:

I’m sorry if my initial interactions with you were misleading. You looked friendly, and I was a little lonely. It had been a couple of months since I pet a cat.

I’m sure you’re really great, other than you don’t listen to me when I tell you my heart is broken and that I can’t be your mom. I’m just not over Ray.

Sorry bud.

Adieu

How do I say goodbye the greatest cat who ever lived? He had more character in one paw than most people do.

Ray was doing so great until about a week ago, when one of his fangs became so loose it was difficult for him to eat. I made an appointment to have it pulled, but he took an abrupt turn for the worse before then, and it was just clear that it was time to go. I had him checked out before I did something I didn't think I could ever do, and put him to sleep. The vet thought that had fractured his jaw yet again, and the only thing that could be done was to was to apmutate half of it. I just couldn't do that to him.

Merci to the folks at Dove Lewis, who went way above and beyond what they needed to do, both in terms of the care they gave Ray, and the support they gave me.

I stayed with Ray throughout the procedure, and he went out purring, which was very much his style.

Cats & Dogs

The past few weeks have been crazy ones, colored almost entirely by animal body parts.

On the home front, the saga of Ray’s jaw continues. He somehow managed to remove the plate screwed into his jaw. I almost had a heart attack, both because I knew there wasn’t anything else the vet could do for him that wasn’t experimental and painful, and because of the amount of money I’d spent on the operation he so quickly undid.

I took him back to the vet to have them remove the pins poking out of his gums, and now we are seeing what happens. He is delighted to be free of the plate, and now that I don’t have to worry about him bumping it on anything, he has free reign of my apartment again. He has a good appetite and seems happy, other than when I give him his antibiotics. It gets harder to give them to him every day, and he spits them out on my clothes, the furniture, the floor and his fur. The nice ruff under his neck was getting gross, and I gave him a little sponge bath last night after I’d had a couple of beers to try to correct this. He seemed a little stuffy this morning and I’ve been worried that I’ve made him sick. I would never forgive myself if he died of a cold I’d given him.

I think he is on the mend, though, and I’ve wondered if his near death experience has changed him. Yesterday while I was in the shower, he changed the radio station from NPR to a Christian station.

Meanwhile, my work life has centered around dog scrotums. I’m not a big fan of scrotums in general. I don’t hate them, but I kind of like to pretend they don’t exist. The controversy over the use of the word scrotum (in reference to a dog, of all things) in this year’s Newbery winner has put me in the position of having to defend an author’s right to use a word I don’t even like.

I have received hundreds of emails over the controversy this word is stirring up. Family members have mailed me newspaper articles. I wish they would stop.

Maybe I’m just tired from dealing with the cat, but I’m just not as riled up about this situation as other people. I’m ready for life to get back to normal, and to think about other things.

Holding Pattern

Last Friday, my cat Ray somehow managed to fracture his jaw in two places while I was at work. When I came home, he was drooling, and I noticed blood on his paws. I brought him to the Vet ER and have been on an emotional roller coaster since then. Thank god my mom was already planning on visiting. While Ray had surgery, we painted my kitchen.



What was supposed to be straightforward surgery was complicated by extensive gum damage, and the four pins in his mouth are moving. I was already now four thousand dollars in debt, and additional treatments the vets suggested were experimental. My mom came back to Portland just a day after she left to help me figure out what to do. We visited Ray, who despite a slipping jaw and a plate on his mouth,was in good spirits. We brought him home, and turned my office into a giant cat cage, moving out all of the furniture that might tempt him to leap.

While I went back to work the next day, my mother spent the day painting my furniture and playing Ray lullabyes. I was suspicious when she told me how much he enjoyed them, but now that I have witnessed first hand the effect on him, I am a believer.

I came home from work yesterday, and for the first time in over two years, there was someone home. Mom had made a fire and was in the middle of making dinner. My apartment felt like a home, and I am starting to think that there may be some benefits to the schedule that Ray's care has now put me on. I will need to be home a lot more, and I think it will be a good way to more fully settle in to my apartment and new life here.

Meanwhile, I have a new found empathy for parents of babies. I was up four times last night with Ray. Having slept all day, he was unhappy about being shut in my office. It felt like a luxury to be annoyed with him, when I didn't even think he'd be alive two days ago.

Keep your fingers crossed for my 16 year old cat. I have such admiration for his resiliency, and I think if any cat can make it through this, he can.