RIP Patches

It took me a while to write this and still it hurts. We lost my beloved Patches this week to liver and kidney cancers that we didn't know she had. It wasn't until we took her to the vet for drastic weight loss that we found out the cause.

She was our youngest daughter's cat that we got from the Humane Society. When our daughter went to college and was gone for six months, this cat warmed up to me rather than than attacked me. She was a 6-month old feral kitten that chose Jennifer at the shelter. She jumped onto Jennifer's shoulder and dared her to look at any other. We renamed her Patches rather than Pockets because her tortoise shell coloring. Mel later dubbed her "Apache"

because she always remained aloof and ready to attack. Being feral, she only took to Jennifer and sometimes my husband.

When she realized that Jennifer wasn't coming home for a while, she changed her manner towards me in small increments. She started being my escort to and from the house. When I was out in the yard, she was with me. A healthy six feet at least, but she was there. Her aloofness continued somewhat until two weeks before dying. She was never one to be held or cuddled. Instead she would lay on top of you while you slept, or up against you. I never quite knew whether it was a show of affection, or an effort to stay warm with shared body heat.

But then again, when my husband was finally bed bound, she lay beside him except for about three hours a day to take care of her business outside and eat. Even the Hospice aides had to work around her to do his care. She just couldn't be budged away from him. Even after they took his body away, she laid on the spot where he lay until they took his hospital bed away. Even then, she laid on his pile of sheets grieving his passing.

Why did we wait so long to get her into the vet? Once she heard the word vet, she'd go into hiding and wouldn't come out until after 5 PM. Safe from going and she knew it. We also had car trouble with our only vehicle that lasted a week, but that's another long, cockeyed story. Finally, she came out of hiding when Mel returned from the grocery store (long after her appt time). She was lying on the walkway. Too weak to even meow. She was badly dehydrated and she hadn't eaten all day...safe in her hiding place.

Being after 5PM, Mel hurriedly called the vet. Could we catch her and bring her in on Saturday morning. That night, we tried to entice her to eat with a can of tuna (people food not cat food). As much as she wanted it, she couldn't eat or drink. Later, Patches went to the water bowl on her own. She was too weak to lift her head long, but I watched her lap up some water. As the weight of her head pulled her nose under water, she raise up enough to rest her head on the dg food dish to allow the water to drain from her nose and mouth area. After a few minutes rest, she'd dip her head towards the water dish again to repeat the process. She finally stopped and lay down beside the water dish. I didn't expect her to live through the night.

During the night, Patches did something strange. She lay next to me. Crawl about six inches and lay her head on my available body part, stay there for a few minutes, and then move on. From the top of my head and back again. I thought it was Patches touching my body warding off evil because she would be able to protect and escort me anymore. Mel said, because she couldn't see that well that she was using my body as a reference point. It could be that both of us are right. We'll never know for sure.

airplaned ears

Saturday morning, I put Patches by the water bowl. She was still there when I returned from changing my clothes. I picked her up. Her ears airplaned because I was loving on her and she detested being cuddled. I gently put her in the carrier. She tried to scratch me and I made a shushing noise and put her in. She hated that carrier since she was in it for six hours on the move up here. She resigned herself to be carried in it. I had made a nice comfortable bed in it for her.

At the vet's office, the aide put the cat onto the scale...5.5! She'd lost half her body weight. Patches regular weight for the past five years has been around 10 lbs. She wasn't fat just a big, short haired cat. In her younger years, she weighed in at 15 lbs of muscles and bones, not fat. But, age has some strange ways. That and her lifestyle here with of plenty of tree to climb, rats and rabbits to catch, and two acres or more to roam of hilly terrain made her more svelte. Unlike her human counterparts.😸

After finding that her liver and kidneys had palpable masses, and the blood work, there was no question about it. Her kidneys and liver functions had shutdown. She was dying quite painfully of starving to death as the rest of her body caught up with her liver and kidneys. Tears coursed down my face as I denied a hospital admit to run IV fluids to bolster her up. There was simply no treatment for a cat this age. At 18 years old, I had to let her go. I rubbed her head as they gave her the injections and in a few short minutes,  she was gone.

RIP Patches. You had a life full of taking care of others. You deserve it. While you're up there, tell your "Daddy" I miss him too.

Merry Christmas and a RIP

I wanted to wish y'all a Merry Christmas and a happy new year!
Once again this year has flown by. Why does it seem that time flies by at break neck speeds the older you get? I find it hard to bbelieve that it's once again Christmas.

Was it just a month ago that we were busy in the orchard with temperatures almost 70 degrees. It's down right blustery outside now. If you are going outside, you better at least have a sweatshirt or sweater on. Brr!

I'm actually down in south Georgia this week celebrating the holiday with my family. I left Mel with all the fixings for a prime rib dinner. All's she has to do is place it in the oven or place the steaks on the grill. Down here, it's still t-shirt weather. Aren't you jealous? What a difference from my mountain homestead. Just driving across the state, I had to stop midway and shed my sweater.

I hope y'all have a good one with full bellies, and plenty of good cheer.

You remember me telling y'all about Logan, the cat, right? How he was leaving presents for me long before Christmas. Well, I caught him mid squat in the hallway a few mornings ago. Not too long after I'd cleaned up his last presents for me. I yelled and kicked at him. Don't worry I wasn't even close to hitting him. I must have made my point because he high-tailessed, he's a Manx, out the pet door outside.

As much as I get irritated by him, he's pretty handy to have around as a service cat. He was a purring glucometer. He learn this by being with his previous owner, Mel's mother. She was an insulin dependent diabetic. Upon her death, Mel inherited the cat. He would warn her if her blood sugar was too high or low. How did he do this? He sniffed her breath. He took his job very seriously. But he didn't stop there. He had to sniff everyone's breath that came in. He would pester and yowl until he did. If your blood sugar was fine, he'd rub you and want to be petted, or he'd just leave you alone. If your blood sugar was too high or too low, he'd bite you. Not hard at first. Just hard enough to get your attention. If you ignored him, he'd continue getting more intense as time went on. He'd often sense my blood sugar an hour before I started feeling symptoms that my blood sugar levels were off.


Anyhow, it wasn't until much later, I noticed he wasn't with the other cats on or by the breakfast table by the wood stove. In winter, the cats and dogs all pick their favorite spots for optimum warmth. Concerned, I asked Mel if she'd seen him. Her answer...not since mid morning. I was concerned, but not concerned enough to go out in after dark temperature fall off. The low was in the 30s. He was old enough to come in from the cold.

The next morning, still no Logan. I'm really concerned now and we both bundled up and looked for him in the light of day. We found his body by the wood shed. We have no idea what the cause of his death was. I'll miss him. Now I have to put batteries in my glucometer. I haven't had to use it since I've been here except to double check the cat. The cat was never wrong. RIP Logan.

Nothing is impossible.

Sunday Stroke Survival: It's Complete, Sort Of

Today is the first anniversary of my husband's death. Goes by quick when settling an estate, as well as mourning and going on with my life. Still after a year, tears will roll down my face at times, and I still expect to see him in the house. I'm technically finished with the grieving process and it's the end of the official mourning period. I say technically because it's not over. It is ongoing and will be, but there are days when he doesn't cross my mind or I try to talk to him. He's not here constantly, but still in my heart.

I still wear my twentieth anniversary wedding set he bought me. I'm not ready to take them off. Honestly, I may never will be, but that's okay. I don't have to. Another widow friend from my Golden Isles church told me when I went back for my family reunion. It helped to be given permission. Her husband has been gone nine years now, but it seems like it was yesterday too. It seems like my old church has always been filled with widows, widowers, as well as married and single folks. Great people all. It will always be my church.

I still have bouts of anger towards my hubby for leaving. Like when part of his estate wouldn't sell. It has always been part of the plan to "see me through" after he was gone. I could have sold it for 1% of value. Not a chance, I do know it's value and won't accept less than 30-40%. My husband would be a very angry spirit if I had sold it for 1%. Or, like when I went home for the family reunion tried to walk out the back door and couldn't. The big oak tree in the back yard had come down in a nasty storm a couple of weeks earlier. No, it didn't hit the house, but it and the subsequent rain has totally destroyed my game house and all it's contents (pool table, antiques, nostalgia paraphernalia). I had to deal with the insurance company instead of him. The adjuster couldn't come out until the day I had to leave to come back because of numerous appointments in north Georgia. I'm still trying to get up with him via telephone. All of this happens as I'm trying to clear the house of possessions to sell it. The house should be empty and ready to clean by the end of the month with yet another trip 6 1/2 hours away.

Then there are the moments that pull at my heart strings like our newest grandson being born on his birthday this year. My daughter is naming him Murphey in honor of my husband. My husband will never get to hold him, love him, or teach him "the big bird." We had one other grandson by marriage who shared my husband's birthday with him. That boy is in college now. My husband left him his telescope that they used to watch the stars with to remind him to always reach for them.

I'm finally getting the back income from Social Security that they have owed me since his death a year ago! It isn't chump change. It's five months worth of payments. GRRRR!!! Nothing about my husband dying has been easy, but then again, nothing ever has been for me. I should have demanded interest, but I didn't. Next year about this time, I should qualify for Medicare. I'm crossing my fingers. My medical insurance cost will drop drastically when it takes effect which will be a blessing. I really don't think it will drop my pharmacy bill that much unfortunately.

With Medicare, the amount of coverage I receive should overlap and maybe even extend some. I know the deductible will drop. No copays or half copays will help with doctor visits. It will make driving to Athens (an hour away) easier on my pocketbook. Yes, there are neurologists closer, but I like mine.

All in all, on the anniversary of my husband's death, I'm coping pretty well.  I've had a few nightmares both waking and during sleep, but it all works out in the light of a new day. I'm adjusting. My biggest was moving away from what was comfortable and usual. It was a huge step for me, but a necessary healing one.

So today, once again, I start a new chapter in my life. I still have a few chapters to live before I join my beloved. Although, I really didn't want to. But join him, I will for all eternity. "Honey, I'm coming, but not today." Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life. Me, with half a functioning body, is doing quite well post stroke. Nothing is the same or usual, but that's okay. For...

Nothing is impossible.

Until We Meet Again

My beloved has gone on before me. He drew his last breath as I watched. His fight to remain on the Earthly plain is over. There is no more pain. No more struggling for each ounce of oxygen. He is with our Heavenly Father, his grandparents and parents whom he loved and was truly loved by.

A part of me wants to yell Hallelujah and be filled with joy. But my selfish side fights useless tears of grief from a heart torn out of my chest.

Yes, I'm the wife of an angel now. All there is left to do is heal until I can smile again.

Say It With Me...

This is the world's smallest violin...and it's playing for you.

The past couple of posts have sounded like I'm constantly on the pity-pot. But although I had some downs, it's not that I haven't had ups too. You know when you hear someone else's story you feel almost feel a guilty relief that it could be you...that happened repeatedly to me this week doing the usual round of doctors.

It's all the little things in life that are often overlooked. I can bathe myself and there are many who can't. I can feed myself and many others can't. I am encouraged by loved ones while others have no one. All these things were brought home to roost with the death of a beloved friend.  She will sorely be missed for her smile and laughter. Even when she lost her memory, she still brightened everyone's day.

Today, I rejoice in the fact that after only five months after my stroke, I can still write...one of my all time favorite things to do. While mentally challenging, I can play games and remember. I can complain about everything and anything if I want to. I can praise God with full knowledge of what I'm doing and why I'm doing. I have a good enough command of the English language that I can make myself understood.

Many things we take for granted in this life and it needs to stop. So I'm focusing on what I can do. Don't Get Your Panties in a Wad is progressing. Another 600 words done in the manuscript. <bowing> Thank you. It's an accomplishment and no small feat considering my stroke. No, it's not coming together as fast as I'd like, but I'm doing it. Really, that's all that matters, isn't it?

I've reached the stage of grief over my loss where I'm in acceptance and ready to move on. Who cares besides me that there are grammatical errors or misspellings at this point? Besides me, that is. It's still a work in progress. That's what spell/grammar checkers, and editing are for. The loss of Kindle versions on Amazon bites, but it is also available at Smashwords, KOBO, Barnes and Noble, Blio, and a host of other sites in e-versions, and sales continue.

I may have lapses into the pity-pot from time to time, but they shouldn't appear here. There are many challenges in writing and the hardest part is doing it and keep doing it.

So what has awakened you lately?

Keep writing and loving the Lord.