Category: Pet Owners

Merry and Bright

Posted on Posted in adoption, adoptive mom, christmas, christmas eve, Christmas Spirit, Coffee Lover, family, fertility treatment, God, holiday, holidays, hope, Life, love, Motherhood, Parenthood, Pet Owners, Single Mom, Survival, the Universe, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

I’m not a morning person. Never have been. Nonetheless, I respect the virtues of a beautiful morning. There’s something incredible about seeing the sun slip gently over the horizon and cast brilliant golden light onto the dark earth. It always overwhelms me with a sense of possibility. A new beginning set before us. A second chance. Hope.

You’d think someone with such a great appreciation of those fleeting morning hours would bounce out of bed each day with abandon, but sadly, that’s not the case. I’m somehow cursed to be both a night owl AND an early bird, staying up reading or tapping out stories on my computer until the deep hours of the night. Morning always arrives far too soon, and those glorious rays of sunshine offend my eyes and drive me to plunge ever more profoundly into my pillows, in a desperate quest for the last few moments of precious sleep.

Through the years, I have tried to change my schedule and make myself into a virtuous morning person. Morning people always seem to have it going on, don’t they? They thumb their noses at the night and gloat about their many achievements already completed by 9am, when those exhausted owls finally abandon hope of further sleep. I find that deeply annoying and yet, at heart, I must admit I do believe morning people are indeed more productive than night dwellers.

When I wrote my first book, I got up at 5:30 every morning and drank copious amounts of coffee until I completed the manuscript. It was the only way, as my nighttime mind was too often cluttered with the debris of the day to focus on the work. The shimmering silence of a new day provided me with a profusion of clarity. It was a gift, and I took advantage of those fragile hours at dawn until the deed was done, always taking time to peek out the window at sunrise to catch a glimpse of the new day’s glorious arrival.

But as soon as the final word of my tome was written, I bade goodbye to the early hours and fell back into my usual nocturnal routine. We, as humans, are intrinsically flawed, and this love of night and slothful sleep is perhaps my greatest weakness. Oh, for the New Year, I aspire to embracing the wee hours of the morning once more to raise my level of production in 2023! I will try. We all can dream.

On this fine morning of Christmas Eve 2022, my eyes flew open early, when the day was still quiet and golden. A small voice in my head whispered, “It’s Christmas!” and so it is. A smile drifted over my face, and I felt a twinge of childlike delight in my heart. Christmas. I love Christmas. Since my youth, it’s been a moment of magic and joy. I found it remarkable that every family around the world was touched by this elusive elf, clad in red velvet and snow. The excitement was almost overwhelming for little me.

That ethereal quality still lingers in my heart. Christmas! As a sensible adult, I understand that not everyone celebrates this holiday, but I get a quiet thrill from knowing that Christmas has transcended the constrains of the religious and is now considered a season of its own. The Season of Christmas! I love that. A season of joy, no matter your beliefs. The Christmas Spirit is available to one and all. It’s all about love and yours for the taking. How wonderful. And it starts today.

Honestly, as an adult and a parent, Christmas Eve is more about finishing up those last-minute chores for the big day – wrapping gifts, writing cards, preparing festive food, and driving kids to the shocking chaos of the mall for last-minute gifts. It’s hardly a day of rest and daydreams. And yet, when my eyes opened on this Christmas Eve morning, I was awash with the joy of the season. Love. Hope. Possibility. Magic. It’s all there.

I watched the sun cast her gilded rays over the mountains this morning and chase away the darkness of the rest of the year. That’s gone now. Christmas. I put on the soft strains of my favorite holiday music. Christmas. I whispered, “Thank you,” aloud to the day. I get to celebrate another Christmas with my loved ones. Amazing. Christmas. Life is the greatest gift of all, isn’t it? And I’m still here, after all this time. What a blessing.

Merry Christmas to you! May it be both merry and bright.

The Chipped Bowl

Posted on Posted in Addictions, adoption, adoptive mom, Alcoholism, Cat Lovers, Coffee Lover, family, fertility treatment, God, holidays, Life, Loss, love, Motherhood, Parenthood, Pet Owners, Single Mom, Survival, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

In Western cultures, we tend to value perfection. When something breaks, we throw it away and buy a new one. Value is placed on that which is flawless. It is quite the opposite in the East. According to Wikipedia, the Japanese word, Kintsugi, refers to a broken item, such as a chipped porcelain bowl, which has been meticulously repaired with gold or silver thread, highlighting its imperfection, and in that way, celebrating the unique quality of the bowl. The chipped bowl becomes even more precious to the holder because of its flaw. I find that both lovely and remarkable.

We always look forward to the annual gathering of our families at the holidays. We idealize that time together and imagine it will be carefree and loving, like the warm and wonderful scenes in a Christmas movie, everything merry and bright. The reality is often not quite that. How did Thanksgiving go for you? What is it about a large meal with extended family that brings out the worst in people? It could be the combination of rich food, alcohol, and conflicting views on sports teams? Maybe.

All efforts to maintain civil behavior seem to fade into the bountiful slices of pumpkin pie and melt away with the vanilla ice cream. There’s always the family member (or two) who drinks too much and gets messy. In my family, the dinner conversation would somehow always turn to politics during dessert. Of course, no one agreed, and before long, fireworks seemed to explode over the table. We children would look at each other with something akin to terror. Please God. Not politics. But, there was no stopping it. Like clockwork, all the kids would rise and silently start clearing the table. Better to wash dishes than listen to grownups argue.

The adults never said a word to us, or maybe they didn’t even notice we’d left. When the table was finally clean, and the dishes were sparkling, it was time to go home. Goodbyes were sprinkled all around and hugs were exchanged as we hurried to our cars, clutching our boxes of tasty leftovers from the feast. Everyone breathed a unified sigh of relief as we drove away into the night. Thanksgiving dinner – check! Moving on.

Erma Bombeck once said, “It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without a little emotional scarring.” It’s the deep truth in the words that makes them funny. To her credit, the illustrious Ms. Bombeck also said, “There are friends, there is family, and then there are friends that become family.” I kind of love that. For me, it is my friends who make the world go round.

Families. Holidays. Arguments. Stress. People wax poetic on the importance of family, but sadly, family life too often is less than idyllic. Every year we send and receive holidays cards with photos of our families looking happy and successful. It’s easy to believe that these lovely families don’t have a worry in the world – indeed, once more, all merry and bright. But, the truth is hidden behind the smiles. Family can be precious and beautiful but also jealous and unkind. Your siblings are supposed to be your best friends but what if they are not? People move away from home and put thousands of miles between themselves and family for a reason. Just because someone is related to you doesn’t mean you like them. Or have anything in common with them. It makes sense that these annual gatherings are often fraught with tension.

The blood link is considered strong, but families that can actually live and play together peacefully through the years have a unique gift. It is the exception, rather than the rule. The rest of us must do the best we can. The modern world has created families through marriage, divorce, blended families, and adoption. Many of us have made our own families from a ragtag group of misfits who simply fit together – like missing puzzle pieces, reunited at last. The people in our lives should love us for our imperfections, not in spite of them. Like the beautiful, chipped bowl, repaired with golden thread. Kintsugi. Perfectly imperfect. During this holiday season, remember to be grateful for the people we call ‘family’ in our lives. Not the ones we are supposed to love, maybe, but the ones we do love. Like the chipped bowl. Perfect.

Happy Holidays to you and yours.

The Universe, Outer Space, Earth, and Me

Posted on Posted in adoptive mom, Cat Lovers, dog lovers, God, Life, Loss, love, Motherhood, Outer Space, Parenthood, Pet Owners, Single Mom, Space, Survival, the Universe, UncategorizedTagged , , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

William Shatner recently made it back from his civilian trip into space, courtesy of Jeff Bezos. Upon his return, Shatner spoke of the overwhelming grief he felt while being in space and seeing earth in all its unique blue-ness, so small and insignificant in the universe of deep, black nothingness. It made Shatner realize that here on earth is “where the love is.” That’s what he said. This is it. This is the place. Love can be found right here. And it made him profoundly sad to know that we are polluting this pristine environment and throwing it away. All of this is a gift – a miraculous gift and we are turning our backs on it.

Space – darkness, fear, cold, claustrophobia, solitude. What do you think of when you think of outer space? Of bobbing around in a spaceship, a million miles from anywhere? Would you want to take a trip out there? I love the concept of it, the principle. Of seeing what is beyond our little world. How fascinating the planets and stars and solar systems are! But then fear would stop me in my tracks. I wouldn’t want to go for fear of never coming back. I would feel absolute terror that I would not be able to return.

I remember watching an old Swedish film called “My Life as a Dog.”  In the film, the narrator is a little girl who is vaguely obsessed by a dog. At that time, the Soviet Union had launched a dog in an unmanned rocket ship into space. The dog’s name was “Laika.” And poor Laika would never come home. The Soviets though it was a wonderful idea and apparently watched the dog eventually perish as his little space capsule swirled away, lost in the stars. The little girl was deeply troubled by this. Throughout the film, she wondered how Laika was feeling, if Laika was lonely or scared or hungry or in pain. If Laika knew she wouldn’t make it out alive. Did she know she was going to die? What was Laika thinking?

I loved the sweet simplicity of the child’s thoughts. And indeed, I shared sympathy for poor Laika, sent out into the universe, never to return home. Home. Our little blue planet. I was quite taken by Shatner’s account of his grief. What we have here on this planet of ours is so truly remarkable and most of us never take note of it. We just keep going day after day – same old shit. Instead of breathing in this life, this planet. Realizing what a gift it is to be here, to be alive, to have our feet on this earth. Was it all predestined or a magnificent mistake? Who knows. But here we are. Home.

Sometimes I have this this overwhelming urge to go home. I’m homesick and wistful and just want to go home. And then I realize I am home. But is this really it? Is there nowhere else to go? The home I knew as a child, I left long ago when I set off for college on the faraway East Coast. I only returned for short visits, but never again to live there as my home. My mom and her beloved dog are there still but it doesn’t feel like home to me anymore. The neighborhood is full of old memories I don’t want to remember and the dreams of children who grew up and floated away.

They say you can never go home and alas, perhaps they are right. Where is my home? When my children go off to college and their rooms are suddenly empty, where will I go? Or will I simply stay here and build a new story of my own? What will that be without their laughter and joy? That happy noise? Just four walls and a ceiling – the little old lady who lived in a shoe. Not a home, per se. Just a place to lay my hat until the next adventure comes along. A leaf drifting in the wind, searching for that ineffable Shangri-la that lives in my mind. Home.

Losing Pumpkin

Posted on Posted in Cat Lovers, disease, euthanasia, God, Life, Motherhood, Parenthood, Pet Owners, Single Mom, Survival, UncategorizedLeave a comment

By Elizabeth Kate

I killed my cat. At least, that’s how it feels. Officially, Pumpkin was euthanized, after being diagnosed with terminal liver disease. But in spite of the diagnosis, he didn’t want to go. He was my faithful pet until the end. His spirit was strong, but his body was weak. Pumpkin fought death.

My dear cat was suffering. He hadn’t eaten in more than a week and couldn’t hold anything down. If he took more than a few sips of water, he started to vomit and dry heave. And of course, the only thing he wanted to do was drink. Pumpkin couldn’t understand why I would take away the water bowl after he took a few mouthfuls. He would sit patiently on the bathroom counter hoping I would turn on the faucet. It broke my heart to see him there. I wanted to give my poor baby water, but it always ended badly. Helping to quench his thirst made him sick all over again – a vicious circle.

We searched out a vet who could euthanize Pumpkin at home since he hated going to the vet. Pumpkin also hated his carrier. We had to lure him in with some sort of treat, but he would begin meowing indignantly once he realized he was locked in. He would get progressively louder as we made our way out to the car and was positively howling by the time we arrived at the vet’s office.

I didn’t want Punks to have such an experience on the day he would be put down – his death day, if you will. I wanted it to be quiet and peaceful, so he would just sort of float away, far from any pain or discomfort. This traveling vet seemed ideal, and her assistant patiently explained how the euthanasia was carried out. The animal would receive two injections. The first injection would put the animal into a gentle, twilight state, and the second would end their life. It sounded doable with the least amount of trauma. The price was high, but how can you put a price on something like that? I hired the vet.

She arrived the next morning and went over the process briefly. Before I knew it, the vet was giving Pumpkin a huge injection. I didn’t know she was going to do it right away. Maybe we would have a moment to say goodbye? But she got down to business without pause. It happened very quickly. Maybe she thought we might change our minds as my children and I were all clearly distraught.

I guess most animals are tranquilized immediately by this first shot, but not our Pumpkin. In fact, it was quite the opposite. The needle went in, and he screamed in pain! I was horrified. He struggled and scratched and bit, literally fighting for dear life to escape our grasp. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

Now again, the vet had explained that the first shot “calms and soothes the animal and the final injection escorts them over the rainbow bridge.” No one said a thing about incredible fear, fighting, and clawing and struggling from us, trying to hide, to escape, to get away. It was awful. Pumpkin ran to the hallway door and was furiously reaching his paws under the door, desperately trying to escape Dr. Death. He was fighting madly for his life with every inch of his being.

I ran after him and held him down so he couldn’t escape into the other room. It felt so wrong to be doing this. What was happening? I was sickened by the way everything was unfolding and choking on my tears. My heart squeezed tightly in my chest. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Was it all an appalling mistake?

Pumpkin wasn’t ready to go. My baby wanted fiercely to live. He was so scared. I wanted to stop, to rewind, to end this trauma. To go back per se? Could I stop the death wish after that first shot? Was that the right choice? I didn’t know. The vet said she was shocked. That this had never happened before. She explained his spirit was still very strong – and that this was just an adrenaline rush – but I could barely hear her through my tears.

The twilight medicine started to kick in and Pumpkin must have felt a wave of vertigo. He struggled to get up, but his feet collapsed out from under him like a ragdoll. It was awful. Like he was suddenly inebriated and had lost control of his body. It must have been confusing and terrifying for him. And it was on me. My fault. I did this.

Pumpkin wasn’t ready to go but I ushed him out. I killed my cat. I didn’t do it by myself but instead hired an assassin to take him out while I watched. I helped. I aided and abetted the crime. He trusted me and I betrayed that. I hired the Grim Reaper to make a house call. I was there at the very moment that the final shot was administered. The vet put her stethoscope against his furry white chest and listened for a heartbeat. Nothing. She whispered softly, “He’s gone.”

Gone. Gone. So final. But what if I wanted him back? What if I realized there had been an grave mistake and Pumpkin was actually fine and didn’t need to be put down at all? Gone. Gone too soon. I wanted my cat back. But where did he go? Far away, away from all of us sobbing over his little wasted body. My children and I cried and cried but there was no bringing him back. Pumpkin had left the building. The vet went outside to give us some quiet time to mourn together.

Guilt weighed like lead in my chest. Grief washed over me like waves in the sea, each one more bitter and salty than the last. He’s just a cat for God’s sake. A stupid cat. But my cat. My friend. And he was gone. And nothing could be done.

But then, he wasn’t just a cat. He was a card-carrying member of the family. Always looked pissed off at the world. He gamely gave us friendly head butts and purred so loudly he sounded like a motorboat. Pumpkin could never could just walk into a room. He had to run in, full speed, and maybe crash into something along the way, like the character “Kramer” on “Seinfeld.” He was exceptionally feisty. If his brother was curled up a little too comfortably on the bed, he might come over and bite him on the neck and then take that nice, warm, newly vacated spot. He was a character to be sure.

Pumpkin has been gone a few weeks now. I’m holding it together. I make bad jokes to the kids about how we could have stuffed him and made him into a paperweight or maybe a cute hat or a single, fuzzy Ugg boot. I can’t talk about or think of him too much because people will think I’m a crazy cat lady. I’m not. Just a cat mom who lost her baby. And it hurts. I remember the look in his eyes. The fear. The confusion. Right till the very end, he didn’t want to go. He didn’t go peacefully into the night. He fought till the very end. And I pushed him over.

Will I ever get over the guilt? I don’t know. Does that make me insane? Maybe. But I miss how he used to meet me at the door like a little dog. I miss how he always slept on my stomach when I lay down for a nap. I miss that he was disgusted by the smell of perfume. He would actually make a terrible face like he couldn’t breathe. It was so funny. He would back away from me and run out of the room if I had on perfume or even just scented body lotion. He was a very sensitive feline.

My daughters used to tell me that Pumpkin would pout and act miserable until I came home from work. He missed me. I was his person. And now I miss him. My dear sweet guy. More than just a cat. A friend. A dear friend. So many memories. A lot of regret.

I wish it had ended differently. All I wanted was for my sweet guy to be released from his bodily pain. I know he is at peace now. I hope wherever he is, he can forgive me for that disaster of a death scene. It was never my intention to make him suffer. I hope he knows that. I love him. I always will. My heart belongs to that orange, furry boy who answered to the name of Pumpkin.