Spoiler--sad post. Enter with caution.

So I will no longer be depressing friends and colleagues with FB comments on the death of my cat. I strive so hard to maintain a fun or inspired "brand" on FB (cause really that's what most of us do). I am not a big fan of oversharing or emoting. But man, this past week felt like I had the top layer of my skin ripped off. And I just wanted a bunch of people being nice to me.

In the oh-so-perfect words of my precious friend Anne, I snot-cried for 2 days straight. Stunning how grief can just kick you over and over. I hate the moment in the morning when you have forgotten. And then you remember.

I have never watched someone die up close. I was in the room when my ex-husband's grandfather died. I left dissassociative and shaken. I swore I could never do it again. and I was in the back corner of the room.

This time I was kneeling beside her face to face. I rubbed her ears with my hand and told her how much I loved her over and over again. She was looking me straight in the eyes until the moment she died. And really the light just went off. I swear something just left her. That being behind the eyes didn't just stop seeing. She went away.

A couple of times I have walked into my house and yelled "Sweetie" just so I can hear myself say it again. A part of me has hoped a little ghost cat will rub up against me. Too much ghosthunters. My life is not that mystical.

Sweetie was feral when I found her and her kittens. I caught them and fixed them, adopted out the kittens...and over the course of a year, turned my squirrel-lke Sweetie into a shy baby who loved to be petted. On her own terms of course. Kneeling beside me on the couch, not-so subtley ducking her head, pushing it into my thigh. In other words, "pet me you fool". But the minute you made an unexpected movement...she was off.

But once socialized, Sweetie didn't really know the meaning of "playing hard to get"...she just took some time to trust. She never liked being picked up. This is why I didn't recognize her weight loss through her thick fur coat. And she purred so often next to me with her head tucked....I didn't see the progressively heavier breathing. She seemed happy. She always ran to her food bowl. She slept ON me a couple nights before she died. I don't know if anyone would have noticed she was sick. I want to believe I am incredibly intuitive. but for some reason, I missed it. I will always grieve this.

I don't know if I had caught it earlier if I could have saved her. There is a small voice that is trying to make me feel guilty. Honestly--I think it's a sad way of trying to hold onto her subconsciously. But I suppose writing it down means awareness.

So I looked up the lifespan of feral cats. Without a colony, they usually live 2 years. When I brought Sweetie into my home in 2003, the vet believed she was probably about 1. So she lived in my home with company, food, warmth and soft places to sleep for 8 years. I also want to believe she learned what it feels like to be loved.

I have learned at the end of the day to never take a being for granted. To love a bit more actively. And that I am strong enough to watch someone die. And to admit to snot-crying for 2 days straight.

She was worth the whole thing. I love you Sweetie.

In Meaghan's words...

Mom to Meaghan: "Meaghan, what do you want to be when you grow up?"
Meaghan: "An artist"

Mom: "Really, that's new. Meag, why do you think art is important?"


Meaghan: "Art is everything. I mean look around you...art is everywhere. I see it everywhere. Everything manmade is art. Nature is art. Without art, there would be nothing. NOTHING."


I think my daughter is 2,000,000,000 years old.

a little comedy

Sometimes I feel like Jim Carrey in that movie where he lived in a bubble world and everything around him was scenery and actors. I can't recall the name but sometimes my life just seems so chock full of comedy that I think "did that really happen"? I mean "really"??? Clearly there is a camera somewhere.

The other night I took my daughter and her two best friends out for a "girls night out". I was informed by my daughter on the way over that I was absolutely not to say anything to embarrass her. I pride myself on being a "cool" mom but I guess what's cool to a seven year old may be lost on a 39 year old. I asked her to explain this and she said to limit my conversation to "hello" and "how are you". I am obviously not as cool as I think I am.

We went to Steak and Shake and ate chicken fingers and fries. And most importantly honey mustard and cheese dip. I admit--i like my dips. I can't imagine a world without dip. My hips can't imagine a world without dip. But I digress.

So afterwards we proceed to the movies--Gnomio and Juliet. Very cute movie though I missed the first 20 minutes navigating through my own personal comedy which is where the story really begins.

So the moviebegins and I put on the 3D glasses. And I kid you not--I feel my right contact pop out of my eye. I mean, how does that happen? Its a soft contact. Nothing came in contact with my eyeballs.

And the worst part of it is that I think it just fell into my popcorn. So I start lightly picking around the popcorn. but to no avail. And I can't find it on my shirt, pants or seat. Bye bye contact.

(I am learning that I need to always carry around a back-up vision plan. Turtles steal my glasses. Popcorn steals my contacts. And I have to reiterate that I am legally blind).

Normally I might have just closed an eye and attempted to adjust to seeing with one eyeball. But I am supposed to drive home three 7-year girls in the pouring rain. Some people have eyepatches so perhaps this would have worked. But I am not used to being a pirate. I do not want to attempt it this particular evening.

So thankfully I have an amazing boyfriend who saved us all from imminent death by bringing me my glasses. It was all very ninja-like--him sneaking into the theater and quickly passing me the glasses. I appreciated this very much since my coolness factor was dwindling even in my own eyes. Or eye since I can't see out of one.

But the worst part is that at the moment I became comfortable knowing I would be able to see again--I continued eating my popcorn which seemed strangely chewy. I had just chewed up my own contact. Awesome.

Anyway--after the movie I ended up just telling the girls. And they sort of looked at me like I was strange.

So I get home from the trip and asked my daughter how I did. She raised her thumb to an almost upright position. She said "mom, you were almost cool".

Somehow I think thats as good as it will ever get. And I am ok with that. We all need the ability to laugh at ourselves. It balances out the stress.

The universe has a fabulous sense of humor. She is almost cool.