Still just grieving

It will happen some day - of this I am certain, but at present I can't stop crying over Booker - and for Jake in a small way, too.  My beautiful first lads - gone far too soon.

When we rescued Jakey, it was a spur of the moment decision which I will never regret.  Never.  He deserved so much more time to enjoy life - a better life than the one he'd been dealt, and there's just no shaking that thought.  Going into it we knew he had FIV, and it was apparent that the insidious disease had taken quite a toll on Jake's body from whiskers to toes - but it didn't matter.  

He was barely making it when someone blessedly decided to save this skeletal frame of a cat from the meager existence he'd come to know.  I am grateful it happened, but that feeling of gratitude is fundamentally tied to another feeling I almost can't put my finger on.  It's a feeling of incredulity, I think.  At least, it's the closest thing I can identify that makes sense. 

Why did it take so long for another person to recognize his loveliness (despite the grime and missing fur, the sunken eyes, and the nonstop drooling; the frightening countenance he couldn't help)?  

His character was sweet and trusting, and he was loving beyond comprehension for everything he endured.  That was the way he presented himself if you stopped to really experience him, but you would have to make yourself look beyond (or behind) the outward appearance to do so.  Not many people did, but for me it was something about his eyes that drew me in and and held my heart. 

As cheated as I feel for Karl and myself, I can't help crying for Jake's sake that we couldn't have given him more - more time for love, warmth, clean surroundings, plentiful food and water, companionship...a family.  Simply put: just more time.

I fell in love with Jake in a fleeting glance.  Karl was a little reticent after having just lost Flop (and just before her, Cleo), but he became smitten once we met Jake face-to-face.  This scrawny, scarred, lack-of-fur, toothless and drooling thing charged out of his kennel and into our arms, as though we were long-lost family members - and that sealed the deal.  We were his family as much as he would be our boy.  He was the missing link in our clan, and there was no denying it was the right thing to do.

Sadly, his days were numbered; we knew it was a matter of maybe a year, but it was a year we would commit to wholeheartedly and unreservedly.  

As it turned out, the end was not to be that far off.  His poor body had endured all it could of the ravages of FIV, and despite multiple vet trips and doses of antibiotics to kill off the recurring respiratory infections, he let us know he was tired and ready to move on to a less painful place. 

Five and one-half months passed so quickly.  Too quickly.

Oh, Jake... I love and miss you, so, so much.

Booker was the young man Dottie brought to our care not long thereafter, and he was quite a change from Jake.  Pounds and pounds of difference.  We went from emaciated drooling happiness (and mostly white all over) to hissing orange pounds of fear.  Whenever I slipped into a teary mode thinking of Jake, Booker would find me and peal off a fearful face of teeth and a horrifying hiss.  Had it not been for the fact that he had once been someone's cat (this was clear because he had been neutered and front declawed), I would have feared Booker's behavior more.  For me, he presented as a feral cat, but with Dottie he was a mushy lad.  Even with Karl he was calm and accepting of some attention, so I hoped it would be just a matter of time.

Over time, Booker and I developed a love and companionship, and he became my shadow.  If I left a room, he followed immediately.  We talked and shared chairs, and he would ask to be held from time to time!  He loved my stitching, and anticipated those hours in the day when I would sit and stitch, and he would watch excitedly as the needle would rise and fall, dragging the tempting string through the material.  Oh, how he trembled at the thought of catching the threads and silk pieces, and every once in a great while would leave his comfy corner of the bed to climb onto a small perch on the chair just to be closer to the action!  His silly joy with being given a go at my threads brings a smile to my aching heart. 

Book wasn't to be here as long as we anticipated.  A small lump was detected on his lower jaw, which grew quickly through the late summer.  He was taken in for dental work in August and the x-rays showed the mass was actually an out of control, inoperable cancer.  The doctor was very kind and asked how we wanted to proceed. 

We spoke of letting him return home with doses of heavy medication to keep him comfortable for a number of weeks, but that would only give us time to say goodbye - it would not be the decent thing to do to Booker.  The other choice was to have them end the procedure and put him down while he was still groggy.  Neither option was ideal, and to choose between the only two presented was heartbreaking. 

Well, from here you know the rest of the story.  I suppose this is why/how I lost my stitching mojo, and why I am not feeling capable of producing any handwork at present.  Perhaps soon the fog will lift, but until that happens I am surviving only on getting up each day and just going back and forth to work, looking for opportunities for Karl to find employment, and performing the least of the mundane daily routine items.  Well, mundane, save for one additional little occupant in the house.

We have a new friend for Odin, who was most sorely missing Booker.  Book's departure left Odin lost and confused; spending hours every day crying out for his big buddy, endlessly searching the house from one end to the other.  Karl couldn't think on replacing Book, and would not entertain looking at faces online to find another needy prospect to fill out our family, so one weekend I took matters into my own hands, and that is how Simon came to be.  He is helping to replace some of the grief with his silly antics, but everything about this is going to take time.  More on our new family member another time.

See you on the other side.

What a difference a week makes

I spent last weekend at work. 

Yup, you read that right - "at work"! 

I know, I know.  Who does that, right?  You spend five days in a row getting out of bed, (usually) disappointed at the prospect for the next nine-plus hours - unless you have *a job that brings you joy and satisfaction, and friendships that keep you encouraged throughout your hours and years together.  

Side note: I have actually had *that in two jobs over my lifetime (but if you know me, you would know that this is not a good average, as I have had too many jobs over my lifetime...and pauses in between for life's intrusions and national economic setbacks), so I know it can happen.

At any rate, I am not at work this weekend, even though the enticement of a real hourly wage (read as overtime pay - woohoo!) would've been enough to have me return for another round of labeling. 

No, last week I signed up to help relabel product on Saturday because the advent of 8 hours of OT pay was going to be a welcome boon towards outstanding obligations.  And then [insert ominous musical notes here] we were sent home hours early, but asked if we wanted to work Sunday for five to six hours (AT DOUBLE TIME)!  No idiot turns that down, right?

This idiot didn't.

Sunday, we were once again sent home hours early, so our expectations were not met.  Yes, we had several hours of extra pay - very nice - but when management asks folks to be at the building at 6AM (or even 7AM), for a forecast period of time, and then changes the day and monetary expectations drastically...well, that's not cool.  The whole thing about actually being there early (when you are only just normally getting up to begin with) is one thing - and yes, it was my choice to go in Saturday, but the understanding was the time/pay was for 8 hours.

You think twice about ignoring an extra-early wake-up call for a mere four hours.  Trust me.

Today, Karl and I have dental obligations, and I have an additional medical 'date' (which I rescheduled to help last weekend), and didn't feel like trying to reschedule any of it again, so I avoided rising to an early alarm.  Nope, I just let the two ding-a-lings perform their usual shenanigans at 5AM....BUT, I didn't have to dress and drive - and that's the difference a week makes.