Welcome April, Welcome Tabitha

March is over: let the green begin! Even I, winter soul that I am, have had enough of cold air, brown tree limbs, and overcast winter skies. Bring on the sunshine, the warm spring breezes, and the soft green new growth as all the plants awaken. In the past few days I have begun my gardening and yard work for the year, making my first gleeful trip to the garden center for some pansies, which are now planted in a little bowl on the front porch. The flower beds need leaves and last year's dead flower stalks cleared away. As I worked on this little chore last evening, under every handful of sodden, brown leaves, I saw little sprigs of green peeking through the soil.
Welcome spring...and welcome Tabitha!! This little fireball joined our furry family a few weeks ago. She was residing in a pet store where her rescue agency had located her, hoping someone would adopt her. I am Someone. Tabby is a pretty, petite one year old with a beautiful, swirly pattern of black and tawny brown. She has made the transition of meeting all the other cats, dogs and rabbits and no longer feels the need to hiss at them. She and Sam have become, if not good buddies, then at least playmates, chasing each other through the house at lightning speeds and sounding more like a herd of cattle than 2 small felines. Of all the cats, she is-so far-the most independent, feeling no need to be petted or to sit in a lap. At least she seems to be comfortable now in her new home.

Leave of Absence

Dearest blog readers (all 3 of you :) ),
The recent events in my life have left me with no creative energy. Every day I think, "I should do my blog" but then I can't think of anything I want to talk about. So, for now, I am going to sign off. When I have something worth publishing on the world wide web, I will be back.
Yours, Birdie

From my brother

As I was helping my brother remove some of the items from the brown paper bag, I came to this at the bottom. As I pulled it from the bag, he said "That is for you", and I knew that I had been given one of the most precious gifts of my life. He had made this trivet, decorated with hearts and shapes of many colors, during one of his therapy sessions while recently hospitalized. We were unpacking some of his things in the rehabilitation area of a nursing home, where he will spend the next weeks working to use a walker instead of a wheelchair and to eat a normal diet instead of the pureed food he currently needs.

My brother, one of my dearest friends and a constant support in my life, at 43 years old has recently been diagnosed with dementia. We don't know the cause nor do we know the expected progression of his symptoms. We only know that this horribly unfair diagnosis is the most recent in a life that has seen too many other trials. I have seen the effects of his illnesses: lost jobs, injuries, loss of independence. There has been a relentless cycle of seeming stability followed by the inevitable plunge into depression and loss. The most recent onset of symptoms brought him emergently to the hospital where the diagnosis of dementia was discovered. And yet, and yet.... This remarkable person, who could have many, many times before thrown in the towel, has had the courage to make the best of what he has. I have thought about the time and effort it took him to place each of the small shapes into the plaster. I grieve for the losses this life has dealt him just as I celebrate his courage. No gift could mean more to me.

Missing Jessie

This has been a hard week; we miss our little buddy. We each bought a small pendant- Jim a silver cross and me a gold heart- each with Jessie's name engraved. The pendants are special in that each holds a small amount of his ashes. Friday the vet office called to let me know Jessie's ashes had been returned to them. After work I went there for the first time since he died, not wanting to leave them there overnight. They were returned to us in a small wooden box with his name engraved on a little plate. The fur we had asked them to save for us was also there in a little baggie, and someone had made a paw print impression for us in white putty. We have printed every picture we had of him and framed a few of them. 

In there own way, each of these little things is comforting. I frequently visualize Jessie running and playing like any other little kitten. I want to believe that somehow these "visions" are from him, letting me know he is ok. In my heart, I know he is. But still I miss him and would give anything to hold him again.

Lake Erie

Last Monday Jim and I traveled up to Lorain to visit Jim's dad, who is in a community hospital literally across the street from the lake. Dick is getting better and will likely be discharged soon to go back home. We got to visit with Jim's 3 brothers and his sister as well. Having not seen any of them in a long time, this was a good thing.
As soon as I saw the lake so accessible, I decided to take a walk to get up close and personal. For some reason, I thought that once I crossed the street I would be at lake level with sand. (OK, I have no claim to being lake smart!) I left the hospital grounds and crossed a busy 4 lane road. After that, there was a marshy yard belonging to a new home that was not yet occupied; I tried to make my way across, seeking the "high spots" and was fairly successful. Then there were train tracks to cross and finally I stood at the lake. However, I was significantly higher than the water level, as a steep embankment with trees and brush was in front of me. The day was gray and the water was frozen out to about 100 yards or so (?) from where I stood. Only a few seagulls kept me company, flying gracefully above where I stood, surrounded by the sleeping, brown tree branches. To be honest, it was sort of spooky. I felt vulnerable and alone and decided that it was time to retrace my steps and join humanity again.

Forever

Saturday, February 23, was a beautiful winter day. The sun shone, skies were deep blue and ice on every branch glistened. It was a long, long day, but I couldn't bear for it to end.
Our vet relayed the news to me- "It isn't good news", she said. Jessie's labs came back showing that he had been exposed to the feline coronavirus- that is all the results can tell. However, given his clinical presentation, he most assuredly had active FIP. He would progressively worsen and his 5 cat siblings were at risk of exposure.
I got his crate and gathered him from where he sat near the gate in the hallway. He was so small, and I could feel his ribs. Jim and I held him together, then we gently put him in the crate. Birdy and I took him to the vet, where they were waiting for us, and we went to the comfort room. Shortly after our arrival a tech came in and took Jessie to put a catheter in his leg. He was back in a few minutes, growling, but I laid him in his blanket on my lap and petted his head and he calmed down. They had turned the overhead lights on and I turned them off; they hurt his eyes. Dr. Blair joined us within a few minutes. She gave him a tiny amount- 0.1 ml- of a sedative, and in a few seconds he yawned twice and laid his head in my lap. She gave him the second med and within a few seconds he was gone. After they left us alone, I held him and told him how sorry I was- sorry for so many things: that he had suffered so much in his short life; that we couldn't fix him; that we had so little time to love him. I smelled the fur on his head-it smelled so good- and stroked his paws. They said that I could stay as long as I wanted. Part of me would have never left, but a bigger part knew that Jessie was gone and that he didn't need me any more. I gently put him on the couch wrapped in his little blanket, smelled his fur one more time, and left him.
For the rest of the day, a giant emptiness filled my heart. I found a blanket in the crate in the basement that he had ridden home from Virginia on, and held it to my heart. It was comforting in a small way. The minutes of the day clicked slowly past. I wanted the day to end, but I didn't. It was his last day with us.
Jim and I have survived the weekend, our thoughts never far from our little buddy. Jim was a comfort to me in a way no one else could be. We both had loved Jessie so much and only we could talk about his life with us and how much his loss meant. In the past 24 hours, it has become important to me that Jessie's legacy be a positive one, and have some specific ideas in mind. For now, this gives me something positive to focus on.
This morning, after just waking, my heart felt heavy, but there was also a sense of groundedness and something like peace. I told Jim; he said, "It's from our little buddy". I suddenly had a visual image of Jessie laying curled and purring on my heart. Being a kitten, I know he won't stay put there for long periods and I will feel his loss. But I know he will come back and Jim and I will hold him gently and lovingly in our hearts always.

So small, loved so very much

Jessie, beloved kitten, has gone to the angels. I promised him that life would get better from now on; I had no idea that our time with him would be so short. I must believe his strong little soul is whole and he is healthy now. We will miss him terribly.