At times like this, words don’t come easy. Thank goodness for poets. For the full poem, “The cat’s song,” go here.
Junior was euthanized at about 5:15 PM on Thursday, September 14, 2023. A clinical exam revealed that what we thought was a stubborn case of chronic rhinitis, was in fact a huge mass pushing aggressively through his nasal cavity, causing not just congestion but also swelling along his nose and pain. All options except one promised more suffering without any guarantee of relief.
My big boy was suffering big time, and the best we could do for him was help him over the Rainbow Bridge. At least he’ll be in good company with Maxine, Luisa, Mikey, Elodea, Joshua, and Smokey.
I’m going to miss … I am missing his sweet, sweet face, and his utter dependence on us. I miss how he would sit in the kitchen, an hour or so before lunch time, and wait for his midday meal. He was often underfoot in the kitchen, pushing me to scold him and even chase him out. Except he always slipped back in, his stubborness always making me give in to him.
I miss how he would join us for our meals, knowing that my husband could be counted on to slip him a bit of meat or cheese. I miss how he would lounge with us on the loveseat while we enjoyed a stay-at-home Happy Hour. I miss how fickle he was about which lap to lie on when we were watching TV, sometimes switching laps a couple of times over the course of a movie.
He entered our lives as a fully grown “neighborhood cat” around early 2009, Greg patiently earning his trust with kibbles and shelter. Fourteen years sounds like a long time, but it went by too fast.
Here’s a few of my favorite photos of Junior.
Junior loved heat, especially from the sun, to the point of trying to lick it.
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While I considered Junior to be my “big boy,” he was partial to Greg, inclined to go into full sleep mode while straddling his leg.
When the going gets tough, I get my hair dyed. Here’s my latest do courtesy of Chelsea Salon and Spa.
So what’s so tough?
Firstly, about ten days ago my mother fell while on her way to bed. Broke her hip. My brother found her the next morning. Yes, folks, the scenario we all dread when our elderly relatives live alone. She is fine right now. She had a simple surgery and was in hospital for a couple of more days before they scurried her over to a rehabilitation facility. My family has a long history with this facility.
It’s the same facility where my sister Shirley spent a couple of months recovering from a broken ankle. Also, a long, long time ago and known then only as “the infirmary,” it’s the same place where my father was cared for until his death. And it’s the same place where my surrogate grandfather Ted Albers was cared for until his death. It’s now called River Ridge Living Center.
My mother is in a safe place. She’s not quite the happy camper, but her see-saw moods could be post-anesthesia blues or side effects of morphine or the realization that her days of independent living are over. My brother visits her a couple of times a day, other family are there frequently, pretty much the same or more as when she was living in her trailer, but now we have the benefit of knowing that she is getting the kind of care she has needed (and resisted) for a long time.
I am hoping and praying that she relaxes into her new life at River Ridge. Even before her fall, she was already living in the “here and now.” She wouldn’t remember what happened yesterday or maybe even a hour before. She can’t conceive of the future. If you try to tell her about something that will happen the next day, she’ll just shake her head and tell you she won’t remember that.
So my brother (her primary caregiver) is doing all he can to make sure that all her needs are being met and will continue to be met. I don’t believe she will or even should go home again, not without 24/7 care which she can only get properly at River Ridge. I said as much to my brother, and it wasn’t easy. I’ve never wanted my mom to wind up in a facility, but it’s really the best place for her now. She has said she is being treated well, and that gives me hope that she’ll become more comfortable with the place as time goes on. I’ve only talked to her a couple of times. Talking on the phone tires her out quickly. I miss our daily phone calls, but as long as others are there with her, I’m okay.
Secondly, Junior’s chronic condition has worsened. He was getting better, but then the lining of his left nostril became swollen and inflamed. With Dr. C’s permission, I started giving him steroid nose drops again, but with no appreciable improvement. Worse, he stopped eating on Tuesday. He had been getting picky with his food over time, preferring dry food to the wet, then treats to the regular dry, and then skipping meals altogether.
His left nostril is congested. We suspect he stopped eating because he can’t smell his food or the congestion makes his food unappetizing or both. We have used a baby aspirator to suck some of the snot out of his nose, but apparently not enough to give him comfort. I take him into the bathroom with me when I shower, hoping the steam will loosen the mucous up. The problem is that he’s not sneezing, not expelling the mucous himself, and our efforts at aspiration are probably too little too late. I’m angry with myself for not scheduling a recheck, instead waiting until we were in panic mode.
In the meantime, my husband devised a system where we essentially force-feed him using a syringe and pureed wet food. We’ve done this successfully a few times now, although all of us wind up with squirts of cat food on our hair and fur.
His appointment with Dr. C is a drop-off, meaning I drop him off at the hospital in the early morning and then wait to hear from Dr. C. I try to avoid drop-offs because I don’t like leaving my cats at the hospital all day (separation anxiety), but this is the earliest we could get him in.
So stay tuned and thank you for reading! Here’s a few pics of Junior from this morning, obviously taken against his will.
Last time you all saw me here, I shared a recently published micro-story of mine from Flash Fiction Friday. My submission had to be 100 words or less. I “complained” that a longer version of the story was better. But now I’m not sure if either version is particularly good. You be the judge because that’s what readers do.
Original, 147-word version, untitled:
The dinner party was in full swing. Six women sat around the small table with glasses of wine and plates dirty with scrapes of spaghetti. Megan, the seventh woman, sat at the end of the table, blocked by her best friend. Megan watched as her hands became translucent. Conversation revolved around when Dawn and her friends were in college, long before Megan met Dawn at work and latched onto her as one would a lifesaver.
Dawn had wanted to come to this party, see her old friends, but wouldn’t come without Megan. “I’ll go if you go,” she said. “I don’t want to go alone.”
Megan watched as her hands, arms, and body slowly disappeared, replaced by quivering energy. She rose, the women deep in reminiscences of bygone camping trips, walked through them, the women twitching only a little as she passed by and out the front door.
The edited, 100-word version at Flash Fiction Friday is here: Invisible.
Update on Junior: First, he’s fine. But earlier in the week he seemed to take a turn for the worse with lethargy and copious discharges from his nose. When he turned away from his breakfast on Wednesday, I called the hospital, in a bit of a panic and demanded asked if he could see Dr. C as soon as possible. Dr. C is Junior’s primary vet; she knows him well. The new vet, nil. We got an appointment for the next morning, and I elected to stop the stereroidal nosedrops. I mean, if he’s having worse symptoms after two+ weeks, then surely the medication is not helping. He slept most of the day and by evening was starting to eat again. Plus the nasal discharge had slowed.
We love Dr. C. She’s bright and bubbly, doesn’t shy away from talking about tough issues but doesn’t jump to conclusions either. She did a nasal swab and ordered a culture (we’re still waiting for results). Generally, though, she suspects Junior is just one of those kitties that develops chronic rhinusitis that will sometimes respond to treatment and sometimes won’t. The condition is not life threatening, but is something to stay on top of.
While Dr. C had Junior in the back of the clinic for the nasal swab, she took advantage of the fact that he has no teeth and stuck her finger in his mouth to palpate his soft palate for a tumor. Nothing. Then she took a bulb syringe and sucked a bunch of snot out of his nose. She showed us his snot.
We love Dr. C.
While we’re waiting on the culture results, we have him on antihistamines again. Aside from a super cruddy nose in the morning, which I clean up with wet paper towels and Q-tips, you wouldn’t know anything was amiss with Junior.
On Instagram recently, I shared a couple of photos of butterfly larvae that’s taken residence in our passionflower vine. We’ve counted at least 11 of these critters. We’re excited that we might truly have our own “butterfly garden” soon.
More butterfly larvae
Butterfly larvae
It wasn’t easy but I also managed to film a Gulf Fritillary flitting around the passionflower vine. This is what the larvae should develop into.
Other than stressing out over Junior and taking photographs, I’ve been weaving a scarf on my new toy: an Ashford Knitter’s Loom. It will be a long while before I share any photos of that adventure. My husband is impressed with the result but, to be honest, I almost ruined the project before I even started it. I remembered why I eventually gave up weaving. Some of the work is tedious and involves … math. But weaving by itself is a joy and worth the tedium of warping and angst of math.
Thank you for reading! Here’s a photo of Raji from this morning in his favorite sleeping pose … except here he is giving me the stink-eye for waking him.
An alternative title to this post would be The Great Escape. Be assured this story has a happy ending, although the experience probably shaved a few years off my life.
Last Sunday I was minding my own business, sitting in front of my computer checking email, when I heard my husband calling for Raji and rattling the dry food container. I thought to myself, “Why is he doing that? He gave all of them lunch just an hour ago.” At that moment, I turned to my window which looks out onto our deck. I saw Raji’s ginger-striped bum sliding between two of my potted plants. I didn’t react at first. I only remember thinking, “Oh.”
Then my heart made a nose-dive to my stomach. I ran to my husband who was outside, trying to encourage Raji to turn around and come back inside the house. Quietly he told me that Wendy had also gotten out. He had managed to sequester Junior in one of the back rooms, all while I was busy reading and writing emails.
Naturally, I was calm and not at all worried. HA! I call BS on that!
I was totally freaked out. I ran around to the front of the house where Greg had last seen Wendy. I couldn’t find her. At all. I hurried to the back yard where Greg was still talking to Raji as our little innocent kitty explored. For the next two-and-a-half hours, we followed Raji as he investigated the perimeter of our property, occasionally jumping a fence to a neighbor’s yard.
Meanwhile, Wendy had disappeared.
Every so often I’d return to the front of our house, walk a ways up and down our street, calling her name. All our doors were open, including the garage door, an invitation for them to return. Junior continued to protest, shut up in the back room, his voice plaintive and distant.
We couldn’t get close to Raji. Generally he doesn’t like to be picked up so we knew if we rushed him, he would run away from us. At one point, he started talking to me and seemed frustrated by his attempts to get back in our yard. While he could jump onto our neighbor’s chain-link fence, he didn’t like the fences and kept trying to find ways around them. Finally he was back in our yard and he ran up to the back porch! Unfortunately, he went to the one unopened screen door, the screen door that we rarely use because the porch has settled over the last thirty years, and the door is difficult to open and close.
It started to rain.
At first, just sprinkles and then a downpour. By this time, Greg had gotten the other screen door open but Raji was sheltering under a group of ferns. I went back to the front of the house. Still no sign of Wendy.
I sat down on a stool and tried to think of what to do next. I had alerted our neighbors across the street, and I managed to put an alert on the Nextdoor app. Raji seemed to want to stay close by, for which I was grateful, but I was perplexed that Wendy had simply disappeared. Greg came around to the front, and we started to talk about next steps.
As we talked, I heard a small noise. I looked at Greg. He had heard it too, but couldn’t tell where it came from. I started to call for Wendy and then heard a distinct “Meow.” She was in the garage, but where? We couldn’t see her. We were cautious in how we looked for her, not wanting to make any loud noise or sudden movement. My fear was that she would get spooked and run off.
Finally, I looked into the recesses under Greg’s work bench. Wendy was sitting in the middle of a considerable amount of clutter, behind a large board that was propped against the bench. She had chosen the one spot where she couldn’t be seen. Greg moved the board, and Wendy looked at us like she couldn’t imagine what the fuss was all about. We closed up the garage, keeping our eyes on Wendy in case she decided to bolt. She didn’t.
Once Wendy was safe, I went inside our house to close the French doors that opened onto our back porch. As I started to close one of the doors, Raji sauntered in. Yes, he sauntered. In disbelief, I watched him cross the back porch and enter the dining room, acting as if nothing had happened. I immediately closed up the house and let Junior rejoin us.
How did this happen?
We know that our cats, Raji in particular, enjoy hanging out in the garage. I don’t know why. They just do. A side door off the garage leads to the great outdoors. We keep it closed for the most part, but, sometimes, especially when, for whatever reason, one of us is going in and out, the side door is left open for convenience.
Greg was going in and out, taking care of some minor yard work. He was on his way out again and didn’t see that Raji and Wendy were right at his heels. By the time he realized they were in the garage and the side door was wide open, it was too late. Junior was also following the group, but he’s not as quick as he used to be, so Greg was able to grab him and put him back in the house.
Lesson learned
Keep the side garage door closed at all times, and make sure we know where the kids are before entering the garage.
Theories as to why we didn’t lose our cats
Wendy probably never ventured far. The garage is a safe place for her. After we first got her in August 2013, we had a couple of episodes where she escaped through the front door. The trick to getting her back was to open the garage door. At the sound of that door opening, she would hurry back to us. And it’s likely that when it started to rain, she came back to the garage for shelter. She just didn’t bother to let us know right away.
Raji probably wondered where we had gone. For over two hours, we had been calling and talking to him, following him around. Then, all of a sudden, we were no longer there. As long as we were talking to him, he was content to be outside. But I think it worried him when he no longer knew where we were. He had to come inside to find us.
We are still amazed at our good fortune: that our kids didn’t go far, that they came back inside of their own accord, and that the horrible experience (for me and my husband) only lasted a few hours. We are also grateful for what this experience showed us: that our cats are truly domesticated, that they will choose home if given the choice.
I don’t think I could go through something like this again, though. I felt utterly helpless. My husband felt deeply guilty. Neither of us wanted to imagine life without Wendy or Raji.
Thank you for reading. Here’s a few post-adventure photos. Well, actually the first one is pre-adventure, taken the morning of.
I couldn’t get an appointment on Wednesday with Maxine’s regular vet. It was important to us that Dr. C examine her. Continuity of care and all that.
I did make an appointment for Wednesday but the vet on duty was one that neither of us really cared for. My husband got upset. Things were a little tense. I called back and asked about Thursday, knowing Dr. C would be working that day. She was and I rescheduled for 3 pm Thursday.
I was miffed, and Max had created another urinary mess in the back room. While I cleaned up, my husband administered her now daily dose of fluids. When I finished, I found the both of them lying on the bed. My husband said, “We have to make a decision.”
I was already thinking that. What were we going to do? Find out that she was constipated again, would need another enema, another overnight stay? How often were we going to put her through that? She had flinched and complained when I picked her up that morning, a sure sign that she was probably developing gas in her stomach and colon, that she felt pain, that she was likely miserable.
I texted the veterinary hospital because I knew I couldn’t talk. Yes, they could do the euthanasia instead. We can be with her if we want.
Indeed, we wanted to be with her.
Again, she laid on my lap while we watched a movie last night. She slept in my husband’s room, two platforms with wee-wee pads on both sides of the bed. Still, she peed on the rug in front of my bathroom sometime during the night. And, yes, I stepped in it this morning.
Today, we took turns sitting or lying with her, watching her sleep or slurp her broth, or watching her watching us. Many times I wondered if we were wrong, but it was obvious her body was shutting down. No one lives through that.
It was good to have Dr. C attend to Max and to us. I’ll be forever grateful. In the past couple of years, and especially the last few months, Dr. C had spent a lot of time with Max. We could tell that she was sad, too.
Our other kitties are now running through the house with big, anxious eyes. A new dynamic will have to emerge. It’ll be interesting to see how the pecking order is reordered. Somehow I think Raji will reign. If anyone can herd cats, it’s him.
Maxine has the strongest spirit of any cat I’ve had the pleasure to serve. Every day is a new day with her. My husband and I are at the point of saying that we need to “set a date.” But we haven’t. Well, we did briefly. It would have been tomorrow, Wednesday, December 8. Thankfully, it’s not.
Because Maxine’s kidneys have pretty much failed, and she’s become pickier about what she eats, we’ve encountered a problem that we never had with any of the other ten cats that have (or continue to) grace our modest home: constipation. This is where it would be most helpful if she could talk, like in a language I could understand.
About a week ago, we noticed Maxine passed some hard, dry stools. Then, the next day, my husband saw her unsuccessfully straining to pass stool. (Well, she was successful but a few minutes later outside the litter box.) I called our vet, got a prescription for lactulose and started her on it right away. Unfortunately, right away was too late. We thought it was working but then a couple of days went by without any evidence that Maxine pooped.
With four cats, you’d think it would be hard to tell their stools apart. Nope. Not with our kitties. Particularly with Maxine. She never, ever covers her poop. Saturday morning I decided she needed to see a doctor. We had also noticed that she experienced pain when we picked her up, but thought it was her arthritis. Also, as much as she seemed to want to eat, she barely touched her meals. I assumed that while her steroids stimulate her appetite, her kidney disease probably makes the food unpalatable. I got tired of assuming and wanted an expert’s opinion.
I took her to our regular vet during emergency hours. A dog with a chest wound came in at the same time so they referred me to another ER veterinary hospital. I went there. Our regular veterinary hospital currently prohibits humans other than hospital staff from entering the building, but the ER hospital was different which was good for me psychologically. (It was also a mixed bag in terms who did and did not wear a mask. Sigh.)
They ushered me into an exam room right away, and a technician came in to get info within fifteen minutes. I explained our concern about Max being constipated, noting that she has late stage chronic kidney disease. The tech took her to the back to get her vitals and said a doctor would come in to talk to me shortly. I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
After an hour, I asked someone at the front desk for an update.
I waited.
And waited.
After another hour, I went the front desk again, eyes wet from the strain of worry and asked again for an update. The young man came back, said that Maxine was stable and that they were waiting to see if she would have a bowel movement. He explained that a bleeding dog had been brought in and that was why no one had updated me. I thought to myself, “well, I can just take her home if you’re just waiting to see if she’ll do something.”
Another hour goes by.
I ask for another update. Keep in mind, no one of authority has come by to explain what if anything they were doing to or for Max. And I’m sitting in an exam room for three hours, alternating between BBC World and a soccer game … on mute.
Almost another hour goes by and a technician comes in, startling me because by this point, I’m lying on the bench. He’s all smiles and has two estimates for me, depending on what procedures I approve. He asks if they can do an x-ray. Of course, they can. A few minutes later, an actual veterinary doctor walks in. She’s very nice, very calm, but very alarmed at Max’s condition.
She brought up the exams on the TV/computer. Max’s colon was packed full of stool. She pointed out three pockets of gas, places where she likely felt pain whenever I picked her up. I fell apart. I felt so guilty. I still feel guilty. I should have taken her in earlier, so much earlier. Her bowel movements had been changing over the last two weeks, but we thought it was because her diet was changing. By this point, we were giving her subQ fluids every other day, but the vet said that Max was very dehydrated. They wanted to put her on IV fluids, give her an enema, and observe her overnight. I agree to it all.
She felt compelled to discuss euthanasia. If they are successful and Max poops, it’s highly likely this will happen again. Could be a few months. Could be a couple of days. I understood that and asked that they proceed with trying to resolve the constipation. I and my husband will deal with the rest.
I went home, hoping I wouldn’t get in an accident because I was crying.
We got a call late that night letting us know that Max had pooped a little bit (yay!) and she was stable. They had her in a “tower kennel” so she had plenty of room to move around in and a nice, fleecy blanket to sleep on.
I called the next morning. They said she was stable, hadn’t pooped yet that morning (although later records showed she had), and to call back between three and four. I called around four and (yay!) got to talk with the vet on shift. She had had a good poop (yay!) and her constipation seemed to be resolved. BUT. They were alarmed about her anemia. They wanted to keep her longer, possibly do a blood transfusion.
Hell, no.
I explained that Max was already under care for her kidney disease and anemia. I said, “We know she’s failing. We just wanted to get the constipation taken care of.” To say that I know she’s failing was not an easy thing to do. In that case, I was told, I could pick her up any time.
We left immediately.
I’ll say this for the ER hospital. They gave us x-rays and detailed records on Max’s treatment. They could have done better on communication, but it is, after all, an ER hospital.
Max pooped twice for our pleasure soon after we got her home on Sunday evening. She has not pooped since. I have her back on lactulose and her other medications. She is preferring cat food that is mostly broth or gravy so she’s not getting much in the way of solid food right now. Greg is giving her fluids every day. You could say she’s kind of on a fast and that’s why she hasn’t pooped. Who knows. All I know is, if she hasn’t pooped at least a little bit by tomorrow morning, I’m calling her regular vet and see if they will do an x-ray, make sure she’s okay down there.
We had set a date while Max was at the ER and we thought this event would do her in. We’ve tabled the date. We’re back to “wait and see.” I don’t think Max is ready to let go yet. She laid in my lap last night as we watched a movie. It was nice.
Max wondering why she’s having to spend so much time at these veterinary hospitals.
Last Friday we went on another bike ride to the St. Marks National Wildlife Refuge. Practice makes near-perfect. I’m becoming more comfortable riding bikes which is a good thing since my knees and feet no longer want to walk the miles we used to at the Refuge.
I rode bikes when I was growing up in New York, but I’m wasn’t then and am not now mechanically inclined. Cue my husband who patiently provides guidance on how to adjust the front and back derailleurs so I don’t fatigue my legs to the point of exhaustion … which is what I was doing on this latest bike ride.
The wind was against us … literally … until we got off the bayous trails and turned right toward the Pinhook River. The bayou trails can be grassy and soft. At one point I was riding slow, got distracted and felt my bike come to a stop. Now, for me, if my bike comes to a stop when I’m not ready, that can only mean one thing: I’m going to fall. Luckily, I was able to get my right toes on the ground. Unluckily, I was stuck on my seat. If I moved my right foot, I would fall. So I yelled to my husband and he came to the rescue, holding my bike handles until I could ease myself off the seat.
Luckily, no one but my husband was around to witness my humiliation.
The second time, I wasn’t so lucky and, more unluckily, I fell while on a small concrete bridge where we had stopped to take a break. I’m not sure what happened, only that I had gotten on my bike, the front tire turned when I didn’t want it to, and I couldn’t press the pedals hard enough to put the bike back in motion. I knew I was going to fall, and I did. Pretty hard on my right knee and elbow. Luckily, it was a cool day so I had layers on, although my knee still got some serious road rash (it’s been over a week and the scrape is still healing while the area below my knee displays a changing palette of yellows, blues, and purples).
After these two episodes of near- and definite falling, I adjusted my derailleurs per my husband’s suggestions.
I took fewer photos on this trip. I was too busy enjoying the views. The thistles were still in glorious abundance, alligators were here and there (but mostly there, thankfully), and the day was just lovely.
These photos were taken early on our ride, where the thistles were plentiful. You all know I’ve got a jones for close-ups, especially when insects are about.
See how industrious and tenacious this little busy bee was.
Here’s a panoramic at the intersection of a couple of trails. You can see why we keep coming back.
A view of the other side of the trail to the left.
On our way back to the car, we stopped for a moment and I took this photo. The light seemed particularly lovely right there.
And now for a Raji update!
Your eyes do not lie. That’s Raji and Junior “spooning.” Now, Junior really wasn’t thrilled that Raji wanted to snuggle, but we thought it was adorable! Every day we say how lucky we are that Raji is Raji: a lover, not a fighter. He’s also getting used to being petted, brushed and picked up. When he lived in the garage, he loved to be petted and brushed. When he came into the house, he shied away from both activities for a long while, but we’re wearing him down with love and patience.
Hope you all are well, happy, and healthy. Stay safe!
My husband doesn’t like my math. He’s argued that, with respect to a countdown, this should be week 1, not week 0. But it is the week in which I become untethered, set adrift. To me, it’s a 0.
In a perfect world, it would be a relaxing week, the last three-and-a-half days of employment spent tidying up my desk (or my desktop as it is), having casual chats with coworkers over Microsoft Teams, skipping down memory lane during a phone call or two. But we all know it’s not a perfect world.
I will spend most of my remaining days in meetings, either assisting in kickstarting new assignments or transitioning old assignments to new people. I will likely put in a bit more than my regular hours, but will stop on Thursday shortly after my surprise retirement party.
By the way, if you want to surprise someone with a retirement party, do not display “Marie’s Retirement Party” on your Outlook calendar, especially since Marie is often responsible for setting up meetings and, thus, is likely to see it.
About noon, I will shutdown my laptop, gather it and all its necessary peripherals and make the commute that I haven’t had to make in almost a year.
With any luck, the only person I will see at the office will be D. to whom I’ll hand over the state government property and engage in a brief exit interview. Then, weather permitting, I plan to take a walk around the ponds and see if there is any trash to pick up.
After that, who knows?
Well, I do know that I’ll be studying iPhone photography again, tending to my plants, and taking walks in my neighborhood and beyond. For now, there’s plenty catching my eye around my hood, starting with my front yard which hasn’t been mowed in months. (Greg wants to sweep for insects before he mows.)
Some might call this delicate flower a weed but I call it … a delicate flower.
Our azaleas are starting to bloom but in fits and starts. We’ve never taken the time to shape our azalea bushes as some do. They’re a bit scraggly right now but only for now.
A nearby neighbor’s Dogwood is in partial bloom. Years ago I was driving along a road lined with Dogwoods in full flower, all snowy white and surreal. This Dogwood has a ways to go, but it’s early yet.
Now, if anyone knows what the bush below is, please tell me in the comments! I think it’s gorgeous but I don’t know what it is.
I suppose since it’s on the street side of the fence, I could steal a snip and take it to my local nursery for ID. But I’d rather not. Usually there’s two yappy dogs in that yard. They put up a ruckus even when I’m way over on the other side of the street. I hate to think what noise they’d make if they saw me so close to their fence.
The next few days will be an emotional roller-coaster. We weren’t able to hire a replacement for me so I’ll be feeling some guilt at leaving my staff with no buffer between them and “the boss.” I know that guilt will leave me as soon as I leave the office building for the last time, but I have to get there first.
My staff are a tight team, dedicated, creative, and industrious. They will be fine. And I will miss them. These last few months as their section administrator was the first time in a very long time that I felt part of something, that I felt I was really making a difference, maybe not so much in the world of public health, but at least in the work lives of these truly wonderful people.
So I do feel some sadness at leaving and a part of me is wishing I wouldn’t leave, that I could stay and shepherd them a while longer. But I’d be breaking my commitment to my husband if I did that. What makes me truly sad is the knowledge that no matter how much my staff feel they need me (maybe not me personally, but the constancy, the continuity of my presence), I just don’t have the mental and emotional will to carry these responsibilities much longer. I’m not a weak person. I’ve proven that.
I just don’t like my job. It’s nothing personal, nothing to do with my staff as I obviously think the world of them. It hit home a few days ago when I was revising the job announcement for my position. I realized that I never would have applied for such a job and yet here I was, doing exactly what I had intended not to do.
And then there’s my husband who’s willing to live as simply as we need to in order for me to retire. Gotta love that guy. And this guy:
That’s right, folks! Time for a Raji update. As you can see, he’s become rather relaxed around us. He drives our other cats crazy during feeding time because he paces and rubs against each of them! He has no fear. Whenever Maxine or Wendy slap at him, he looks at them like, “What? Don’t you find me cute and adorable?”
Raji and Junior are now pals, chasing each other up and down the hallways. At some point over the past week, Junior’s bullying turned into playing. I believe Raji has helped Junior to discover his inner kitten.
My dear friends, thank you for reading. Thank you for still visiting me although I haven’t been visiting you. I might be soon set adrift (in a good way) from my job, but you all keep me moored. Love you to the moon and back. Stay safe, well, and embrace happiness.
Raji spent Friday night inside the house with us. The temps were in the low 30s and we were disinclined to heat the garage again. As you know, Raji has been spending more and more time in our house, eating his meals on the other side of a bookcase from Junior. He had gotten to the point where he’d dash into the house as soon as I opened the door to the garage in the morning. Although he still loves going into the garage and checking out his play cage on that side of the house, you just can’t beat a screened-in back porch for entertainment.
I’m happy, no, I’m thrilled to say that his first sleepover was successful! I was prepared to be woken in the middle of the night by blood-curdling screams and yowls.
Didn’t happen. Nope, I actually slept pretty good that night, and when I woke the next day, all was quiet. Mind you, the cat door to the back porch was open, giving the cats more personal space even if it was cold. And my husband left the door to his rooms open (after making sure they were more or less Raji-proof) so, again, more personal space. None of my cats like closed doors. They see a closed door and they will fuss and bang until it’s opened.
So he slept inside again the next night, and, again, all was quiet until about 7 am when Raji came into my room and briefly mewed. He’s a quick learner. I am the primary feeder; therefore, if he wants to eat, he has to wake me up.
I feel so very, very fortunate that everyone is getting along … or at least tolerating each other’s presence … well, except for Maxine, but she hates all other felines anyway.
I managed to get out for a couple of neighborhood walks this week. On one, I took the time to admire our somewhat small but still lovely magnolia. I love the blooms, but I might love the buds more.
Light is everything when it comes to photography, at least for me as a newbie. Our tree had plenty of buds to photograph, but the light had to be just right to get a good shot. If the light is not good, no amount of editing is going to improve a blurry image. I am really pleased with how the photos of the buds came out.
On Saturday I went for an early evening walk. I had been tidying up the house all morning, then ran a couple of errands in the afternoon. I almost didn’t make my walk because I was tired, but Greg was still out on his bike ride, so I just made myself do it. I’m so glad I did.
It was the Golden Hour and I was walking on an easement between two houses. I had been picking up trash and had a full trash bag; but when I happened to look up and see the light, I dropped the bag and pulled out my iPhone. I love these pictures but they don’t do justice to the beauty of the sunlight on the trees and the half-moon against a blue sky.
I’m down to nine days left at my job. We’ve been very busy so, for my staff’s sake, I’m glad I didn’t take the month off as I had planned. I was able to pitch in and carry some of the load, but at the same time I am learning to let go … as I should.
While I do worry sometimes about being on a fixed income, at least I know I’ll never need to buy expensive cats toys and beds.
Thank you for reading! I hope my friends in all the states that have been hit by these brutal winter storms are well and safe, and that spring will soon be here for you.
Raji snoozing on the screened back porch. I think he really feels at home now.
It’s almost spring here. We had a few days of warmer temps and the magnolia trees in my neighborhood loved it. I was only able to get out a little bit this week so this post will be light on photos.
Work is winding up instead of winding down, and I guess I should have expected that. The Florida legislature goes into session on March 2, and my department’s leaders have been relentless with demands for data. Fortunately I work with a wonderful team of bright and creative analysts and, so far, we’ve been able to meet the demands.
But I feel too old for this. While my younger colleagues can enter data, format graphs, read and write emails, and carry on a conversation seemingly all at the same time, my brain and my body resist. It’s all I can do to keep from screaming, “STOP!” Instead, I ease tension by making snarky jokes about the powers-that-be. (What are they going to do? Fire me?) If I can make my team laugh, at least smile, I feel a little better.
I’m known (for better or for worse) for noting when the emperor is walking around naked. I’ve always been that way. I’ve always had a difficult time dealing with authority, clashing with anyone who tries to rule me. It’s one of the many reasons why it’s time for me to retire. I’m losing my ability to balance my innate distrust of authority with meeting that authority’s expectations of me to do as I’m told without question.
Meanwhile, as I noted above, the magnolias are blooming. These photos were taken on different days, one with some blue sky and sunshine, the other with the threat of imminent rain.
Redbuds are blooming too, making my husband a bit sad. He had planted a Redbud in our front yard many years ago but it never ever bloomed. Fortunately we have neighbors who have been much luckier. The photo below doesn’t do the Redbud tree justice, even after I tweaked it to bring out the color more. Trust me when I say I first gawked at the gorgeous color before taking the photo.
And I can’t overlook our resident hawk. This guy really likes this particular spot. Pretty much every time I come down that street, he’s hanging out, making the squirrels nervous. I call him Cool Hand Luke. I can stand directly under him (but off to the side to avoid being pooped on), and he pays me no mind.
In my own humble backyard, a bromeliad that a coworker gave me a couple of years ago is now three bromeliads and is flowering for the second time.
I’ve never had a bromeliad before so this plant is a new experience for me. I’m hoping the flower will expand more. The first bloom did not.
Well, I hope you enjoyed this little bit of neighborhood nature. On the cat containment front, things are pretty mellow. Raji hangs out with all of us from morning until night. Junior still bullies him but Raji just rolls with it (sometimes literally). He keeps trying to play chase with Wendy but she thinks his sideways galloping is too weird. Maxine just wants to be left alone, as usual.
Recently Raji discovered one of Junior’s favorite spots.
Junior likes to rub his face against a small sandalwood bowl that I put in there for him. Well, now Raji does too. It probably pisses Junior off.
From me, my husband, and our Gang of Four, we hope you all stay well, safe and happy!