"Feral ~ from feminine of ferus wild: having escaped from domestication and become wild"...




Wednesday


Thank you for your kind comments. 


Knowing that you are not alone by reading someone's words of encouragement 

is the best gift any person can give. 

You all are very generous xoxo 

And so I write on.
~


It was weird the next day.  I wasn’t woken up by a little tabby cat laying on my chest, kneading and drooling, letting me know the QUEEN had awoken and I must awake too because it was time to start the day. It was so weird.

My eyes were puffy.

In the garage, we let Ranger and Tomaz sniff their goodbyes.  Mr. Foresterman talked about burying her when the snow stopped, but the ground was very frozen. We had a short discussion about putting cats in the freezer. No.

Then followed the discussion of me promising  Mr. Foresterman that if it were Winter, I would call the authorities instead of sticking HIM in the freezer.

My promise was real. I know laws, you know.

We talked about Georgy’s heart, and how did we miss the sign of Heart disease in cats? The what if’s.  She acted so normally, for Georgy. She was young- only four years old. We’ve never experienced this before, ever. This FATE was so abrupt, so vulgar in its arrival. She was here, alive, just last night-

Then we talked about how I cried, while I was crying again, although this time softly.

It was kind of a magical process, abet snotty, this crying thing that Georgy gave me.  This was so different than how I processed things in the past; I can cry in the present now.

I BE A HUMAN.

So then this led to me asking Mr. Foresterman was it that I finally caught up with all the tragic stuff in my past so I can now cry and get things over with rather than worrying about crying about all the things and then never stop crying because I didn’t give myself the time before because I didn’t have time?

Poor guy. I know. Do you see why I needed the time off from blogging to take time to take time back?

It’s a struggle for all of us.

Anyhow, Mr. Foresterman didn’t have an answer, surprisingly. He just stared at me, as he knows to do, while I try to force myself to have an epiphany about something that maybe just doesn’t need an epiphany.

He is a patient man.

The next conversation after that was the difficult one.  It was the one where he was trying to get me “woke” to what was going on.

“you know she monopolized you. We couldn’t get near you without her permission.”
“she did not. She loved me.”
“We were scared of her, of what she might do.”
“exaggeration. She wasn’t THAT bad.”
“you're suffering from Stockholm syndrome.”
“SHE LOVED ME”

This went on for a while, to alleviate the sadness we felt at her absence.  

He made me laugh. Out loud.

We use humor in all sorts of ways, especially to handle grief. To talk about her, remember her in all her wonderful snottiness helped ease the pain of the abrupt way she left us. Mr. Foresterman knew I was still stunned of losing her in such a short amount of time. There was no warning, to prepare.

It was as if space, the air, their place was empty, blank… you sense this and want to make it right- until you remember-

Those who have abruptly lost what they love know this feeling, of what I write. It does pass after a while but is not on a time schedule. I still miss the little furball, because she never really left my side. Sometimes I'm startled at a shadow/wind/floater in my eye until I recognize that no, that wasn’t her…

That afternoon, it wasn’t until Tomaz started crying loudly that we stopped passing the snarky quip ball back and forth. This type of cat crying demanded attention, especially after last night.

“Whats wrong with him?”
“Tomaz, you okay bud?”

Well, He was freaked.

 The Queen lay in repose in a box next to his potty box in the cool garage for the time being.


In hindsight, this probably was not a good location.  Btw being in your fifties still means there is a lot to learn in life.  This was one was added to the list.

We immediately made a call to the Vet for an appointment for Tomaz, who obviously was now having potty issues. They could get us in the next day. We added Ranger in too because he was up for his yearly shots anyway. The snow was due to stop soon so travel wouldn’t be difficult like it was the night before.

Poor Tomaz.

Poor Georgy.

Poor Mr. Foresterman.

But I was okay. I could cry.

~




And now this is where Tomaz’s story begins...



















~

6 comments:

  1. Oh, dear. Life can really be quirky and mean and weird. So often it only makes sense in the rear-view mirror. Being feral doesn't make it any easier. So much for the greeting card philosophies. Just know you have friends out here hurting with/for you.

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  2. We deal with things, according to what works for us.
    But Tomaz.... I do hope there is a better outcome.... I'm thinking urinary tract infection? Very painful.

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  3. Losing a beloved pet isn't like losing a member of your family, it IS losing a member of your family!!

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  4. Fishducky is so right, they are family. For me, all the family I have, in a way. I have Errol's family too of course, but still. I hope Tomaz is going to be fine. For me, his story began in 2012 when he survived that awful fire that burnt his poor paws. He's been in my heart since then, so I hope nothing sad will happen.....

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  5. For me, humor has been such an important part of grief... in a weird way, it makes the unbearable more bearable <3

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I am feral, so although I dont respond at all like most domesticated bloggers, I will try my best - Thank you for even wanting to leave a comment, as it may draw me out from the woods from whence I came!

Or under a rock, it depends most days...