cCats and Coping

     My cats miss my husband.  So Do I.  At least I can visit him at the residential care facility where he has lived for the past 5 months.  They grieve their loss.  I see it in their accusing eyes.  Or so it seems to me.  Cats are unfathomable.

    Des misses them, too  He aks me if I talk about him.  Do they remember him?  Oh, yes, I say.  Who wouldn't miss his adoring pats, his murmured words of love?  I do.  But I know where he is and why. They don't.  They stare at me with round unblinking eyes, hungry for affection.  So am I. 

     Their behavour has changed since his absence.  Mitzi, the more verbal and hedonistic cat, whines for attention and food.  Her sister, Murphi, the mellow orange ball of fluff, follows me, leaps above my recliner and settles in.  Her tail brushes my forehead.  She yawns and waits for my next move.  Often, she slides down to stare at me face to face, her whiskers brushing my cheek.  I pet her and say, I know, baby.  Life is not fair.

     Mitzi is more restless, moves about for a place to nestle. She avoids the love seat, their special place, where she and Des sat side by side watching television.  Des would hold her tail and she didn't mind.  Kind of like holding hands she  stared straight ahead, her paw resting on the arm of the love seat while I watched from my recliner.

    She hasnt found her new niche yet, but does replace Murphi on the perch above the recliner when Murph goes for a potty break.   Mitzi rests her chin on my head then rubs it back and forth with pressure.  I try to duck down so she can't reach my head, but Des would say, oh look how she loves you.  I would smirk and say she just wants food.  But maybe he is right.  We all want love, the  unconditional kind.  Agape love, Des called it way back when.

     Does he feel it now, ten minutes from home by car,  but permanently embedded  in our hearts?
 
     Murphy purrs, Mitzi whines and I sigh.   I'm working on gratitude, but it is a tough sell.

So Says Sassy

Comforting the Comforter

As I sneeze and cough, I find myself envying my husband. Actually, I covet what he has. Before your mind takes a wild leap, I'm not talking penis envy here.

I wish I had a wife, like he has. When he is sick, his wife (aka me) keeps hm comfortable, brings him food, rubs his aching back, pours tylenol down his open mouth. Keeps the ice coming, he loves ice water. Pile blankets over his freezing feet. He has neuropathy and is 'freezing.' So I stoke the fire. You get the picture. I am woman, therefore I am a comforter. It isn't a guy thing, in my wistful experience.

Most men prefer to solve abstract problems, like letting his wife know she should move over to the slow lane now. Even suggested recently that maybe she should take one of those driving classes for seniors now that he had to give up his license Men often do other stuff like taking out the trash, change light bulbs, wonder if someone should feed the cats. Someone is my other name, by the way. As for making a cup of hot tea and adjusting your pillow just right, not in his gender description. There must be some exceptions, though.

Come to think of it, in my childhood home, my father was the comforter. When I threw up in the middle of the night, my dad took care of it, letting my mother sleep. He gave me yummy hot toddies for a sore throat, had sympathetic brown eyes, curly mustache and soft brown eyes. His only flaw, a gambling addiction.

Well, the guy in this house, is only addicted to pampering , so getting another wife is not the answer either. I'll just have one more mouth to feed, while she brings him his slippers. Wish I had a hot toddy about now.

So Says Sassy

New Beginnings

The year is ten days old and I have not broken any resolution yet. That's probably because I resolved to make no resolutions this January. So far, so good.
Other years I was on a WWWW kick. Stood for water, write, walk and worship.

I drink water when swallowing pills. Never carry water with me anywhere. Not totally true. I have been known to carry a bottle of water when I go to water aerobics, but that's in case I have to swallow my dizzy pill. Translation: Antivert or meclizine for vertigo. Except that now I have discovered an over-the-counter version you can chew. I am becoming addicted to green tea with honey, lately. How healthy is that.

Walk is an easy one. I do it all the time. Every time my husband begins a sentence with, 'I hate to ask, but where is.....?' I jump up like Pavlov's dog and begin to look for whatever. Just an aside here: Pavlov was too smart to have a cat.

Worship is more than showing upon Sunday morning at church. I do that regularly. It is more than reading spiritually uplifting stuff. I do that, too. I'm working on finding out where I am most serene, more empty of mind chatter, awed by cloud pictures and gnarly trees, persistent sea gulls who peck at driveways at fast food places expecting against all odds to find a feast. Being present in the moment is where I am most likely feel the Presence I need.

Writing is a no brainer. Isn't that what I am doing right now? It comes upon me to write whenever a thought crosses my mind that would make a good story, or to pontificate or when something makes me smile like the pigeon I saw walking across the street in the crosswalk. Didn't he know he could fly? Who could fathom the mind of a bird, or anyone else, for that matter Think I'll write about that, but first I need some water. I'm thirsty.

So says Sassy