Sliding Down the Highway Sideways in a Canoe: 2013-12-08

Still here, just blah and going through the motions. I am making myself do what has to be done but would just rather stay in bed all day moping. I am better than I was on Wednesday so I'll get there, it's just fresh and still hurts. The vet called today, Gracie's ashes are ready to be picked up... maybe once I sprinkle her ashes, the ritual of letting go will help.

I had been thinking about keeping some of Gracie's ashes and after Ms. A mentioned cremation jewelry I started browsing the web to see what was out there. Lots of neat stuff but it was hard to find something that really called to me. In the end I found these two. They're perfume pendants but will work since they are hollow. I couldn't decide between them so I bought both (they weren't very expensive). The top one appeals to me more, but the bottom one is more delicate and has Gracie's coloring.

Some of the snow is still on the ground from Wednesday's snowfall. It's a good way to visualize where the sun hits our property throughout the day, because the snowy areas are shaded. Helps me with garden planning in a way I hadn't expected.

We have the cutest little birds in the yard. The kittens are entranced by them, it's like free kitty daycare. Gracie would be up there chattering away with her tail swishing, just itching to get at them. Walter and Bootsie seem mostly content to just watch them, although Bootsie did try to dive after some of them once.

Last night Bo was intently watching me as I dipped my carrot in some onion dip and ate it (i.e. all up in my business). I looked it up online and it's okay to give carrots to your dogs... so I gave him the carrot top. At first I had high hopes for it, he sniffed it, then gingerly bit into it... it was almost like a fresh, healthier rawhide because he was spending time nibbling at it and seemed to enjoy himself. I was thrilled as I'd been looking for ways to entertain him... with the weather being cold and/or wet we don't go outside much and I know he's bored. As you can see, he didn't eat it, he just shredded it and it became a mess for me to clean up. Bo - 1, Kristy - 0. So my conclusion - I may do the carrot thing again, but carrots will be an outside treat.

Other than that I've been browsing Pinterest like it's my job. I'm trying to find recipes I can make from freeze dried or shelf stable ingredients and send to Mike since the food out there is not up to par. And in case mom and dad come for Christmas I have been planning which snacks to make; even if they can't make it I might make the usual Christmas Eve snack smorgasbord just to do it. Just doesn't feel like Christmas this year no matter how many Hallmark movies I watch, but I'll do what I can. Just a lot of stuff going on I suppose.

Gracie was born September 10, 2007, I know because I was there when it happened.

As she grew into kittenhood she was the adventurous one, leading the expedition while her brother and sister toddled after her. And she was vocal. I almost didn't keep her because she had too much to say and I thought it would get on my nerves... but when I looked into her gorgeous blue eyes and felt her fur, soft as a spiderweb, I knew she was the one. I never, ever regretted that decision; she was perfect.

When I named her Gracie it was meant to be ironic because she wasn't the most surefooted of kittens. Some of that clumsiness followed her into adulthood. Don't get me wrong, she had very catlike graceful moments, but then she got too sure of herself and she'd slip and I'd be reminded why I named her Gracie in the first place. Typical of cats, if she stumbled she'd stop and lick her fur like nothing had happened, glancing at us out of the corner of her to see if we understood that she did it on purpose.

My favorite Gracie story is something of a segue into all of the ridiculous nicknames I gave her over the years: I was in the habit of closing my bedroom door before I left for work so that I would have one cat-free sanctuary in the house. Sammy and Gracie would be in there with me while I got ready for work, but I would shoo them out as I left. One day I came home and Gracie was in the room waiting for me, she must have hidden under the bed or in the closet when I wasn't looking and had been stuck in the room all day. I went to the bathroom and there was a wash cloth in the sink... I hadn't put it there. I lifted it up and there was cat poop underneath. Gross yes... but how smart - she pooped in the sink and drug the washcloth over to cover it up since there was no litter to do it with. I was so damn proud of her. Disgusted, but proud. I decided I didn't need a sanctuary anymore.

Her poop led to a variety of nicknames throughout the years: Grac-i-poops, Poopzilla, Poopzzarella, Poopsicle, Princess Poopy Pants. Her favorite seemed to be Boo Bears. When she wouldn't respond to any other name she would usually turn her head if I called her that. Graciela was when she was bad, but she rarely ever got called by that name. When I was giving her Gracie-lovins I called her My Bootifuls. She loved to be scratched on her left cheek, she leaned into it to the point that she would almost flip over, and usually my hand would give out before she would. She also loved to have her chin rubbed. She would purr the whole time and sometimes we would blink our eyes slowly at each other because that's one of the ways she showed affection. She was rarely vocal as an adult, but if I hadn't scratched to her satisfaction she would let me know with a short reprimanding meow. And I always knew if someone was at the door because she'd give a disgusted growl before she belly crawled to the bedroom.

When Mike first moved in he grew exasperated with her. She would always run away when he attempted to approach her. She pretty much ran away from everyone because that was her nature. One day I told him that if she ran to the right and hid under the guest bed, she was truly running away, but if she ran to the left and jumped on the desk she was flirting, it was an invitation for him to follow. Sure enough, he followed her in and she sat there while he scratched her head. She loved the desk and would sit staring out the window for hours. Because he was gone so much in the beginning I was afraid we'd start at square one every time, but she remembered him and she loved him. More than that, she trusted him and her trust was hard won.

She loved birds. Or loved to catch them rather. She and Sammy (her mom) caught a hummingbird and brought it into the house to chase after Hurricane Ike. Then she caught a pigeon that same day. When we played, she wasn't much interested in chasing things across the floor, but if you threw a fuzzy ball or Fishy she would jump as high as she could and her eyes were on the prize. It was impressive to watch, and in those moments her name suited her to a T. She was graceful and quick, a true huntress.

She wasn't a lap cat though I tried my best to make her one. The only time she got in my lap was when we were on the road and she was nervous about something. She wasn't fond of travel, but she was a trooper about it and didn't complain too much about our year on the road. She had her routine, which once again involved poop, but once she settled down she earned a new nickname - Console Kitty, because she was content to perch on the console of the truck and let Mike and I scratch her head. She saw most of the southeastern United States before we settled here, which included lots of wildlife. The cranes got her excited, the cows made her nervous. We asked a lot of her in the last year and she surprised me by how quickly she adapted. I was proud of my little girl.

Shortly after we moved into the house and brought the dog and two kittens into the house, she stopped eating. I will never know why and sometimes I wonder if they ate her food and we just didn't realize it... but the result was the same, she developed Fatty Liver Disease. I started treating her at home, then hospitalized her, then brought her home again. She was doing better, eating on her own, drinking water, gaining weight and her skin wasn't yellow anymore. I just knew she was going to beat it. She was purring again, pressing her face into my hand, and I realized how much I missed that. Then one day she stopped eating again, and while I tried every food I could think of, and eventually resorted back to syringe feeding, she just wasn't getting any better. She was weak, she wouldn't open her mouth so I could feed her anymore and her eyes were getting dark. I felt forcing her would be cruel and counterproductive. I debated whether to try harder or let her go; this disease is a monster... you have good days and bad days and it's so much harder to know when to stop. Ultimately I honored her decision and took her to the vet this morning.

She passed before they could get the IV in.

Dr. Dingfelder once joked that Gracie had begun to associate her with syringe feeding and would start to puke as soon as she saw her coming... in one final act of defiance, as soon as Dr. D picked her up, she puked. It was heartbreaking but in retrospect it's kind of funny that she still reacted that way to Dr D (who is nice as can be). So Gracie went on her own terms. She didn't complain until the very end which lets me know that everything happened when it was supposed to. I didn't put her down earlier because I wanted to know the time was right and I wasn't killing a cat who could recover, I wanted to give her the chance to live. I got to say goodbye, to tell her how much she meant to me and I was there until the very end, so even though it's still very sad, and I'm surprised that I have any tears left, I at least feel like I handled it right this time.

I've arranged to have her cremated and plan to sprinkle her ashes under the magnolia tree because that's where the birds are and that's where I think she'd want to be. I miss her so much already. She was the most patient, gentle, beautiful and independent cat I've known and I wish we'd gotten to grow old together like I always assumed we would. I was there to see her born and we had such a unique bond, one that I'll never have again. It was such a cool thing to watch her grow, and while I know that I failed her miserably at times, I always had the best intentions and she forgave me for not being perfect because she must have known how much I loved her.

Rest in peace Boo Bears.

Seven weeks old