Autumn Mist
Yesterday was another foggy, misty day, so traffic at the airport was very slow. The most work we did all morning was answering the phones to tell people when the weather was forecast to improve... Even after the ceiling and visibility lifted, it seemed everywhere else in South-Central Alaska was socked in, so there wasn't anywhere to go.
I spent most of the morning reading blogs and worrying about Newt. I guess there *isn't* much to worry about as she is plainly in the process of moving on, but I worry about her comfort. The blog-reading was depressing. I happened across lisaviolet's diary entry chronicling the last days of Lucky in July, and then spent hours reading a blog recounting the bliss and the pain of a young woman trying to parley friendship into love. Just when she thought that her gorgeous friend felt the same about her--he backs off in that self-excusing way men have. I just want to be friends... I'm not sure what I want right now... and leaves her heart exposed and bleeding. (Lord knows I have done *my* share of unrequited loving. It was the major theme of my twenties.) I felt the pain of both the diarists so much that I felt tired and depressed by the time I was finished.
At that point, I decided to take a couple hours of leave and went home at three. I had brought a cat carrier into town with me for Sue to borrow for moving her cats, but figured when I hadn't heard from her by three that she was going to move them on Monday. Of course, she showed up at work about half-an-hour after I left...
Ambitions for all that I wanted to get done at home aside, I ended up throwing some wood in the stove, putting BeBe outside in his cage and crawling into bed with Punkin and Charlie. I was just dozing off when Sue called. We made arrangements to meet up this morning for a cat carrier exchange, then I settled back into the flannel sheets I had bought as a birthday present to myself. (I like them so much, I went back on Saturday and bought two more sets.)
I dozed until the five-o-clock news came on then roused myself so I wouldn't disrupt my sleep pattern--such as it is. I brought in BeBe and some more wood and fed the cats, then played blackjack on the computer while listening to Dateline and American Dreams on the TV. (I have developed an addiction to blackjack since I bought the Hoyle Casino 2004 CD while I was in Fairbanks.) Then I started puttering around getting my dinner ready so I could eat it while watching Criminal Intent.
There were actually double-Criminal Intents tonight, so I only got to see the new episode once so far. But having double-CI was so nice I don't mind. Afterwards, I found myself dozing during the late news and I finally faded out by ten-thirty.
So of course, I woke up about two-thirty and couldn't get back to sleep. I had finished my soda so went in the bathroom and got some water. Once I got settled again, loud screams from the kitchen sent me downstairs to break up a confrontation between Frannie and SunSpot. While I was there, I turned the wood stove down.
And so back to bed.
Since I seem to fall asleep better when there is some background noise, I turned on the TV again. At some point in the last week or so, a new channel has appeared on our translator--Channel 9--which turned out to be UPN. Also, Channel 13 is coming in much better--they must have done some work on the translator in October. So I found myself watching Andromeda, which I haven't really seen since I discovered Criminal Intent a year-and-a-half ago. By the time the episode was over, I had eight cats on the bed with me. I know--I counted.
Some of the sweetest moments I spend with the cats are at night, gathered together on the bed. Punkin, who sleeps on my pillow, often "holds hands" with me, resting her paw in one of my open hands, or pressing against my head. I will caress Bunny and Pickle when I rouse to turn over, sharing the sweet warmth and companionship of family members in the snug dark.
I shifted around, trying to get comfortable, and most of the cats repositioned themselves to other venues.
Newt came drifting out of the back room like a wraith and I invited her up onto the bed. She settled in with me, purring and licking my hand. As I dozed, she kept staring with vague, distant eyes, as if looking to discern the road that lies ahead. I don't want to over-romanticize her passing but from what I have seen of natural death, there seems to be a period of limbo--hours or days where they are between this world and the next--not fully in either one.
I feel guilty that I am not fighting as hard for Newt's life the way I fought for Rosie's but in the end, I don't think I did Rosie any favors by forcing her to stay alive an extra month. I will force-feed if there is a chance of recovery, but to do so for weeks at a time seems nothing but an indignity when we can see that death is inevitable. I am treasuring each moment Newt shares with me.
She left after about ten minutes to go sit in the window. She wants to go outside but I am half-afraid she will go off to die in some secluded place and I'd never find her. To die alone seems to be a preference for some cats--as if encumbered by the bustle of life.
I finally went to sleep about an hour before the alarm went off. I slept deeply and had intense, confused dreams.
I really hate working the early shift.
Before I went out to the car, I leaned close and petted Newt, trying to tell her that it was okay for her to go if she needed to--not to wait for me to come home. I know that animals don't understand language but I am also convinced that the process of forming thoughts into words does something in our minds that animals can pick up on. Maybe it's not language but animals have no need of language. Who knows what the language centers in our brains used to do, before we developed this gift and this crutch...
I spent most of the morning reading blogs and worrying about Newt. I guess there *isn't* much to worry about as she is plainly in the process of moving on, but I worry about her comfort. The blog-reading was depressing. I happened across lisaviolet's diary entry chronicling the last days of Lucky in July, and then spent hours reading a blog recounting the bliss and the pain of a young woman trying to parley friendship into love. Just when she thought that her gorgeous friend felt the same about her--he backs off in that self-excusing way men have. I just want to be friends... I'm not sure what I want right now... and leaves her heart exposed and bleeding. (Lord knows I have done *my* share of unrequited loving. It was the major theme of my twenties.) I felt the pain of both the diarists so much that I felt tired and depressed by the time I was finished.
At that point, I decided to take a couple hours of leave and went home at three. I had brought a cat carrier into town with me for Sue to borrow for moving her cats, but figured when I hadn't heard from her by three that she was going to move them on Monday. Of course, she showed up at work about half-an-hour after I left...
Ambitions for all that I wanted to get done at home aside, I ended up throwing some wood in the stove, putting BeBe outside in his cage and crawling into bed with Punkin and Charlie. I was just dozing off when Sue called. We made arrangements to meet up this morning for a cat carrier exchange, then I settled back into the flannel sheets I had bought as a birthday present to myself. (I like them so much, I went back on Saturday and bought two more sets.)
I dozed until the five-o-clock news came on then roused myself so I wouldn't disrupt my sleep pattern--such as it is. I brought in BeBe and some more wood and fed the cats, then played blackjack on the computer while listening to Dateline and American Dreams on the TV. (I have developed an addiction to blackjack since I bought the Hoyle Casino 2004 CD while I was in Fairbanks.) Then I started puttering around getting my dinner ready so I could eat it while watching Criminal Intent.
There were actually double-Criminal Intents tonight, so I only got to see the new episode once so far. But having double-CI was so nice I don't mind. Afterwards, I found myself dozing during the late news and I finally faded out by ten-thirty.
So of course, I woke up about two-thirty and couldn't get back to sleep. I had finished my soda so went in the bathroom and got some water. Once I got settled again, loud screams from the kitchen sent me downstairs to break up a confrontation between Frannie and SunSpot. While I was there, I turned the wood stove down.
And so back to bed.
Since I seem to fall asleep better when there is some background noise, I turned on the TV again. At some point in the last week or so, a new channel has appeared on our translator--Channel 9--which turned out to be UPN. Also, Channel 13 is coming in much better--they must have done some work on the translator in October. So I found myself watching Andromeda, which I haven't really seen since I discovered Criminal Intent a year-and-a-half ago. By the time the episode was over, I had eight cats on the bed with me. I know--I counted.
Some of the sweetest moments I spend with the cats are at night, gathered together on the bed. Punkin, who sleeps on my pillow, often "holds hands" with me, resting her paw in one of my open hands, or pressing against my head. I will caress Bunny and Pickle when I rouse to turn over, sharing the sweet warmth and companionship of family members in the snug dark.
I shifted around, trying to get comfortable, and most of the cats repositioned themselves to other venues.
Newt came drifting out of the back room like a wraith and I invited her up onto the bed. She settled in with me, purring and licking my hand. As I dozed, she kept staring with vague, distant eyes, as if looking to discern the road that lies ahead. I don't want to over-romanticize her passing but from what I have seen of natural death, there seems to be a period of limbo--hours or days where they are between this world and the next--not fully in either one.
I feel guilty that I am not fighting as hard for Newt's life the way I fought for Rosie's but in the end, I don't think I did Rosie any favors by forcing her to stay alive an extra month. I will force-feed if there is a chance of recovery, but to do so for weeks at a time seems nothing but an indignity when we can see that death is inevitable. I am treasuring each moment Newt shares with me.
She left after about ten minutes to go sit in the window. She wants to go outside but I am half-afraid she will go off to die in some secluded place and I'd never find her. To die alone seems to be a preference for some cats--as if encumbered by the bustle of life.
I finally went to sleep about an hour before the alarm went off. I slept deeply and had intense, confused dreams.
I really hate working the early shift.
Before I went out to the car, I leaned close and petted Newt, trying to tell her that it was okay for her to go if she needed to--not to wait for me to come home. I know that animals don't understand language but I am also convinced that the process of forming thoughts into words does something in our minds that animals can pick up on. Maybe it's not language but animals have no need of language. Who knows what the language centers in our brains used to do, before we developed this gift and this crutch...
