Cat Stuff
Mooch's passing still hits me a little bit once in awhile. Not as hard as it used to, obviously. The Mooch-shaped hole in my life is healing over, I guess.
I did make the mistake of going in to PetSmart's "Adoption Center" last night -- always a mistake. No, I did not get another cat, but it was also very hard to get out of there without taking them all with me.
Kate and I have talked about cat population early on, and we agreed that we would let natural attrition get us down to a population of three, and not go beyond that ever again. Given that we have three cats who are all younger than five, it's going to be a long time before that happens.
So we idly discuss such things. We're both smitten by the Singapura breed (more) right now, but again, it'll be a long time before we bring one into our home.
I'm very okay with that. The desire for another cat is transient, at best. Our armada of boys is fun to be around, get along pretty well, and have an interesting blend of quirks. I really don't want to upset the applecart by bringing in an interloper.
Family Miscellany
A few family-related updates:
1. Saw Transformers 2 last night with one of my future brother-in-laws. The verdict: fight scenes good, plot's awfully thin, and one really really bad continuity error (you don't go out the back door of the Smithsonian into a desert with mountains in the background and a bunch of parked C-141 Starlifters looking like they've been mothballed.) Predictable. Probably won't watch again.
2. Working with other future B.I.L. We're going to get a few iPhone apps rolled and on the App Store -- that's the plan, anyway. We're still trying to come up with a name. We've got 2-3 good ideas for software, and I'm trying to think of others.
3. Picked up Mooch's remains at the UPS depot yesterday. That was surreal and a little sad. My chubby little girl's been reduced to a pound of ash. I'll need to track down a classy little urn for her.
4. Mom's heart appears to be okay. EKG glitch gone, still some minor chest pain/pressure. They think it may be her gall bladder. Crazy stuff. She's starting to have lots of surgeries -- knee, bladder, bunions, etc. Pretty soon, my mom will be a cyborg.
5. Kate's back in NC, after coming home for the family camping trip this weekend. I'm missing her like crazy again, but I'm looking for upsides to this. Upside: I get to drive the Honda Fit while she's gone. Woo, gas savings.
Saying Goodbye to My Best Friend
R.I.P., Mooch
June 2, 1999 - June 6, 2009
In a bit of serendipity, Mooch came home with me on a rainy Saturday afternoon, riding in the passenger seat of a Honda, with Nirvana on the radio.
A decade later, she left home for the last time, much the same way. Kate drove and Mooch was cradled in my arms, wrapped in a blanket. I talked to her while she watched the rain on the Honda's windows. When Nirvana came on the radio, the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and goosebumps crawled down my arms.
The decision to help her move on, to end her pain, was the right one, and the most painful decision I've ever had to make.
She was a wonderful, unique cat. Everyone that met her loved her, and she loved new people and new experiences.
Our last days together were good. On Thursday, I worked from home, and we spent time together on the couch. She got to eat all her favorite foods and always had little samples, despite her waning appetite. We went outside and she got to feel the grass between her toes and to watch the birds flit around the trees in our front yard. During those times, I got to see my girl again -- curious, happy, and goofy. I told her I loved her, and she licked my fingers -- something she did when she needed reassurance, or when I did.
On Friday night, Kate came home. I fell asleep on my side, with Kate spooning up against my back, and Mooch against my chest. I got to repeat it the next morning, too, and those are memories I'm always going to carry with me.
On Saturday afternoon, we drove to the vet. We talked to them about the diagnosis, and the pain factor, and that Mooch wasn't really herself anymore. With heavy hearts, and a lot of tears, we opted to have her put to sleep. They took her away to install the catheter, and brought her back to us, so we could spend time with her. And I told her I loved her, and kissed her head while I cried. She licked my fingers and rubbed the sides of her face against my hand.
The vet came back when we were ready. She unmasked the catheter and got the needle put in it. I told my friend that it wasn't going to hurt anymore, and that I loved her. She gave me a quiet meow, and when the injection started, she began licking my fingers again.
And then she was gone and the light was out of her eyes.
We held her for awhile longer, and I couldn't stop crying, and kept thinking I felt a slight purr along her sides. The vet came back to take her again, and I made sure I kissed her head and smelled her fur one last time before she was gone.
All I have left of my baby girl is my memories and a paw print in clay. There's some fur and whiskers around the house, and some photos in Flickr. But I can't hold her again, can't hear her little "laugh" noise, or fall asleep with her snuggled up in the crook of my arm. And that breaks my heart more than you can possibly imagine.
She came into my life not long after I'd moved to Philadelphia, at a time in my life where I was just starting to figure myself out and to truly grow. And so we grew together, and over the decade of her life, we were the only constants for each other. We moved to new homes, other cats came and went through our lives, and there were all sorts of upheavals, but we always had each other.
She wasn't just a cat. For almost a third of my life, she was my best friend and my family, and I'll always love her as much as I do right now.
Goodbye, Mooch. I miss you.
(A huge thanks to Mandy at Glimpses of Soul for her amazing photography work.)
Balance
As amateur athletes, we often struggle to find the balancing point where hobby and the rest of our lives overlap -- and that overlap can be both time and financial. Being an endurance athlete isn't cheap in hours or dollars, and often we get so caught-up in that we miss the bigger picture.
Yesterday my cat/"BFF", who has been a constant source of happiness in a fairly tumultuous last decade, jumped up on the bed, breathing heavily and acting a little weird. She's an odd cat, and I associated her behavior with playing with one of the other cats. Fairly soon, it was obvious that this was not the case.
Almost immediately, we were in the car and on the way to the emergency vet. (And I cannot say enough positive about the emergency services at the University of Minnesota Veterinary Clinic.) Over the course of the day, I wiped out my personal savings that I had set aside for my new mountain bike -- and it didn't even occur to me until about 5pm, and when it did, I didn't care.
For over a year now, I've wanted a new Gunnar Ruffian 29'er frame. I've been stockpiling parts, sweating over the colors (loving and wanting that Bright White Pearl), and have been saving money toward ordering the frame. Next Friday, the 12th, I would have been ready to make the order. But there was never a thought of not going to the emergency vet. Cost be damned, because a bike can't give you back the love that a friend/pet can.
So, hours and hundreds of dollars later, it's been determined that she's got a blood clot in her leg, and she's being treated with aspirin and painkillers. There's still the matter of determining what the source of the clot was, and whether or not she'll regain use of the limb -- more money in diagnostics. The important thing right now, though, is that my best friend is still with me. (And dammit, I'm tearing up while writing this. I thought I was all cried-out.)
She's my baby girl. Doing what I'm doing at the cost of a new bike isn't even something that I'm going to sweat. When the day comes that I do buy a new Ruffian frame, it will make the first ride even more special knowing that the wait -- whether it's a year or five years -- was worth it. The time with my friend is more a far more valuable thing.
The lesson here is that your family and friends should always come before the bike. There's no point in being the fastest, the most technically capable, or the strongest, if you don't have the people you love to come home to afterwards. Never forget that.
(And when I do, someday, get around to buying that Gunnar, I'm going to get it in black, and a decal for the top tube that describes Mooch -- "Happy-Go-Lucky". Call it a tribute bike.)
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