Aug. 02, 2002 ~ A reprieve
This is the second time I'm typing this. Apparently I tried to upload it just as there was a server problem, so POOF! No entry. I nearly always copy the entry before I hit "done," but this time I remembered that a split second too late, so no joy.
No sooner had I told Susan that it was nearly time to let Misha go, than his condition improved. He even jumped up on the bed this morning, for the first time in weeks, as if to let us know that he still could, thank you very much. Susan listened to his heart and said that, judging by his heart rate, he is uncomfortable but not in great pain. He purred nicely for us, which is a good sign. But she hadn't seen him in a while, and was shocked by his appearance. He has stopped grooming himself, which is a bad thing, and has lost a considerable amount of weight. His back is bony, but his tummy is swollen, and his tumor is growing rapidly. Poor boy. She gave him a shot to make him feel better, and even brought the "final shot" with her, just in case, but she says we aren't there yet. It's getting close, though. She says it's going to be hard for me to tell, since it's happening so gradually. There have been days when I couldn't get him to purr, days when he seemed to distance himself from us, not wanting to socialize. And then he'll have a day like today. It's a hard thing.
I've been down in the dumps for awhile now, worried about Misha. Could barely drag myself out of bed, and didn't want to do anything. Did the bare minimum housework, and it shows. But now I feel like I could do a little more. Still have a lump in my throat, though, and am having trouble seeing the page. Eye trouble, you know.
It's good to get a reprieve, however long it lasts. Maybe a few days, maybe a few weeks. It's good.
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And on a different subject, why am I the one who always has to make the goofy calls to the sheriff? I've made such memorable calls as "Has anyone called to report a missing goat? We've got one eating our daffodils." Then there was the hog. Plenty of horses and cows. And last night it was "Has anyone reported missing a big bird? Smaller than an ostrich but pretty big, several feet tall?" "Maybe an emu?" the dispatcher asked, trying not to laugh (and not succeeding, may I add). "Could be. I stopped the truck to be sure that I was seeing what I thought I was seeing. It was right by the highway, trying to get through a fence into the woods." Ahem. They sent someone out. We went and looked for it. Couldn't find the darn thing. But I've done my duty and my conscience is clear. See, I would feel terrible if there were an accident involving that bird, and I hadn't at least called to report it. But I called, went looking for the bird, and that, as they say, is that. Husband says that a big bird like that lived right down the road for a long time, but he hadn't seen it there for several months, so he assumed they'd gotten rid of it. I say that bird got loose and has been living in the woods, or maybe it was turned loose. When it turned out that there WAS no real market here for emu or ostrich, lots of people killed their flocks or just opened the gates and let the birds go. Like we need huge birds wandering loose. Can you imagine what would happen if you hit one of those things while driving at highway speeds? On a narrow, winding country road, a two-lane highway with no shoulders?
So I'm watching out for that bird, hoping that I don't see it. And especially hoping that I don't hit it.
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