Nora

(continued from Chapter 1)

I had a really really really terrible weekend. My diabetes diagnosis was on Thursday and by Friday I was terrified I had stable angina, too. I decided to be safe and began taking aspirin. It couldn’t hurt, right? I began to experience a mild reduction in symptoms. I wasn’t certain whether it was from the medication or the beginning of my new eating regime.

Speaking of which, Diabetes SUCKS. I read web site after web site of material trying to understand what to eat, when, what not to eat, how much of this or that to eat and it’s VERY CONFUSING. I should have been sent straight to a nutritionist instead of being given a few page printout telling me how I had to be careful about my nutrition choices and why I was diagnosed with Diabetes. I got to a point of frustration where I just went to bed and slept, even though it was in the middle of the day. I didn’t care. I was too angry and tired and my gut was killing me—I assumed from not eating much.

I was taking aspirin, two, every 4-6 hours, with a shaky hand. My gut hurt. I didn’t really want to eat. I had to force myself to eat something. All I thought about was the stress test on Monday and if I was going to live through it.

I was so scared all I did was have crying jags and try to come up with something meaningful to say if I died. What would my last-ish words be? I told Sam how sorry I was for the shitty things I’d put him through and that I loved him.

I told him we should end our engagement after seven YEARS and finally get married if I survived. He knew my duress was extreme, pushing me to say things like that, but in my heart I meant them.

©2007 Robin A.F. Olson. Our engagement portrait.

My Will was out-of-date so I sat down and wrote something, anything to ensure some changes might be made if I died. I tried to write up a list of Bequests, too, but I was a member of crazy-town by then and my mind just couldn’t make sense of much of anything.

I looked over to my cat Spencer and I thought of him without me and what would become of him and the others and what of the foster cats? I knew if I did die I’d be leaving one huge mess for Sam and that upset me even more.

I tried to just sit in front of the TV, hoping to zone out and take a break from worrying, but it didn’t work. I couldn’t concentrate. All I kept thinking was; “Is this pain the sign of an impending heart attack and if so am I going to live through this? On Monday am I going to the hospital after my test? Will I need a stent? Why did I let myself get so damn fat? Why couldn’t I take better care of myself? Why couldn’t I love myself?”

As Monday dawned, my gut felt even worse. I had palpitations I was so anxious. At 11AM we had to be at the Vet to bring our 15-year old cat, Nora in for her first acupuncture treatment. I could have stayed home but part of me felt like maybe this was my chance to say goodbye to the staff. I didn’t want to think like that but what if I missed this chance? OR, would I seem like a nut worrying about what was going to happen and everything would be fine?In the end I decided to remain as stoic as possible and focus on our cat.

Thankfully, I was distracted by meeting our new Vet, Dr. Carmen. She was great with Nora and we were stunned to see Nora walk comfortably for the first time in years right after her treatment.

©2015 Robin A.F. Olson. Nora tolerated acupuncture very well and was purring through most of it.

Sadly, my anxiety returned as soon as we were on the way home. My appointment was at 2:45 PM so there was yet another two hours to wait until it was time to leave…the longest two hours of my life.

Sam drove me to my appointment, taking yet more time off from working. He’s been incredibly busy the last year and was getting very behind with his clients. I felt terrible about it, but I needed him more than ever and boy was I being nice to him to make up for it. I wonder if he thought he was with a different person? I'm usually not such a delicate flower to live with.

As he drove, I tried to make jokes. I told Sam I felt fine so we could go home. I noticed we were going to be quite early so I suggested he stop and get some coffee (because you do not want Sam’s coffee meter to go low-trust me on this). Sam pulled into a parking space at the mini-mall as I stayed behind, resting in the car, while he got his caffeine delivery device.

I looked around at the mall, watching the cars slowly pass by. It was a slate gray day and rather warm and humid. I wondered if this was it-this was the last thing I was going to see. I wondered if I did have to have some sort of scary procedure that I needed to just face it and go through with it so I could begin work recovering as soon as I could.

I have never been more scared in my entire life.

Sam drove us a few more blocks, then into the parking lot. There were a lot of cars parked at the Medical Building. It comforted me because I thought that if something happened surely there were plenty of doctors in the building who could help me. We entered the front doors passing some very senior citizens who had aides or family members assisting them. As I walked slowly past them, I felt very old, too.

The irony, perhaps, is that in my great fear, I wasn’t sure where we were supposed to go. I didn’t know the name of the office, only that they would do the stress test. We read the list of tenants, but none of the names sounded familiar. Fortunately I had made a notation on my calendar that said “Suite 107.”

It was just down the hall.

As we entered the room what struck me was how dingy and airless it was. There were no windows and the only light was those barbaric florescent tubes suspended in the ceiling that make you feel like your eyes are burning. We took our seats across from a small coffee maker/refrigerator that had a sign on it “For Stress Test Patients Only.”

Did they really want us having a cup of coffee before the procedure? We were the only people in the waiting room. There was no one at the desk. There was a note taped to the window by the desk that said to just wait and that someone would come out shortly.

I looked at the clock. It was 2:45 PM. I weakly held Sam’s hand as we sat there in silence. I wanted to say a million things to him, but there wasn’t time. I hoped that maybe he would say something important to me, but a few moments later the tech opened the door and called my name. I turned to him and gave him a quick kiss. I tried to look brave as I handed him my phone and purse. I wouldn’t be needing them any more.

The stress test did not go as expected. Find out what happened in my next post.

In trying to work more with my cat's social issues, one sign of things going in the right direction is seeing just about every cat in the house, on or near the bed. Sure, it's cold and I don't have the heat cranked. The only thing to warm up the room is a weak space heater and fluffy comforters on the bed, which act like a cat-magnet. There's little room for humans, but it's worth sleeping scrunched up to see them back on the bed.

©2012 Robin A.F. Olson. I'm sorry the video is so dark. Any attempt to lighten it up makes the image fall apart. Below is a still showing most of the crew.

Enjoy this little slice-of-life…

©2012 Robin A.F. Olson. (Left to Right) Spencer, Gracie the dark blob in the front, to her right is Blitzen, then to his left and near the foot of the bed are Nicky & Nora. It's tough to see but the DOOD is behind Nora in a big cat bed on the storage chest at the front of the human bed. Petunia (unseen in photo) is to DOOD's left. All that's missing is Cricket and he has never come into the bedroom in his life. Maybe one day he will. Yes, that's a cow on the TV and a siamese cat TV lamp on the Art Deco vanity on the right.

©2010 Robin AF Olson.

I'm not getting any younger. That's for sure. Every day new aches pop up and the type on cat food can labels looks like a secret code only a mouse could read. I don't have children (other than furry ones) and my family is sparse, mostly non-cat people (how that happened, I don't know) or I hate their guts (oops).

That leaves me with a predicament.

Who will care for my cats after I die? Sam and I are together so often that we could die together in an accident. What then? What if Sam dies first, then I die?

©2009 Robin A.F. Olson. Bob has already had two families that I know of. Will he have another one day?

I have a Will. In it, I dictated that the Director of the group I'm with should find homes for my cats. I have come to realize that that choice is not a good one any longer. I would rather know the homes my cats are going to now, if, at all possible. Just as people do with children, I would like to choose “Godparents” for my cats.

Am I being morbid? NO. I'm being realistic. Shit happens even when you're 18 or 32. I'm pushing the big 5-0. I've been lucky so far, but one day the luck will run out.

©2008 Robin A.F. Olson. Cricket sleeps. My former feral is mostly too shy around anyone but us. What will become of him? He's a really sweet boy. He would not make it in a shelter.

I started to imagine putting just one person in charge of all the cats. They would get my house, most of my stuff, but would have to live here until all the cats pass away (naturally!), then they can do what they want with the stuff. But that's a lot to ask.

The other problem is that the people who would give my cats the best home, already HAVE, in most cases, quite a few cats, already. Asking them to take 8 more is too much. Perhaps, asking them to take one or two is possible?

I don't have to have it all sorted out in a day (I hope), but I dipped my toe into the water to see how it would feel. I asked someone to take Bob Dole, should he outlive me.

I asked, Super-Deb.

©2009 Robin A.F. Olson. Spencer. The pouffy cat with his own fan club. Spencer is my beloved, but he wouldn't be an easy fit into just any home. He must have play time or he can be bossy with other cats. He's an alpha-boy, too and does not like belly rubs or to be picked up. That said, he loves to be near me at all times and he's “my boy.”

I love Super-Deb, but who wouldn't love someone who is super? Even though I've known SD for many years, I don't know her very well. She is a private person, with me, but I get the feeling she's shared things with me that maybe not many other people know. She may seem to be a bit guarded, but it doesn't take long for her to reveal a wicked dry sense of humor. Her devotion to her own animals and her loving care of them is a beautiful sight to behold. She really knows her stuff and has been a mentor to me during so many crises and a calming voice during the worst of it.

©2009 Robin A.F. Olson. Petunia or “'Tunie” as I call her. She should be called; “Princess.” She's clever, chats with me and can do tricks, but she is high strung-no wonder, she's one of the lowest cats and I know the boys pick on her some times. She would be great in a home with no other cats other than her mama, Gracie. I know she would blossom.

She's jokingly called “Aunt Debbie” when Bob goes to Dr. Larry's. Bob loves her and vice versa. He will let her brush him and he won't let me do as much. I only want Bob to visit Dr. Larry when Aunt Debbie is there to oversee his care. It's a perfect fit for SD to take Bob.

©2009 Robin A.F. Olson. I should re-name this cat, “Poor-Gracie.” for she is not in good shape. I'll write more about her, separately, but she's had a very long road with a skin ailment that's taken her beauty and her joy in life. She needs a kind hand and a knowledgeable person to keep her healthy.

Yesterday we were talking on the phone about my worries about Gracie. I didn't have the nuts to ask her about Bob, so I sent her an email, shyly asking her to ignore my being a loonie, and would she consider taking Bob (along with some money for his care) if something happens to me and Sam? She wrote back a resounding YES!

A few minutes later, my phone rang. SD blurted; “Can I have Blitzen, too?!”

©2010 Robin A.F. Olson. Bob and Blitz. Some days things are just perfect.

I didn't want to ask her for that, thinking it was too big of a request, but of course, YES. I would be happy for her to take him, too.

I've got four more cats to figure out homes for, unless Sam wants me to try to place his cats, too, and then it will be six. Once we have this worked out, I go to my lawyer. I want to protect my cats as much as I can after I die. They shouldn't have to face death row at a shelter because they might be older or sickly. It's not fair to them at all.

©2009 Robin A.F. Olson. I assume there will be a fist-fight over Nicky, but with Nicky, comes Nora. Maybe they can go back and live with their brothers; “Charles and Bailey,” but I haven't asked just yet.

I hope that all of you will think about this and how it effects your own life and cat-family. Yes, it's scary or creepy or “you just don't want to go there,” but if you don't “go there” it's selfish. What of your cats? Their future well-being? Your dogs? Some times you have to do things that are unpleasant, but knowing you have it worked out, for when your time comes? Well, hopefully, it's a great comfort to you and most assuredly, the least you can do for your pets.

Nick and Nora. Sam's cats. These two cats are just about the biggest cats I've ever seen. Nicky is not even fat, he's just gigantic. Nora, well, she's slowly slimming down, but still kinda-sorta looks like a baby seal at the right angle.

Well, it's Sunday, folks, a perfect day for a long snuggle with the kitties, maybe read a good book with a cup of tea or coffee? Maybe a ripped, shirtless, guy would bring me some donuts, while I'm relaxing? Maybe he would also rub my feet for at least two hours (per foot). Then he would clean the house and prepare an elegant, delicious meal for me to enjoy, before he LEAVES.

Ah, Sunday. A day for dreams.

Circa 2006, the cats gather 'round the fridge. Is it for a late night snack? In so many words, YES.

Go ahead, YOU tell me what this means. Don't need a manual to understand this cat behavior I photograhped in 2006, right?

Coincidently, the same thing is going on in my bathroom right now. Some critter is makin' a whole lotta noise in the wall behind the shower stall. Sweet! Guess it's time to pull out the havahart trap before my cats find whatever creature has moved in.

By the way, the mouse that was under the fridge was probably depressed and suicidal because I can't figure out any other reason why a mouse would DARE come into my house!

I thought I'd share a few extra bits of information regarding Blitzen's recent adoption that you might find amusing (written while Blitzen is literally hanging over my shoulder, purring loudly).

Blitz really enjoys catnip!

Some of you remarked that Sam is a “Saint” for being willing to go along with my urging that we bring another cat into the household. In fact, Sam was the one who was ready to adopt Blitzen weeks ago. It was I who was doing the feet-dragging. Sam took a liking to Blitz waaaay back when he was just a tiny tike. For myself, I'm so used to telling myself I can't adopt any foster, that I pushed away any notion of it happening. It's simply not done!-not when you have SEVEN cats who don't get along like perfect little angels.

I was the one who worried about what it would mean for our other cats and worried about the urine marking festival that would and did take place. Yes, there was some fighting, too and urine marking all over the house, once Blitzen was out and about. Was Blitzen the culprit? No. Petunia, as ever, has been neurotically marking and I'm guessing Cricket may have followed suit. Regardless of who did it, over the past four weeks or so, the marking seems to have stopped (of course you have to be diligent and LOOK for it every day and make sure to clean it up VERY WELL). There doesn't seem to be any fighting and I've noticed some very subtle shifting around of where each cat hangs out.

Gracie and Petunia, the skittish twosome, are now residing in our bedroom most of the day, but it's sunny in there and they enjoy their selection of cat beds that are right next to a sliding glass door for a view of the woods. They've physically separated themselves from everyone else, but, they DO still come downstairs and eat well and Gracie even “chats” with me on occasion.

(From left: Nora, Spencer, Bob. Blitzen, front and Nicky far rear of photo on left)

What's even weirder is that most of the cats now cover the bed at night. Bob, who stopped coming up the stairs (due to his advancing age and ill health), has returned. Cricket is the only cat who never comes up stairs. He just doesn't. On top of that, the cats don't seem to be fighting in the bedroom any more. This morning I woke up and saw Blitzen and Nicky, side by side, Bob, Spencer, Gracie and Petunia, all on or near the bed.

I have to wonder if this has something to do with the raw diet, because the cats are HUNGRY when it's time for breakfast, but they are also feeling better. Bob must be feeling great to get his butt up the stairs and be able to hop up onto our bed, which is rather high off the floor.

I don't have answers, I just find it all very curious. I hope this is all good signs for a comfortable and companionable future for us all. Blitzen is sitting on a chair a few feet away from me. He's purring so loud I can hear him. I have to keep taking a momentary break to pet him while I write. I swear he's smiling.

Okay, so maybe Nora needs a bit more time to warm up to Blitzen!

So I admit I was taking it slow and being cautious about moving forward with Blitzen's adoption. Sam was ready to go. I was also sad that now I really can't adopt a giant, fluffy Tuxedo kitty, but Sam surprised me the other day.

After all this, he said to me that he thought Blitzen needed a buddy close to his age and that if I wanted to adopt a Tux, then I should just go ahead and do it.

I guess you guys are right. Sam IS a Saint!

Dear Clare,

Thank you for the homemade cat mats. I know I'm supposed to give them to the foster cats-and I will, but I had to “test drive” one on my cats first.

Dear Clare,

What did you put in the cat mat? Spencer's sense of smell is poor. Normally he isn't interested in catnip. Is there something you want to tell me? Spencer is bunny-kicking the shit out of this mat. His eyes are glazed over. What is going on?

Dear Clare,

My cats won't share. They want their own mat. If they don't get one, they'll spat.

Dear Clare,

There is more square feet of cat, than there is square foot of cat mat. Can you make me a bedspread sized one?

Dear Clare,

Do you know if there's a catnip rehab facility in Connecticut? I'm thinking Bob might need to go there. He looks like he's had a bit too much and Nicky can't stop rolling around and yeowling incoherently. I'm afraid the neighbors are going to call the cops.

Dear Clare,

Nora would like to know if you can rub her belly to maximize her user experience (since she can no longer reach her own belly).

Dear Clare,

Nicky also asked if you could rub something, but I had to edit out what he said. I blame the drugs for his ungentlemanly outburst...plus, he had a surgery a few years ago and that sort of limited his options in that department, anyway.

Dear Clare & All My Dear CiCH Readers,

It's friends like you that are like a big mat of catnip for me. I can wrap myself up in your comforting words and breathe deep, feeling suddenly quite invigorated and alive when only moments before I was too busy licking my wounds to do much else.

With Love,

Robin

Nick and Nora spooning the night away in their cat bed. To the right is an EMPTY cat bed. Go figure.