I was going to write a blog about this week, how I am getting in the groove and how Walt lets me get things done during the day now. During his first nap in the morning I get ready for the day, eat breakfast, empty the dishwasher and make the bed. His afternoon nap, usually longer, provides me time to get one large chore done (or two medium ones). This can be making dinner (or banana pudding like on Wednesday) or an eventful household chore like cleaning the whole house or blowing and bagging leaves in the yard (why do we have so many oak trees on our small piece of property? I'm hoping the one large one won't drop its leaves this year or possibly they'll just disintegrate before they hit the ground).
But instead I will write about Friday evening.
David and I were getting Walt ready for bed. Everything was as it normally is and we were enjoying our time as a family (bedtime is always a fun routine with the three of us). We are dogsitting Tashi (my mother's shih tzu) this weekend and the three animals had been especially wild that day torturing each other (in between bouts of sleeping on all the surfaces in our living room of course). Walt was getting his nightly bottle - a puzzle, dinner, movie & bottle of wine waiting for us - when we heard a sharp meow from downstairs. I looked over the railing to check it out, but seeing two of the three small creatures on the landing and Frances by himself downstairs I wondered what it could have been. I called out to Frank and he didn't respond, so I stayed upstairs and went into the second bedroom to work on our Christmas card while David had some father/son time with Walt. Ironically I was writing down all the things we were thankful for in 2012 when I hear a scuffle and David shouts at me to come take Walt. I come out to the landing and David is looking at Frank huddled in the corner while the other two examine him (or bother him?) and Walt is crying in his bed. I pick up Walter, continue to feed him, and David comes in and says that Frank is acting paralyzed in his back legs. My adrenaline spikes as Frances meows and meows and David doesn't say things are getting any better. They go into the second bedroom and shut the door. Walt is full but not yet sleepy, smiling at me so it's hard to do anything else, but we go to see what's up with Frank. He's under the bed and flopping around using only his front paws and crying out every time he does it.
I finally get Walt to sleep and we find a 24 hour vet to take Frances to. He's hard to handle when he's happy so it takes a towel and some biting to get him into the carrier with him in such pain. Luckily Dave's parents were able to come over on short notice so we both could go to the vet. We get there and meanwhile Frances is shredding the carrier and while the tech examines him Frances is biting the towel and freaking out and causes his mouth to bleed. No obvious fractures and his back feet are significantly colder than his front (I felt them; they were scary cold). Diagnosis: a clot from underlying heart disease has caused paralysis. Prognosis: most likely would never be able to walk again even with significant medical intervention and care and even after that his heart would get worse, throw more clots, and he could die any time.
End result: I wish Frances was meowing at me to go outside right now, or to get out of the shower, or to hurry up and feed him... I had him for 7 1/2 years and we loved each other a lot. Not everyone understood him, but he and I were close. He was a good cat and I've been writing down all the silly things I can remember about him (I did the same for Shogo last year). I'm sad. I thought we had many more years together.
Life is short. Life is not perfect. But if we love every day together then when that final goodbye comes it's missing a good friend not regretting missed opportunities.
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