Da Goddess

Fletch brings an inordinate amount of joy to my life. Even when he’s being a turd, he’s funny and sweet and weird and a joy.

With this in mind, I thought spending a precious $8 on a toy for the cat was not only appropriate, but it was totally overdue. (It pays to cruise around the internet to find deals as I paid less than half of the normal price.)

Fletch’s M.O. is to lie down next to the toy and then play. He’ll do this for an hour. Then there are the drive-by sessions. Racing through the room, he’ll take a swipe at a ball, bat it around the track, and then run away, only to come back to do it again. There’s also the attack from the top method, wherein he pounces from above and goes absolutely apeshit. This is my favorite method. It’s wild and crazy and all kinds of wrong, but it’s entertaining as fuck.

No matter what’s going on in my life, Fletch makes it better. The only way this could be even more enjoyable is if he could talk.

P.S. Fletch would like you to know this pic in no way captures his current svelte figure. My boy is definitely rockin’ a summer bod these days.

I thought I’d finally start posting pics of my happy little home. The first one is my very tiny kitchen. What you see is the entirety of the kitchen. Except for the small fridge that you can see just the edge of on the right. Yep. My kitchen is really, truly that small. Storage is practically nil. I don’t care much, but I would’ve preferred a bit more counter space and more than just a single, small, awkwardly placed cupboard.

P.S. why is the picture not resized properly? Is it just me not seeing it the right way? Ugh. Doing a post from my phone isn’t the best way to go, but it’s where my pics reside at the moment. I totally need to upload them to the computer. I will. Someday. Someday. Maybe. (Btw, Someday, Someday Maybe by Lauren Graham is an excellent novel. Please read it. Please.)

Dad, it’s been a year since you left us and so much has happened. I know you’ve been looking out for us because we’re all still here. So many things could have taken any one of us, especially C and Mom, but, again, we’re still here. Thank you for that.

Thank you for also making it possible to get set up on my own again. I’m not 100% myself yet, but I’m getting there. I keep wanting to call and tell you about so many things. Then I catch myself and remember you’re no longer here. Physically, that is, because I feel you around all the time. I’m so grateful for that. I’m grateful to be reminded of you at every turn. The crows remind me. My landlord’s cars remind me. Just having a place to live, to call my own, reminds me. Thank you thank you thank you.

There are still tears and I think it’s safe to say there will always be a chance of tears. I know you lived a lot longer than you thought you would. I’m glad you did. I’m glad you got to know your grandkids and even happier they got to know you. Thank you for loving them so much!

I also know you felt you were ready to go. I understand. Rather, my head understands while my heart continues to struggle. 87 is a great age. There were times I thought we were going to lose you before — heart attacks are as scary for the family as they are for the patient! You were always too stubborn to go early. I guess a part of me thought you’d defy death forever, as unlikely as that is. All those years of “rehearsals” you’d think I’d have been more prepared. You could have been 105 years old and that would still have felt too soon to me. That said, I get it. It was your time. I’m just glad you didn’t have months or years of pain and suffering. Going as quickly as you did, I consider it a blessing.

I’m going to miss you forever, Dad. I will. All of us will. I’m going to keep thinking of all the good times we had. I’ll remember some of the bad, too. It’s only natural. But I won’t dwell on those because your goodness, subtle kindnesses, inner marshmallow, and your love for your family were stronger than any flaws you had, even that wicked loud roar when you were mad.

It feels like only yesterday I was rushing to hospital. Again, it’s been a crazy year with grieving your death, Mom in and out and in and out of hospital, C’s stroke, the uncertainty of my health, the greater uncertainty of housing…the year was occasionally going by too quickly or crawling along, depending on the memories I was facing, the way things usually go. It pretty much feels like one great big surreal fever dream. When grief engulfs me, I let myself feel it. I acknowledge that heartbreaking sadness washing over me. I accept it as one would any pain you feel because that’s part of life and loving. I’m glad you were my dad. I’m glad you ARE MY dad. I just wish you were here with us live and in person. Since that isn’t possible, I focuse on how lucky I was to have you as a father. Thank you.

I miss you. I miss you. I’ll always miss you. And I love you. Always. ALWAYS.

Thanks for being my dad and for loving me.

With love from your odd child,
Me

There’s no such thing as too much Fletch and I realized I’d not posted anything of him since we moved.

He’s my lovely boy. Such a trooper. So sweet. Sometimes an absolute turd. But he’s MY turd. Respect the turd.

“The turd turd turd, the turd is the word…”

Anyhow, enough of that. Please admire the whiskers.

In just about 12hrs, I’ll be loading up trucks with my little bit of furniture and clothing and heading south. My new home awaits and I’m excited/nervous about the whole thing.

I’m a bit worried about the cat. We had an emergency visit to the vet yesterday. He was lethargic and floppy, showing no interest in food, and just looking miserable. He perked up a bit as I was getting in the car, but then just settled in on my lap. Then he was super chill at the vet’s in the waiting room. Didn’t give a shit when barking dogs came in. He just stayed on his chair and looked at me with sad eyes.

When we finally saw the vet, he was less than happy. A thermometer up the old keister has never been his thing. Nor is someone trying to look into his mouth. Or when they put stuff in his ears. When they put stuff on his back? He’s not a fan. By the time they got around to jabbing his rear end with a needle, he’d definitely had enough.

Getting into the car to head home, he wrapped himself around my head. Belly completely covering my face and four sets of claws trying to hold on to the back of my skull.

He’s doing lots better today, but still having moments of blech-i-tude. So I have been cuddling with him as he wishes and pretty much watching him carefully in case he has any distress.

Which is why I’m nervous about the move with him. I’m worried it’ll be too stressful on his system. I’ll be watching him closely!

Other than that, I’m just excited about getting moved. Nervous, too. I keep thinking about the million things I still need to get. New bed. Groceries. Etc. Etc. I have a notebook with three pages of things I need, things I have to do. Address change, phone calls, transportation issues to solve, and more things I haven’t yet considered!

Nervous. Excited. Anxious. Thrilled. Trepidatious. Liberated. It’s enough to turn petrified dinosaur turds liquid.

And this is where we are tonight.

Back to packing and arranging my belongings. I find 30mins at a time is about all I can do. My breaks are spent with Fletch and TV.

Fingers crossed for tomorrow!

Wishing each and every single one of you a very happy Thanksgiving! May you have blessings so numerous you lose count.

I’m so grateful to have made it through this rather trying year in one piece.

I’m grateful my sister has recovered from her stroke.

I’m grateful my mom is still with us.

I’m grateful for my beautiful children.

I’m grateful for my very sweet cat.

I’m grateful for my friends.

I’m grateful for my doctors.

I’m grateful I’m still alive.

I’m so grateful for so many things I can’t think of them all!

Happy Thanksgiving, my dear ones!

Fletch has been a lovely boy lately, allowing me to sleep a bit longer and cuddling up next to me. It’s so sweet and comforting to have him near. He’s my reason for getting up each morning and it’s good to have something to do each day so I don’t curl up and hide away from the world. Because, honestly, I would very much like to hide from everyone and everything when I’m hurting, which is a constant state of being these days.

Fletch is my greatest source of comfort. He’s always here to make me smile, to calm my nerves, to keep my mind working as I look for ways to challenge him (I don’t just hand him treats, I make him earn them).

I don’t know what I’d do without this goofy little guy. I adore everything about this nut.

Talked with my big sister on the phone today. First time since her stroke. Her progress is remarkable! C’s speech is still slow, but it’s clear and that’s an amazing accomplishment. So many stroke patients don’t get back to even 50%.

Thank you for all your prayers! C still has a ways to go before she’s where she wants to be, but for me, this is a miracle and I will never not be grateful for her surviving this and for your support.

I’ve reached maximum capacity emotionally.

My older sister, C, had a stroke. Thank God, she’s already home and improving!

I’m about a month away from being homeless. Fingers crossed for a miracle.

The entire ending of a relationship over the course of…however long this has been…has reached peak impact. Especially with circumstances being what they’ve been. (Long story.)

Health 4/10. One life left.

Patience 3/10. See above.

It’s fucking enough already.

I’ve spent much of the past couple weeks overwhelmed by emotions. Just about anything and everything reminds me of Dad. Sometimes the memories bring smiles; mostly, though, I’ve been drowning in my tears.

One of the most overwhelming thoughts running through my brain is the last truly lucid conversation I had with Dad. I cringe when I think of it. I know it caused him distress to think of me unhappy and in a precarious situation. I regret that so much. I want to go back and just talk about everything except my troubles. I want to go back and just ask him to tell me stories about his life.

The thing is, I can’t go back. Nor can I change the conversation we had. I also know I can’t live with regret over something that cannot be changed. So, for now, I let the tears fall and focus on his final night, our conversations throughout the night, and the fact I was able to be there with him. It brings some comfort, but it’s also a work in progress. I’m a work in progress.

I know grief is a process and can’t be rushed. I know this will take as long as it takes. I’m just going to keep working through the emotional jungle of life and hope I get it right at some point.

Getting older and adulting ain’t for sissies.

It was already over 100° in the shade before 11am. The forecast called for 110° at some point. My first thought was to call Dad and harangue him into going somewhere with adequate air conditioning. I had the phone in my hand, pulling up my directory before it hits me: he’s gone.

I sobbed.

Twice more throughout the morning, I reached for the phone to call. Both times I practically doubled over as if punched. It physically hurts to remember he’s gone.

Even as I type this, it hurts. Tears rolling down my face, I’m gutted.

I keep waiting for everything to stop hurting when I think of Dad. I don’t think it’s going to happen any time soon.

I miss you, Daddy.

P.S. it was 112°+ on the porch, in the shade at 1900. If I’d wanted temps like this, I’d’ve stayed in Vegas.

Fletch kitty is so much better today!

I have no idea what made him sick in the first place, but I’m super grateful he’s better now.

He’s back to begging for treats, playing, and head butting me for scritches. He’s kneading blankets, purring, and seeking buddy time (his version of the “almost” cuddle). Currently, he’s lying atop the couch behind me.

My favorite part of Fletch feeling better is watching him sun himself in the window. You know your cat isn’t feeling well when he won’t sun himself.

I’m breathing easier, grateful that whatever was wrong is now right again. I cannot deal with more loss at this point. Y’all hear me?! God have mercy on me.

Fletch is doing so much better today. He’s a little more playful, eating like it’s his job, and he’s back to patrolling the perimeter windows, keeping us safe from the neighborhood strays.

I’ll continue to be on alert, though, until he’s begging to be fed every few hours.

My sweet fuzzy baby…he means the world to me. I can’t help but worry.

I came home from San Diego to a sick cat. Barfing up everything he ate. Lethargic. Just. Not. Right. Sir Fletch is sick and I don’t like it!

I’ve been watching him closely since Wednesday evening, and while there has been improvement, he’s still not himself.

Frankly, I’m worried as hell. He’s still a young’n. He’s only seven!

He’s done so well this last year; losing weight, becoming more active, and generally just being a super dude. Now? This is not good.

There are days when I struggle to get up to feed Fletch, but I get up nonetheless. He comforts me when I’m hurting most. He’s my little Bubba.

Seems weird to ask for prayers for a cat, but he’s so much more than “a cat” — he’s my fuzzy lovekin. If you’re so inclined, please send some healing vibes his way. Thanks.

Signed, an internally panicking guardian