Monday, February 18, 2013

even the waves can hear our sadness ...

I hope one of the 'taxis' will take us with a cat crate today.

They should.

They took a lady with her big basket of wares.

Besides, he's not very talkative right now, so he won't disturb anyone.

He has a fever.  He's so hot, and his mouth is so swollen that you can visibly see the infection growing in a short 2 days, never mind feel the bulge.

He just looks at me with eyes of pain.

His mouth hasn't stopped bleeding all weekend.

True to Murphy's Law, he got at his worst on the the days the vet isn't in.

What is that about?  Why do they always have to pick Saturday and Sunday to be at their worst?

Neither Papi or I slept all night worrying about how uncomfortable he was, not to mention, feeling the pang of unwarranted guilt because we can't do anything to help him.

I cried a few tears and stroked him, allowing him to head butt me like he loves to do, regardless of how much infection or blood got on my head or face.

It may be his day.

I'm so heartbroken, because he was supposed to kill more geckos and chase more butterflies and tear apart more cockroaches.

He was supposed to live the life of a Dominican cat.

He had a few good days, but the majority of his time here has been really miserable.

Feeling how hot his head was last night made my sorrow all the more pungent.

Then there was more death outside, by the hands of The Bastard Prince.

There was a dead mouse sitting on the patio furniture when I first got up.

However, there is no more.

The Pathetic Puppy, our new one eye, disappeared about the same time the dead mouse did.

Not too much later, she showed up licking her chops and there seems to be mouse intestines on the newly laid grass in front of my seat with an ocean view.

The reason I know it was The Bastard Prince who killed it initially, was because it was bigger than The Mrs.

She wouldn't take someone that big on.

But The Bastard Prince would.

Then there's the Jake-A-Like.

He's our fearless cockroach hunter.

Dominican animals really know how to take care of business.

Maybe our cats are bucking up because they see the competition.

That is of course, except for Psycho Kitty.

He's not moving too much, as he stays under the bed to feel sick all alone.

The vet had told us the reason he's not healing is because he's just too old to do so.  His body can't do it, and that if he doesn't get better on the heaviest duty drugs we just gave him, it's the end of the line.

I'm just so sad.

I want to bury him in the sand at the end of the pool, where we look out to the ocean.

I want to allow his little body to be the gate keeper of our home.

Forever our protector.

A space for us to think of him every day as we look out to the freedom he's soon to have.

I know I'm having troubles getting going today.  I've been up since 1 a.m. and Papi wasn't too far behind me.

I don't want to wake Papi up to say, "Ok my love, it's time to say goodbye."

That is just such a bad way to start a day.

It's a sad day, and even the waves seem to be lamenting in such a way that they feel my ebbing of happiness.

They seem slower today.

There are clouds in the sky.

The brightness of the Dominican morning is not as sweet as it has been most days.

with love, i listen to this inner conflict, and reflect on it until i find peace around it

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