More Levity

The day after putting one's pet to sleep, it is important to look for some humor in the situation.  Here's what I found, upon closer inspection of my experience yesterday.  I've included some random pictures of Otto during the happy years.

1)  While I was trying to make my decision final, Dr. Bailey asked my dad what his two cents on the matter were.  The retired Air Force Colonel eloquently said, "I don't like cats.  I would have shot him five years ago."  I laughed in the moment at this one.  That is so my dad. :)

2)  Just after the actual putting-to-sleep was done, I was petting Otto, as was Dr. Bailey.  Apparently both of our hands put a wee bit too much pressure on his chest, causing what air was left in his lungs to evacuate, making a slight whining/exhaling sound as it did so.  If I had been a cat, I would have jumped simultaneously upwards and backwards about ten feet.  But now, looking back on the experience, it was very Princess Bride-esque.  Maybe Otto was just saying "To blaaaaave", which we all know means to bluff!  (It's important for you to be very familiar with The Princess Bride to understand the humor here...)

3)  Saving the best for last...I stopped by to pick up my mail on the way home from the vet's office yesterday.  In the mail was a shoe box sized package for Reese for her birthday.  When I walked in the house holding that box, my mom eyeballed the box and immediately, gently asked "Is that him?!"  Meaning, is that Otto's poor little deceased body in the box.  I busted out laughing.  She was trying to be so sensitive to the situation, but looked horrified that there might be a dead cat in that box.  I told her "Yep, they just fricasseed him up right there in the office and gave him back.  Like a drive-thru."  And then I put the box on her kitchen counter.

Ode to a Grecian Urn (Orange Cat)

Ode to a Grecian Urn Orange Cat

Ode *on* an Orange Cat sounded weird.  So I felt the liberty to change the title of John Keats' poem, Ode on a Grecian Urn.

Today sucked.  Today my dear, sweet Ottoes (Otto to the rest of you) was put to sleep.

I came to be Otto's proud momma in July of 1999, the summer before my senior year of college.  I was working at an emergency vet clinic.  Some kind soul brought him to the clinic after finding him under the hood of their car.  In July.  He had a temp of 108.  His poor little kitten brains were cookin.  That should've been my first clue to the life we'd have together...

This photo is just precious to me.  The non-cordless-landline-phone, the bunk beds, the paper planner on the floor...how 1999...

Of note:  Otto has had the same sized ears his WHOLE LIFE.  When he was a kitten, they looked like little satellite dishes on his head. 

Otto helped me finish college at NC State.  He (barely) lived through the InterVarsity Christian Fellowship Exec Team meetings at our apartment.  *cough cough MATT and MICHAEL cough cough* He moved with me to Columbia, SC for my first grown-up job.  He survived me getting another cat (Nestle).  

He didn't judge me when I moved home pregnant in 2004. In 2006, we went to nursing school together.  That cat can write a mean care plan.

In 2008 I put our relationship to the biggest test, I got married.  There was not a lot of love lost between Scott and Otto.

He endured two more pregnancies with me.  (actually both Otto AND Scott endured...kudos to both)

He was my buddy for 14.5 years.

Three years ago he was diagnosed with cancer in his rib and chest. I chose to do palliative/comfort care as opposed to aggressive treatment.  He lived THREE YEARS!!  In the last few weeks, he was going downhill.  Today I made the heart-wrenching decision to let him go.  That totally sucked.  I keep sighing.  Pretty sure I don't need the extra oxygen, I just keep remembering that today sucked.  <sigh>

Otto, you were the best orange kidden there ever was.  Rest in peace.  

(kissing his fuzzy head for the last time today)

I don't even know where to start...

I don't know what to call this post.  Rambling?  That might be a good name for it.

There's so much on my mind.  I can't quite sort through it all.

This weekend Scott was here.  It had been two weeks since he'd been home.  It was SO GREAT to see him and spend time with him and watch our kids crawl all over him.  It sucked when he left.  I packed several boxes for him to take south with him when he left.  Packing is actually therapeutic somehow.  Maybe it's like scratching things off of a list.  The more things I pack, the less things there are left to pack.  Feels like the to-pack-list is getting smaller that way, I guess.  On the flip side of that coin, WHY DID WE PUT STUFF IN EVERY SINGLE CABINET??  We don't have that much stuff, and yet, we DO.  I made the horrible mistake of packing a box of toys in front of James.  He totally lost his shiznit.  He wailed about a certain truck he wanted.  A truck that has been sitting on a shelf in his closet.  In a box.  Out of sight and out of mind.  But oh yeah, he just remembered, IT'S HIS FAVORITE.  I'm kinda stuck, though.  Can't pack toys in his closet while he's sleeping, because DUH, dude's sleepin.  But now apparently I can't pack it when he's awake because OH EM GEE.  Perhaps his room will be the last thing I pack.

On a related losing shiznit note, I may have to put my cat to sleep this week.  :(  He's barely eating now.  I can't even stand to think about it.

Next subject.

I'm participating in a Open Adoption Blogger Interview Project again this year.  I participated in 2011 and 2012.  I love doing this, writing about adoption.  My eyes have been blown wide open about how different experiences with adoption can be.  Can't wait for you to read our interviews of each other.  They will be posted on November 12th, so stay tuned.

It's just gettin real up in here, folks.  The move.  Transition.  Leaving my job, friends, and comfort zone.  New things.  Great things, I'm sure, but new nonetheless.

Prayers welcome.

Just a Lazy Saturday...

That Darn Cat

Sleep, for a family with a newborn, is very. very. important.  I'm so grateful that we are sleeping a lot more than we used to.  You can understand my frustration, then, when something OTHER than the baby wakes me up in the middle of the night.

Enter Otto the Orange.

Sometimes he just gets bored in the middle of the night.  That's my best guess anyway for why he does what he does.

The other night:

It's 2:46am.  I'm sleeping.  I'm cozy under the covers.  The fan I use as a sound machine is whirring in the corner.  I awake to the sound of a plastic bottle scooch-scooch-scooching across the top of my dresser, followed quickly by said bottle hitting the carpeted floor.  I decide not to open my eyes just yet.  "Give it a minute," I tell myself.  The next bottle begins to scooch-scooch-scooch across the dresser.  I sit straight up in the bed and loudly whisper "OTTO!!!  CUT IT OUT!"  His paw is outreached, still touching the bottle that he's slowly pushing off the dresser.  There's no denying he is guilty as charged.  Just for good measure, he pushes the second bottle onto the floor.  Thankfully these are plastic bottles (lotions) and they are landing on carpet, so no breakage involved.  He meows at me as if to say "What?!  I'm bored."  I twiddle my fingers together to beckon him onto the bed.  He makes a glorious leap from the dresser to the bed, landing with precision, as he always does.  I pat the bedspread in his favorite sleep spot.  He circles a couple of times and then strategically lies down.  I pet his head for a second then I lie back down.  The whole incident felt like an exercise in futility to me, but whatever.  He's going back to sleep.  I'm going back to sleep.  Hooray.

I'm linking up with Heather today for her "Just Write" adventure:

The Extraordinary Ordinary

Cat Tales and Tails

Once upon a time there were two kiddens named Otto The Orange and Nestle The Stupid.

One day, Otto The Orange was crunching the numbers and he discovered that if he and Nestle The Stupid didn't do something quick,

they'd be forced to live in a box.

When living in boxes, the food supply is not quite as abundant.

Vacations and travel are non-existent.

Nestle The Stupid suggested she could take up a less than honorable  career as a lady of the night to earn a few bucks.

After all, she did possess some bedroom skills (sleeping).

Otto The Orange texted a few of his sketchy contacts, but came up with no "clients" for Nestle The Stupid.

He opted instead for the superhero route.  Surely superheroes get paid well, right?

He rescued damsels in distress.

With his superhero-brains, he learned to turn energy he soaked up from the sun into a marketable product.

Although time consuming, it was a profitable business.

Otto The Orange earned a LOT of money.  He and Nestle The Stupid lived like Kings.

And Queens.

And most importantly, they lived happily ever after.

The End.