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For those of you who know and love my cat, Trixie Sue, I want to assure you that she is alive and meowing.  For those of you who do not like cats – this is really not a story about cats.  (I love the picture in my vet’s office that states: Those who do not like cats, must have been rats!)

Last week I was a basket case.  I had cried buckets and buckets of tears, thinking my 11-year-old Calico, Torte cat, Trixie Sue, was dying.  She had not eaten for days, and was no longer hopping in my lap nor cuddling up with me at night.  A blood test showed liver problems.  For $400 more we could do an ultrasound and determine if it was liver cancer and then do surgery on the tumor.  I thought about my last blog.  I could not do that to my cat; after all, I doubt I would do that for me.

But, I cried and cried.  The medicine the doc gave me just didn’t seem to be working.  How could Trixie go?  After all, she was only 11 years old.  (A good friend had just put down her 22-year-old cat.)  Trixie was the glue that kept my little family together – Bonnie, the four year old dog and me, age 66.  How would I get through cold, lonely nights?  Who would sit on my lap while I journal in the morning and knit in the evening?

I told my masseuse that I was an emotional wreak because I knew once I got on her table the tears would start.  I told her I did not know why this was bothering me so much.  I have had pets all my life.  We talked about unresolved grief.  She told me I did not even need to know who or what it was I was obviously grieving about.

We talked about triggers from the past.  I thought of our beloved 12-year-old golden retriever, Daisy Mae, who died shortly before I moved into my first home as a single woman.  I thought for sure Daisy would be coming with me.  It was one of the hardest, saddest things about that time in my life. I poignantly remembered Greta Ann, my Airedale soul mate that got sick one December night and was dead in 3 hours. It was her birthday.  She was 13.  I thought she was coming to my new home, my first downsize.

My masseuse gently told me I was of that age where loss would be more common and that because I was so healthy, I would probably experience lots of loss.  I remembered my Aunt Rosie telling me how hard this was for her.  She lived until she was almost 100.

I also felt a little ashamed of myself because you know – Trixie Sue is a cat, not a human.  Loss is loss, another good friend told me.

Well, I am happy to report that slowly Trixie is recovering.  I don’t know why the bucket of tears specifically; but, I do know that research shows older people live longer and are happier when they have pets.  One 83-year-old friend told me her dog is what gets her up in the morning and gets her  dressed, so that she can go walk her.  Otherwise, “I would probably stay in my robe all day,” she told me.

Janis Joplin and Tina Turner sang about love.  Words of some of their songs came to mind as a heading for this blog.  I have sung Buddy Holly’s song, “Peggy Sue” to Trixie Sue for many years.  I have been singing it to her lots this week.  I have a good idea what loss I have not addressed.  All I can say is it is about time that the tears come. Another good friend told me tears were “holy water.”

 

Copyright – Elizabeth J. Wheeler, Aug. 17, 2013

 

Copyright – Elizabeth J. Wheeler, Aug. 17, 2013

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