Karen's Journey

I started a post titled The Last Time  in the spring of 2016. I wasn't happy with the ending. It was too glib, but I didn't know where to go with it, so I pressed pause on publishing it. Now almost two years of loss later, I'm ready to write the ending. But first, a glimpse into my life since that spring, and some insight into why I've reached a place where the ending will probably write itself. In late March of that year, my older sister was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, and my life fell apart. I sobbed and sobbed wondering how I could possibly live through saying goodbye to my first friend in life -- and turn into the oldest sibling -- within two to six months. The irony of having just written a post about the "last time" wasn't lost on me. I couldn't stand to even think about it.    We received semi-good news though -- her tumor is a neuroendocrine pancreatic tumor, which, at the time, meant a prognosis of three to ten years, based on therap...

Our old girl, Digger, age somewhere between 10 and 11 isn't feeling too well lately. We're hoping we get some more time with her with some TLC, sub-cutaneous fluids, and arthritis medicine. She's such a good bunny -- so easy to pick up and carry around, loves petting, and usually slobbers my hand when I'm trying to put her baby food treat in her condo. Who knew that bunnies drool? She knows the word "pretzel" and goes crazy when she hears it, although I'm not sure how well she hears these days. She's T's favorite bunny because she lets him pet her. He loves to give her treats like carrots and strawberries. We will treasure however many more days we have with her.

Four years ago tomorrow, on Aug. 13, I lost my constant companion and head-warmer, Blackjack (June 1990 - Aug. 13, 2007). I don't think I will ever get over it. He was The King of all cats and my best friend. His favorite spot, except for summer, was next to me in bed, under the covers, with his head on the pillow. Her arrived on Halloween night, a scared thin, flea-bitten kitten running down the street, meowing pitifully. Worried for a black cat's safety on Halloween, I took him in, intending to find a home for him. Hah. He was so incorrigible that I feared that any home that took him in would put him out on the street again. He was the most maniacal kitten I'd ever had. But what a great spirit. There was something very special about him. He was everyone's favorite cat -- even his vet grabbed him off the table one time, swung him around in her arms and said, "I love this cat!" He was also Kia's constant companion. I took her in, intending to find a hom...

 Genny, the Therapy Cat There's been a spike in postings about therapy dogs on an attachment/developmental trauma listserv I'm on. Some people have had their already-living-in-the-home dogs unexpectedly turn out to be great therapy dogs; others have deliberately brought into their homes dogs that were in theory, supposed to be therapy dogs, with mixed results, I might add. We unexpectedly ended up with a therapy cat. She arrived in our family in October, 2005 -- a kitten I found in a parking lot on West Genesee Street, hence her name: Genny. She's our West Genny Wildcat (mascot for our local school system). I had no intention of keeping her; we already had four cats and that was enough. I was going to find her family, or, failing that, find her a new home. Period. But I had to go away on business a day or two later, so left her home with Sean for five days. On about day four, I got a plaintive, "Do we have to give her away?" I relented. For reasons I didn't...