Celebrating Mardi Gras
Last night Samson didn’t come home when I called him. I was busy making a pie, so I hadn’t paid much attention to his whereabouts, and didn’t look for him until almost 11 p.m. When he didn’t respond, I slipped on a pair of sneakers and headed out the door. I walked out the driveway to the street, and saw him, his mangled body lying in the road. He had been hit by a car.
No more purrs.
No more cuddling.
He will never again hit the other cats with surprise attacks as they come around the corner.
He will never crawl into the washer.
Or eat my salad
Or knock over plants
Today I buried him in the back yard.
All I have to show for my troubles are blistered hands and a broken heart.
I miss him.
I saw this at a hockey game and just had to take a picture.
What great marketing!
All of the photos above are courtesy of morguefile.com
Blog post ©2010 frayedges and http://www.frayedges.wordpress.com.
Photo courtesy of morgueFile
December 9, 2010
“This is not normal. I’ll need to do a biopsy.”
A fear washes over me. Is it more cancer?
The doctor makes no promises.
I make my next appointment and leave the doctor’s office numb. The biopsy is Monday. The weekend looms before me.
On Friday the numbness gradually turns to fury. I try to contain it, but it slips out occasionally. I look for a distraction, but everyone is busy. I take a sleeping pill and go to bed early. I just want the days to pass quickly. I need to know.
On Saturday I work. Depression sets in. I don’t call anyone. I don’t want to see anyone or talk to anyone. I stare at Netflix all night, then go to bed.
Today is Sunday. The rage returns. I want to throw something, hit something, break something, whip my body around in a frenzy until I drop exhausted. I want to roar my pain.
Instead I stare mutely, looking for distraction.
Tomorrow is the biopsy.
©2010 frayedges and http://www.frayedges.wordpress.com