A Few More Moments for My Collection
Moment then: On Thursday, Feb. 23, 2012 Tom and I met each other after work at a printshop to look into the costs and process of printing the book I've been writing/bleeding the last six years. Cheers! Applause! This really seemed like the way to go, and we were pretty pumped! Tom was waiting for me in the parking lot, and as I approached his car he shocked me with, "Do you want the bad news now or later?"
What a fine time to hear he'd be out of a job in six weeks!
And then I got sick with a colossal cold virus and stayed home from work on Friday.
Lucky me. Sick at home on Friday, and on Saturday morning I discovered that Fud, who'd been confined to the downstairs bathroom all night because he was puking---was puking blood. It shows up remarkably well on white bathroom fixtures. Slimy pink paw prints. So Tom and I took him to the vet for inconclusive diagnoses and a few scratches. For although the cat can't keep anything down, he can still scratch and spit and bite when you try to jab a medicine dropper past his tongue.
Moment now: Tom's at his Monday night class and I've spent most of this evening looking at houses for sale in South Carolina! As soon as we got home from the printshop he started sending out his resume. He has interviews in OH, SC, and TN in the next seven days. Plus we planned a trip up to Brooke's for her birthday over the weekend. So we'll see how this all pans out, and I'll keep you posted!
Oh, Fud. Yes. He seemed to do a little better with all the meds from the vet. But late on Sunday he began puking again. I took him back to the vet Monday morning. A different dr examined him, squeezed his tummy, decided digestion was probably blocked. Said we could tell with an x-ray for $$. When one's main source of income is about to be cut off, one does not pay $$ for an x-ray without knowing what will happen after the x-ray. After the x-ray, surgery would be logical. Either to remove the blockage or to explore and find out what was not showing up on the x-ray. Surgery would be $$$. And there were no guarantees that it would help the cat; it might kill him, too.
So I called Tom, for once thankful that I'd remembered to put my cell phone in my purse. We talked about Fud's options. Surgery wasn't one of them. We finally decided, with the old docs blessing, that Fud would come home and be fed a lot of laxatives---one last chance before we put him down.
We mixed the laxatives in canned cat food, Fud's favorite. He pigged out Tuesday and Wednesday. And got heavier and heavier . . . bigger and bigger. He always has been a tub of lard, a potato body on four dainty little legs . . . imagine a bloated cat. yep. Then he started puking again. On Thursday I called the vet and asked if I needed an appointment to bring Fud in and say "goodbye." And then I had a very serious little talk with Fud about his Creator, and that he'd be meeting Him soon. I prayed a sweet little prayer about how God sees even the sparrow fall, and that we were grateful for the years we'd had with Fud. Then I shut him back in the bathroom because I had errands to run and wouldn't be around to scream and swoop him off the carpet, saving it from disgusting gunk and stain, whenever I heard him start gakking. As an afterthought, I put the litter box in the bathroom, too. Just in case.
Tom came home while I was gone. When he opened the door and stepped into the bathroom to shower after work, he almost passed out from the litter box smell. Glory be! Fud pooped! He's baaaack! He's jumping in my lap, demanding to be let outside (which probably started this problem, so he's grounded), and he loves to sit in front of the computer monitor when I'm trying to type, making it hard
to see around his fat butt. He'll only eat the expensive, canned cat food. Of course! Do you know how much that junk costs?!
As for me, the cold is over, I'm much better. Tom's still working---they gave him a raise---how's that for irony! We're really grateful that we're able to relocate if necessary, and that he has job interviews. We're taking it a day at a time and praying that the right door will open. In light of other things last week---shooting at Chardon High, near where we used to live, and still know a few people---deadly tornados within a hundred miles of us---we have nothing to complain about.
In the meantime, an ancient prophet of Israel gives me perspective: Though the fig tree does not bud, (though Fud does not poop), and there are no grapes on the vine (or books at the printer's----yet), though the olive crop fails (and Tom's job goes under), and the fields produce no food, (and the interviews don't pan out), though there are no sheep in the pen, (this is getting stark and serious), and no cattle in the stalls, (a sobering picture of hunger), yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.
Habakkuk 3:17,18
Lisa Welchel, on Christian radio said it so well the other day as I was driving around, a bit overcome with self-pity as to why it seems I always have to move once we get settled and start to make some progress: and I can't quote her from memory, but in reference to suffering she said how it's always so painful and hard while we're going through it. And we think God doesn't care, we think He's forgotten us, and we start to drown in despair from pitying our own deficiency and value that got us into this mess . . . But if we keep to the course, when we get through the experience and look back from the other side, we will be deeply grateful for the ways we're then able to see how God brought us through. We'll see the added strength to our relationship with Him, the more knowing ways our faith has grown, the richer we've lived and loved . . . and it will be worth it.
Something deep within me resonated with those words, it will be worth it. And I look forward to that moment. I will rejoice, I will be joyful. This I know!
Thanks for sharing these moments with me.
What a fine time to hear he'd be out of a job in six weeks!
And then I got sick with a colossal cold virus and stayed home from work on Friday.
Lucky me. Sick at home on Friday, and on Saturday morning I discovered that Fud, who'd been confined to the downstairs bathroom all night because he was puking---was puking blood. It shows up remarkably well on white bathroom fixtures. Slimy pink paw prints. So Tom and I took him to the vet for inconclusive diagnoses and a few scratches. For although the cat can't keep anything down, he can still scratch and spit and bite when you try to jab a medicine dropper past his tongue.
Moment now: Tom's at his Monday night class and I've spent most of this evening looking at houses for sale in South Carolina! As soon as we got home from the printshop he started sending out his resume. He has interviews in OH, SC, and TN in the next seven days. Plus we planned a trip up to Brooke's for her birthday over the weekend. So we'll see how this all pans out, and I'll keep you posted!
Oh, Fud. Yes. He seemed to do a little better with all the meds from the vet. But late on Sunday he began puking again. I took him back to the vet Monday morning. A different dr examined him, squeezed his tummy, decided digestion was probably blocked. Said we could tell with an x-ray for $$. When one's main source of income is about to be cut off, one does not pay $$ for an x-ray without knowing what will happen after the x-ray. After the x-ray, surgery would be logical. Either to remove the blockage or to explore and find out what was not showing up on the x-ray. Surgery would be $$$. And there were no guarantees that it would help the cat; it might kill him, too.
So I called Tom, for once thankful that I'd remembered to put my cell phone in my purse. We talked about Fud's options. Surgery wasn't one of them. We finally decided, with the old docs blessing, that Fud would come home and be fed a lot of laxatives---one last chance before we put him down.
We mixed the laxatives in canned cat food, Fud's favorite. He pigged out Tuesday and Wednesday. And got heavier and heavier . . . bigger and bigger. He always has been a tub of lard, a potato body on four dainty little legs . . . imagine a bloated cat. yep. Then he started puking again. On Thursday I called the vet and asked if I needed an appointment to bring Fud in and say "goodbye." And then I had a very serious little talk with Fud about his Creator, and that he'd be meeting Him soon. I prayed a sweet little prayer about how God sees even the sparrow fall, and that we were grateful for the years we'd had with Fud. Then I shut him back in the bathroom because I had errands to run and wouldn't be around to scream and swoop him off the carpet, saving it from disgusting gunk and stain, whenever I heard him start gakking. As an afterthought, I put the litter box in the bathroom, too. Just in case.
Tom came home while I was gone. When he opened the door and stepped into the bathroom to shower after work, he almost passed out from the litter box smell. Glory be! Fud pooped! He's baaaack! He's jumping in my lap, demanding to be let outside (which probably started this problem, so he's grounded), and he loves to sit in front of the computer monitor when I'm trying to type, making it hard
to see around his fat butt. He'll only eat the expensive, canned cat food. Of course! Do you know how much that junk costs?!
As for me, the cold is over, I'm much better. Tom's still working---they gave him a raise---how's that for irony! We're really grateful that we're able to relocate if necessary, and that he has job interviews. We're taking it a day at a time and praying that the right door will open. In light of other things last week---shooting at Chardon High, near where we used to live, and still know a few people---deadly tornados within a hundred miles of us---we have nothing to complain about.
In the meantime, an ancient prophet of Israel gives me perspective: Though the fig tree does not bud, (though Fud does not poop), and there are no grapes on the vine (or books at the printer's----yet), though the olive crop fails (and Tom's job goes under), and the fields produce no food, (and the interviews don't pan out), though there are no sheep in the pen, (this is getting stark and serious), and no cattle in the stalls, (a sobering picture of hunger), yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.
Habakkuk 3:17,18
Lisa Welchel, on Christian radio said it so well the other day as I was driving around, a bit overcome with self-pity as to why it seems I always have to move once we get settled and start to make some progress: and I can't quote her from memory, but in reference to suffering she said how it's always so painful and hard while we're going through it. And we think God doesn't care, we think He's forgotten us, and we start to drown in despair from pitying our own deficiency and value that got us into this mess . . . But if we keep to the course, when we get through the experience and look back from the other side, we will be deeply grateful for the ways we're then able to see how God brought us through. We'll see the added strength to our relationship with Him, the more knowing ways our faith has grown, the richer we've lived and loved . . . and it will be worth it.
Something deep within me resonated with those words, it will be worth it. And I look forward to that moment. I will rejoice, I will be joyful. This I know!
Thanks for sharing these moments with me.
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