Working On A Quirky Graph

I dreamt about disasters tonight, and my role in them. Over and over. The same timeline, trying to do it differently each time to save more people. My life as a disaster movie. Huh. I have no doubt that is absolutely not prophetic, however it can be tiring to the soul to keep doing the same thing over and over, tweaking little aspects of it, to try and get a different outcome. All while I’m trying to reset my body and brain. Needless to say I’m feeling so hot this next day.

I’m just not sure why I’m dreaming in disaster. I don’t believe it is work. I’m still doing the two jobs, considering trying for a third. And yes I’m working more hours at the coffee shop, but that shouldn’t bring on feelings of impending doom. I mean, yes, I have a customer facing job, but that isn’t enough to drive a fight or flight.

Maybe it is because I had to put down my cat Gracie on Friday. The other half of the terrible twosome I’ve had by my side for almost 15 years, she only lasted 3 weeks longer than her sister. The house is so very quiet now. I don’t believe I fully realized how much noise two cats actually made. Even now, even though they are gone I can still feel them brushing against my legs looking for my attention. I swear I hear them while I’m on the computer, scratching at the tub or calling to me from another room because I’m not where they thought I should be.

Perhaps I’m having those dreams because I took Gracie to 2 different Emergency Vets, one day after another, looking for answers my regular vet couldn’t fit me in to find. The first couldn’t find a reason she was having trouble walking and suddenly losing all ability to hold her hind end up. I called my vet again the next day and so they sent me to another Emergency Vet. Pitting hope against what I’d been seeing for a couple of days, I put my poor baby back in the carrier she hated to see if they would find something that would help. At least they discovered the true problem (heart failure and clots) so I would know how to proceed. She was in pain, she was often confused and when they let me in to say goodbye she tried to climb my shoulder to help her leave. She just didn’t leave the way she thought she would or I hoped she would. I wasn’t ready.

So I’ve been cleaning the last few days. Tossing out the litter boxes, washing all the blankets, vacuuming the fur they left everywhere. I’ll do a porch pickup for someone in the neighborhood to come get their food and I’ve pulled the heating pads off the bed. I can’t look at any of it. Except the cat tree. This gigantic, ridiculous stand with basic beige carpet stapled to it, rope wrapped around the legs for cats to sharpen their claws, and a little hammock that is meant for itty bitty cats, not my skulking, big boned rulers of the living room. I’ve lugged this contraption all over the Midwest, from Louisville to Dallas, from Tulsa back to St. Louis. There is still catnip on the second level where, in a last ditch effort to make Gracie feel better, I laid a line down, hoping she would eat just a bit. She never touched it. And now I can’t bring myself to either.

Maybe I’ll get to it later this week.