Goodbye To My Boo Boo

So last week was really rough. Not to get all frowny and poor me on you guys, but here’s what happened.

My dad wound up in the emergency room with a very painful colon problem.
The brakes went out in my car and I was almost killed running a red light.
We had to put my sweet old Boo kitty to sleep.

That right there is a trifecta of fucked up.

So not fair that all that happened in a 5 day period. It was so bad that on Friday at work, I laid my head down on my desk and yelled out “Jesus take the wheel!” in desperation. It got a good laugh in the office, but I kind of meant it. I mean, how much can one girl take? Way to be an asshole, universe.

It seems like animal death has been hovering near me for a year now. My in-laws lost their beloved dog last year. Then a close friend lost their dog. Then a month ago, two friends from work had to put down their pets. And every time someone lost an animal, I would get scared. Because both of my cats are old. It won’t be long before it’s your turn, my mind would say.

And then? It was my turn. Boo got sick this spring, diagnosed with diabetes and maybe cancer. He went downhill fast and we knew he wasn’t going to make it through the summer. But I don’t care how prepared you think you are…when you love someone or something, you are never ready for the end.

When it became clear that the best thing for Boo was to give him peace from his illness, I told Captain Carl that I couldn’t take him to the vet. I just couldn’t do it. He understood and told me not to worry, he could handle it just fine. He is not as attached to our pets as I am and he had been much more logical about Boo’s condition than I had been. Meaning he didn’t wail and cry and hug the cat super tight and whisper in his ear that “you are the best cat on the face of the earth and you WILL NOT DIE on me, okay?”. Like I did.

So it was a complete shock to both of us when Boo’s Friday afternoon appointment with kitty heaven arrived and the Captain completely fell apart. Luckily, my sister went with him so he wouldn’t have to be alone. Unluckily, she also fell apart. The two most solid people in my life were reduced to blubbering messes in the exam room when the moment of truth arrived. They told me that night over double vodka sours how it was better I wasn’t there. How they both wanted to tell the vet it was a mistake and take Boo back home. How Boo was sweet right up to the end. How he seemed to understand what was happening and was okay with it. How he went quickly and peacefully. And how after Boo was gone, the Captain stayed with him for 10 minutes, talking to him and rubbing his belly because he was afraid the poison hadn’t really worked and Boo would wake up and be scared.

It killed me. It killed me that I wasn’t strong enough to be there. That I instead had the luxury of saying goodbye to Boo at home, where he was comfortable and not being injected with something to make his heart stop. That because of my weakness, the Captain had to do it without me.

I lost my little buddy and I am heartbroken. But my dad is recovering slowly from a bacterial infection and the Captain is doing just fine and fixing the brakes on my car and life goes on. There are good things happening in my life. The sadness will eventually become a dull ache instead of a sharp one. And someday I’ll be able to look at Boo’s picture and not cry, but instead smile and remember how much he loved boxes and catnip, how he could catch flies in mid-air, how his back leg would scratch at the air when I rubbed his ears, how pink his nose got when he was excited, how good natured he was…how much we loved him.

And just to end all this sad stuff in a nice way, I decided to link to some old blog posts about my old Boo.

National Cat Puke Day
Captain Carl's World Of Fur
Happy Cat Dingleberry Day
Adventures In Pet Photography
Boo Sounds Like Antonio Banderas

And here's the last video I took of Boo from the night before he went to kitty heaven. Ignore my giant man hands...

Bye Bye To My Boo Boo

Love you, buddy.

Patriotism Fail. Now Updated With More Possum.

We didn't see any fireworks this weekend.

I know.

I feel pretty bad about it. When the kids were young, we used to take them every 4th of July. We brought a cooler and lawn chairs and junk food and we sat in the back of our pick up truck to watch.

And before I moved to Texas, it was watching fireworks on my parent's boat on the lake. Every summer since I was 16.

But this year? Nothing. As I type this, I can hear fireworks popping outside. And not just from the trailer park across the street. It's a big show going on somewhere. I can even see them from our backyard, just over the tops of the trees. Close enough for us to get to and be all American and shit.

But instead of doing that, we are sitting inside watching Hoarders and Pawn Stars.

Patriotism fail.

It's just so blasted hot outside, y'all. No, not hot. SWELTERING. I mean, it was 101 degrees right before the sun went down. It's a mind melting inferno here.

Fuck, I hate summer in Texas.

I hope Lady Liberty can forgive me for not sitting outside, sweating in the dark and asking Captain Carl how anyone can possibly like living here because ohmygodseriouslythisisridiculous.

Holy shit. I just realized I have only had one drink all weekend. ONE DRINK. That's a crime, right there. I'm gonna get deported out of this state if the authorities find out because I'm pretty sure it's a felony if you don't wake up with at least one hangover during the 4th of July weekend.

I promise to do better next year, y'all.



UPDATE: Captain Carl just told me he ate possum once. This has nothing to do with the 4th of July. I just wanted to tell you because seriously, who am I married to?