Thursday, July 3, 2008

What To Do When You're Feeling Blue - Be Grateful - Day 1


I was supposed to be on the road today for my trip to the North Carolina mountains. My adventure had to be postponed since I refused to leave Misha. Misha, my Tuxedo Boy kitty, has some form of infection and must be given meds 3 times a day. The responsibility of his drugs is enough to make me stay home, since it is too great a burden for Patty (my dear friend and trusted cat sitter). Plus I wouldn’t be able to have any fun since torrents of worry would cloud my entire time apart from him.
So worn out, tired and just feeling blue on this gray day, I sit and feel the waves of yammering self-doubt and sadness wash over me. I feel sorry for myself since I can’t workout or even walk without pain. I feel at a loss since I recall the festivities of last year when going to work was not a part of my daily task set. I miserably gloat on my weight and its abundance.
On days like this, and times like these, the only thing I can do about this explicit blue mood is to be grateful. Turning the un-expressed expression on my face into something a bit lighter and more wrinkle-causing sounds like the best bet so that this depression can go on its merry way.
I used to wake up each morning and write in my journal 5 things I was grateful for. Sometimes this was done half-heartedly, sometimes with exuberance and gusto. A tool to bring me out of my slump, the examination of the gifts I have elevates my sense of spirit and draws down a bit of heaven. So instead of just a rehash of my other grateful evaluations, I am instead going to do another 40-part list on things I am grateful for.

Today, I am grateful for so much. I woke up – hurray. I have my health (in general) – rock on. I have people who love me and I love them – whoo hoo. But what I am most grateful for today is my kitty, Misha.

Misha came to me 7 years ago after the passing of my first real pet, Boo. Boo had been with me for 13 years and spent her last days struggling with cancer. I let her go one bright sunny Monday afternoon and drowned my sorrow with friends that evening. Heidi and Guy were there to take me out after Boo left and Paul upped the ante by playing the Ramones as loud as possible to drown out the voices of grief.
I had another kitty at home, a gray long-hair named Vlad. Vlad-a-Cat was a remnant of a past relationship. An ex-boyfriend wanted to give me another cat for my birthday and I picked out the worst looking one at the pound. Even though he tried to persuade me to take the cute white fluff-ball kitten, I took the gray, skeletal and matted 6-year-old. I never regretted my choice, in Vlad that is. When Boo died he took her place cuddled beside me when I slept.
My vet called me three weeks later and asked me if I wanted another cat. Misha had been abandoned at the vet by a family that couldn’t (or wouldn’t) pay the extra money it took for his special food. Stricken with a urinary-tract problem and after almost dying, the vet put him back together again, but the family didn’t want him anymore. She took him home, but her two-legged dog kept tormenting him and her husband agreed that 12 was just too many pets. I took him in, without question. Vlad and Misha never bonded, and the next February, Vlad passed from kidney failure. This time I was alone. Misha was now my one-and-only.
Since 2001, he and I have bonded even closer than any of my other feline relationships. An independent cuddler, on his terms, Misha brightens each morning with a mew in my face, some petting and a reminder to feed him. He hasn’t had many problems since before I was given him as a gift, but this week he wasn’t feeling well and the vet had put him on meds to clear up his fever and infection.
I cried like a baby when she told me to leave him for observation on Monday morning. Even her assurances that he wasn’t critical couldn’t keep me from weeping when I spoke, so I just shook my head and tried to make it out of there as quickly as possible. I have a thing about the vet’s office. It makes me so sad since I keep thinking of the cats that came before him and how their last moments were at this warm and loving facility.
I can handle the hospital and when people I love are sick I jump into action as the backbone and strong one, but with my little furry friends, I break down.
I left work early just so I could go and be with Misha, waiting for almost an hour to speak to the doctor, but I didn’t care since I had him in my arms. Even though I knew he would be fine, I just couldn’t stop myself from getting teary-eyed when the doctor came in.
I am so happy and grateful that I have Misha since he brings me such joy. When I feel blue he cuddles with me and lets me know in his feline way, that all is well, truly. He makes me smile and petting him soothes me and shows me that my heart can get bigger and bigger with love.
Tuxedo Boy, Tuxedo Boy, feeling better is such a joy. It’s about time, to fight some crime, or at least play with a toy. Hey, hey, he’s a Tuxedo Boy.

3 comments:

misschris said...

Oh I completely understand. I actually made Seb fly my girl Milly to my mom's house in March so she wouldn't be alone in Mexico with strange catsitters while we travelled. A 500 dollar plane ticket thankyouverymuch! Seb never even flinched because he's been doing crazy cat-love stuff like this for me for 8 years now.

I hope Misha feels better. I have some Mexican prayer candles for you when I see you. These are wonderful--magical.

callenstewart said...

I'm thinking good thoughts for you and Misha.

Praers said...

Thanks to both the Chrises - Misha is being quiet today, but I think it may be more from his pissed-off attitude about me shoving meds down his throat.