Scoot Commute

Hodges Village Dam or how to get your mind off euthanising your cat

It’s been a bad 10 days. I bring my beloved cat, my favorite after losing my 20-year old (thankfully she took her last breath on my lap and exited this world peacefully after a long, robust life) to the vet with what appears to be a broken foot after he landed funny after jumping off a bureau in the bedroom (that was a fun call to the vet…”I bring him NOW!”), only to be told that “yeah, nothing looks broken in the foot, but O’Malley has cancer and there’s not a lot of time left.” What?! I bring him in with a broken foot and you’re sticking him in the ground?! But he’s my FAVorite.

OMalley on a stump

OMalley on a stump

Three days later, he stops eating. He goes into the bedroom closet and curls up in a ball and won’t leave. This is a cat that craved the warmth of the sun. And who only came into the bedroom to do a quick reconnoiter before heading back downstairs.

Each evening since the vet said he was going to die any moment, I would bring him downstairs for a couple of hours on the couch with me. Then, on Wednesday night, he jumped up on the bed about 2:30 AM to sleep. He NEVER went on the bed…ever. The bed is where Bandwidth and Domino sleep; a hellpit of other cats.

I called the vet who makes house calls on Thursday morning. Not open. I called on Friday morning at 9:30. I had to have my coffee first. Voicemail. I left some rambling message about “end of life.” He called back. Yes, he can come at 1pm on Friday. Thank you, thank you.

I went back home at noon. I went up to the bedroom closet and picked up my fragile big boy and carried him downstairs to the couch. “Sit with me.” He stayed for a few minutes, then decided to jump off the couch and dragged himself into the kitchen on his three good paws. Kaiser Söze cat.

He went up to the water fountain (only for him as the rest of the cat bozos in my house will drink still water, can you imagine?!) and figured out how to get his good front paw to drag the fountain so the water started to move. He drank and drank. When finished, he stood in the kitchen doorway. I picked him up and airlifted him to the box. He used it.

I then brought him back to the couch. We sat together and waited for the vet. The vet and his assistant were wonderful. And I buried him right next to my 20-year old (Legs Akimbo) and I can see them both from my office window.

Then Saturday came. Patrick came and picked up the CB750. I never got in a proper last ride. How could I? I know he’ll be very happy with that bike, and I hope to see it again at this year’s 2010 Rice-o-rama. Oh, and apparently I offended James when he stopped to check out the bike before Patrick arrived when I said to him, “Someone is coming to pick up the bike any minute now. I would prefer if you were not here.” Unfortunately James will continue to come back for more where that came from. I don’t enjoy being a complete bitch to him, but I don’t know how to deal with someone who cannot read social cues. James, I don’t like you. Stay away from me, my house, my cats and my bikes. Oh, and don’t try to hug and kiss me. We’re not in France.

I did get a last video of me riding. I hope to edit on Tuesday after work! I need a Mac to do it because iMovie is for dummies…sign me up!

Where is this thread going? Well, it was supposed to be about riding to Oxford, MA, but now I’m tired. More layder.

Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg

Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg in Webster, MA


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