As most people know, one of our cats died last weekend. I still won't reveal the exact number of our feline population, but I will admit it is less than it was a week ago. It was very, very unexpected. No, I did not start my car with her in the engine, nor did I start and back up my car with her sleeping in the wheel well, nor did I smash her with the garage door. Yes, all of those things happened to other less fortunate cats in my past, but not this one.
Please don't mistake my jokes for apathy; I've found if I'm not laughing, I'm crying, and I don't want to be crying.
After a $700 tab at the emergency vet hospital and absolutely NO clue for a diagnosis, but with an estimate of at least another $1000 - due immediately - just to keep running more and more tests and keep her on oxygen for the weekend until the REAL vet's office opened, we had to let her go. I didn't appreciate the hospital's negativity about our very difficult decision. "You know she's not going to get better, so just so I understand, are you taking her home to HOPE she gets better on her own or are you taking her home to die?" I also didn't appreciate their magazine rack full of not just Field and Stream magazine (Hunting? Really? In an animal hospital strictly for injuries?), but also pet insurance brochures. Kinda like closing the barn door after that horse has left. Helpful? Not even close. Fuckers.
It was awful and tragic, and it was difficult for all of us. What I didn't realize was how difficult it was for my 12-year-old, who bombarded me with all of his fears and worries about God, heaven, kitty heaven, and morality. I thought the questions about "Why didn't we bury her?" and "What is cremation?" were hard enough (and if anyone knows a child-friendly, gentle way to phrase that other than "It's where the, uh, body that really isn't the kitty anymore, it's just a shell and her soul is already in heaven, yes I'm sure they go to heaven, yes I'm sure it's the same one we go to, yes the body gets burned to ashes, yes, burned, but she doesn't feel it anymore because she's in heaven, remember? and then you can keep the ashes in a kind of vase, no usually you don't have to worry about someone tipping over the vase and spilling it, and we can remember her that way instead of having to go visit a sad graveyard where she's in a box, and everyone knows cremation prevents all loved ones from ever coming back as zombies." please let me know. That was NOT covered in any parenting book I ever read. (I really didn't say the zombie part, though, that was just in my head.)
Long story short, my son asked if you get in trouble with God for swearing. That one made me think (in swear words, of course) and other than the generic "I think it's under one of those commandments about not being mean," I really didn't have an answer. So I decided, in honor of my son, that today would be No Swearing Day. I will go all day without swearing, and if I slip, I will put $1 in the Don't Be A Douche Jar (amazing invention courtesy of New Girl). I encourage all of you to join me. It may be enlightening, it may be frustrating, and it may be an extremely lucrative money making opportunity for you. So start nonswearing with me, and I'll keep you posted on
Update: 4:14 p.m. I really feel like I should've definitely been swearing by now, and just realized the possibility that I might've been swearing all day long, just in my head and not out loud so I didn't notice. For sure, though, I lost it now because I did hear the VERY loud swearing at my dumbass dog who kept me standing out in the freaking really cold wind while he smelled EVERY corner of the yard and STILL didn't go to the bathroom. I'm officially a douche, but he's officially a shithead.
