Thank you all for your kind words re: having to send Floyd to a new home. O. took her over there yesterday morning and I was heartened to hear that she seemed pretty unfazed by it all, happily eating and getting scratched and settling in. Her new owner is going to keep her in his garage for a couple of days until she gets used to things, and he’d already moved his car out, opened the windows to get a good breeze blowing through, and brought her a bowl of ice water. I think he’ll be good to her. I’ll always miss her but hope that we’ve done the right thing for her and that she’ll live a long and happy life. At least now she has a chance.
For the first time in months, I cried last night.
I don’t know what’s been wrong with me. No one would describe me as weepy or overly-emotional, but I’m a pretty aware of how I’m feeling and (usually) have no problem expressing it. I believe in the healing power of tears and that sometimes a girl just needs a good cry to let it all out.
But for the past few months, nothing . Not a single drop.
Believe me, there have been plenty of times when I’ve wanted to cry. Hell, if anyone would understand that, it would be y’all. You know just how often life presents us the opportunity to cry because of failed cycles, unkind words, pregnancy and birth announcements, massive dosages of hormones, feelings of hopelessness, or just at the frustration and pain of living in a body that feels broken . . . and those are just the IF-related things. There have been other moments along the way when I’ve been hurt or upset and just wanted to cry. Each time though, the tears seemed to gather and stick in my throat, refusing to budge.
That changed last night. O. and I were driving home from a movie and the tears just came. Slightly inconvenient that I was behind the wheel, but I didn’t let that deter me. Was I crying about the fact that my period still hasn’t arrived nine days after taking my last pro*metrium? Nope. Was I crying because we’ve been trying to have a baby for almost a year now without success? Nope. Was I crying because my 39th birthday is fast approaching and I feel like we’re running out of time to be parents? Nope.
I was crying because of a cat named Floyd.
Floyd, along with his brothers Andy, Barney, and Opie (sensing a theme there?) were born in our barn almost three years ago. Their mama was a stray, probably dumped out here in the country when she turned up pregnant. She somehow found her way to our little ‘manger’ for her blessed event. O and I are not cat people, so we were honestly hoping that Mama Kitty would take her babies and scram, but she did not, so they became ours. I am highly allergic to cats so they had to live outside, but we love and care for them, feeding and petting and taking them to the vet. They add so much to our lives.
Last summer Floyd, our little girl cat (named before we knew she was a girl) started climbing trees. Not so bad, except that she goes up and can’t get back down. Luckily up to this point we’ve been able to find her and get her down with the help of bucket trucks and on one occasion, a chainsaw. In the past two weeks, Floyd has been rescued three times.
We have at least sixty massive trees just in our yard and our house borders the woods. Although she never strays far from home, our concern is that she’s either going to go up so high that a bucket truck can’t reach her or that we won’t be able to find her once the leaves bud out, and she’ll die of dehydration stuck up in some tree. The vet says de-clawing her won’t help.
So we’ve found a home for her. The golf pro at O’s country club loves cats and though she’ll still have to be an outside cat because of his allergies, the only trees anywhere near his home are scraggly pines with branches all the way to the ground. It’s a very quiet neighborhood across the street from the golf course, with no traffic and no roaming animals. He’ll leave his garage open for her to come and go as she pleases.
I've had pets all of my life and this is the first one I’ve ever had to give away. I take pet ownership seriously. An animal isn’t an object to be given away when it becomes inconvenient. It’s a lifetime commitment. Yet I know it’s for the best – I pray it’s for the best. I hope she’s not too scared at her new home. I hope the other cat that he feeds from time to time isn’t mean to her. She’s such a sweet little girl. All she wants is love and I can’t give it to her.
Know why?
Cause my fucking body has let me down again. My fucking allergies prevent me from taking care of her, from bringing her into the house to live with us like I want to – like she deserves.
I can’t even be a proper mother to a cat.
I’m scared for her. My heart is breaking. I fucking hate this. O is taking her to the vet in the morning to get her shots and to make sure she’s A-okay, and then she’ll be gone. I can’t even bear to go out and say goodbye. I will become a hysterical mess. Not only am I broken, but I’m also weak.
But one good thing, at least I’m crying again, a lot.
