Letting Go

There is a new kitten in this house. Like Nymph she was born in April. Unlike Nymph I found her on Ebay. Literally! Her name is not Kashi, she ignored me when I tried, as that name is very unique. I think however it is wise she didn’t choose Kashi. Between Soda and Cereal stealing words from things such as faeries and Sanskrit I would have the most accidental brand name theme. Sylvani tried to answer to Sprite, however she was convinced to try another name. Sylvani, like Sprites and Nymphs are also faeries.

She has adapted well to the household, arriving in a manner that had us both stressed out. Then with about twelve hours of home time she endured a party. It was a fantastic party actually, and I had more fun with hoardes of people in my house than I thought I would. My friends oohed and awed over Meat cake, each one was impressed with the delicious gluten free cake, and yet after it was over I found myself sad. It felt unaccountable so I sat and thought. This was naptime, so I also slept a bit. It was a dreamless sleep.

I realized watching Sylvani peak out at my guests, too shy and still overwhelmed to say hello, reminded me of Nymph when people came over. Nymph would have been this same age but hardly would she have been this size. It became clear to me with in hours of having Sylvani here that Nymph was sick the minute she came into my home. My fears that Sprite gave her the illness faded, though now that is a risk. You see Nymph was abnormally small, so small in fact that I was worried for her. Sylvani is on the small side for her age too, but is almost as big as Sprite. She is far lighter, Sprite is softer.

Nymph purred but her purr was strange. My little purr factories are very good at their jobs, producing purrs nearly twenty four hours a day. Her first hour here, Sylvani purred and napped with me. Nymph did too. Nymph seemed to purr backwards in a way, it is hard to explain but I am left to think that she had other things wrong with her. She was so tiny, so fragile. She was a cat made out of faery dust and love. Too fragile to last in reality.

Sylvani is solid. I have no fears for her future as plagued me constantly with Nymph before I even knew she was ill. I have some residual fears because of the loss of Ny but Sylvani does normal cat things. She knows how to play. Sprite has not had to teach her how. She knows how to jump, though she can’t quite make the food counter. She likes to headbutt my ankles and stretch up to touch me. Her beautiful eyes are bright and shiny and she is curious.

Nymph wasn’t all that curious. Sprite literally taught her to pounce and play. Sylvani is creating her own methods of play with the existing toys. Did you know a laserpointer needs no human? She has been flinging it and pouncing it. She found the truest method of dot defeat.

I talked with M about this for a while, and he said nothing much but did comfort me. There were no words of wisdom needed beyond, “You were afraid to love Sprite, you were afraid to Love Ny, but you don’t seem to hold any fears for Sylvani.” My fear for Sprite was that I would be homeless and could not feed her. This came to pass, though not at all in the expected manner. My fear for Nymph came to pass. It seems my subconscious does a very good job of creating reasonable fears.

I could not see Nymph as an adult cat. Sylvani being nearly identical to Sprite with the exception of the angular nature of her eyes may help but I can see them together in a fear years, Sylvani coming with me as a service animal. I could see Nymph as one but her passivity worried me too at times for a service animal is not always passive with their person, at least with my method of training. Service animals are a balance between proactive and passive.

I find myself no longer so worried that I had failed Nymph in some invisible way that only I was aware of. I find myself mourning her still but not as much. Sylvani is healthy. She is not so small that I worry about her dying because of the surgery to have her spayed or nuetered. She’s a girl so whichever applies. In fact she has managed to kick Sprite out of the sunny spot, without so much as a hiss.

Sylvani and Sprite are most likely related with in a generation. Either Sylvani is Sprite’s Niece or Sprite’s mother lived a long time while producing offspring. This is based on more than their looks. Sprite spent a time in the same Shelter that I found Sylvani on. Via Ebay yet still a shelter. Sprite was found in a similar fashion by said shelter. Both cats were adopted just after being put on the short list for euthanasia. They have similar dispositions so far, though Sprite has shown far more meanness in her life time. That cruelty to people was survival. She was the least likely to find a home, Sylvani’s issue with homes was age discrimination. Too old and too young at the same time.

So I am taking a breath, and I am letting go. I cannot hold on to Nymph out of regrets and sorrows that do not belong. She got what she came for here, and she gave me something I needed too. It was the same thing. Love. Nymph reminded me to love myself. It isn’t the inspirational cat with a disability story, for there was no point of her being ill and suffering that was inspiring. It was simply the soft way she walked through life. She didn’t let her pain stop her from being the gentle soul she was. Knowing how much she hurt all the time makes me sad but, I hear that is true about people when they realize I was literally born in pain. It makes them sad.

I have another post about my mother that will come out soon but for now I am going to watch the cats ruin the rest of the marshmallows. They started this during my nap last night, but apparently Marshmallows are delicious to both of them. Sprite has a history with them, but she prefers the minis. Sylvani adores the big ones. She has flung them, turned them into pillows, and her face when she first bit into one was priceless. I was there for the first taste. It took her a while to decide that the flavor was great! It’s time to turn on some lights and open the curtains and have a day. A day of cat play!

Little Flickers of the Candle

I mean for this to be a short post though often that is my intention and I have yet to muster one of those. I am listening to Sprite who is so soft and I am in that just woke up from my nap space still. I am making morbid associations that I can normally shunt away, I find it a bit fascinating. These are the little flickers of the mind’s candle. They are the sudden illuminations that can lead to a gasping breath as the ideas start to coalesce or clot together.

I am wondering if Sprite, who doesn’t actually like the traditional pet bed but who at the vet’s office when Nymph’s time came climbed in first, then settled down and waited with the little one actually understood that the bed was for Ny’s comfort? She has had them offered at various vets, and shunned them each time. She has her own of a sorts, it’s a lot more cloud like, a dark color, coated in catnip and she has yet to touch it. Though she was staring at it in her basket with this great look of melancholy. That or the cleaning of the basket and the addition of padding instead of a blanket is no longer “right” because it now holds no scent of the little paws and bright eyes she and I love.

There are now no hidden corners in which she can rest and inhale the warm scents, if now a bit musty, of Nymph. There are now no spaces or places in which to hide, really. Those were either changed, destroyed, or moved. This was necessary so that she can be healthy and whomever comes to live with us too. Yet I see the flickers of sorrow in her at this. Her pain is great. Not that mine isn’t but I feel hers is greater. She has never been this sad to be away from other cats.

Not Thor, whom she had wrapped around her tail and was her loyal male slave like creature. Not a lover, but instead the fetcher of toys and the kneeling footman awaiting instruction with the flick of her tail. She didn’t like his companion Mid-Knight much at all but was sorry he fell ill, Mid-Knight seemed to resent her more than she didn’t care too much about him. It was all her playfulness and rejuvinating his once quiet friend. This darned female had gotten Thor up to running up trees, despite being declawed. I always worried about Thor being allowed outside with his defenses gone, but he was not my cat. I could barely keep her in once we discovered her allergy there.

William Shakespurr, whose perfect owner is now dead as Craigslist displayed while I was companion hunting, he was not mourned for even an hour. The atmosphere was celebratory for both of us. His blundering forcefulness while endearing left us both with literal wounds and literal scars. My nearly dying at the hands of this cat was just too much to bear.

No, it was Nymph who wooed and won us. In fact I was unaware how much her presence had changed me. My doctor’s visit today helped showcase some of that. As she commented on the change and just how much cleaner things were, despite the layers of cat clothes which had been left to dry overnight on every available surface, I told her why there was so much cleaning. In fact the only real thing that needed a good scrub in general was my carpet but it looks so much nicer that it IS worth commenting on. Cat vomit stains are gone. I am doubly sold now on a carpet cleaner for myself. Yes, when I told her she was very sad. Then she looked a bit worried, and told me why she was worried

Nymph had been medicinally good for me. My blood pressure went back to normal, I had quite a long year of moderately high blood pressure. Normal for most people is high for me. I wasn’t as pale and pasty, though I am pasty again it isn’t the loss of Nymph but again, uterine dynamighting. She saw both Sprite and myself “blossom”. We became ourselves, as if the missing piece was found. That’s how it had felt with Nymphy too. That little sadness that is there is a ghost of the flickers of her candle. It’s her shadows, her scent. The ghost isn’t something Sprite or myself wanted gone either. Nymph smelled like chocolate to me. Sprite smells like sugar cookies (gluten free of course).

Thor smelled like grass. Mid-Knight’s scent was very gross, though that may have been the impending illness there waiting to be noticed. William Shakespurr smelled like pee, because he would roll in the litterbox after peeing. Very disgusting cat that one. Yet when I would lay with Sprite and Nymph on me I would smell them both and it was better than eating a chocolate chip cookie (dark chocolate chunks).

So as I wake up, via writing, I am left with the rest of the thoughts of her visit. She doesn’t think I am any more depressed than I was a few months ago. Grieving? Yes. Depressed? No. I am always a bit depressed but I didn’t lose any ability to the depression except that one hour a few months ago, before Nymph, when I had to choose to get out of bed because laying there was just being depressive and I didn’t let me. I’ve felt consistently good. Most of the time I am happy. I am death obsessed but, that’s par for the course given my life. My doctor says so. The amount of death I have dealt with outweighs most average US Citizen’s experiences. I think those studies (she could cite them, it was funny) are a bit focused on middle class white people but I could be wrong.

My exhaustion is definately a side effect of the gouts of blood. My blood tests show I actually have been cycling. My uterus is trying to WORK. My ovaries too. Damn them. She was relieved I refused birth control, and having had an anaphalactic response to Yazmin, I plan to continue to do so. That won’t stop this kind of bleeding as my blood is blood not a mix of fleshy bits that pass for blood to the unaware mind and eye. The color is wrong, there is no fade in or fade out as my body tries to get “things done”. I don’t have Cushings Disease, as was a concern for a long time. Yay, no need for Brain Surgery.

The thing is, she also is worried that my current doctor is ignoring the issue. She recommended I sue and move to … California! The fact that my best medical option is moving out of state irks me to a degree. She doesn’t think a hysterectomy is the right answer for me, sure it will fix the bleeding issue but it doesn’t tell us why I am bleeding, is invasive, potentially deadly especially in my case, and could screw me up if I don’t have an answer. It could be cancer but she still thinks, as I have said myself, that it isn’t likely. Not because I don’t have a higher risk or symptoms but because there are less deadly scary things that could be wrong. My hypothesis about Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome causing tears is the most likely. In that case, I have no clue what the treatment will be but I have guesses.

It was good to affirm what I already knew. I am fine, in fact I am hardly a flickering candle most of the time and feeling this weak is very annoying. I am not sure I am able to sue at this moment because of lawyers fees etc but I do like that she has some similar ideas on California’s climate. SHe specified LA, which is my aimed at city. I have a fantastic doctor.

I also started the process for a cat interview with Sprite, so maybe by Monday there will be another cat living here. The cat is a bit older than Ny, but then I thought Ny was too young. I am not going to age discriminate against cats at all. I just hope this set up works out. If not, then the cat’s previous owner/mother will regain property of said feline and that will be that. We’ll just try again. Sprite’s gotten down to sulking most hours because she is lonely and sad. I think another cat around to at least fight with a bit will do her wonders.

Paw Steps In the Stars (Trigger Warning)

Nymph left us today, and the experience is one that I didn’t know how I would feel. Every other loss in my life of such a companion as she was during a time when I had no control in my life even over my own food, I was a child as well not a woman and those caused so much pain as the experience was full of suffering, deceit, and often the death of the animal was a punishment against me. My dear friend Nymph’s last moment was perfect. There is no other word I can use. There is nothing I would chance, except her having been ill at all and as it was, she had a very good life.

The veterinary center that I go to is amazing, the set up protects the humans and the animals, it was a guided journey in absolute kindness. Furthermore I am aware that the staff became attatched to Nymph, her illness effected so many people, not just me. I didn’t have to be alone, M the Carer was with me. I gave her the option of waiting outside during the process but she did not do so.

They set us up in a quiet room, the lights were dimmed which was nice for both Ny and myself. Sprite doesn’t like the darkness but that’s alright. Sprite climbed into the bed they had set up for Nymph and laid down, which I think made it far easier for Nymph to do the same. Ny was curious and wanted to poke around the room. Sprite was not, for the first time in a new place. Instead she and Nymph held one another. It was beautiful. We were there settling in for a good half an hour, this gives the humans and the animals enough time to relax. There is enough time to change your mind if you want, and nothing happens until you, the pet friend are ready.

Sprite and Nymph both met a few nurses, and Sprite for once let people in public pet her without any balking, she just made sure that Nymph was okay with everything. We played music, I set up a play list on my MP3 player and brought speakers. The playlist is the songs that I like, Sprite likes, and the ones that Nymph responded to most favorably. I felt a bit unsure about playing her favorite song at first, during the process but it was fine with everyone. Though Rob Zombie isn’t excactly what was expected I am sure.

I went with her favorite song because for some reason the Devil’s Rejects makes her dance, run, AND play. She had been fighting the Nurse a bit, she didn’t want them to touch her. So I hit play and she put her head on Sprite. I put my hand on her after they gave her the medication, and the first thing that happened was her pain went away. She was awake and alive at that point and I felt her being her again.

Pain changes how your body feels, from the texture of your fur on to the way you hold yourself. Nymph hadn’t felt like her at all for days. This is how I judged her pain, besides asking her. She felt soft, warm, and she purred. Then she was gone. I felt her go but I also felt Sprite’s awareness as I was touching her too. She was sad immediately, and pressed up into me, pleading for a bit. After the doctor and nurse confirmed that everything had gone as it should they laid Nymph back with Sprite and I cried. M the Carer hugged me, which was what I needed at the time. That need surprised me but she was good about my redirecting where she touched me, because I knew she didn’t want to hurt me and she confirmed that.

We sat with Nymph for almost an hour after, I was okay to leave before Sprite, but Sprite literally would not let go. So I let her process and be sad. I knew she was ready once she was out of the bed, even though as soon as I reached for her she jumped back in. We played most of the playlist I set up, and Sprite for a time had her head on the speaker. She is even now very sad. She was alarmed we didn’t bring the body with us, but she does know Nymph isn’t going anywhere else.

My vet’s office will be mailing me a cast of Ny’s paw. I have one of Sprite’s and I will reframe them together. Likely I can use the same frame, since neither cat is giant. I came home, I talked with a few people about some unsavory things but that is life, they were careful with me too and made sure to ask if I was up for the conversation. As it is about Murder, I had to be. If I put that off it would hurt me more.

Then I talked with friends. I realized I was fighting my natural resting patterns and let myself go lay down. It started to rain immediately, which explained to me why I hurt so much bodily. Mentally I feel the same peace that hit me when Nymph felt like Nymph. There was no wrong in this decision, just right. I had the right facility, the right doctors, and the right day and time. Any longer and Nymph would’ve been tortured. Any shorter and she would’ve not been in enough pain and it would have cost her days that she could enjoy. I never expected peace.

I expected guilt, anger, sorrow, doubt, but peace was there.

It was in my rest that the glass shattered in that empty house and the ice cracked further. In that house are my regrets, losses and it is a house on a foundation of pain. The entire house collapsed as I let myself remember every moment I had with Nymph. Her first steps in my house as Sprite greeted her with a big lick and her last morning here with me. Her delight when she realized Catnip is VERY good, and her frustration that Sprite wouldn’t let her pee at the same time. I don’t think we had any bad moments, though our worst was indeed the moment she became sick and I knew I had to take her in. Yet even in this there are so many good memories.

This morning I woke up, and before I could even shift I realized I had a chest full of cat. This left me with a bit of a pain in my back but that’s fine for Nymph.Sprite rarely stays on my chest but after my walk yesterday predominantly stayed with Nymph. She even let her pee at the same time. She dislikes sharing her litterbox, yet it was what Nymph needed. Yesterday was horrible for her, Nymph hurt so much that all she could do was lay with Sprite. Today she was too weak to do much, though she made a valiant effort at hiding from us when she heard me say, “Okay lets get the cats ready to go to the vet.” She went under the bed, not as far as before as we blocked that off but enough that I couldn’t get her, then she went to try and get under the shelf. That was hard to see as her belly was so full of fluid that she couldn’t fit where she should’ve.

Even then she purred for me. She was only wanting to avoid the other people with their poking and their prodding. That was at a minimum too, and that she purred in her last breath is something I am grateful for.

During our settling in time, as I watched Nymph I told her what I think Kitty Heaven is. It is a place where I would love to be myself frankly, not the death part but who doesn’t want rivers of fresh milk full of fat fish that jump into your paws, plump mice that run through rows of catnip, growing everywhere, and where cats are made out of stars?

The storm has concluded it’s fury as I write this, and this is the second time that a storm has mirrored my grief. I will still be sad when I wake up and she isn’t there. I will be sad when she doesn’t poke my feet trying to figure out how I can be so big. I will be sad when I think of the things she loved to do. I will not be sad when I think of the pain she did not feel. I will be happy as I think of her as a cat made of stars, she sparkled even in life and I would expect that she could be no other way in death.

Days

This should be short because I am out of spoons and I am into tomorrow’s spoon count. I try to avoid getting to this point ever but I don’t mourn well. Does anyone? Nymph is going to die any time now. She has days to live, the vet was upfront and supportive and… I am not sure how to handle this really. It feels like one too many things. We’ve barricaded the underside of the bed to prevent her from going under there, and though she won’t like this, she has other places she tucks herself away. Furthermore if the palliative care we chose doesn’t work anymore I have to make the choice about euthanasia. However we’re treating her pain right now, so hopefully that’s enough.

She has a fever again, and oh the hope I had just started to have. I just let myself hope. I am not very good with hope, in general my mind tells me this is the worst idea in the world. Hope. The concept always ends up leaving me with an aching heart, with wounds that seem to echo into my soul. It gets worse financially, and I already am owing people for their kindness, including the vets and the strangers.

I also have to say I have never seen a group of veterinarians so hopeful for an animal’s survival. Ny is a unique cat and everyone she has ever met adores her. They will mourn too, and that surprises me. Right now one of the nurses is calling local research facilities for feline illnesses to see if when Nymph passes they want to use her remains for research. Once she has passed I have to replace everything the cats use, and wash the house in bleach. Sprite most likely does carry the virus but doesn’t have any symptoms and FIP tends to strike younger cats or the extremely elderly, so if she was going to get it she would by now. That helps a bit too but Sprite is sitting beside me, and I can see the sorrow in her posture. She doesn’t want her friend to die either.

So, more days of silence. I feel as if something inside of me has cracked, my heart broke long ago, it feels different than a heart breaking. I just feel cracked.

All The Things (Poem)

All the little things you have yet to do
I see them laid out before you
Just one step forward and then there’s hope
Just one step forward and then there’s more

I see the shining future
I see your greatness now
I see what worlds you can change
I see what worlds you have

I see the friends you have made
I see the friends still waiting
I see the love that you do offer
and I accept it willingly

So don’t mind my tears
They are for the future
They are for me
For no matter where you go
No matter what you do
You are always going to be shining and sweet

All the things you have yet to do will wait
For the things you do now matter
The love you share
The minds you open
The laughter you cause
The warm unbroken

All the things I want for you
They are here in your heart
I love you
So no matter what
You are in my heart.

Cat Has Fever

Nymph’s prognosis is grim. I put this off for a few days while I couldn’t sleep. I just kept focusing on her needs and mine, so I managed to get some sleep down and she’s stable I think. Her fever hasn’t dropped but it’s not getting higher and she’s a bit more able. However after spending every penny I had and borrowing more at the Vet’s office, it was all to know that unless we have a ten percent miracle, my friend is going to die. I can’t keep her from behind dehydrated or in pain, and that makes me cry. I am trying to spend most of my time holding her but she is so hot she literally burns me. My hands are red and sore from her heat, 105 sometimes higher. This is when being temperature sensitive is really a curse. It’s not the shower, hot days that I miss. It’s not being able to hold her for as long as she need.

Thursday we go back, unless she gets sicker, and the vet will see if the mass in her lymph node was just an infection. However the vetrinary hospital, which I will be writing about soon because they have been more than just doctors but a support system for me, they did everything they could to make sure this wasn’t something we could really treat. The minor chance that this isn’t FIP, which I will let you google because I just can’t do the link thing right now, that chance is one we are taking. If she doesn’t get better on Thursday and there is really no hope, Nymph will not be coming home with me at least alive. I am trying to figure out what I can do for Sprite now, and I know the answer for myself is time.

Sprite keeps staring at me when I cry with shock. She has a fever now too, though hers is minor and may just be allergies I feel rather broken. I would give the world to make it where neither of them had illness ever, no pain. Just as I would for my sister or my brother or my friends. I have decided to ask the vet if they can use Ny’s body for science, if she passes. It’s a pretty slim chance so I am mentally preparing but I can’t stop hoping. Hope is the worst feeling I have ever experienced. It feels so good until I look at the facts. I would rather not hope and be wrong. I would give everything that we are just wrong and the anitbiotics cure her infection.

I am honored by a few people, which I will post about again with the hospital but one of the vets, the Ultrasound specialist, she was willing to not charge me full price so we could make sure that Ny hadn’t eaten something that wasn’t safe for her and it wasn’t just a perforated intestine. Which would be more expensive, but she wouldn’t be sentenced to a painful death, the only real risk there is either no treatment and I had found places that might help or anesthesia. Then there is the person who never met me, but they donated medications for Nymph. These medications are easing her pain, and have returned some of the brightness to her eyes though she is still just laying there. Then, there is every doctor at this hospital that took a look at her for free, only one is getting paid for that. There are the techs. Each of them made sure she was comfortable, though they did comment that she is such an obedient girl. If she lives, I know she has completed her sit training. She didn’t even fight during the ultrasound, or when they had to shave her stomach. The sicker an animal is the more it fights, especially things that hurt. That’s nature. Nymph showed them her brilliance and strangers responded to try and help us.

Still the persons I owe the most too over this, they are M. Of course you knew M was involved, he dropped everything to help. Then there’s my sister of choice who was willing to cost her family money and then some to come out if I need her. I just have to ask. I know that I am blessed, I don’t use that word often but even through the pain ahead, because I am still not doing well at all, there is no reason I cannot be honored and loved. It feels so odd to me to find love in this situation. When Sprite was electrocuted we found hate, anger that I was poor and dared to have an animal in my life, and so much pain. There was no solace, there was no comfort, and there was no love.

Nymph also turns out to be photogenic inside and out. Her ultrasounds are the type you want in your textbooks. I gave permission for them to be donated, if this does indeed turn out to be FIP for the simple reason that this would be the more rare type. The one that is harder to diagnose. The one that lets her live longer. I am going to go hold her now, and after we know I have more decisions to make. Someone even offered to buy her a burial plot, though I don’t know what to think about that. I am confused by the entire mourning industry for pets where people wear their animal’s ashes or get diamonds made with their DNA sequence entwined with the stones. It’s confusing and overwhelming but I can see in some ways the comfort that can be offered.

I know too when I get my ultrasound in a few weeks I’ll be thinking of this. I just hope my pictures are as easily read as hers. Nymph has lived up to her name, bringing sweetness as all good faeries should. Sprite does too, Sprite is far more mischevious than I ever let on but right now she’s mostly staying with Nymph. She’s protecting her from the things that would upset her and I have never seen her love another cat this much. I told the staff at the Hospital about their meeting, how there was no hissing or growling and the one time there has been it was Nymph not sharing food, and they said that just proves how rare a cat she is. If she survives she will be a service animal, because she has also been comforting me in the little ways. She is still mimicking Sprite. I know Sprite is fine because she is still playing. It hurts to watch her try and get Nymph to interact more than with the foodbowl or waterbowl. Ny watches but won’t jump up.

The final thing is, I have lost animals before. I have lost people before. I am confused because I never cried this much over a person or any animal,. I don’t cry. I did over Colors. I did over Snowball. Then Cookies but no human has brought me to tears except my Grandpa Murray. I have been called a monster for this but if I can love so much that it makes my heart explode before anything is wrong that I know of then why is that? I know Nymph was either born with this disease or at least had it when she came here, I know it isn’t my fault. I am not self blaming as is my tendancy but I feel like something inside me is being pushed too far and I can’t figure out what will happen if it breaks. I think it’s my heart, but I thought that was already broken. It isn’t loving that hurts though, it is not being able to protect her.

A Tail and Two Kitties

Nymph is at the time of this writing officially dying. My small and playful little friend may not make it until her appointment in the morning, which is a follow up to the emergency run today. My computer hopes are fully dead, because what is more important to me is life not tech. So my change jar is sitting emptied and I am not sure how to pay for what Nyny needs. I still don’t know all of what she needs.

What is killing her is either a perforation in her intestine, a growth/tumor, or a blockage though the latter is the least likely senario. Tomorrow she is going to have x-rays taken and the blood work and other sampling done today will be in. Tomorrow I will know if there is hope for her. Tonight she is getting medications that could kill me if I don’t wash up enough after taking them and that her bodily secretions will now enflame me over. I love her enough to hurt and itch. I love her. That’s enough to try. This is the best option and I will not let her die just because I was afraid of a little (okay very big) reaction. I am taking precautions but tonight I am wishing I had a god to pray to. M the carer said she will pray, I didn’t argue this. This week has been a bad week in general.

All of my fears for her, some of which seemed unreasonable last month when I was lamenting that she was so small and what ifs… they are all suddenly deadly accurate, terrifyingly so. This happens often, my fears are all logical possibilities but this one is an extreme possibility so why is this happening to her? If there is anything we can do, she will need surgery. There are no ifs ands or buts. I am not sure how to manage that, however, I am going to find a way. I may ask for help. I may? I probably will.

Her fever went up to 105, I was holding her and I felt the heat flairing up. Sprite is responding with sorrow. She’s so smart and when we left with the kitten she was in the window. When we returned she was in her “I has depresshuns” pose, just waiting for a photo and a lolcat caption. She didn’t like what I told her and Nymph likes the baths that are keeping her fever down even more.

The vet sent her home to cut my costs and because there is nothing that they can do for her until tomorrow. So, I am afraid. I am sorrowing. I am lamenting that there aren’t many options for animals unless you have money. This vet is the least expensive in town, I had already been shopping around. I know when I can afford to I am taking Sprite in. Even if Ny dies, I know that these people will do all they can to save her. Nymph said her first human words today, M the Carer was surprised, and I wish they hadn’t been words of fear. “No stop.” Having talking cats just seems to be my thing.

Nymph if she lives and is healthy enough, she will become a service animal. She has the right attributes, and she handled herself so well despite not feeling good. I am impressed with her grace under pressure. She doesn’t want to move or do however, and that is a big concern. When she didn’t want to play, she did yesterday but not today I knew we had to get her in. When I felt the heat in her body, I was scared. I was told by the vet if she had not come in today she would have died for certain. She had a seizure from her fever and is currently hiding and sleeping. I don’t blame her, she now associates the pink carrier of doom with anal probing thermometers and feeling crappy.

So I sit and I think on her tail, her ears, and her fun. She is fun. Nymph has helped me and I helped her. Her other potential home, if I didn’t want her was going to be with an old lady with 17 cats. A hoarder. Ny thrives here, thrived? The sick means past tense but I want her to thrive again. I am trying to stay positive but there’s always another element to anything. Enroute to the vets I had PTSD triggers, the location of my vet is in a bermuda triangle of some unknown event. Still, I think if I close my eyes until we get there and on the way home, then we will all be at least moderately okay and functional. Penicillin is not fun. Oh but the office is more accessible than the more expensive vet.

Up and Down and Up and Down

Today I talked with my doctor, and she agrees I don’t need a therapist. She asked if I want one and I told her no, because a good therapist is too hard to find. So it is agreed, having made it through the Junely mess I am okay. If this changes I will reconsider my choice to stop therapist hunting. It seems my ability to step back and look at why I am feeling things defeats the purpose of a therapist. My constant questioning the universe is also healthy. I really like my doctor.

It’s time for the annual blood work and well… while talking I dislocated my jaw. Which hurts each time and leaves me hearing pain, which I mentioned after Sprite fixed it. I still can’t quite get it myself which is very annoying. I cannot feel how to work the bone back in, which made my doctor suspect it’s not a bone issue so much as the soft tissues are damaged. I have been holding my jaw up, and talking less and less. She noticed that my jaw doesn’t move much when I speak either, which has always been there to a degree, but it’s more noticeable now. I can talk around the “broken” sensation because the immobility of my jaw is common. I adapted and barely noticed it.

The adaptation springs from singing, you do not move your lips and jaws to make note variations, and I sing to speak but work to cadence this song to match normal patterns. So I can still talk. It’s not as loud but it’s clear and most people understand me. My friends who are hard of hearing cannot hear me as well however. That bothers me as those are the friends I speak to the most often. We’re adapting as we go, we humans. That’s the point of life I think.

I feel really good right now. I have had less emotional distress since my pain meds were upped, and my doctor agrees that this is probably related. The rain makes me dizzy still and yet I can go outside when raining to open the gate I just book it back inside after. It started raining once I went out to get her in. Normally my carer would but M the Carer is out sick. She came in and was obviously ill. It’s an allergic reaction to latex. I know she’ll be fine but she has to get treatment first. She didn’t want to go in to the ER until I promised her today was just a cleaning day anyway, where we were opening boxes and with the weather I wasn’t too into that idea. I also swore I would call her if I needed her. I added in I would try to not of course. Yes I will call her if I need her, it wasn’t empty words.

She’s been with me for three weeks, which is usually the time when things start happening and I start to have fomentation of doubts with carers. Still? Nothing. I still have no niggling doubts, the cats still trust her, the cleaning is still happening when the mops aren’t molding and sold out, and the cooking is still there. She made sure I still had food even though we cooked yesterday. I really feel safe.

Feeling safe is another up feeling, I feel safe for the first time in a long time. Not mostly secure but out and out safe. I close my door, pop the lock, and I can go to sleep. I still have dreams sometimes that are disturbing but that is my normal. I no longer have to run to mother or other in order to free myself from them. It’s been ages since I last needed to call someone out of fear of the night/sleep.

The last dream I had that scared me was only scary while I was asleep and was a rare dream where I wasn’t aware I was dreaming. I was trying to get to M by bestest friend evar, and he was up stairs. I had to find him, because there was trouble coming and if I didn’t he could be eaten by outer-space. I figure this dream has to do with my having gone out that day and been frustrated by accessibility issues, wanted to talk to him about it and he was unavailable for a few days straight. I often dream about him being out of reach when he is unable to talk for more than two days, and I dream about having to go upstairs and being stuck because of my need for the buttwheels. In each dream however, my chair is not the cause of the problems but the stairs are sentient and out to get me.

So between this and that and the other things are medically okay. We’re checking all my hormone levels because I had a period, aka RED ALERT. The thing was my period did the backwards blood thing again. For those who don’t know a period should get darker and more brown as it goes along. Mine starts out brown and turns bright red. This one also lasted for four weeks. However, instead of needing bed rest, being in horrible pain and screaming the entire time I was awake I was fine. More pain yes but not to the level that I couldn’t function. Normally my cramps feel like my spine is being ripped out, this time? Just crushed and that’s due to the location of my injury so that much pain is considered minimal. This is a red flag, again with the menses puns I know I know bad Kat. So we’re following the trail.

I am still thinking on my jaw, and how much I hate CT scans. However if there is treatment that could make it where I can talk without epic pain again, I want it. I am after all a blabbermouth. I cannot keep secrets, I cannot keep my mouth shut, and now I have to hold it shut? It’s just a little cliche. I can see this in Tim Burton animation style, some sort of morality tale about talking but there’s no real point to it. Plus the sensation is my jaw is lopsided. It is just weird. I don’t use that word much even about my body, normally I can figure it out before I even mention it to a doctor but nope. Totally weird.

Another up is Nymph. She is getting taller but not wider, she will be a very long cat. Her heritage is showing now, she is a minimum of 1/3 siamese. Her markings show this anyway, but her bone structure does, as does her miaow. It’s not a mew, it’s a squeak. She also has some Rex so her fur is curly but not visibly so, just to feel it. That adds in some very tall back legs. She literally stands an inch taller at her butt than her shoulders. Her ears and tail are much larger than the rest of her, and they are getting bigger. I am not sure if she will grow into them but she’s very adorable. She has figured out how to climb into my lap without claws, but this only works when I can sit a certain way.

Nymph has also figured out how to turn on and off my Windows Media Player with my keyboard. I have been watching Andromeda and several times now, including during my doctor’s visit, she has gotten her paws on my keyboard and pushed the play button. This requires some finesse as the play button is not located near the rest of the keys and each time she does this she has to get on my desk. At first I thought it was dumb luck but no, we had a play war for a few seconds. She hit play I reached over and hit pause. She hit play. I think she is smart enough to become a service cat, and she also is proving to be loyal enough. In the first year of life however she has to figure out what parts of a human are connected to the mind.

She figured out my hands are part of me but is working on the feet and a change of clothes throws her off. The rain makes me sleepy and the storm is getting a bit heavier so I am going to curl up in bed with the cats a bit early. I just wanted to post an update because I literally had nothing to say for a while.

Oh and for those of you who I owe lines? Working on it.

Not All Expectations Are Positive. (Trigger Warning)

Nymph taught me something. I didn’t really know the words for the lesson but she taught me something special. I have always tried to fulfill expectations, and not everything expected of me is positive. The expectations started out as parental, then became my own. I spent years expecting myself to fail because I was unworthy of success.

The expectation for a kitten in a new house are as follows.

1. Existing cats will fight with the new one, no matter the age. The cats will fight for dominance. Kittens cause less of this but there will be yowling and fighting.

2. The kitten, like a new puppy, will spend the next two months crying for it’s mommy.

3. Kittens make messes, your new cat will probably poop on your bed, the floor, and miss the box a few times.

4. Kittens need constant attention.

5. Kittens will bite, tear, and claw.

Nymph has not met most of these expectations and the one she does, is not in the expected manner.

Truths about Nymph.

1. From her first moment in the door, she has been loving and gentle. She has not fought with Sprite except in the manner of play fighting. She has only cried out in pain when she is hurt because she ran into a wall or fell off of the couch and is hanging upside down and needs heroic rescuing. This has occured twice now, but she has mastered getting into the window.

2. Nymph does meow a lot, but her meow is musical and very sweet. She sounds a bit Siamese but without the added tones that I find unpleasant. She has the prettiest meow I have ever heard! Not once has she cried out of loneliness while I have been around. She has a few times called for me or Sprite, when disoriented or lost behind … the couch! She usually calls for us first thing when she wakes from sleep. If I speak she is quiet coming to sit on the floor by my chair. Sometimes she tries to get up here. She is quiet all night long.

3. The first day I had her I was holding her and she had to pee. I could feel her poor bladder stretched out. So i carried her to the litterbox, set her in and waited. She went, and hopped out. I did have Sprite teach her to cover her crap, because it hides the smell. She now over does that and will put it as low as she can. She has not once made a mess. She did vomit from eating too quickly a few days ago, but, that is different than the expected mess, and she has learned her limitations now. (She also REALLY likes Salmon).

4. I need more attention than Nymph it seems! Sprite has helped Nymph to get enough play, and I do play with this darling girl but she is okay if I ignore her. She does check in with me, and did about five minutes ago. She makes sure I am still around when she thinks I am too quiet, and I see more of her when I lay down. The chair is imposing and contributes, but each day she shows she is independent. She will play with the toys by herself, or she will play catch with Sprite. Catch is literal. Sprite flings a toy with her mouth, and Nymph returns it after pouncing it.

5. Nymph likes to claw things, but she prefers her scratching post and toys. She has scratched me once, though it was purely accidental. She is also teething so she wants to chew things to make her mouth feel better. She’s apparently swallowing the baby teeth that are falling out and has at times skipped the dry food even if this makes her hungrier for a day (I feed her extra wet food, because I am such a darned softy for this kitten) and every so often will go after my hands. She wants to nurse my pinkies. Still, all I have to do is say No, ouch. She has learned this means to stop and always feels bad. I get extra cuddling from her after.

This shows me two things. One thing I knew already, Sprite isn’t the only super amazing genuis cat ever born, and the other something I should have known and have at least figured out. Expectations are set before us, but not all of them are worthy of us.

People expect me to disappear when in public because of my disability. Today I punched someone, the third since my chair became a part of my life. Every time I go out people act like idiots and their expectation is that I enjoy inane questions, sometimes verbal and physical abuse, and I will just take it. Each time I have punched someone, I have found myself confused at the glee that others show. I do not expect glee at an act of physical violence. I often come to the conclusion that this reaction is because I did the unexpected and also I did something that these people desired for themselves.

Today a woman decided to poke me. I was waiting in line at Costco, my carer was in the restroom. She had been doing the potty dance, so I told her she should go because I could manage the transaction, my things were already unloaded. I asked her to stop nicely, I always try to be nice first. I am working on skipping the nice but I don’t think I can. She didn’t. I asked nicely twice, and snarled it. Upon being snarled at she put her face in mine. I held my breath incase she had eaten a cucumber and I punched her as hard as I could. I can punch hard but it hurts me too. My shoulder is aching and for two days my right arm will be of less use.

I never really know what to expect once I hit someone on one level, on another I expect for them to hit me back. No one has. The first person I knocked out, the second I don’t really remember today I just remember sore fingers, and the third ran off in tears. I think she called me names but I couldn’t understand her through the wailing.

The expectations of witnesses are to panic. No one has yet. Instead, people find my striking a bigot amusing. I get told variations of good job, I wish I could, and today a money saving coupon for money off of my purchase (I saved ten dollars!). I expect security. I expect reprimands. That has yet to happen. The cashier had been about to interviene, I realized this after I had hit her. She hadbeen speaking to the woman. I had already committed myself to feeling flesh on flesh and the spark of violence. I wasn’t angry. I was panicked.

I don’t hit out of anger. I expect it, when I am angry but the more I want to hit the less I let myself. I have yet to commit an act of violence with anger as an adult. As a child I did so mostly because I thought this was what was expected of someone when angry. I literally did not know better. I do now.

I know I could have taken care of the situation without hitting this woman yet, I feel GOOD about striking her. I knew immediately I was about to melt down if I didn’t contain the situation and put my headphones on, but I could keep one ear open. My carer missed the entire situation. I think the woman that I hit waited until she was gone before seeking to touch me. This means she was a predator. This means she was a threat. This is the time of year when I struggle most with violence, the fear of being hurt grows. This used to be the start of a half a year of self destruction followed by a half a year of recovery before I would be destroyed again. This cycle is ending.

I am fighting it. I was told I never could. I was told the expectations for me as an adult were not good.

Adult Expectations for Kat

1. You will never live on your own.
2. You will never work.
3. You will be in and out of institutions because you aren’t good enough for society (a therapist phrased it this way).
4. You will end up in jail.
5. You will commit suicide before you are 25. (This was before I was aware that I am supposed to die every year from my disabilities and illnesses.)
6. You will never get married.
7. You will be an abuser if you date.
8. No one can love you.
9. You are not strong, you can’t be independant.
10. You cannot take care of yourself.
11. You will always be lazy.
12. You are a hypochondriac, every time someone has a sickness you think you do too. This will lead you to self mutilation, and may be the cause of death that gets you before suicide. Not that it matters, because you aren’t a productive member of society.
13. You aren’t creative. No one will want you to be a writer, an artist, and you don’t sing as well as you think you do or you would be on the radio.

I list them this way, though I feel a few are redundant, because this was the list I was given when I turned 17. The therapist at the mental hospital I was in told me I was hopeless, that I would never make it to adulthood, muchless the twenty five mark. He made it clear that I was so valueless that there were no positive expectations for me. He said something that has haunted me more than his lack of respect. “If you were more like your older sister, then there would be hope.” He had never met H. He had only heard my mother’s biases. My sister was like the dead in a way, in that once she left she was treated as the saint that could do no wrong. Mind you, she ran off, got married to a close blood relative and had babies that she couldn’t take care of.

Yeah. She’s better than me in his eyes. I was angry. I believed him. I realized then and there that this was how the world saw me. He rehashed everything that my abusers had and would say. He took me down to nothingness, but as I was already as low as I could go he gave me something else. The first sensation of a spark of self respect.

This was not his intent. He was working on having me placed in a group home, because my mother agreed, I could never come home. After all, I was/am an evil horrible monster that will destroy family values and all that she cares about. Right? (Probably still am in her eyes… )

I behaved as he wanted. I learned how. I went to the Ranch, and I learned how to fake it in society. I learned the right facial expressions for the moods I have, according to other people. I don’t bother trying all that now, though a lot of that programming is still there. If I glower when happy, it’s because of pain. If I don’t act like a perky air head, it’s because I don’t feel like one. If I do not meet your expectations it’s because they are wrong.

The Truths About Kateryna Fury (Add Jackass in parenthesis to each statement. That’s what I feel when writing this part. Boy was that therapist an unqualified Jackass):
1. I live on my own. I have lived on my own as often as possible. I stopped living on my own once for financial reasons. I thrive on my own. I will never live with other people, unless it becomes state mandated, and then I will sue for my freedom.
2. Kateryna picks up her resume, skims it over and looks at the myriad of work that she has done. She notes her charity work, and with a smile that shows malice mails this off to the Jackass. (Novel Style Oh snap)
3. I am going to say this once. Needing the assistance of a therapist does not make you weak, it does not make you a person without value, and it does not mean that you are unworthy of society. If I need to go to an institution I will. I do not think I need this. Yes, I have mental health issues including depression and constant suicidal ideation (the words of the Jackass), I deal with PTSD. I learned the right way to handle this stuff… from therapists that are not jackasses. I have not set foot in an institution since becoming an adult, except once when I was hallucinating from pain and mistook this pain for psychosis, as I had yet to learn how to feel the difference. I was NOT admitted but instead had the doctors send me to the ER for medical reasons. I was given care and it wasn’t all in my head. I haven’t even found a therapist yet and have looked for the last year but I am not in the institution, nor will I go there. I’d die first because you work there.
4. Jail? Hmm… I do punch people. The only threat of Jail I have had was an illegal one. I do not break the laws, and the reasoning behind this statement was PTSD related. I hit people when I am afraid, and PTSD means for me constant fear. Finding a way to free myself from my PTSD and the link to my reactions in Autism set me free. I may go to jail someday in the future but I doubt it.
5. I turn 26 in September. So far I have not even tried to kill myself as an adult. I may want to at times but in reality that is internalized garbage from shit factories like you. In actuality a few of your patients have died, I know because we did know each other and it made the news. One was murdered, one was a suicide by cop (The patient you told me to idealize no less, though I mourn her you sure suck at your job, Jackass). Another overdosed on drugs. Me? I get my drugs the legal way. I follow my doctor’s orders. I do deal with my depression but I also know that when I want to die it’s pain. Pain people like you cause. Jackass.
6.I got married. I got unmarried. You were wrong, and your statement implies everyone should be married. So you wanted me to follow socially normative behavior instead of doing what is best for me. You wanted me to find someone who could put their penis in me, regardless of my sexuality. In fact you out and out told me I could not be a bisexual because bisexuality was an illness. I love all genders equally. All. Not two. All. I am Omnisexual, Jackass. Your white heterocisgender racist able bodied male privilege is showing. Jackass.
7. I figured out before you were done trying to make me give up on life, since that was your apparent goal and you had such high expectations for me and hopes for me that you were wrong and blind to much of reality. I knew this then, when I was so drugged up I couldn’t think and can barely remember much besides you and your hateful criminal actions. I understand, you presume that I should be like my sister who IS an abuser. This must be why you said this. You don’t believe in people breaking the cycle do you, Jackass? I will not be abused nor will I abuse. My first thought with each action is about consequence. For me. For them.
8. Jackass. (I believe that says enough). In case that wasn’t clear, I cannot count the people who love me and whom I love, because the number is infinite, as I cannot count that high. Jack. Ass.
9. I am the strongest person I know, and I know many strong people. I do know that sounds prideful yet, I can only assess others by my own knowledge and for me, I am the strongest. I think I have to be as well. My strength is not physical but mental, the very thing you thought I did not have. You drug me into a fog and decide I am stupid. That’s good medical care. Yes you have an MD and the whatever it is for psychology. Oooh. You are a Jackass anyway! Maybe even more so. Instead of paying attention to your patients you let me walk around with gangrene, you let me walk around with severe and deadly allergies, and a giant tumor in my intestine and buttocks. I did not cry or scream. Even the nurses commented on this when changing my bandages, I should’ve cried out more. Does strength mean crying out? Does it mean silence? For me it is both. For you? Obviously you are a jackass so what does YOUR opinion and expectation matter Dr.Jackass?
10. Hmm… I can too. I do all the time. In fact having a caregiver is a proof of this, as I had to advocate in order to get the need met. So my body wore out because I believed you… Jackass, you are again wrong. I can care for myself and I do with each breath.
11. Error, this is invalid. By not working myself to death I am lazy in the world of the Jackass. Therefore, I have never been lazy. Jackass.
12. Funny, everything you said was in my head wasn’t. Everything you said wasn’t real was. Someone is an unqualified Jackass! Or are you overqualified in your credentials for being a jackass? I get it. Therapy is, for you, about ignoring the body completely. I remember how angry you were when I had to have not one but two surgeries under the umbrella of your care, and… yes… I did survive and still have a crappy body. It turns out NOTHING was in my head in the realm of hypochondria and every disease that I thought I may have and wanted to ask my doctor about I do. Each time you coddled the other girl with Reynauds and made me suffer, that was wrong. Then again you told me that though I had signs of being Autistic I couldn’t because I am a girl. Hah. Sexist Jackass.
13. Well, this was added on just because it speaks for itself. I sing, I write music, I write audio plays, I write stories, and I write here. Someday you may read this, wondering if this was one of your patients. The answer is yes. If you are a therapist read this and pay attention. How much of this have you done to someone? Why give up on someone and tell them? This harmed me. No one will love me, everything I am passionate about is worthless, and… the most damaging thing a therapist can do is reiterate the words of an abuser.

This was the best therapist I had had up to that point. Each one tried to stick so many labels on me and not a one, even this jackass, saw me as a person. Each one only saw flaws. Some didn’t care about my not wanting God and others required it. I faked being a Christian until I was on my own as an adult. I did this in order to escape more abuse by THERAPISTS.

I also question a profession that’s name can be split into the rapist. I question a profession that tells the victim they must abuse. I question a profession that though it an be helpful can do so much damage. I question anyone that tells any person that there is no chance something is medical. I question why someone has expectations of me at all. I don’t think people should.

I will always strive to fall short of expectations. I know some are positive but for me expectation is obligation. If I succeed and am not expected to, there is anger. If I do not succeed and am expected to, there is anger. Expectation is also the measure of success. I have no expectations of myself, I merely focus on living and being happy. My happiness is more and more common.

I am still hunting for a therapist. One that can understand that therapy itself should have a trigger warning. One that does not victim blame, one that does not set expectations.

I don’t have a life goal right now, because life IS my goal. I will not work again, for a long time, because working would probably do me in. Why is this an instant assessment of a person’s value? Why must I fit in with your expectations?

I am glad Nymph opened this door. I wish it was free of the PTSD, but nothing I do can be free of that. Maybe someday, but not this one. This is also the reason why I have felt guilt for suggesting that someone finds a therapist. Yet, the good therapists are the ones who help people. It’s a shame they are so rare.

The Significance of Warmth

I have taken for granted the sensation of being warm in my life. It has been so rare and disconcerting. I wasn’t aware of the benefits of being warm. With poor circulation comes a constant coldness, it settles into the bones and makes it much more difficult to handle heat or cold. The temperature has to be just right or it hurts. Then there’s the blueness in my skin that I thought was natural and supposed to be there. It wasn’t a dark blue that would alert me to the issues like is always in my feet but more a lack of redness. Today I am pink and warm.

In fact in the month or so since I have gotten my wheelchair I have been warm. It started about a week after the chair was here. There are some moments where my normal chill is present but those last a few minutes, a reversal of temperature extremes. Today when I saw my doctor we discussed the warmth. Not only was my body temperature normal (98.6!) but the pinkness in my skin has actually changed my complexion in a way. I look alive, instead of like the perpetual goth girl by default. This has excited me, and I must say Sprite enjoys warm hands. She keeps jumping up into my lap to knead and purr at me so I will pet her. At least two times a day more since the warm started. It isn’t just my hands that are warmer, but my arms, the back of my neck, my legs, and even the parts of my feet that aren’t so damaged no amount of circulation could change things.

Of all of the changes in my life since the wheelchair this is the least expected and the one that has brought me the most pleasure. I don’t need the air conditioner on to keep the house cold enough so that I don’t feel like I am burning up. Every year 80 degrees has been enough to make me sweat and extremely uncomfortable. I am still extremely pale but that is the type of skin I have. Without the blueness a lot of my scars aren’t showing, though I do have some sun spots on my hands that show.

The best part of the day was the discussion of activities, because my circulation is improved she approved my idea of trying to swim at least twice a month, instead of once a month. With the water allergy I am a bit worried about a reaction but I found a heated indoor pool, and I also know that showers hurt more than baths so swimming should be okay. Especially since my pain meds have been upped. The visit with my pain clinician was interesting as well. Both doctors mentioned that there is a drastic improvement in my health that is visible.

I feel it. I also have had less seizures, though a bit more Asthma issue comes with going outside. Not only do I get to go swimming once the paratransit is set up (and that is nearly there) but I also get to go for walks, and my doctor instructed me to go out to do something once a month that is not a walk. Things like a movie if I can afford it (there is a twenty five cent movie day at a theatre weekly), the museum, or maybe the mall (okay not the mall). That is for my mental health.

I realized last night that I am enjoying being warm. Once the confusion wore off and I realized this is a good thing, I could relax a bit further. I never fully relax but my body went to sleep more easily because I allowed myself to be warm. Sprite had help keeping me asleep and warm too. We finally have a new cat in our house. Soon I will post a picture of her, but Nymph joined us on Monday afternoon. I have thirty days to decide if she can stay with us but Sprite has only hissed at her twice, once when the little scamp bit her tail and the other when I insisted they share the food bowl.

Nymph is the runt of her litter, a white calico with creamy orange spots and silvery gray streaks over the orange. She looks like she sat in a pile of ashes because her backside down her legs and her tail are all gray. She also has a headshape that reminds me of Yoda. Her eyes are a big golden color and her meow is a tiny squeaky sound. When she makes a murr to call for her family or me and Sprite if she gets lost in the apartment it is very melodic. Almost like a bird trill. She is quiet, curious, and quickly overcoming her timidness.

As you may or may not know Sprite’s full name is actually L’Fee de Esprit or the Fairy Spirit. Nymph’s full name courtesy of a friend’s children is Mystara Moon Nymph. Sprite is playing with the kitten a lot but when she gets tired she hides up on my lap, as Nymph (who is three months old) is too small to jump up here and is afraid of jumping. She has gotten over her fear of the laser pointer, so I know this is a matter of time.

Both Sprite and Nymph bring me warmth and I can finally share with them. The oddest thing about warm hands is that the way things feel is different. Not everything but small things, like the texture of my keyboard keys, Sprite’s fur feels smoother and thicker, and my hands hurt far less. They are still having their normal issues but the joints are less swollen.

This is one of the little things that I am astounded I never knew. I never realized that my circulation issues really did effect me this much, I just thought they made me cold and added to my temperature sensitivities. I wish I had known they were a sign of joint pain and sleep issues but having had a little more sleep because of being warm helped me get over my fatigue from Transport being made of Fail yesterday. (Nothing new, they just treat their consumers like luggage who has nothing better to do than wait around for them).

In a body made up of extremes, I think warmth means maybe I finally found a moment of medium. Now I have to go rescue my wallet from a curious kitten!

  • Polls

  • Ye Olde Archives of Fury

  • Top Rated

  • Top Clicks

    • None