Sweat & Sparkle

The Plague

I managed to get food poisoning a few days ago, and I have been down for the count ever since. Today is my first day with any coherence at all.

My husband stayed home with me yesterday because I had a fever and felt so weak that I couldn’t even walk around for very long without needing to sit down. Either I consumed something particularly ferocious, or getting older means my body can’t fight these things off very well anymore. Either way, it was not a fun experience at all.

I will spare you the grisly details. After the worst was over, I felt so weak and depleted that all I wanted to do was sleep, but my throbbing headache, sore ribs, and rumbling stomach would not allow it. I couldn’t get comfortable, no matter how I sat or laid down, and I kept bouncing restlessly from the couch to the bed. Out of pure exhaustion, I finally collapsed in our bed, alternating between shivering under the quilt and kicking off the covers because I was roasting.

As I drifted in and out of sleep, I felt my husband come in to check on me a few times. His hand on my forehead to feel my fever. A cool washcloth if my temperature was spiking. His fingers stroking my hair comfortingly. Touching my arm to see if I felt cold, and gently pulling the covers up to keep me warm.

I hate being sick. I mean, does anyone enjoy it? Of course not. But even as awful as I felt yesterday, I have to smile as I remember how tenderly my husband cared for me (in between joking that I was just looking for a day off work or was being lazy, because it would be out of character for my husband to not joke about something). He cleaned, fed the cats, handled everything, and took care of me, too.

I am back at work today, though I am not 100% certain I should be yet. I still feel a little shaky and could probably have used another day of rest. My husband has texted me to check in, though, and that really does help me feel better.

After work, I will catch up on a few little things around the house, then I am going to enjoy a long, hot shower and just relax, let my body fight off the rest of this mess. When I am feeling better, I want to make sure my husband knows how much I appreciate him taking care of me and making me feel loved even during the plague!

Happy Spring!

We were shivering through freezing nights just a few days ago, and today the temperature will be pushing 80 degrees. Crazy! I’m ready to put the arctic weather behind us now and enjoy a beautiful weekend.

We have so much going on this weekend that it’s going to fly by. I worked late a few days this week, so I get to leave early today and jump start our weekend. Yay!

If everything works out, my husband and I will see all four kids, and both grandsons, before the weekend is over. We will be bouncing from events to visits, with not much room for sleep, but it will be fun, and I am looking forward to all of it.

Happy first day of spring!

Blessings

It’s not feeling a heck of a lot like spring around here right now, but I still adore this quote. Last night dipped into the 30s, and tonight will be freezing, as winter grips us just a few more days before stepping aside for warmer weather, just in time for the first day of spring on Friday.

The last few weeks have been stressful and emotional, and it has been draining. I am not a fan of summer, but I am ready for the warm, soothing sun on my face, getting back into the garden, working up a sweat doing endless yard work with my husband, and squeezing into the shower together before our date night afterward. There’s something healing about hard work and then relaxing together to enjoy what we accomplished.

I’m also just ready for happier days. I find hope in the fact that even on my saddest days recently, I recognized the blessing in happy memories, and how lucky I am to have my husband and the life we share together. I have so much, and I am so very grateful for all of it.

Once in a Lifetime

The last week or so, since saying good-bye to our cat, Squeakers, has been tough. I have a huge soft spot for animals, and I always have. I grew up with pets and can’t remember a time that I didn’t share my life with animals. Saying good-bye to them has never gotten easier, though. It’s still heart-wrenching.

I have cried until I am exhausted, and I’m sure there will be tears yet to come, as I think of her, remember her, miss her. I washed her little white food bowl for the last time and put it away until I can look at it without the pain of missing her twisting my heart.

Through it all—from that phone call with the vet, through the illness, through the dwindling hope, and then the agonizing last day with her and beyond—my husband has been there. He has brought me tissues, held me when there were no words, stroked my hair in the dark when I couldn’t sleep.

He loved her too. He has been hurting too. Squeakers had her own favorite things to do with each of us. With me, she wanted to be draped over my shoulder and carried around, either in the backyard or in the house, which I jokingly called the house tour, slowly walking from room to room, letting her peek behind shower curtains, peer into shelves, nose around in closets. With him, she liked to be curled up in his lap on the back porch, just sitting together. She rarely sat in my lap, and she didn’t like my husband picking her up. She had very specific expectations for each of us. We didn’t mind. It amused us, and we went along with it because it made her happy.

My husband and I are always there for each other, but I have to admit, I have leaned much harder on him these past few weeks. Losing our sweet kitty really knocked me down. Even though it has been hard for him, too, he has been patient, gentle, loving. I can’t put into words how much I appreciate him, but I will try, because he deserves to know. He is more than a keeper. He is once-in-a-lifetime.

Glad She Chose Us

Not long after we moved into our house more than 10 years ago, my husband noticed a tiny, gray-and-black striped cat on the deck. She was timid but friendly, and we pet her, figuring she was a neighbor’s cat who was just curious and would soon be on her way.

She came back, though, then returned again. And again. We weren’t too sure anymore that she had a home somewhere else. We fed her, played with her. She had a soft meow, so we started calling her Squeakers.

We never formally made the decision to adopt her. She just came back more and more, and we were always happy to see her. I don’t even remember the first time we let her into the house. She melted into our lives and our hearts like she had always been there.

Eventually, several other cats followed her lead and hung out in our backyard, too, but Squeakers was always the boss. She was small, sweet, but loaded with attitude. She loved to chase a string on the back porch, but she pouted dramatically if I tried to share our game with one of the other cats. That was our thing, and ours only, as far as she was concerned.

Squeakers liked to roam and explore, but at night, she came to prefer a soft blanket on our loveseat or at the foot of the bed. One day, I had left a sweater folded on the bed, and she happily climbed onto it and curled up like it was hers. I attempted to explain to her that it was my sweater, but it was no use: from that day on, it was her sweater, and she enjoyed laying on it and sleeping on it.

She loved when I held her and carried her around, but if I tried to sit down while holding her, she was having none of that. I never understood why, but it was okay. She wanted me to stand to hold her, so I did, because her gentle purr near my ear was soothing, and I liked knowing she was happy.

We have so many pictures of Squeakers sprawled flat on her back on the deck, her furry belly bathed in sunbeams, while she napped like a pro. She liked to snuggle in my husband’s lap on a chilly morning, as long as he complied with her requests not to move his leg around too much.

A few months ago, I took her to the vet for a small, scabbed-over bump on her cheek. We thought she might have been in a fight, or maybe she had a tooth issue. Instead, after a biopsy, we learned that our sweet girl had cancer.

I cried when I hung up from that call from the vet. It wasn’t fair. Squeakers was so sweet, so happy. And she acted like nothing was wrong at all, still playing, still eating with delight, still so content for me to pick her up and hold her against my shoulder while she purred.

My husband and I had difficult conversations as the cancer progressed. We loved her and promised to do what was best for her. She deserved peace and comfort. We would not make her suffer.

We said good-bye to her one morning last week. She curled up on one of my fuzzy sweaters that morning, and I lay next to her, petting her, resting my head gently on her belly so I could hear her quiet purr, my heart already shattering because I knew my time with her was running out, and I wasn’t ready. I would never be ready.

We had found out, after one vet visit years ago, that Squeakers was microchipped. I talked with her previous family and found out that they had moved away and simply left her behind, like she didn’t matter. As luck or fate would have it, we moved into the house right behind her old house.

I don’t know what led her to our back door that day, a decade ago. I’m just glad that she found us. She deserved so much more than her last family gave her. I believe she knew we would never leave her, and I take comfort in knowing that for over 10 years of her life, she was adored, spoiled, comfortable, and completely, absolutely, endlessly loved.

Someday, it won’t hurt like this. Someday, I won’t cry so much when I talk about her. I will always miss her, though. I am glad our paths crossed all those years ago. I am glad that she chose us. I am grateful we got to share those ten years with her, even if ten years was not nearly long enough.

We love you, Squeakers. Always. And, of course, that sweater is still yours!