When Doors Close ...

It shouldn't have to be said, but I really was joking about this being a place for eulogizing dead pets this past November when I lost Zoet. 

Meanwhile, (spoiler alert) Momo started acting off around Thanksgiving, turning her nose up at mealtime, a distinctly un-Momo-ish way to act. At first the vet thought it was just an infection and antibiotics were begun, to no effect. Eventual test results came back indicating that she had lymphoma, and without treatment she would swiftly decline. So 96 began her on a course of chemo, only then to realize that her decline would be swift and precipitous even with chemo, and he withdrew treatment in mid-January.

I was glad to be able to drive up to Boston for an overnight to say a proper goodbye to her. She's been a bit more than a cat to me; you may remember that purely by chance she came into our lives and took over our hearts the weekend after we lost C; and by even greater serendipity I learned she had been born the day after Tom died. Tom, of the infamous, "Linda, if I die I want to come back as your cat." That Tom. So while I don't believe in reincarnation, I also can't not believe in reincarnation, either, and little Momo, napper in chief, always had first pick of pillows at bedtime. The veterinarians at Mass Vet Referral Hospital, as always, were so kind and honest with us, and she crossed over the rainbow bridge in comfort in January. I'm sure Zoet was happy to see her familiar face as they were good friends, both always choosing a nap or a good meal over a run outside. Because outside ... there be monsters!

Momo doing Momo, but check out that lawn

96 even tried a feeding tube. No one liked that, least of all Momo.

Momo feat. Pixel

Where's the window opening, you might ask.

Say hello to Abigail (Adams) and Clara (Barton),  a mother/daughter pair that adopted me a month ago.

The clipped ear indicates her spay status

Abigail, a formerly feral cat who benefited from a catch/spay/release program run by PAWS of PA, is clearly  part meerkat -- but also part stubborn mule, which I learned the hard way when it was time for her first vet visit. She spent the next week under my bed, and I spent the next week checking for proof of life a few times each day. We'll get to the vet eventually, I hope. She's actually FIV+ so I assume we'll get to know the vets soon enough.

I've been leaving food for her (under the bed) and I tossed in a few of her toys. I will occasionally hear the  bock-bock-bock of a catnip chicken toy I did not realize (until 3 am the second night) came with sound effects, so at least I know she's entertaining herself under there. She's slowly warming up to me, I think.  She's started joining me for breakfast in the kitchen each morning and lets me pet her as long as I don't try any funny business like putting her in my lap.

  

Abigail not feeling too sure about any of this

  

Clara is doing her part to reinforce all the kitten stereotypes, chasing her tail, knocking any damn thing into the bathroom sink I deign to leave on the counter, attacking my toes at 3am. And posing for pictures.  So. Many. Pictures. 

Thank you Jen for clipping those claws before releasing her to me, but she's going to need a pawdicure again  pretty soon. 

Even before Abigail and Clara adopted me, I had decided to leave my Christmas tree up, lights and all, until I'm able to share a real holiday meal with the kids. I'm pretty sure Clara thinks I did this for her. (Don't tell!) If I'm known as that lady with the Christmas tree, so be it. I light my fake tree, and I ignite my fake fireplace, and I watch my kitten shimmy up the tree and eat my ornaments and something, at least for today, is right with the world. 

                                          

Now I can't take it down!