My Pregnant Nun, originally uploaded by meandscreech.
The party was a blast. It was so much fun hanging out with our friends without distractions (i.e. toddlers!). Don’t get me wrong, I love my kids dearly, but every now and then, it’s a whole lot of fun to do something without them. Halfway through the evening, the guys challenged the girls to a game of Guesstures. They promised a smackdown, and boy oh boy, was it delivered… only, I don’t thing the guys meant we’d beat the pants off of them. 
The best costume there was our friends J & T (you may remember them from my labor story… they had a son the same day Colette was born). He came as an Energizer Battery, and she a container of salt. Together, they were “a salt and battery”. Speaking of costumes, I need to get some pictures of Shepherd and Colette dressed up. Be on the lookout for those pictures…
15 years ago, give or take a few months, I sat giddy as could be in the front seat of my parents Ford Taurus. We were on our way home, and cradled in the palms of my hands was this tiny orange ball of fluff. My brother and I promptly named him Garfield, after one of our favorite comic strips. Our golden retriever was so taken with him, that she’d attempt to nurse the cat, patiently waiting as the tiny powder puff attempted to tap the long dry wells. He was an outdoor/indoor cat who brought us wonderful little gifts such as yard moles and mice. He’d deposit them on our steps, proud of his days hunt. Other times, we’d find larger animals, squirrels and rabbits, much to my horror. I remember being so angry one time as he trotted across our front yard, baby rabbit in his jowls still kicking. When he wasn’t outside, he was inside, curled up in the corner of the white chairs in the living room or on one of our laps. You could wake up on a cold winter’s morning only to find Garfield had managed to take over your pillow, leaving you nothing but the cold hard mattress. He tolerated Maggie as a new addition to the family (our other golden retriever), and surprised us all by allowing Shepherd to occasionally pet him, even if it meant his tail was grabbed and pulled. He only smacked Shepherd once, and even then it was more warning than anything.
This morning, around 11, I drove Garfield to the vet. As I drove, I cried. I cried for the 12 year old girl in me, whose excitement had turned to sorrow, now… 15 years later. I cried for my brother, who couldn’t be there to say goodbye. I cried for Shepherd, who would wake up from his nap at my parents and race around looking for the “TAT!!” But most of all, I cried for Garfield. He’d developed a sudden onset of Glaucoma, and was in significant pain. The only option was to remove his eye, a surgery that cost way too much for a cat as old as him. Not only so, but there was a suspected thyroid condition, and his veins were next to impossible to find. I sat there, holding him as the vet administered the medication, and as his breathing slowed, the tension he’d held from the pain let go. He quietly drifted asleep, no longer in pain. I don’t know if another life exists for pets, and sometimes it seems quite silly to wish for such things. I’d like to believe that he’s somewhere better… free from the pain. But if not, I pray he rests in peace, beneath the wisteria in our family’s flower garden…
Goodbye Garfield… you were loved beyond measure and will be missed immensely.
