My Cousin Janet

Sibling Rivalry

Starting Over

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Several years ago my son, my husband, and I dug a pond in our backyard on the site of our no-longer-used trampoline. The circular area had no grass and was in an area that received sun for most of the day. The project was ongoing for several years. B started the excavation and chopped out old tree roots that crisscrossed the area. One summer my daughter C and her friends camped out by the site and my husband built a bonfire, which could have easily consumed our house, in the soon-to-be pond. Over a two to three year period the project progressed and eventually a round pond approximately 18 feet across and 3.5 feet deep at its lowest level with a waterfall and stream was created.

The first year we stocked the pond with a few fish. We purchased two 3 to 4 inch koi at a local pond store and named them Keiko and Hot Lips. We also purchased a few comets and shubunkins. Over the next few years the Koi grew, the comets and shubunkins reproduced, and we added more small koi that we purchased at The Pond Store and at the Louisville Koi and Goldfish Club's annual Koi show and fish auction. We were lucky. Our pond had few casualties and the fish were healthy. Unfortunately, we failed to heed the axiom "expect the unexpected". One hot summer day when the temperature reached 101 degrees and my husband was out of town, my son B forgot the hose in the pond. When our youngest dog came into the house with wet feet, my investigation led to the pond which had overflowed its banks. Fish were floating everywhere. In our panic we failed to recognize that it wasn't the heat that was killing the fish, but the chlorine from the newly added water. Over a 24 hour period we lost 11 of our 13 koi and over 100 comets and shubunkins. As my son B buried the fish in a mass grave in our garden, he measured Hot Lips who had grown to 22 inches.

For the next two years I lost interest in the pond. It was painful to look at the two koi and the few comets that had survived the holocaust. I no longer took joy in daily feedings and I had no desire to watch the fish which had previously enthralled me for hours. When I worked in the garden I missed hearing the smacking sound that one of the fish used to make as he ate algae. As time passed and the ache lessened, we slowly restocked the pond. This Memorial Day weekend we attended the koi show and purchased four small koi: Jin, Sun, Akage-ru and Migoto. The pond now has 14 Koi, including the two survivors Noname and Sashimi, one shubunkin and many comets. Although I feed the fish every day and spend time watching them as they glide in the tranquility of the pond, it will never have the same attraction for me. In the back of my mind I can't help thinking of all that we lost one hot summer day and all that are buried in my garden.

"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next." ~Gilda Radner ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Papa's Birthday

Grave nights

We had a thunderstorm tonight. It was the kind of storm that would have sent Paws scurrying under the bed. Storms frightened her. Instead of being under the bed, Paws was in her grave which is near the entrance to my oriental garden. I try not to think about it. The wound caused by her loss is too new. I try to think about other things. When I worked in the yard today, the first day in more than a week that was hospitable to those seeking to be outside, I passed by her grave several times and left roses for her.

My garden is a cemetery. As we chose a location for Paws’ grave, my son B commented that we are running out of room. We have buried three dogs, four cats, two guinea pigs, a frog, and one hundred koi and comets in our yard. Our dog Windsor was the first pet we buried in the woodland garden. His death was unexpected. I couldn’t find him one morning and after searching the house I went outside and found him in the area near the fence appearing to be asleep. As we buried him and said some words over his grave, the bells at the nearby church began to ring as they do at six o’clock every evening. When we buried Cutty Sark, our Scottish Terrier, next to Windsor 10 days later we chose the same time. Every evening I would sit on the bench in the woodland garden , listen to the bells ring, and cry.

I wanted to bury Paws next to her brother Goliath, but the area is filled with roots. Paws is buried in good place. It gets sun in the morning and it’s cool during the heat of the day. A weeping cherry is next to the site and I will plant a hydrangea on top of where she sleeps forever.

A Piece of My Heart

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Our oldest cat Paws died tonight. She had been failing for weeks, so I knew her days were numbered. Watching her grow weaker every day and knowing there was nothing I could do to stop the inevitable was agonizing. I didn’t want her to suffer, but at the same time I didn’t want to let her go. Every day that she stayed with me was a gift and during her last two days I was able to be near her, comfort her, and let her know how much she meant to me.

Paws was part of our lives for 14 years and 7 months. She was born under my son A’s bed, the offspring of a pregnant barn cat that we adopted. Paws initially went to the home of one of my son B’s friends, but she was returned to us when the family discovered their live in babysitter/cousin was allergic to cats. Paws’ mother Phantom and her brother Goliath had bonded by the time Paws came back to us, so she was always an outcast. Goliath was the big lovable one and Phantom was my lap cat. Paws was the one we hardly noticed. She was quiet, independent, and didn’t seek our attention. After the others died, Paws was basically an only cat even though we had seven other cats. Our younger cats were kept upstairs because they harassed Paws and our two older dogs dislike cats. Paws was much older and not very active, so she could coexist with the dogs and could easily be separated from them.

My life with Paws fell into a pattern. Every morning she would greet me, meowing a hello and beckoning me to her food dish or water bowl. When I sat down at the computer after breakfast Paws would come to me to have her head scratched and then she would share my chair with me. When she wasn’t next to me she would sit in the “old lady chair” in the living room, on the floor in a patch of sunlight, or on the round table next to the window where she had a good view of the front yard. If there was a thunderstorm, she would sleep under our bed because storms scared her. Most nights she slept in her chair in the living room and if she got bored, she would scratch at the bedroom door.

Paws died in the same room where her mother died next to the room were she was born. I wish she could have been with us for many more years, but I take comfort in the fact that she had a good life. The house is empty without her. I know as the days pass I will look for her in her old familiar places and maybe, before I remember that she is gone, I will catch a glimpse of her out of the corner of my eye. She will always be with me.

“Another cat? Perhaps. For love there is also a season; its seeds must be resown. But a family cat is not replaceable like a worn out coat or a set of tires. Each new kitten becomes its own cat, and none is repeated. I am four cats old, measuring out my life in friends that have succeeded but not replaced one another.” ~Irving Townsend
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gloom & Doom

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
My daughter has a nickname for me: "Debbie Downer". Debbie was a fictional character on Saturday Night Live. The character developed into a slang phrase referring to anyone who spreads bad news and negative feelings, thus bringing down the mood of everyone around them. My Uncle Phil's wife, Aunt Francis, was the original Debbie Downer. My mother called her "the voice of gloom". The only time Aunt Francis ever called our family was to tell us that someone had died or some other bad thing had occurred.

I don't view myself as a Debbie Downer, but sometimes I hear about something that really bothers me or circumstances arise that so overwhelm me with negative feelings that I need to share with someone. Sharing often makes me feel better, but unfortunately, it also has the effect of ruining someone else's day.

The past few days have been rainy and gloomy. The constant rain and the inability to enjoy my garden have caused me to dwell on several situations over which I have no control. First, the baby elephant at the Louisville Zoo died. Scotty was a favorite of staff and visitors, and I remember taking pictures of him the last time I visited the zoo. Knowing that this oversize baby is gone make me extremely sad.

Second, shelters have been killing animals without giving them time to be adopted or rescued. Spring is puppy and kitten season which means shelters are overflowing with unwanted babies, pregnant animals, and animals with babies. My anger and frustration with ignorant, irresponsible humans is boundless. People are dumping animals using every lame excuse and several shelters have flooded which has caused overcrowding in other shelters and overburdened rescues. One rescue, that has helped a previously high kill shelter become low kill, may have to close due to financial difficulties. When I try to talk to family members about all the needless suffering and situations over which I have no control, they tell me they don't want to hear about it.

Probably the real reason I feel down is that Paws, my 13 year old cat, is fading away before my eyes and there is nothing I can do about it. During the past several weeks Paws has lost half her body weight. She has gone from being strong and robust to frail and skeletal. Her voice, which used to be loud and conversational, is soft and weak. I force feed Paws several times a day to keep her from dehydrating and I go to bed ever night fearing that she will be dead in the morning. It hurts me to look at what she has become, but it hurts me more to think about losing her.

I don't want to be a Debbie Downer. I want to focus on what is good in life and the things that make me happy, but even on the sunny days when all is well with the world, there is always a cloud nearby waiting to cast a shadow. If listening to another person eases a pain or lessens a burden, my ears and shoulders are waiting. I would like to think others would be willing to do the same for me.

“Shared joy is a double joy; shared sorrow is half a sorrow” ~Swedish Proverb

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~