Cannot even begin to tell you how much I am aware of the preciousness of life. Really. I get it. I really do. 95% of the time my comprehension of this is at least a million percent.  And that’s not even hyperbole.  Though in the arena of hyperbole my aptitude and talent are unsurpassed, accomplished with a true proficient’s flair for the art and capable of superlative exaggeration and inspired embellishment drawing out the simplest of explanations to the utmost and furthest ends of one’s tolerance while undertaking the task better than anyone ever before, either living or dead, in this universe or any other forever and for all time.

What is the sound of one heart breaking? Honestly, I have no idea. There is seemingly very little I can claim to know and even less to actually comprehending. What I do know though is when creatures that are comprised of 2 legs and 4 paws travel together to the veterinarian, the same number of legs and paws should travel together home again, lest the cacophony of all those trees no one ever listens to falling in the woods be too slight to cover the wistfully anxious and mournful sounds of the 2-legged creature that was made to leave behind the beloved 4-pawed family member. The vet didn’t know what was wrong with my girl Georgia, Miss G., Georgiapotamus, G-gondas, Gigi Laroux, but he was alarmed enough about her extreme weight loss and malaise to request that I leave her there for tests and observation, at least through the weekend.

“My experience is that there is, you know, surprisingly, always hope.” -The Doctor (Doctor Who)

Jarring life events which take place on beautiful days or in beautiful places seem that much more disconcerting as the incongruity of light devouring density in one’s internal world goes up against the perennially cheery and thoughtless bright of the sun, with resulting disequilibrium. Perhaps this has something to do with my preference for places that can offer a good gloom and a wild storm from time to time, helping to remind one to shift their weight now and again and weather all that comes, instead of being lulled into the dreamy resilience-atrophy that far-too-frequent fair weather days bring on…I check in with myself from time to time. It still surprises me that all will be fine but then next I find myself on a seemingly one way descent, a spelunking expedition gone awry as all luminary tools have been left behind. As with the above, it surprises me that I’m surprised. Oscillation. The sound of strong wind against thin metal. Thwumping at vacillating meter. Whirlwind of tumult sprung upon the unwary.

The storm-i-tude of the past 10 days has had my mother disappear from view as we both made our way back to the car in a treacherously dark parking lot. Unfortunately her “disappearance” was a result of her tripping over an unseen cement parking block, hitting her head on the car next to ours and splitting open her brow. A couple of kind ladies that heard this head-meets-car banging noise and my alarmed shouts came running soon after and informed me of an Urgentcare right in the shopping center. Thankfully it appears to be healing well but was traumatic all the same. A couple of days after that I received a message that an old friend had passed away, a sweet man that had been part of my core group of friends many years ago and whom in the course and chaos of life I somehow let slip away. I don’t know many of the details other than that he was homeless and perhaps alone, which has given me great sadness and pause for thought this past week. Then there was leaving my sweet Georgia behind at the vet and quite palpably feeling the loss of her loyal loving presence in this still-not-really-my-home-but-at-least-my-cats-were-here-with-me house. These events have sent me out on Escher-esque hikes, up downward staircases and twisted pathways, taking off like a dog chasing a stick having never actually seen the direction in which it was thrown.

“When faced with something I fear, I tend to eat spaghetti.”― Mark Helprin, Memoir from Antproof Case

The fact that one cannot, no matter their desire, stay, shield, stave off, suspend or stop any manner of pain, harm, ills and misfortune from visiting loved ones is enough to drive one’s easily led off sanity away to the darkened woods, smelling of fear and without a compass. It seems all one can really do (apart from rolling around in fetal position for a rather long-ish time) is continue to love, unabated….

“Letting it get to you. You know what that’s called? Being alive. Best thing there is. Being alive right now is all that counts.” -The Doctor (Doctor Who)

It was 4 days ago that I took my Georgia-kit to the vet and unfortunately, she is still there. The vet has been very good about keeping us informed but my hopes of bringing her home first yesterday, and now today have been dashed with the heart sinking news that she is still not yet ready. Speaking of hearts, we went to visit with her yesterday and get an update from the vet on her condition. He showed us her x-rays and pointed to one fuzzy outline he said was her heart telling us that it was too small, half the size it should have been, in fact. It is quite concerning to hear this about her heart organ but as the vet explained the issue was only feeling the grievous irony of Georgia being the biggest-hearted cat I have ever encountered . She is all about love. From the first days we brought her into our home she was a sister/mentor to Ono, a little tailless spunky kitten who was adopted that same day  but who yet needed mothering and to be taught the feline graces, that is, until she came to rule us all with (still small-ish) iron paw. Georgia suffered this all with good-natured patience. This is a cat who had been dumped in the driveway of the shelter one rainy morning as she gave birth to a litter of kittens (Yeah, I know… This could be a line the shelter uses on every potential adoptive family when speaking to them about full-grown female cats, but Georgia was so motherly to Ono in the weeks and months after that it rang true!) but unlike Ono, who has lived nothing if not a very privileged life, I never heard her hiss or growl, her voice being quite dulcet and feminine. Her sweetness and grace has taught us too, about love in its purest form. Missing you my sweet girl…