It’s been a rough week around here.
Our little kitty is a pretty old gal. We found out yesterday that she’s in kidney failure. We brought her home for some goodbye time, but she’s not well. It’s obvious she’s dying. It’s so obvious that I’m a complete mess. We’ll be calling later today to make the appointment to do the unthinkable, to put her down so she won’t suffer. I know this is the right decision and the most humane, but it’s horrible, sad and painful. And I would give anything for her to be the lard-butt cat who puts my legs to sleep when she sits on my lap during movies again.
To add insult to this very raw injury, my bank card was somehow compromised and someone has racked up a lovely Christmas on my dime. Luckily, they were stupid enough criminals to actually send one of the items to be delivered to my house. That’s how we found it – a nice Playstation 3 arrived yesterday. Not sure if it was a mistake or a thank you from the thieves for all the other gifts they purchased on my card. Either way, I’m fighting with the merchant to convince them I didn’t order it, closing accounts and opening new ones.
But in the midst of the chaos, I’m feeling lucky. Lucky because another mother I know is fighting for her two-year-old. Imagine going to a specialist one day to find out why your toddler can’t shake a sinus infection and watching him wheeled into surgery less than 36 hours to remove a baseball-sized malignant brain tumor. Imagine the doctor’s visits, the words chemotherapy and neurosurgeons becoming part of your daily vocabulary. Imagine the fear, the fight, the love.
I can’t. I can’t even imagine how she’s surviving. But she is. She’s fighting. She’s fighting hard for her beautiful, happy little boy. The power of a mother’s fight should not be underestimated in the battle for her child’s health. If the size of the fight and the amount of love and prayer for their family is any indication, this kid is going to beat this thing. And beat the hell out of it.
So this week, as I pray that all cats go to heaven – or at least somewhere with lots of tuna, soft blankets and sunshine – I’ll also be praying that all two-year-olds stay right where they are. As a safety on both counts, I’m gonna hug peanut a little harder and a little longer.