Life happens…

c.e. grundler

This is one of those first paragraphs I’ve retyped a dozen times, each time trying to find an upbeat way to spin the fact that I’ve been having one of those craptastic weeks that life throws at us from time to time. As life tragedies go, it’s all small-scale stuff, and it all will pass, eventually. But when you haven’t slept or eaten properly for 48 hours, you start getting a bit wonky.

Let’s start with one cracked molar, all the way back, that I spent the morning at the dentist, remedying. And last night, when I finally felt brave enough to venture a bowl of lukewarm soup, the temporary crown promptly detached itself. So it’s more pain, no more eating for a bit, and back to the dentist this morning.

And to keep my mind off my empty stomach and throbbing jaw, I’ve been on death-watch for days.  We took Simba in fifteen years ago, when the cat was already eight and not expected to live long due to a heart murmur. Needless to say, he’s had a good run, but we’re closing in on the finish line. I know, it’s all part of the package – years of love come at a price in the end. And he’s certainly had a full life. And every time I try to write any further, I stall.

Here’s to Simba, to 21 years of kitty life well-lived, and to having happier things to post about in the days ahead.

 

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