Sex and HeartHow I transformed devastation into love and loving lust

Brandy came to us at the age of seven. Her owner had passed away, so we took her in. She was scared and neurotic, even a bit angry, for she had suffered abuse at the hand of her drug addled daddy who came to his demise as a result of his addiction.

It took several years of persistence and patience, but she came around and blossomed into the sweetest, happiest, tail waggy puppy imaginable. Not terribly bright, but so terribly cute.

A German Shepherd and Miniature Schnauzer mix (I have no idea how that came to be and don’t really want to know) with the shepherd face with soft, soft ears, and the schnauzer wiry fur that formed itself into a massive mohawk going up the back of her head and down her back. She had Shetland pony fur paws, silly moustaches, and perfect black eyeliner rimming her big, expressive eyes.

Sadly she inherited the shepherd hips. It began when she gave up jumping up on to her favorite sleeping couch. Her mobility deteriorated rapidly, yet she kept on valiantly right to the end, having little bursts of bunny hopping in her attempts to run again, and even when she couldn’t make it outside to relieve herself which became less frequently successful all the time, she still tried so hard. Even though she must have been hurting or at the very least uncomfortable, she never stopped smiling and being that happy puppy doggy.

Yesterday morning she suddenly refused all food and water, and her tail stopped its incessant gleeful flapping. She had gone into complete kidney failure. There was nothing more to be done. And it all happened so fast.

I am eternally grateful to Isabelle and Curt who cared for her as their own these past eight months. It is thanks to them and their love that kept her alive this long. Of that I am firmly convinced. They spoiled her oh so wonderfully, all the way to seventeen years; maybe it’s more. Thank you Isa. She will love sleeping forever surrounded by your favorite things.

Bye bye Miss Brandyface. Have fun running and jumping again in the sun, and enjoy your ice cream.

Kittyman is gone. My belly hurts. My whole body aches.  My eyes are full of tears. My whole heart is brimming with them. Yet my heart is also bursting with intense and profound love at the same time. It seems contradictory. It sounds strange voicing it, penning it.

Yet being able to feel such incredible pain of loss in this way is also a hugely vulnerable thing. There are NO defenses, no walls, no curtains. Vulnerability as such opens the heart SO very big.

It hurts, yes, yet this feels sweet, bittersweet as in a morsel of the deepest dark chocolate; this feels tender, tender as a fresh wound, tender as in a loving caress from a beloved.

With this pain, there is tremendous LOVE. There’s nothing in the way. There’s no agenda. All there is is LOVE. There’s no room for anything else. It’s a PURE love.

In death there is rebirth. In loss there is love.

It’s time. Kittyman’s time has come, and it’s so hard, harder than I could ever have imagined.

He’s twenty years old and five months; he’s had a very long kitty life, yet this all happened so fast. One day he was fine, the next he was vomiting and couldn’t stop. One thousand hospital and vet dollars later, he rallied.

But suddenly yesterday, only one week later, he stopped eating and drinking again, this a cat whose entire life is FOOD, anything and everything. The doctor wanted to put him down right away, but I couldn’t, I just couldn’t and certainly not alone.

If he wasn’t suffering too much yesterday, he is today.

Yet I’m SO glad, grateful for these two extra days with him. He’s sitting by me right now. And I am having the chance to love on him  A LOT, and he wants to be here with me, the last day of his life.

Tears are streaming down my face as I write this. I’m going to miss my baby boy very much. I feel very, very sad right now, but K will be with me tomorrow for this. It’s time.