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Well, it's been a strange year. I had major surgery, my husband's best friend had a lung collapse, my only living grandparent died on my birthday, I revised the bylaws for Los Angeles Romance Authors, my time for my chat community took a nose-dive, and so did the attendance for said chat community, my best friend acquired a stepdaughter who has become like a little sister, and, if you can believe it, I was elected president of Los Angeles Romance Authors for 2007.
Yet, today is taken up with something else all together. We have an old man in the house. His name is Sterling, and he's a Norwegian Forest cat. That means he looks rather like Sylvester from the cartoons.
He's a grudgemudgeon. When I met him at a friend's house he bit me, and I still have the scars to this day. He's older and still as irrascible as ever.
When we first got him, he was so tough, so much the silent and mean kitty. But we caught him gathering and playing with fallen camelia flowers from the neighbor's bushes. He would spin them like tops. When seen doing this, he'd immediately break off with a surly expression. Soon, after we praised him for how beautiful the flowers were, other cats were trying to find something similar to gift us.
He tried to run away when we first brought him from our friend's house. He'd been abandoned when his first family moved, and she couldn't keep him. We kept him inside the normal two weeks, then let him out. We didn't see him for about 2 1/2 days. When he came back, he had crawled. His back feet were quite swollen, and we conjectured he'd been tossed by a car. We made him comfortable, fed and watered him, and watched to see what would happen. We expected he'd be cranky and unaccepting of the care we gave. Instead, he was grateful.
He doesn't like car rides, and he hates going to the vet. But Sterling always thanks us after vet visits. Even the one today that stressed him out so much he had begun to twitch in the vet's office.
So, why am I writing about my cat and not any of the other things happening in my life? Because Sterling reminds me that physical complaints don't have to interfere with quality of life if I don't want them to. He's got cataracts. His back is nearly fused with arthritis, making it impossible to do the usual cleaning of his fur. He has some form of skin issue around his mouth, making it hard to eat. He weighs very little--less than 5 lbs.--when he formerly weighed about 8 lbs. He can't jump up, and can hardly use his back legs to scale something, all of his strength being in his front legs. We believe he is hard of hearing. The vet told us today that he has little to no kidney function left.
Yet, he not only drinks and eat on his own, he demands to be fed, begs when we eat something, asks to be petted, moves from piece of sun on the floor to piece of sun on the floor (I swear he has the spots memorized), asks out, and curls up on the floor furnace (yes, I know, a floor furnace--gotta get a wall furnace next year, really!) when it's on. He still interacts with other cats, as well as with us. With the exception of going over the fence to hang out with our curmudgeon of a neighbor (birds of a feather, as they say), and collecting flowers, he's basically still doing everything he ever did, physical condition notwithstanding.
How many times do I make excuses for not doing something that is related to not feeling well? Do I let myself believe I'm not able to keep up with something or another because I'm buying my own BS? Nora Roberts said we make stuff up, and we as writers are prone to believe our own excuses.
I don't make New Year's resolutions, because I actually think that's a stressful way to start the New Year and it sets me up for feeling like a failure if I don't follow through because life had other plans. But this year, I think I'm going to live like Sterling--in spite of the pain, the illness, the tweaked muscles, the general stress of life. All the energy I have will go out to the things I love.
Have a happy holiday season.
Ciao,
Sandra
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Christina Buck said...