Photo: Ricardo Oliveria
Photo: Ricardo Oliveria
Photo: Roger Ce
CB was zany, witty, silly and always fun. She never settled down. Never had a serious relationship, at least not on her side of things. She would disappear for days, at a time, then show up and act as if she never left. She said she had an apartment, or maybe a condo, someplace, but no one knew where.
She lived life full out, and never seemed to have a bad day. Whatever she wore, became the latest fashion, and if she stopped wearing something, so did everyone else. She said she loved Paris, and went there often. Most people thought she had a lover there, but no one knew for sure. She broke hearts, but always let her lovers know up front, that she was only interested in having a good time, not interested in love or commitment.
She was well educated, well traveled and pretty much well…everything. Someone said there was a scent named after her. One of her ex-lovers couldn’t stand to be without her, so he developed a perfume that reminded him or her. Supposedly, it smelled like the beach on a sunny day. No one knew what it was called, or if it was true.
Eventually, she moved on, without goodbyes. One day she just disappeared from all of their lives. At first everyone thought she’d just gone for a day or two, but eventually, they had to admit she had truly left them, empty and full of longing.
CB looked out of the window of her personal jet, as they were nearing Italy. She had had a good time, the last few months, but she could never stay in one place too long. The life of a Cat Burglar kept her on the move. She leaned back and closed her eyes. A smile played across her lips. She loved her life. Loved the danger, the fact that she had no roots. She had done well for herself. Her mother had taught her everything she needed to know and life had been very good to her.
Photo: Daniel Olah
I locked her in the bathroom, so I could give her the antibiotic. She went mad and started pulling her fur out of her hip. So, I let her out and now she hides day and night and isn’t getting her medicine. I’ve gone from depressed to despair. She is terrified when she sees me. I caught her once today, but found one of the two pills, a very tiny one, on the stair. She she didn’t get that. She’s supposed to be getting the antibiotic 2X a day, but if she gets it once, it’s a miracle. Yesterday not at all.
We are both exhausted. I feel like getting rid of all my furniture, or putting it in the middle of each room, so she can’t hide. Either that or put her in the vet for a week, which I don’t want to do, at all.
We re both going insane. So many places I can’t reach her and she just sits there and looks at me, as if I’m trying to kill her, instead of save her life. The surgery went perfectly, the medication, not so much.
I’ve been thinking of running away…a lot. LOL Like a five year old. Pack up my fuzzy rabbit and just hitting the road. Leaving Emily to live with someone who is better at doing what has to be done. I am not the Cat Goddess Bastet. Emily does not worship at my paws. She fears me and the tiny pills I have between my fingers that take two seconds to give her, but it takes all day and night to get them in her mouth, IF, I’m lucky.
I don’t know what’s going on. People talk to me but I don’t listen, all I can think of is how many more hours will I have to look for her, and will I ever be able to give her the medicine. She needs the medication because of a complication, not because of the actual surgery. This should have been over, but it’s not. It may never be over. When I die, I think I’ll be in charge of catching cats, wherever I end up, and there will be bookcases where they can hide and couches they can crawl behind. And that will be my personal hell, for trying to keep her alive and healthy.
My German Shepard, just stood there and let me drop the meds into his open mouth. He was a good dog. I miss him. Although he was afraid of one of our cats, and I don’t blame him. Everyone was afraid of Gota. Everyone.