Tonight we had a cat emergency with our beloved puddle of love, Hector. I noticed a sudden, large swelling on his forehead. Thankfully the vet thinks it is most likely a treatable complication from an eye infection he's been trying to get over, and feels that he should be alright (knocking on wood). Hector was sent home with a new type of antibiotic, new eye ointment, and some kitty Benadryl. But when I saw the swelling, I was panicked. Just PANICKED. Full blown dizzy, unable to make a decision (emergency vet or try to get into our own vet) and crying kind of panic. If Jon had not been there to stay calm, call the vet and rush Hector in, I don't know what I would have done.
This is nothing to be proud of, I know. Some would even say it's shameful, but it is true. I guess, especially when it comes to my sweet animals, I don't hold it together so well. How lucky am I to have Jon there to do it for me.
He does all the things that I'm too afraid or squeamish to do. Like burying poor little dead birds we might find in the yard or crawling under the deck to check the house's foundation for cracks. He goes into the dark, dusty basement for items that I need, and talks me down when I randomly worry about radon. Which is embarrassingly often.
And then there are the everyday things. Jon takes out the garbage on garbage night. He handles all of the repairs that our home needs and takes my car in for service. Jon pays the bills and explains to me how insurance and mortgages work. Again, embarrassingly often.
(He even wears unbearably crocked and dorky crochet ties that I make for him.)
And when he goes out of town, I feel it. Noah and I are FINE, we order pizza and eat too much ice cream and stay up a little late, but I always know it's just considered treading water without Jon here. He's the glue.
Today Noah and I were telling each other "happy memories" of our cat Priya, who passed away last summer. We miss her so much, and once in a while, telling a funny story about her just makes us laugh and feel better. Here's the story that I told Noah:
"Once before you were born, Dad and I moved to San Francisco. And because nobody would let Dr. Joel Fleischman (our guinea pig) on a plane, Dad had to drive us all across the country in his car. A very small, red, two door coupe, filled to the brim with luggage, a guinea pig in a large cage, a cat and a kitty litter box. Five days, FIVE DAYS on the road, in a little car with A GUINEA PIG, A CAT AND A KITTY LITTER BOX.
Do you know what it's like to drive for five days straight? It's not fun. And when we finally arrived in San Francisco, pulled up into the driveway of our new flat and unlocked the door, Priya leaped out of our arms and ran directly into the living room and INTO THE FIREPLACE! She ran UP the chimney!
Then I panicked. But your Dad, he stayed reasonably calm, dropped our suitcases and tried to crawl up the chimney himself. Priya only got slightly beyond the flue, and miraculously, your Dad was able to pull her out. She was a black, sooty powder puff. So the first thing we did in our new house, was wash a road weary, dust covered and angry cat in our kitchen sink. Which was, as you can expect, very messy. Your Dad was never a pet owner growing up, with all of my animals, poor Dad I've put him through a lot."