Okay 2011 - Can we start over?

Talk about slacking off - could this really my first post of the not-so-new year? Holy crap, it is! Let me just say it's been a hellish last few weeks, to say the least. I hate to start 2011 on such a negative note, but seriously, can I just erase the whole month of January and start fresh?

I realize there's probably no one even reading this, after me being on hiatus for so long, but I wanted to at least check in and say, hey, I'm still here - just totally wrapped up in home wreckos renos, longer-than-usual commutes thanks to the lovely wintery weather, and dealing with my son's JK debacles.

My latest downward spiral started as expected, when we began renovating back in December. Being crammed in this god-forbidden basement hasn't exactly helped my creative juices flow - I haven't had much motivation to write lately.

I've also been dealing with leaky pipes, a malfunctioning furnace, a husband with a sprained hand and a very sick cat who had to be rushed to the emergency vet clinic last weekend. Pretty much anything that could go wrong, has.

Things started out smoothly enough, renovation-wise that is, until Hubby had his hand crushed by a 500-pound cabinet at work. Understandably, all renos came to a halt. There's only so much construction one can manage with a single working hand.

After resting up for a few days, back to work he went, cutting and moving vents and pipes all over the place. Then, we sprung a couple of leaks and water was shut off turned back on and shut off again; at one point we were down to one washroom. Not the end of the world, I admit. Small problems.

But, in the midst of our plumbing issues, the family cat was struck with one of his own. His urinary system became blocked, seemingly overnight. After a very expensive visit to the animal hospital, where they did as much as they could for him, we took him home. We tried in vain to feed and medicate him but he refused to eat, couldn't go pee and we could do nothing but watch him get weaker and weaker. It was heartbreaking to see him in such pain. The vet suggested we have him euthanized; he was almost 14, had heart and kidney issues and they didn't think he'd survive a surgery.

It was much harder on me than I thought it would be. After Ciaran was born, I didn't have time for playing and petting him, like I used to. I became annoyed with having to take care of him. It seemed like I was constantly cleaning up hairballs, cat puke or litter boxes, when I wanted to be relaxing or playing with my son in a nice, clean house. I made rude comments about how I wished he would run away and never come back or how I'd never get another cat after he passed away. The few times he did escape I'd end up worrying like crazy. And the house always felt different, more empty.

We got to say goodbye before he was sedated, but he wasn't the same. He was tired and feeble, not at all the feisty feline who had lived up to his name, Dr. Acula. I guess he knew it was his time.

I'm amazed by how much I miss that little furball. I keep glancing around at the floor, half-expecting him to brush against my legs as he saunters by. I miss his little face, always looking up at me expectantly, looking for a treat, or just some attention. I only wish I'd been more receptive. I like to think he knew he was part of the family, though. Whenever he did take off looking for a taste of freedom, he always did find his way back home.

We haven't broken the news yet to Ciaran. Tony and I disagree on how to tell him. I think we should tell him the truth - he'll learn about death sooner or later and this seems like a good opportunity to teach him. Tony thinks he's still too young, and has told him the cat has gone to a special "cat farm" until we've finished renovating our house.

I'm not sure who's right, but I don't know how much longer I can answer Ciaran's questions about where the farm is and who lives there. I tear up when he asks if Acci is chasing the other kitties. On the other hand, if there was such thing as a cat heaven, I'm sure that's exactly what he'd be doing.

RIP Dr. Acula

Best Friends

The Cat Came Back

Long ago, back in our child-free days that I like to refer to as B.C., or Before Ciaran, my husband and I adopted our first baby - a cuddly little black and gray tabby kitten. Given our quirky natures, we named our tiny new fur-ball Dr. Acula - get it? Dracula? Well, we thought it was clever at the time. Anyway, our new pet really did live up to his name. After the first few playful months, that is.

In the beginning

He was as cute and mischievous as every other young feline. We changed his slightly sinister misnomer to a shortened and less threatening nickname of Acci. But then a change took place. One day the affectionate swats, nips and sweet little meows turned into fang-bearing hisses and deep guttural growls that seemed to be summoning something from the gates of hell. Pretty scary stuff. He'd stalk and attack us, taking pleasure in clawing and biting any bit of exposed flesh he could find.

Something had to be done

Being an indoor cat, we had him declawed, mostly for the sake of our wounded, scratched-up arms. After that, other than a few semi-vicious attacks, which drew blood on occasion, we managed to co-exist peacefully most of the time. He was like a child to us. A very temperamental one, but ours nonetheless. We had birthday parties for him every March 17 (yep - an extra special St. Paddy's Day for us!). I even bought him a Halloween witch costume, complete with cape and pointy hat. He did not find it nearly as humorous as I did.  

We clearly needed children

The day we brought Ciaran home from the hospital was one of apprehension, mixed with delirious new-parent joy. While pregnant, I worried about how Acci would handle the arrival of a new baby. After warding off another spastic cat attack during a midnight fridge raid, I seriously considered well, dumping him. How could I justify potentially putting my newborn at risk? I struggled with the idea of giving Acci away, wrote down all the pros and cons and finally decided, well, if he attacks me one more time...

A change has come

Luckily for all of us, Acci must have sensed that things were not in his favor. From the moment we carefully introduced baby Ciaran to him, something in that little cat brain of his switched to calm. It was like he knew he'd better start behaving and once again, I witnessed a major transformation - this time for the better. He became a completely different animal. He would keep his distance until Baby C's bedtime and then creep silently into the family room, looking around to make sure the coast was clear. No kid? Whew, he seemed to be thinking while jumping up beside me for a quick petting session. And, for the past four years we've lived free of any bad kitty drama - up until last week.

The not-so-great escape

Last Wednesday evening, Tony slid open the back door and - whoosh - just like that Acci slipped out and disappeared into the night. The worst part is, I didn't notice he was gone for two whole days! I figured he was hiding in the basement or curled up asleep in the guestroom. His usual hang-outs. As always, I was  too preoccupied with Ciaran, work or other everyday things to even bother checking up on him. Once I finally realized he'd never come in from his backyard jaunt, he'd been gone for two nights, most likely without food or water. On top of it all, for the last 24 hours it had been raining non-stop. My poor tamed beast was lost or... worse!

The Mission

After noticing that the food and water dishes we'd left out for him had not been touched, we knew more drastic measures had to be taken. He's out there somewhere, Tony insisted to my I have a bad feeling he's never coming home. If he won't come to us, we'll have to go to him, he said, pulling on his old running shoes and grabbing a broken umbrella. And, armed with a single piece of Kentucky Fried Chicken, umbrella thrashing in the wind, off he went in search of Dr. Acula.

Yes, that's right, KFC. Acci's most favorite thing to eat in the entire food kingdom. One sniff of that stuff and he'd meow and purr in a slightly deranged manner, rubbing his head against our legs until we'd relent and throw a bite or two in his direction. If anything could lure him back home, it was a delicious morsel of chicken coated with the Colonels secret recipe.

For an hour Tony roamed the neighborhood, peeking under cars and trees, chasing after any four legged creature that crossed his path. All the while shaking the piece of chicken like a madman. Pretty much normal behavior in this neck of the woods. (more on that in later posts). But, unfortunately, his efforts proved to be futile. He jumped in his car and circled our block for another hour or so, but still, no sign of Acci. We both kept watch out the windows for the rest of the evening, but in my mind, I'd come to accept the fact that he'd gone for good.

The Homecoming 

For no other reason than perhaps his kitty senses were tingling, Tony decided to check outside one last time. At two in the morning. He figured that was normally Acci's most active time of night and he may have come out of hiding to begin his journey home. And lo and behold, there he was, sitting in front of the door, sniffing at the air, meowing and purring insanely, rubbing his head against Tony's leg. Once inside, he chowed down on his chicken, lapped up some water and crashed on his cozy yellow blanket for the better part of three days. As chaotic as it sometimes gets, our house finally feels back to normal now.

Welcome home Acci - we missed you!