A gray, cloudy sky hovered overhead the entire day today. At times, the clouds seemed to part as a sliver of sunlight attempted to peek through. The sight, simultaneously eerie and beautiful, had an effect on me I couldn’t explain. It nearly took my breath away. I scampered around the house opening doors and windows, allowing Mother Nature to enter into my little world, to swirl my curtains around, to slam a door I hadn’t properly propped open, and to whistle through the cracks and crevices of my home. I love this kind of day. Well, I usually love this kind of day. Today, however, as I watched the storm brew around me, I suddenly think of another day, just like this day, a day eight years ago.

It was a dreary kind of day. The sky was gray and cloudy, just like me. “Does Mother Nature” feel my feelings? Does she know the turmoil and chaos (the storm) brewing in my mind? Does she understand the howling, whirling, whistling sounds swirling around in my head as I have to make an extremely difficult decision today.

Today, I have to take Nicki, my 16-year old pekingese to the vet for what I know will be her last visit to the vet…her last day on this earth. My heart is breaking, the pain is unbearable. I look into her eyes, and I can see her pleading with me, “Please let me go. I am tired. My body is tired. I cannot fight anymore. I don’t want to. I want to be at peace and pain free.” I know I have to let her go. I know I have to do what is in her best interest. But, I am selfish, and I try to convince myself that she will pull through once again…just like she always does. We just need a new medication and time. Unfortunately, I also know I’m kidding myself. I realize her time has come, and that my time has come to say farewell.

As I remember that day, I remember my gloomy mood, my aching heart, the pounding in my head. I remember cradling her fragile, skeletal body in a blanket and holding her as gently as I would a baby; talking to her, soothing her (and myself), telling her everything would be alright. She literally fell asleep in my arms on the ride to the vet. I remember walking into the clinic, knowing that once I walked through the door, there was no turning back. I remember telling the doctor that I didn’t want her to feel any pain, and the doctor assured me she wouldn’t. I remember sitting on the floor, cradling her in my lap. The doctor placed an IV in her foreleg, and then gently, ever so gently, she administered the medication that would forever take away the pain. We (Tim, Tina, Ricky and I) sat there, our little family, crying softly as we watched our Nicki close her eyes for the last time.

We stayed for a little while, huddled on the floor, trying to regain some composure before walking out of the clinic. I remember as I left the clinic, holding Nicki wrapped in her blanket, there was a break in the clouds, and a sliver of sunlight broke through…

“M-r-e-o-w! M-r-e-o-w! M-R-E-O-W!” K-pang, k-pang. “M-R-R-E-O-O-W-W-W!!!” Ah, the joyful sound of Kuro wanting out of Tina’s room in the morning. I roll out of bed, look at the clock and read 5:35 a.m. “Kuro,” I think to myself, “it’s Saturday! I don’t want to get up at 5:35 a.m. How is that Tina doesn’t hear you, and she sleeps in the same room with you?” It doesn’t matter, I’m awake now…and so are the rest of the pets. Everyone wants to eat, and I know they’ll never let me go back to sleep. So, I just resign myself to the fact that I’m getting up now, and I let Kuro out of Tina’s room.

She saunters up to me, her tail swishing gently back and forth. Ever so softly, she brushes against my leg as she meanders past me down the hall. It’s almost like it’s her little way of saying, “Thank you…it’s about time!”

“Mreow…” soft and sweet she speaks…not that she’s been freed. “Pbrrrr! Pbrrrr! She purrs, barely above a whisper, as she sits at the end hall appearing to ponder her next move. “Hmmm…isn’t there a frog in the kitchen somewhere?”

There she was, the cutest black ball of fluff I had ever seen. She almost looked like a puffed up blowfish with just her legs and tail sticking out in all directions! but she was cute, and she was mine. My husband and I had gone to the local kennel looking for an addition to our new family. This addition was going to be our “first” baby, and I had my heart set on a Yorkshire Terrier…that was until I saw “her.” My heart melted, and that was the end of that.

Now, the name. Hmm? What do we name her? Princess? No…too prissy! Fluffy? No…too common. Lady? Isn’t that what all cute girl puppies are named. I had an idea, she looked just like a little Gremlin (the movie Gremlins was a big hit the year we bought her), and the cutest Gremlin was named Gizmo. That’s it, I would name her Gizmo. Well, maybe not…Gizmo was a boy, and then everyone would think she was a boy and not the cute little girl she really was. Finally, Tim and I agreed on Nicki. I don’t why. I don’t even know where the idea came from. Neither of us knew any Nicki’s, but she was a “Nicki,” and that became her name.

Spades and Wraithe

Wraithe…

…how could today be the day?
…why was today the day?
…I didn’t even get to give you your cookie today! Daddy did, because I left early.

I know you haven’t been feeling well and that you had an upset tummy. But I also thought you were playing your little games since you would eat “canned” food and cookies and deli turkey and pieces of my muffin! You silly boy. How was I supposed to know? Guess what? I caved in to your, “I don’t want to eat this!” I was on the way to Petsmart to buy you the “special” food, the “canned” stuff. I wanted to spoil you. Then Daddy called me at work, and when I answered the phone, it was silent on the other end. “Hello?” I said - again.

“Wraithe is dead…” Daddy whispered.

“What,” I answered, “what do you mean, Wraithe is dead?”

“He’s dead! He looks like he’s asleep on his bed, but he’s cold. His eyes are open, his mouth is open. He’s dead, Hon. So, just come home. Don’t even go to Petsmart.”

“Are you serious?” I whispered into the headset. “He can’t be dead! Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. He’s dead.”

*********************************

One week later…

I was thinking about a book I read to my students, Tenth Good Thing About Barney, by Judith Viorst. A child writes about ten goods things about her cat Barney that just died, and I decided to write ten good things about you.

the new baby

1. You were a 3-month old scruffy, scraggly, road-rashed, skinny desert rescue when you came into our lives
2. You fit right into our family of 3 cats and 3 dogs (now)
3. You were great at stealing toys from Spades, you little turkey  

It's mine!

4. You slept right next to Tina…she was your life
5. You fought hard to live when you were diagnosed with Addison’s Disease, and you pulled through a week of torment while the doctor stabilized you
6. You had this quirky little thing of sticking your bottom in the air while turning over halfway in order to   be patted
7. You loved walking in the park
8. You ate anything, but that’s NOT  really a good thing since rocks, plastic, string, towel bits, etc were on that list
9. Your Chewbacca sounds could make anyone laugh

and

10. You loved us and gave us a great almost 5 years.

I miss you, Wraith-y!

last photo - May 14, 2008