Better

My cat is finally doing better, and I have time and energy for other things than work and the vet.

In a week from today, my Viking is coming for holiday. I am so looking forward to that. Not just him, but a proper holiday together. I do think it's a first. First at the seaside, at the very least. And my first seaside holiday in years. 

it's going to be sooo nice to have a few day just to relax on the beach, or stroll through Pula, not being pressed by the clock, not having to get up at a certain time in the morning. God I need to air my brain through  bit. Put it in neutral for a few days, add some new experiences to change the way the gears are turning. give and get some first-hand love again. Mmmm. Letting go. 

I can remember going "to town" in Pula when I was a kid with my family. Strolling through the ancient arc, down the streets filled with vendors and tourists, looking up to the magnificent arches of Arena (a roman amphitheatre), smelling the rich musky salty smell of the marina, looking at the masts swaying with the waves. Eating ice cream, of course. bought at the same place my mum used to get it from some 32 years before. Still the best ice cream in town. The lively, cool outside market under the old chestnut trees. 

Going back to my aunts apartment in a 100 years old apartment building, only a hundred or two hundred meters from the market. The marble stairs, worn smooth by tenants feet over time. High ceilings. The coolness of the stircase even in the hottest of summers. Double-winged doors to the apartment, that has windows of glass with circles behind an intricate iron grate, so you could almost make out who was standing behind the door, and also air the apartment from the cool staircase. The weird bathroom window opening to an internal shaft, where you could peek into neighbours bathrooms, if you strained to lean through the window. Knowing more about architecture now, I see the sense in it, but to a 6-year-old, it was just odd. The balcony, where the adults spent many a late night playing canasta, and me hanging around like... well, like a nosy 6-year-old. Bringing them drinks, circling from one to the other for attention and to peek at the cards, getting excited with them as the game got more interesting.

Those are pleasant memories of an unburdened childhood, filled with love and attention. Whatever problems my parents had, be it work, money, us kids, it all melted away within 2 days at the seaside. I really liked them there. 

And spending my summers there with my aunt after my parents went home was an adventure. She took me to a lot of places most people wouldn't bring a kid to. I guess she was a bit of a child at heart and she could live it with me. I adored my aunt Estera. She took me to work with her. She was a gym professor at the university, if my childhood memory isn't betraying me. It was definitely gym, and I do think it was university. Might have been high-school. Anyway, there were always a lot of girl students that liked my aunt, or might have just been trying to suck up to the professor, to look after me for an hour or two during the rare times Estera had to come in to work during the summer break. I think some of my childhood plush toys were gifts from said students. 

Hey, what can I say, I always liked attention from people that were nice to me. I also liked adventure. My aunt could make the most ordinary task seem like one. Like ironing the kitchen cloths (not too advanced for a smart kid trying to please :)).

So I hope to have a bit of that lovely care-free feeling when my Viking and me visit Pula again.

Just a week to go!

Contemplating....

As said, my cat is seriously not doing well. 

Some of you might think; Hey, what's the big deal? It's just a cat. Well, she's not just a cat. She is MY cat. 

Why is she so important to me? Well, except for the obvious bit of her being a cat and thus able to cute-stare me into a puddle of love and admiration in a nanosecond. I think there are more factors involved. 

I always loved cats. Got my first one (that was sanctioned by my parents and I got to keep) for my 10th birthday. I spent the first night next to her bed, just looking at her. I named her Kitty (yes, I had just started to lean english and thought I was sooo original). The name quickly turned into Kati, pest, bag of fleas, depending on how she was behaving. She had a lot of character, and we were all her subordinates. Me being a kid, and as such, not very dependable as far as cleaning the toilet and feeding her on the hour was concerned, and dad being the chief for meat in the kitchen, she soon started to consider him her favorite subordinate.

On the afternoon after the last exam to finish high-school I learned that my mom had breast cancer. It was quite a shock to me, as you can imagine. She had surgery, chemo, and it all seemed ok for a while. In the fall I went to university, where I did not do as well as everyone expected, due to a severe lack of self-control to sit and work without any pressure, and to the reappearance of my mum's cancer. It was worse and worse, more and more operations, chemo and all the psychological stress on all the family that a disease like that brings with it. 

My family is the strong silent type, we do not talk about hurt, we just stand there like the Gibraltar rocks, as my sister-in-law said. We just accumulate. And then, someday, it's too much. My mum died. I was unable to work through it, and a few months lated, my dad met someone new. I wasn't happy, but who am I to keep him from being happy after years of suffering? So my childhood home change, got distorted, furniture changed, the way of doing things too. It just didn't feel like m home anymore. She is nice, don't get me wrong. But she wasn't my mum, and she was, and still is sometimes, trying too hard.

What nailed me was that my cat died of cancer a bit less than a year after my mom did. And in the exact same way too. in a recent conversation with my dad he reminded me, that the cat was actually operated on for cancer on her tit, but it returned a few months later. I honestly had no recollection of that. The year after my mum died is mostly just a big blank hole in my mind. The cat died because cancer had spread so far, that her lungs filled with water and she basically drowned. I was just putting her in a box to take her to the vet and have her euthanized, since she was in lots of pain the night before, and she died in my arms. We'd have done it earlier, but she had a tiny little kitten, only a few weeks old. It got successfully adopted by the neighbors cat and found a good home afterwards, where he is loved and spoiled beyond all measure, to my information.

After that, I broke down and hit a nice little depression. I did nothing but lay in my bed, flipping channels without seeing he show, eating bread by just tearing it off the loaf, ice-cream and drinking milk out of the package.  I barely dragged myself to the store once I run out of everything that didn't need any preparations. After a month or two of that (my sense of time got totally lost) I finally had enough of myself and went to see a shrink. Took me a long time and many group therapies, but I got much better. 

After a while, I found a job, was getting forward with my studies, and felt I was well enough, and stable enough to take care of another living creature. I decided to adopt a cat at a local shelter. 

I spent half an hour looking at the outside part of the cat pens, and couldn't really decide for one. And then a dark grey, matted and neglected cat with an extra layer of fur came out to sit in the sun. she seemed to me the most beautiful cat I have ever seen. When I went into the pen to get her, she, out of some 20 cats, came running to me, climbed on my knee and started rubbing her face against mine. I guess she really wanted to come home with me. And that was it. I signed the paperwork, they programmed her chip with my name and number, and home we went. After a few days, we got rid of all the excess hair, the strong stink, that only cheap shelter food can give, and the bond was firm. I love her. She is my cat, and my responsibility.

Currently we live in a nice big apartment with a few roommates; 3 humans, another cat named Jack, with a colorful history of his own, and a dog. No fleas, mind you. Maybe some spiders, hiding in corners, though.

We are supposed to move to Sweden by the end of next year. I really really hope we both do. Doesn't seem good. But I hope. Because that's what she is to me. A cat, a pet, a responsibility, a beautiful, not too bright lovable gorgeous grey being with wonderful bright yellow eyes that melt my heart (or anyone else's, for that matter). 

She was the promise of a brighter future, once upon a time. I wish I could give her more future to look forward to.

Missing in action - Basti

My cat is seriously ill, she has a bad case of anemia. Why is this relevant? Because she means a lot to me. So I give her her medicine in the morning, in the evening, in the middle of the night, take her to the vet everday, work full hours, and am efectually way too tired to even think, let alone post anything.
I will return once the situation has calmed down. I hope my little vampire gets better.

PS: evening

She's not good at all. Got a fever, and there was either something wrong with the machine that does blood-tests, or Basti is living with no red blood cells whatsoever. She was running high fever when at the vet, and was very very sleepy and calm, not at all how she usually behaves there. 

I have to admit, I keep hoping that it was just because it was a very hot day, and that the fact she's eating since we came home and has in this moment ventured out of my room and around the flat a bit is a good sign. 

But the vet seemed to basically think there's a real chance she might not make it through the weekend. Told me to leave her be as much as possible, give her her favorite food (only two days ago I was told to give Basti the Hills anti allergy food and hood good for her digestion, since she's on loads of different strong medicine), and the vet asked if the cat dies, will I want to burry her or will I bring her to them to dispose off.  Didn't really give me much hope, did she? 

*sigh

I cried my eyes out when I got back, took a shower, and went to buy her the 'good stuff', at least in Basti's oppinion. Suddenly, she got her appetite back. hehe. I guess only time will tell. I will hope to the very last.

PPS Sunday

Still here. Currently she's sleeping on the balcony, which is her favourite place. ---------hard to say, how she is doing. I hope the blood tests will work tomorrow, so at least I know where we stand. I don't want to torture her with all the pills and potions if they're not working at all. And if they are, then I'll sure keep administering them with vigor.