March 19, 2007

Well hell. I'm a frickin' mess. Really. The grief of losing Oreo Kitty is sometimes too much for me to bear. I'll be fine. But last night at 12:55 a.m., Thing 2 came into our bedroom and asked us what happened to Oreo's ashes.

You people know what a hugger I am (not) and how surprised I am by the amount of grief I feel over Oreo. I told the clinic that I didn't want the ashes. And then all of a sudden, at 12:55, I started to wonder if maybe I did want the ashes.

I drove Buzz to chemo this morning and she suggested I call the clinic to see if Oreo was still there. After dropping Buzz off I pulled into a parking lot and called my girlfriend, also our Vet, at home. But she didn't answer so I called the clinic and yes, thankfully, Oreo Kitty is still there and they'll get me the ashes in the next week or so.

I don't know what we'll do with them but we'll just wait until the grief isn't so intolerable before we decide.

Cripes. I was so caught unaware of how much loss I could feel over my little kitty.

So this morning, Buzz is in for chemo. At 10:30, I'll be down the street from her at the dermatologist to have some funky bumps looked at that seem to be growing out of the frickin' age spots I've developed. And on this very same day, Sting's husband will be in the same area getting a camera shoved up his buttocks. We are the Triplets of Old People Falling Apart.

I should start another diary and call it KitchenMD. Keep the falling apart of my body separate from the rest of my fascinating blog.

Oy.

My achin' spotted face.

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