The Challenge of Life

 

I struggle every day with life’s challenges.  We all do. I do.

I jumped off the couch last week and twisted my leg. How could that happen?  I am the creature known to jump off tall buildings and land on my feet. I am the one sneaks past death nine times. Is the limp of a hurting leg the beginning of number nine?

I don’t know. No one knows. Mom took me to see the vet who told her these things happen more often as I use up my time on earth. “The pain can last six weeks, or maybe six months. It is hard to tell,” he said, “I am only a doctor.” So much depends on attitude. Every cat is different.”

My mom cried. “I don’t want my Sportster to suffer,” she said.

The veterinarian ran his hand gently across my back, and I rubbed my nose against his palm. “Just make him comfortable,” he said. “Make sure he’s happy.”

I chuckled at the irony of his statement. Really? That’s what every cat demands.

I climbed off the cold steel exam table into Mom’s arms. We were done here. The vet handed Mom a brochure titled, “Recovery.”

“Take this home and study it, he said.

Mom chattered endlessly on the drive home about how I should take it easy and that she would tend to my every need. Didn’t she already do that?

She settled into our recliner and opened the pamphlet, reading aloud to me, “Recovery from an injury or a loss is about acceptance.”

 I limped over to her, and hopped clumsily onto her lap. She set the paper aside. “Oh Sportster!  You shouldn’t jump with your bad leg. I would have lifted you up.”

“No,” I said, but, too busy petting and cooing over me, she didn’t hear me. This treatment, I did not want. Feeling sorry for me made me want to hurl up my breakfast. Her attitude caused  me to feel older and more useless than I already did. I jumped from her lap to make a point. She was not going to tell me what to do. Ever. Even when I’m dying, which I was not.

I wanted my dignity back, but her sobs, pulled me back as I tried to walk away. I found myself back in her lap, purring, as she grabbed me up and hugged me. I am too old for this, I thought. I barely have the energy to take care of myself, let alone nurture her. My leg throbbed.

She took a deep breath and relaxed a little as I acquiesced and curled up in her lap. Picking up the brochure again, she continued. “Living is about accepting life on life’s terms.”  Yeah, sure I know that, I thought. I will accept my life even if I have to limp the rest of the way through the time I have left. Judy needs to realize the secret to recovery is accepting the process no matter how long or what the outcome. Limping is a part of living.

Dear, Cat God, “Please grant me and Judy the acceptance, to accept what we cannot change, and the courage to change what we can and the serenity to know the difference.”

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Yesterday, on Mother's day I lost two hummingbird friends.  I first observed them as two tiny eggs, and then as a couple of wet scraggly beings,  striving  to be free of their small enclosure. I watched them  evolve into  feathered creatures who over flowed in their tiny nest because their mom flew and hovered endless hours  back and forth to raise them into brave little souls like herself.  Almost ready to fearlessly meet  their big new world, they succumbed to nature’s way when a big black bird, like a bomb, swept in and massacred  them.
 Mom still hovers over the shreds of nest that remain. On this Mother's day, as aching as her loss is, I know she will try again next year. That is nature’s way.

R.I.P. LITTLE ONES.