It was a surreal and unhappy weekend at Lake Petty Gulf. I coughed until I cracked my ribs.
Tallahassee allergies can be deadly. Driving to Petsmart, I coughed so hard that I felt myself slipping into unconsciousness. "Don't let me faint and wreck this car," I pled to whatever guardian angels I might muster. They didn't seem to be available. They tend to hover over Tom and Jack and, of course, I am grateful. The feeling passed. I shopped quickly and headed home. I use a couple of homeopathic remedies. Nothing works any better. Actually, nothing works.
Squirrel has not eaten for several days. She's been holed up in the nest, invisible. Once in a while she has stuck her head out and given me a mournful glance. I know that she's old for a squirrel. Her fur is rapidly turning from grey to silver and she's lost weight. I put fresh sunflower seeds in her bowl this morning. Her corn, mushroom, spinach, and carrots from yesterday were still there.
This afternoon, I subjected her to the irresistible smell of peanut butter and, after a whole lot of coaxing, she came out onto the porch and nibbled from the slice of bread on which I had spread it. In the picture below, she's eating the dirt off of a rock that was in a potted plant. She also had some aloe. I trust her. She knows what she needs.
Then there's Belle. The poor cat has thrown up every meal for what seems like weeks. I've revised her food regime once, already. After spending a couple of sleepless, feverish nights doing a lot of research, I decided to change her diet again. She ate the same brand of dry cat kibbles for eight years. The manufacturer has re-worked the formula twice, now. I will try anything, at this point.
She has kept five meals down at this writing. She threw up the cat treats (I know, but she begged.) and I tossed them in the garbage. Personally, I cannot believe that she's accepting the wet food. She, like the squirrel, knows what she needs.
I sneezed so many times, yesterday, that I threw my back out. I'm doubled over, right now, but oh-so-thankful for the last couple of hours we three have spent sitting on the porch in the sunshine.
I know from personal experience that one brief moment can change life forever. What I call happiness can be snuffed out like a candle with one simple sentence. "I have to be ready for anything," I tell myself, every morning. "Thank You for my day," I repeat nightly before sleep.
(The thirty-year-old staghorn fern that came with me from Jacksonville is sprouting Scuppernong vines from my arbor there. I didn't think either of us would make it through that second winter.)
This afternoon belonged to us! If Squirrel dies asleep in her nest, if Belle has something more serious than a food allergy, if I go to meet my Maker (hopefully
after having filled the pets' food bowls and changing their water) or if a sinkhole swallows us while we sleep, we have
today enjoyed one of our amazing normal afternoons of sunshine, snacks, photo ops, and more.
I've had Squirrel on my lap, she's been kissed by the cat, and has eaten a little food.
Belle soaked up her allotment of sunshine and basked in her daydreams - including, I think, what to do with a yard full of butterflies, one lone bird, and a soft breeze.
Me? Yes, me too! I spent the afternoon sunning my face, loving my pets, enjoying the weather, and smelling the roses! I am continually grateful for the life that I have made after the life I loved was lost to me. Thankful to have had it to enjoy for yet another day.
