Beau is so afraid of thunder and lighting, poor little guy. He runs to me and gets under cover. He's really afraid of electrical storms. I want to run outside with a camera and somehow capture the bolts of electricity sparking up and down the desert skies.
I woke up this morning and was just sitting on the edge of the bed rubbing the sleep from my eyes when I heard this kind of sharp load clack sound. "Clack. Clack, clack, clack!" I stood up and moved the blinds aside and was surprised to be looking at an equally surprised and very big road runner. He was just so pretty and wild, standing there, judging me, possibly curious. I so wanted to feed him something. I went for a box of circus animal cookies, (I don't know what road runners eat, prolly crickets and beetles, not anything remotely like animal cookies, but that's what I had on hand,) and opened the sliding glass door. He ack acked at me and ran for his wife. They were so dear, but they didn't want any part of me or my box of cutely shaped cookies.
Wow, I'm still a bit stunned, and I feel like my body's been energized in a strange way.
On a sadder note, my friend Shadow died. I miss him. I cried a lot. He was my shy little black furred pal. I loved him. I think it was cancer, it just came on so suddenly. I guess I'm glad I didn't let them do exploratory surgery on him. I mean if he was going to die in three days, and he was miserably weak and sick, how could that have given them some clue that would have helped save his life? They just wanted to see what antibiotic to give him, or whether or not to put him on steroids, since none of the broadest spectrum antibiotics had done any good they decided to put him on steroids anyway, but then he died one day later.
Did I kill him? I always think this, always, always. I'm so tortured over this. Had I not adopted him, would he have gotten sick? Was it the stress of living with too many other cats? Was he already sick when i got him? Was he so old and his immune system so weak that he caught something from one of my people? Should I ahve made him stay in my room with me? He liked to come and go, so I let him, but I wish he were still there in my room, hiding under my bed, sneaking up on top when we were alone and he could be with me, the only person he trusted. When I said goodbye to him, he rested his cheek against my hand for the longest time. I just stood there with my head in his cage, telling him I loved him, telling him to eat, to fight, to get well. Should I have stayed home? Could I have force fed him back to life like I did with Jake? God loving can be hard, especially when you've been contaminated with as much shame as I have.