Molly Spencer wrote just yesterday about “the myth of the normal week“. My “normal” week would be working Monday-Thursday, a little on Friday, with Friday morning dedicated to writing/reading. I start every week thinking that’s exactly how it’s going to work out. Work. Write. Blog. Read. Submit. Repeat. Every week, I get to Friday and realize something didn’t go quite right.
This week, not the normal week. I did work Monday-Thursday, but struggled through it because a sinus infection/mucous avalanche hit me early Tuesday. I continued to work and complete all responsibilities against my bed’s siren call.
I did, though, submit a few times this week. Even when the writing isn’t coming, I do make a point of submitting, especially in the face of a rejection. This week, I got two form rejections and one personalized one, and even though I was more disappointed over the personalized one, I did take some positive action and submit more work into the universe. Woo hoo.
Yesterday morning, I took our dog and cat to the vet for their annual check-up. Our dog, Rose, is a great vet-goer. She jumps right into the back seat of the car, lies down, and doesn’t make a peep for the whole car ride. Agate (ˈagit), our cat, a 12 year old ornery blue point Siamese, hates many things, including our 6 month old Maine Coon kitten (who now outweighs her), her pet carrier, cars, dogs, the vet, and bath water. When she encounters someone or something she doesn’t like, she screams, without break (imagine this noise, but constant and even higher-pitched). Taking her to the vet means grabbing her in a headlock, forcing her into her pet carrier, and then having to hear her loud protestations in the small confined space of my vehicle. Talking to my friend on the phone one day while I was taking her to vet, she said, “I don’t know how you put up with hearing that. I think I’d kill myself if I had to hear that even once a year!”
At the vet, she is upset by everything. She tries to get away. She claws. She screams. I apologize for her, but to no avail. She gets (nicely) man-handled by the vet and his assistant to try to get her to comply, which adds to her list of complaints, which adds to the amount of times she’ll scream next to my head in the middle of night to torture me.
On this visit, our vet found a mast cell tumor on the back of her neck, a sign that she might have many more on her spleen, which means she’d need the one on the back of her neck removed (because these can keep growing) and, if she has any on it, possibly her spleen too.
Agate is the type of animal that my husband and I joke about being totally annoyed with, but really, secretly, deeply love. I’ve had her for 4 and a half years. My husband met her on our first date (which was about 4 years ago), and he felt like he needed to get her to like him, so while we watched a movie, he pet and talked to her the whole time. When he told me that that was what he was doing, I thought it was adorable, and Agate has loved him for it. She is an amazingly sweet and affectionate cat. Her talking is obnoxious. She is demanding and exacting, but she’s our special, obnoxious, demanding, exacting pet.
This news is very depressing, not only because it reminds us of her mortality and how her time with us is limited, but also because it’s a rather expensive surgery at a time when we don’t know if we’ll be able to afford it. The cost of surgery for just removing the spot on the back of her neck is at least $800. She may need her spleen removed as well, which is more money, and we close on our new home in less than a month. Knowing us, I imagine we will find to way to pay for the surgery. The tricky part will be in figuring out when and what we’ll need to cut to allow for it.
Oh life. You never stop showing up.