If you follow me on Twitter, you know that this week has been challenging.
I was (really ridiculously incredibly) sick, and then Joe's grandmother passed away. It was his last living grandparent and, though she was very ill, it's a sad time. The funeral is this Saturday.
I was convinced that one of my cats was dying (and she really was gravely ill). I found an animal hospital that was able to fit us in on a moment's notice, and I drove there, only to sit, crying, in their lobby until the doc was able to squeeze us in.
I missed the whole evening with Gracie Anna and Joe. They played, ate dinner, got ready for bed, and rocked in the rocking chair – all without me.
Once the vet examined my cat, I struggled with the estimated cost of a definitive diagnosis. An obscene amount of money was charged to my credit card, the cat was definitively diagnosed, and she received the medical treatment that fixed her right up. Within two hours, she was good as new.
Most certainly thanking me for my selfless devotion, Grace-the-cat meowed at me upon arriving home. She meowed loudly until she woke Grace-the-toddler.
Gracie Anna appeared at the top of the living room steps, wearing her green doggie pajamas, and clutching her bunny quilt in one hand and an old, dirty pillow that we've been using as a bedrail in the other.
“Momma? Home?” She squeaked in her little toddler voice, rubbing her sleepy eyes.
With tears in my own eyes, I scooped her up in my arms, and returned her, the quilt, and the smelly pillow to the rocking chair in her dark room, where we rocked together until she fell asleep.
I never thought I'd be glad that she woke up in the night. Until tonight.
© 2009 – 2017, Tara Ziegmont. All rights reserved.