The move is finally over

It is now official. We are out of the old place and into the new place. I did the final walk-through at the prior rental this morning. Trust me when I say that the house was cleaner when we left than when we moved in. It took all of five minutes; I didn't even have to argue about the crap on the walls that was there when we moved in (and tried to scrub off to no avail). The only thing that will come out of our deposit will be the carpet cleaning, only because we were there longer than 90 days.

We are now able to completely put the last four months behind us. We no longer have to deal with the asshat neighbor (which I need to finish that story). We don't have to deal with Boyfriend's Grandma's bad attitude. And hopefully she's done making up lists of stuff we "stole" from her (when in reality it's stuff she left behind and forgot about). We can focus on us, setting some money aside, and house hunting for something that we will both love and that will work for us and mostly, be nice and quiet.

I've spent the week unpacking and getting the house set up. I still have to figure out stuff on the walls, and I'd like to find some valances for at least the living room windows.

I've discovered I have the power here. The power of unpacking what I packed and I am the only one who knows where everything is. Boyfriend constantly asks me where things are.

Boyfriend's commute has gone from about an hour each way to about two minutes each way. My commute twice a week for my weekend job is now about an hour each way. However, while I'm in Redding, I will run errands, go grocery shopping, and that fun stuff. No special trips to town because I forgot something . . . considering it's an hour. The nearest grocery store is about twenty minutes away in the nearest (not-as-small) small town. In our town, we have two mini-marts. Emphasis on "mini". 

I never found Harriet. It  breaks my heart. I spent at least an hour one night, sitting by the hidey box that Boyfriend made for her, crying uncontrollably. I miss her so much. Her missing kept Boyfriend up during the night. We cried together the night before we moved; I admitted I felt like I was abandoning her. I finally had a dream about her last night. During the day (in the dream), she'd be missing and I'd be heartbroken. But when I slept, she'd be at my head, purring away, her whiskers tickling my face. Day would return and she'd be gone. But when I slept, she'd be back. I awoke feeling loved by my kitty.

As I waited for the rental agent for the walk-through, I walked around outside, again looking and calling her name. As before, silence greeted me.

The not knowing hurts the most. I miss my little keekers. 

Life Gets Crazy and Then Your Beloved Cat Goes MISSING

Boyfriend and I found a place to rent in the town where he works. We found it last week.

On Monday, he quickly decided he wanted out of the house this week. We took a trailer load of stuff today. Mom and I cleaned and unpacked everything labeled "kitchen". The upside, is minus a few random items, the new kitchen is clean and set up and ready to go. The downside is that the entire move is basically a cluster-fuck and it's driving me crazy. 

I've been calling our utilities to get stuff set up, transferred, moved, and cancelled. Thank God for speaker phone.

Monday night, Boyfriend opened the sliding glass door to let some cool air in. This door has never had a screen door, even though we've asked the landlord for one.

Sometime Monday night, my beloved kitty, Miss Harriet, got curious and went outside. It was pouring down rain. My guess is she got spooked by something and she took off to hide. I spent an hour wandering the property looking for her. Mom came over and helped me do it all over again. We poked around in the ground cover, shrubs, trees, bushes, the barns, even got down on my hands and knees in the mud to look under barns/sheds, over-turned boats, etc . . . and yes, even everywhere in the house. We even drove around, looking for her . . . nothing by the side of the road.

I even took her plastic red food dish that I tap on when I want to feed her canned food by surprise. The tapping will usually bring her out from anywhere and she's ready to munch on her treat.

Nothing. Nada. Zilch.

Tuesday night came and she still hadn't come around.

People kept telling me once it stopped raining, she'd come out of hiding.

It stopped and she hasn't.

I've checked with the neighbors. Nothing.

She's not an adventurous cat. She gets down low and hides when scared versus climbing (although she still has all of her claws, so she could climb if needed). I can't even imagine her leaving the yard. I know that if she could hear me hollering for her, she'd meow or yowl. And I hear nothing.

Not a single peep, meow, yowl, growl, hiss, scream. Nothing.

And that worries me most of all.

We are moving this week. I don't want to leave without her. Without knowing.

I have been crying for two days.

Miss Harriet has been one of my BFF's for ten years. She was a stray I took in that had been dumped at a pet store. She kept my lap and feet warm on cold winter days and nights. She purred in my ear, happy and content during the night. She let me cry into her fur when I was upset. I cajoled her after having been drugged for dentals or shaving. She politely followed me around the kitchen, quietly begging for canned food. Sometimes, not so quietly. She was my companion in my otherwise lonely apartments in Sacramento. She put up with me moving a lot recently and even became friends with Wyatt, our new kitten. She became more comfortable in the house and wasn't even upset about the recent packing. She had re-found her perch atop my recliner and was content in watching the kitten play with a string.

I severely miss my cat. She has been there for me for ten years and I her.

My heart aches.

My eyes burn.

Not knowing what may have happened or if she's hurt or scared and can't find her way back after the 24 hours of solid rain . . . that is the worst thing in the world.

I want my Harriet back. And I want her back NOW.

It is now Tuesday night. I have again walked the property, crawled around, called her name, her nickname, made kissing noises and looked everywhere.

Nothing. 

People tell me their stories of how their cat went missing for a couple days then showed back up. I hope that happens. I want her back more than words can say.

How is it that silence is deafening? Because it is.

The Story of Tank

A couple weeks ago, a gentleman called our clinic saying that his dog had been attacked by a pit bull and asked if we had an available veterinarian to tend to him. Of course we did, and I told him to come straight away. I warned our doctor, Dr. H, that we had a bite wound coming in.

Tank, a 1.5 year old English Bull Dog, had not fared well against the pit bull that attacked him. The entire backside of his neck (along his topline) had several (and I mean, several) puncture wounds from the attack dog. In case you're wondering what an English Bull Dog looks like:

This breed is not exactly my cup of tea. They are sweet dogs, but I'm not a fan of the smooshed-face dogs. However, in Tank's case, he grew on me.

Because of his injuries, Tank was very sensitive and not overly cooperative. However, Dr. H and the tech were able to clean up the wounds. Dr. H told Tank's owner that she wanted to at least keep him over-night. The owner understood and left Tank in our care.

A couple days later, I came back in after a day off, and at some point in the morning Dr. H was working on Tank. His wounds on the back of his neck was now all dead tissue and was needing to be cut away. The end result was ugly. It was down to the last layer of skin that covered muscles.

Tank's neck later that night.

Taking Tank for a walk proved to be interesting. I put a leash around his neck very carefully, and just kept calling to him for him to follow me.

Tank's owners came to visit him daily. The first time the wife and her kids came in and I took them back. I had to warn them how ugly the wound was. I mean. Ugly. You can see for yourself. I also had to warn them about the smell. The poor dog was stinking up our treatment area pretty badly. I nearly cried with them when I took them back. The wife got teary, and her kids started crying. It took all I had to not lose it with them. I spoke to the wife about the dog attack and she said she got pictures of the dog that had done the attacking, including blood all down it's front. I told her that she needed to file a complaint with the police department - Animal Control wouldn't come get the dog unless they managed to trap it on their property. Evidently the owner of the pit bull has a total of 5 pit bulls (in CA you have to have a kennel license if you have 6 or more dogs), and they all keep breaking through the property fence no matter how many times Tank's owners patched it up. And all 5 dogs run wild and are aggressive. Tank's owners worry about their own children. I told her she really ought to file a complaint with the police and to take the pictures to them as evidence. I don't know if they have or not to date. But I sincerely hope they have.

As I said, they visited him daily. I told them that pets know when their people come to visit. Tank was kind of out of it, and not overly responsive the first few days. But they do know and they do like seeing their people while in the hospital. Just like people like having their family visit them.

After roughly two weeks of a hospital stay, the owners had to make some tough decisions. Tank had a very long road ahead of him in the healing process. And the owners only had so much money. In fact, they were out of money. Their bill was sitting around $1200. Tank's bill could easily run up to $5000 or more before long and the healing road would be long and hard. Tank still needs a lot of pain medicine and antibiotics and would require them for quite some time. We had been giving him IV fluids as he didn't always drink or eat enough.

Part of my sucky Saturday last weekend was that Dr. H called me at 9am (I went in at 10), to tell me that Tank was probably going to be euthanized because the owners were simply out of money and didn't want Tank to suffer anymore than he already had. She said that they'd discontinued the meds because of the euthanization.

The wife called the clinic a couple times saying that she couldn't get a hold of her husband and didn't want to do it with him there. The doctor on call that weekend told me to tell them that when they could come in, to call our answering service and he would meet them at the clinic.

I was asked to do treatments that evening, but was told that there was nothing to do for Tank. So I took care of the two parvo puppies and then when I was done I went to see Tank.

And I cried.

It was the worst thing I've ever seen. I could see the pain in his eyes. I have never in my entire life seen any living thing in that much pain. I petted him along his back and back legs. I felt it was important that he get some love. His owner wouldn't show up to put him out of his misery without her husband. They insisted on being there. I told him over and over that I was so sorry. I was so mad that I couldn't do anything. That the doctor wouldn't "give" away some pain meds so Tank wouldn't suffer so badly. I could only imagine the pain this poor dog was in, and even then, I still don't think my imagination came close.

My heart broke for Tank.

I left there to have dinner with my BFF. I got hugs. I got home, and I told my parents. My parents have never seen me cry over any animal that has come into a clinic I've worked for. I usually can hide it fairly well. But I couldn't hide my anger and broken heart over Tank. I got Mom hugs.

When I came in on Monday I asked the tech who had been on-call on Sunday if the owners came in over the weekend. She said no, there had been no need - Tank was dead when she walked in Sunday morning. He had died alone and in the worst kind of pain.

Rest in peace, little man. Rest in peace.

ox, me.