A Kind Of Tribute. Not "The Hunger Games" Kind.

After attempting to write a passage about my very first dog's life this morning, I flaked out.

The minute I got to his passing, I became emotional and didn't want to remember it. Unfortunately, it's the most vivid part of his life that I am able to recall. It's not that the happier memories are lost or don't stand out in their own way, but the last two weeks of his life were so utterly horrifying and heart-breaking that even after five years of healing, I'm still angry with myself for not noticing his problem earlier. In a lot of ways I still blame myself because I felt like Midnight was my sole responsibility. He wasn't and shouldn't have been (he shouldn't have been moms responsibility for a while then either,yet that happened too), but towards the last few years he did end up being that. And I loved him like he was, I was just caught up in my own issues.

Before Finn came along and the reason why he's here now is due to my family's first baby: Midnight.

I was young, about nine or ten years old, when we received a bundle of adorable black mass. My dad had surprised Keith and I before our baseball game (against mothers very wishes and warnings that we weren't responsible enough to own one. Mother knows best), so of course throughout the entire game all we could think about was the puppy. 

Needless to say, I wasn't disappointed that he ruined the game. After years of being the only girl on the team (every other one having dropped out) I realized my physical lacking (and mental. I was terrified of the ball after an accident with a boy's horrible throwing hand and my fingers) pretty much cost the team the game every time. The coach was just super sweet and never pointed it out (one of those coaches was my dad). Even if it was obvious, I was only ever encouraged. 

As he began to grow, Midnight's life wasn't an easy one. We had various issues that continually cropped up with the neighbors. Couple that with his otherworldly strength that he developed and problems were easy to find their way in. Not to mention we had no prior experience on caring for a dog.

Midnight was barely more than the puppy he still was when he was able to drag my sorry butt across the yard as if I were no more than a feather tethered to the end of his leash. My mother and father had to give chase to catch their muddy daughter and their dog practically oozing with excitement. 

His energy and strength took us completely by storm. 

Because of that, he was quick to escape the safety of our yard. During the night he would run a muck, having midnight escapades for what we barely knew he was named for. Our neighbors would, understandably, call us upset to get our dog from their yard. Normally, I would say their anger was justified, but seeing as we have had problems with their dog coming in to our yard and causing problems over the years with little to no complaint from us, I wasn't exactly hopping on the train to sympathy town. I was a kid with an adult sense of pride and I didn't care if the neighbors complained, they just needed to keep away from my dog. 

That became glaringly obvious when my mother and I happened upon them beating Midnight with a stick to get their dog off of ours. Yes, their dog was on top of Midnight, yet they were beating our dog to get their dog off ours. In our yard. Make sense to you? It sure doesn't make a lick of sense to me. 

Of course, after that incident all four of us were angry. The wife came over to apologize when only my grandmother and great grandmother were on the porch with me. Taking the stand, I greeted her and accepted her apology, but was very clear when I told her I wanted them no where near our yard and more importantly nowhere near my Midnight. 

But they're the type of people who never listen to anyone. They think they can do whatever they want, whenever they want. Especially if it's on someone else's property without the owner's consent.

Over the years, there was always another incident, always another problem. We were never able to just enjoy having a dog. And the neighbors weren't the only ones to fault for that. 

Keith and I were in the midst of schooling. While Keith was having difficulty finding himself, his behavioral issues and temper sky-rocketed. He struggled greatly with fitting in and wanting to be a part of that "oh so wonderful popular crowd". I, on the other hand, knew that I belonged in a little world of misfits and was perfectly happy with that. But I was dealing with mental trials and more importantly, medical set backs. I was missing days on end of school, the threat of being held back being very real and, to me, terrifying. Luckily I had enough doctor's excuses to cover me, thanks to mom for believing me and taking me to the doctor every time I had a migraine. Which was practically every week, every other day, occurring more so during certain periods of the month. 

For those of you who don't know what a migraine is, it's a debilitating form of a headache. It makes concentrating impossible, looking at anything (especially light) difficult and hearing noises downright painful. I became so sick from these regular occurrences, I vomited on a regular basis. I was usually sent home from school if I didn't already end up staying there in the morning. 

Due to this, mom was always tied up with finding how to make it to work and dealing with my weird plague, while dad was always working. 

Regardless, we had so many things stealing our attention that Midnight was only able to get so much attention for himself. 

It was because of this inattention that ultimately led to his demise. And while I'm still unable to write or describe outright to anyone about the events during the last two weeks of his life without the looming threat of becoming a faucet, I will say he had a deep wound that was almost expertly concealed. And while I petted him all the time, I still didn't notice it until it was far too late. 

For the last two weeks my dad and I held out hope that we could save him and we tried everything we could once I came streaking in the house, devastated at what I found on my big-headed boy (literally. Other dog owners were amazed at how big Midnight's head was). Midnight gave us hope because he continued to act like a puppy despite the scenario.

Then his demeanor dropped. He wouldn't drink, he wouldn't eat. Running became impossible. Dad and I took him to the vet for the last time. 

It was the worse thing to get there in tears and have veterinarians and other employees scorn, scold and openly blame you for the death of your beloved friend. Dad and I already felt guilty as it was. We were absolutely beside ourselves. And we weren't okay for a while. Scorn and hate was not something we needed. 

Each employee we met there showed very openly that they didn't care about the dog, just that they had more work to do because we came with our fading companion. Those are the only people I have known myself to not forgive.

Since I had a cat still, we ended up changing our vet care. I couldn't be happier with the people I go to now. With this new care, it's made me realize that there are vets out there that are only after your money. The one I have now will never give me something I don't need whereas the one Midnight went to were always making us pay for things that didn't even make sense. But we bought in to it because we loved our boy.

So be careful out there when looking for a vet. Don't settle for less or tell yourself that you're being unrealistic and picky (unless you know you're seriously over the top with expectations. I know I can be on certain things). 

Almost four years after his passing and I was beginning to think it was time to seal up the old wound with a new face. I was on petfinder.com practically everyday debating if I still wanted another dog. Older, wiser and much more responsible, I was still worried I didn't have the means of owning another dog. I was also scared of going through what I went through last time. I wanted to create a better lifestyle for the next dog I owned. Especially since he/she was going to be mine, solely. 

At first the problem was getting dad on board with the idea. He doesn't show it and he'll certainly never admit it, but dad tends to be slightly more emotional than me. While he barely interacted with Midnight, the loss hurt him just as badly as it hurt me, if not worse (though I will argue the notion). 

Then the problem became dad only wanting a dog that he wanted, but me being the responsible party. 

After being like a filmy curtain for so long, never directly voicing my own opinion, and allowing my dad to overstep his bounds for a while, I finally put my foot down and decided I would adopt the dog I wanted since I was going to be responsible for paying and taking care of him/her. 

It took a little while for it to quite sink in, but my father got the hint and backed off. 

Then I struggled with the realization of adoptions being much harder than I previously thought. I contacted many fosters and shelters. Many simply never got back to me. Others, the dog had already been adopted or was adopted while I was applying. 

So I changed my tactics. I started looking for less desirable dogs (or at least I thought they might be). Older dogs, medically burdened dogs, special-needs dogs, anything I thought I could handle without breaking a small budget. 

Some I was cautioned towards because my family knew I couldn't handle the expenses. So, reluctantly, I passed. Day after day of looking through petfinder made me discouraged and for a while I stopped. 

Then my friend was hit with the loss of one of her dogs. It was difficult for her, but she knew it had been coming. Holly had been having difficulties with painful symptoms that continued to resurface, then calm down, resurface again, calm down again and so on so forth until having her last episode of illness, when it was time to finally give her some rest.

I still miss good ole Holly Hoggins. We had a weird relationship. And I loved every minute of it.

A few months dealing with that and my friend was soon in the fire of adopting a dog. I had just started my search again and sent in an application to a dog I thought was so pretty and wished to have (but wouldn't let my hopes up) when she text me later that week saying that she had adopted a dog named Bailey. I was so thrilled for her and couldn't wait to meet the pup. 

Yet surprisingly the meeting had to wait. Because I received an e-mail back from the shelter giving me contact information to the dog's foster mother: Emily. 

And from there on you know the story. 

I think it still depends on the type of person, but because of the mistakes I've made with my first dog, I do believe certain people should be given second chances. Otherwise I would have never met Emily, who I absolutely love and can so easily talk to, or Finn, whom can overlook all my faults, love me and help me while I help him as well.

I still miss Midnight greatly. And with a very heavy heart. There are things I may not be able to forgive myself for or be able to openly express about him with others, but I loved him as best as I knew how with anyone at the time.

I wanted him to have a place in Finn's (and my) story because he was such a big part of it that not many people know. 

He'll always be my monstrous-headed, black Labrador with the personality of a pup. 

R.I.P, bud. 

(Departed: June, 25, 2009)

When The Going Gets Tough...

...should the tough get going?

In these difficult times I've had plenty of encouragement on my side, in many different forms. However, after successfully fostering and adopting out the kittens, I needed to take some time to gather myself from all of the emotional stress.

(On some level, I still miss them)

Two kittens. That's been the final fix. I've been in the mind set to give them up, breaking myself in the process to bring new life in to another families home. I was certain I had this all figured out with last times adoption, as I had given away two kittens at once, when the next guaranteed adopter dropped by. 

I knew the family previously and they're an entertaining bunch. 

The little boy, AJ, had seen the kittens around the time I first rescued them, his eyes set on the prize of owning one of the babies I held in my hands. He was beyond determined to take one home then, going as far as trying to convince me that he could take one that day and taking care of them would be a breeze. I held my laughter in check and patiently explained and re-explained why he couldn't take any at that particular moment or anytime soon. Needless to say, he never understood quite why and his sincerity had me in stitches. 

His first choice had been Fat Pageant. Namely because she was the calmest one when he held them. Seeing from past experiences that kittens grow in to little demon balls of white hot fury as they get older, I wasn't holding any candles to Pageant being final say, but then I also thought that both kittens would have been adopted before AJ got his chance (if his mother and father agreed to this kitten business in the first place). 

Lucky for him (and me), he got it.

The morning before the day AJ was set to come pick out his kitten, my brother (yeah remember that kid?) showed up. When he caught wind of what was going on, he quickly asked me if he could keep Pageant. He said it didn't matter what he had to do, he just didn't want her to be adopted out. 

And, sorry Keith, but I wasn't going to throw myself in to full throttle on this "plan" when the first one had gotten me set on taking care of four, two week old kittens with no help except for limited (still helpful don't get me wrong!!!) assistance from my mom (which shouldn't have had to happen anyway). I wasn't all for jumping on to another ship that set sail with no captain just because of his wants. 

But before he even asked that, I was having conflicted thoughts about releasing her to anyone at all...ever. And I had been questioning myself for a while. The answer always came back to "I want a break. I want things to settle and go back to normal. I want Artemis to be his awesome, calm, dorky self again.". The last reason being the hardest to shake. 

Mom saw how devastated I was just thinking about giving the little girl away though and told me it might be best if I did as Keith asked and held on to her, even if we had to wait for him to take her.

So I decided to go with it.

Because of my friend canceling our plans that morning I went ahead and decided it was as good a day as any to have another adoption. Why wait another day when I could rip the band-aid off quicker?

My mother called AJ's mother up (seeing as they're in close contact with each other), inviting them over for the visit.

After seeing both kittens in action I think it was safe to say that Ashley, AJ's mom, was silently thankful that her boy couldn't take Pageant home. Out of the two kittens, she's the craziest. 

No matter who it is adopting them though, I still tend to worry. With them, my concerns mostly fell upon the children. For one, kids tend to take it to heart if they get scratched or bitten when an animal is just trying to play. I've seen children harshly reprimand animals for such acts and that worries me. Plus, there just happen to be some children who are rougher and tougher than others by nature. They don't mean to do any harm, but it's not hard to do so. In turn any action likewise could make the cat go on defensive and strike at the kids, causing a dangerous situation for both pet and child.

Easy to say, I had plenty concern (over-concern, I'll admit) on my mind with kids involved. 

Still, Ashley had eased my mind a bit by the small things she said or asked about. Nubé always has a place to come back to if things don't work out, but I hope and pray that they do work out. Both for my sake and the owners.

Regardless of making the decision to keep Pageant for Keith, it wasn't any less heart-breaking adopting Nubé out because I was effectively depressed for the rest of that evening and cried myself out in a series of short, random outbursts. 

After crying on that one as well, on top of crying for Pageant who hadn't even left yet, I've become fed up with the foreign and undesirable emotions. Before this, I was lucky if I cried once a year, now I seem to be fumbling in the dark, looking for a switch to turn off the broken faucet. Easy to say: I'm tired of sadness. Instead of thinking "at least these kittens are finally going to a good home." I'd started thinking "haven't I done enough raising these babies as if they were my own? Now I have to give them away too?! Why don't you just knock me upside the head with a hammer? I'm sure it's a lot less painful!"

Granted, I'm still happy they're no longer my responsibility, but there's only so much happiness I have left after I've ripped out that lumpy beating organ and donated a piece to each adopter.

Me: Here's your kitten, miss.

Unscripted woman: Aw! Squee! So cute! Thank you! Squee! <3

Me: Oh! I almost forgot something...*puts piece of beating heart in woman's hand with a squish*

Unscripted woman: uhm... I'm sorry, what exactly is this?

Me: A piece of my heart.

Unscripted woman:...

Me: (whisper) You're welcome.

Three kittens. I'm pretty worn out with adoptions. I knew I was never cut-out to be a foster, I never wanted to try it in the first place, now I really never want to do this again. If I or anyone around me finds kittens drowning, you know what I'll do? I will....

...complete that sentence for me will you? What was the first thing that popped in your mind, you filthy animals?

Anyway, I was going to say if I ever find kittens drowning or in dire need of help I will save them and immediately take them to the nearest rehabilitation shelter before their deadly cuteness ray beams can pierce my very soul ("that attack was super effective").

Now that those adoptions are complete, I am left with a crazy child named Fat Pageant (who ironically isn't fat anymore) and various issues revolving around said kitten.

Like the fact that my cat hates every other cat because in his mind any species of his own kind is a threat to his position of (power) love. Finn isn't so much a problem to him anymore because Artemis has developed a superiority complex. And Finn is far beneath his standards of academia. But another cat has the potential of becoming a lethal, wise-cracking, psychologically unsound genius in his covertly operated 5 year old brain. So while he hisses and paws at her much less than he did when all four kittens were in the house, he still does it. 

And with my fried emotional circuits at the time, every attack or hiss was another reason to feel guilty about keeping the kitten. I began thinking each step I took was another step backwards. Demoralizing the issue further, I couldn't stop thinking about the funds and where they would come from to pay for another animal. Sure, I've been able to save a bit of emergency money, but (let's not kid ourselves) it's not a lot. 

And seeing as I haven't really been looking all that hard for a job, the money issue is a problem brought on by my own voluntarily stunted search. I was also advised to wait until after vacation, so in the meantime I will kill myself wanting a job and not getting one (although once I do, who's to say I won't be singing a different tune, eh? Better enjoy this while I can).

Lastly, I've also been concerned if I really have the time for another animal? With Finn requiring a lot of my time and attention it's difficult to divide, well, me, between (basically) three children.

Of course through all of this "isn't this Keith's problem?" Yes. And no. Not really. Because I want Pageant. Very badly. 

After the first night with Nubé gone, my little girl was lost. It really struck home when she went in the crate for the first time that night and Nubé never once joined her. When she came out, she ran to a corner in the living room, crying desperately for him. It took a while to calm her and get her mind on to playing as she would continuously go back to the corner to cry. Eventually she curled up on me, falling asleep almost instantaneously. 

The next day she slept on me again and cried in the kitchen. She also experienced a mild case of separation anxiety because when I went to the bathroom for a few minutes, she cried her head off and tried jumping on the door to push it in.

Because of all that, I wasn't very fond of the idea of giving her away. Even if that person is only Keith. 

After giving myself the time to heal properly, the dust has settled. Would I change my mind now that I'm thinking clearer? Nah. 

Pageant's a royal pain in the rump with how mischievous, devious and energetic she is. Still, she's as precious as ever and while my dad won't openly admit it, he's fallen for her too. Oddly enough, I believe her evil ways was actually the clincher for him.

I'm still concerned money-wise. Especially considering I took her to the vet for her first shots and Artemis for one of his routinely shots, confident I had taken out more than enough money to cover the bill. I ended up twelve bucks and a few cents short. Luckily, my mother had the difference. That didn't make it any less of an eye-opener to get me worried though.

My mother's always offering her services and help too (she's seriously the best), but I never feel good about using her or her money. I'm here to take care of her, not the other way around. I thought once I had gotten a job, things like supporting my parents would be easy. Boy, was I wrong. 

I've only ever had one job though so I can't complain too greatly. Well...I could. For the readers sake: I'll refrain. 

Pushing my insignificant issues aside, I've heard from the adopters about their kittens.

Napoleon and Persephone are apparently flourishing in their new home. I've heard nothing except positives from one of the owners. She even posts pictures of them every so often (which I promptly explode with contained excitement upon seeing). 

Nubé has proven that I've been worried about a whole lot of nothing. I've been told the kids absolutely love him and so does the husband. Ashley said that he's so lazy now, sending me photos of him lying down in one form or another. She's also invited my company in case I ever want to see her, the kids (as we've had coffee at her house with them before) and, of course, Nubé now. I'm tempted to take her up on that offer. Not because I miss him as greatly as I once did (Pageant's made that easier), mostly just because I enjoy Ashley and her kids company (and because I'm a coffee addict and we always have coffee. Coffee is a valuable commodity. Like blood is to the human body. Coffee). 

As for the Finn-boy, lost somewhere in the background of my recent blog updates, he is still undeniably the Finn-boy. Amidst the messy horde of kittens, he has begun warming up more and more to my dad. Somewhere along the line, he stopped vomiting at every emotional turbulence (which for him could have been as small as a fly landing on his nose the wrong way). He listens to my dad (even if he doesn't follow through with any action to commands from him) and when my dad is giving him affection, he stares straight in to his eyes, instead of averting his gaze in constant flickering denial of the looming beast. 

With all these steps forward, it was only a matter of time before we caught wind of a setback. 

During the adoption for Nubé, Finn hid in his crate. He hasn't exactly had much exposure to people since I've been cooped up with kittens and it shows a great deal in his actions. I, not wanting to allow him to think hiding while strangers were present was acceptable (or encouraged), cooed him out of the crate and had to carry him to the living room where the action was at. 

With children present, I decided to hold him in my lap, as children isn't in his field of expertise (not that anyone is). Katie, as crazy as she is, called him a kitty at first (I was mischievously tempted to agree) and seemed weary of petting him. I allowed her to as I was cradling him and she demanded I put him down, but I rarely follow the orders of my parents and I wasn't going to obey a child's demands any time soon (plus, I know her, she's a bossy little tyke, but it's more amusing to me than anything else). 

She continued petting him in spurts, but would go for periods of time ignoring him in favor of watching the kittens. At one of those points when she turned away, he decided to pee. 

There were children present. I suppose he was trying to be classy. Save the children from actually watching him pee in my lap while he worked such a function. They were only able to bare witness to the urine dripping down my leg and the chair. 

It was like sitting in a jacuzzi tub of hot, fresh urine, except the fill line only reached barely passed my thighs and curiously got a portion of my beautimous derriere, skipping my feet entirely. But who's to say jacuzzi tubs aren't full of such fluids anyway? People might discredit me. Those that do, obviously never had a nine year old approach them, giggling "I peed in the hot tub." Those people were probably the victim of such a joke.

If he was scared enough to lose control of bodily fluids, then it's obvious he needs the exposure. I've set him back quite a bit by not being able to leave the house for...three months, give or take a few days. 

Somewhere along the way, I'll find balance within the chaos. For now, I'll battle the ominous tides of dog urine and cat behavior until that day dawns. 

Two Down, Two To Go

********************

Two seems to be the reoccurring number in my life at the moment.

I made two big life choices of quitting my job and getting my drivers license. They both occurred within a couple of days of each other.

Also, as you are aware, for two months I've nursed a litter of kittens from helpless babies to over confident kittens. 

Two of them went home two days ago with two wonderful girls. I'm left with the last two, Nubé and Pageant, as well as two opposite emotions about the other two's, Napoleon and Persephone's, departure.

As I got ready for adopting them out, I thought of when Emily handed Finn over to me. It was quite a long and pretty painful process. She's such a sweet person and it was hurting her to adopt Finn out when she loved him so much. I guess in some way I thought that maybe it would be similar to some extent, but being as I'm the type of person who rarely showcases her true emotions, I didn't think it could be anywhere near the level of when I adopted Finn. But perhaps it was so vastly different that I got emotionally thrown for a loop.

Much like the last time, the two sisters came to my house, excited about greeting their new companions and actually being able to bring them home. Their mother was with them and she was an absolute pleasure to meet. Just as wonderful as her daughters, they all had me smiling and laughing with them. The adopting out was quick. There was no money involved, no paperwork, no receipt or exchange, I simply handed them the kittens and they left. We chatted for a little bit before they left, but it wasn't long and I was sure they were eager to get home to spend time with their long-awaited kittens.

After they got in to the car and left, I felt instantaneously relieved and detached. It's only two kittens off my shoulders and I still have two more, but it felt good to know that Napoleon and Persephone were going to such a fantastic family. And as anyone would surmise, handling two kittens would be much easier than four.  Still, somehow, another part of me felt nothing towards the issue and it was odd.

My brother ended up calling me a few minutes after, asking me how it felt to have two kittens off my hands. And my answer was mixed. I knew it would be, and, as I clearly stated in the last entry, I knew I would be sad to see them go. But a part of me must have been holding out that I wouldn't feel much emotion towards the situation because I only started getting teary-eyed over the phone. I didn't feel an ounce of sadness watching them leave, only once they were gone.

Still, I was refusing to openly cry about it because when I think about it, what is there to cry about? Yes, I've raised these kittens as if I were their mother cat, but they're alive and healthy. Plus, I don't want to keep them. I have two (there's that number again) amazing animals that I love very much and would do anything to hold on to. Logically speaking, I'm happy with just that. Emotionally speaking, it's like my mind is pounding on the logical part of my brain and shouting that I need to keep them all.

I've seen the ugly side of taking care of a kitten when it's too young to be taken from it's mother and I've felt the horrible fear that one might die on my hands. They've gone to the vet two times within my care (not counting anymore visits that I might have to make with the last two), only to be given barely enough information to take care of them. Most of the information to care for these kittens I had to look up online. And that has to be the worst place to look up info because I only found stories about how people had tried their best and the litter still ended up dead. On the second vet stop, when I mentioned what I found, they agreed and said that those people were right. They were genuinely surprised and equally delighted to see me come back to the vet with four seven week old kittens that were in prime health aside for a bacteria issue.

Would I ever do this again? If I can help it: heeeeeell no. It's an emotional roller-coaster that doesn't slow at the end of the ride. Instead of gradually slowing and coming to a complete halt, it flies off the tracks and skids miles across bumpy grounds before your left to spew what feels like your internal organs all over the victim nearest you. Basically, when it ends, it doesn't end.

To prove that theory, I lost my hold on the tears that very next day. By next day, I mean around twelve midnight. So technically the next day, but it still felt like the same day in my mind. With all the things running through my mind, I thought I would try to type the entry while it was all fresh in my mind, but looking at the pictures and running through all that I've done since the last post was only making me feel more and more detached. I didn't intentionally force myself to feel that way, but my emotions have a weird way of coping due to my dysfunctional existence (I'm insane with half a brain, what can you do?). Being so out of it, I had forgotten to put Finn in his crate for bed like I normally do so he was aimlessly wandering the pathway from my room back to where I was sitting. I want to say he did it more than once, yet I can't say for certain because I finally came around by the time he had probably already made his third lap.

Glancing away from the computer screen, I patted him and was readying to pet him more when he walked away, heading back toward my room. Concerned that he was upset because he was exhausted and needed sleep (as he will only just barely sleep outside of the crate), I got up to follow him with the intention of putting him to bed.

When I got in to my room though, I stopped heading towards the crate. I looked at him, sitting patiently on my floor, sat on my bed and invited him up with a pat on the mattress. Of course he took to it instantly, he loves it up there. I'll occasionally catch him sneaking up there when he didn't get permission (essentially when I'm not around). I was going to try to get him in to playing mode (maybe wear him out more before I really put him to bed), but instead I hugged him...and started bawling. Really, it was a pathetic sight that I'm grateful no one else was awake to hear or see. Dribbling like a creek while hugging my dog, I imagine the only thought he could conjure was "What just happened here?".

 

(experimenting with drawings/pictures etc. Cut me some slack for the crudeness)

After a while I calmed down, but it took its sweet old time. And luckily Finn was there to just let me look ridiculous and hug him the entire time. Where was Artemis during this whole commotion? In the laundry basket...sleeping. Haha, got to love my kids.

The outburst came as a surprise to me at the moment, but it had been building up and every time I was asked if I was 'okay', my reluctance to answer only made it worse. As it stands, I like denying my feelings and I'm bound to do it again when the time comes to give away the last two kittens. They will be leaving though. Logically, I know it's best for them and me.

Obviously, I still have a long way ahead of me before I can truly relax. Only two kittens are gone.

As far as the other two accomplishments go, I can say Finn will be happy about one. When I gain enough confidence to actually drive him to places. It was equally terrifying and easy passing the driver's test, being twenty-two, almost twenty-three years old. I drove on my own afterwards, but I can't be honest in saying that I enjoy it or am even comfortable with it. I suppose that comes with more practice and time. As for my job, it's as simple as: I quit.

At the beginning of this year, while having thoughts of quitting, I stumbled across something that said "you have no obligations to your first job, so if you are unhappy, don't feel bad about leaving. Just leave. Never feel bad about pulling away from something that doesn't make you happy." And my work had ceased to make me happy as of two years ago. I'd been holding on this whole time because of the people I worked with (whom were leaving themselves) and because I was waiting for my brother to be ready to leave. But lets face it, once my brother left, I left and, frankly, (in a different manner of speaking) so did the people. The co-workers that I've met through my first job (of five years), have been awesome. I will say, it was fun working with them too. Those few that have kept in touch and encouraged me are still in contact with me and I couldn't be more grateful. The rest were never there to begin with. And that's fine, in fact, I don't mind it at all. On the contrary, I'm the happiest I have been in two years.

Does it make me sad on some level? Maybe. But not because I left. More because I gave a piece of myself to people who really didn't care. What can I say though? You live and you learn.

Small update though: one of the sisters that adopted the kittens answered my text yesterday. I felt a little ridiculous asking so soon how Napoleon and Persephone have acclimated to their new environment (especially given it has only been one day), but she's such a sweetheart and she told me that I wasn't being nosy or overbearing like I imagined I was. She said that they're my babies too and that they are doing exceptionally well.

Both of them have exceeded all expectations that anyone previously had and have shown what great (if not just a bit goofy) kittens that they are. Last I heard, their mom has fallen head over heels for them and is even considering making them mostly indoor cats. 

I can still admit to sadness at their absence (ask me in person and I'll deny it like a sinner in church), but I couldn't be happier with the turn out.

I only hope that Nubé and Pageant will be going to equally amazing homes.