I am sitting up late trying to make a sick little day old kitten live. Hot water bottles, goat’s milk and sugar on the lips. I do the routine every thirty minutes hoping it will give it a boost and it will be peeing on my shoes in 4 months. Poor little lump is only barely alive. I don’t think it is going to make it. Something is not good on the inside.
I find myself angry at the situation, because, DUH!, my Dad died a couple of months ago. I could not or did not give him hot water bottles, goat’s milk and sugar on the lips. I am pretty sure that if I was able to do as such and he lived (a miraculous recovery on such a low tech intervention after all that he went through), he wouldn’t have peed on my shoes in 4 months. But it would have been OK if he did.
As I get deeper into this "dad" thing with my own son, I appreciate Don Janes much more. Pops, I hope that this little kitten ascends up and sits on your lap. Once there, you can proclaim that you don’t like cats and end up petting it forever or until you have to get up out of your chair to chase Jackie Smith around when he comes up. Landry might not let him in.
1 comment:
Hey Mark, I admire the way you are doing your grief work about the loss of your dad. Your love for your parents is a real gift to the world and it informs what a great dad you are. I love you more every darn day. xoxo cb
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