Last week was not a particularly good one for me, between my asthma acting up all week (and running out of medicine about halfway through) and commemorating the birthday of my furbaby Ed the Cow Kitty, who crossed the Bridge in July 2015, a little over a month after his eighth birthday. I have no idea what day he was actually born, but we found him and brought him home on August 20, 2007 and he was about eight weeks old at the time, so I set June 20th as his birthday.
I have not stopped thinking about him once in the last couple years, and frequently post pictures of him on Facebook, along with funny stories of his antics, such as the night I caught him licking my bedroom wall for NFR—there were no bugs on it, and the only window in the room is on the north-facing wall (he was licking the west-facing wall) but nowhere near the spot he was licking, so no condensation for him to be interested in—and took a picture of him before he stopped; it’s still one of my favorites of him.
I spent his birthday trying to find ways to mention him once again on Facebook (I don’t remember whether I did or not), alternated with trying not to think about him too much so I wouldn’t be sad and worry my current furbabies, six of which are his nieces (aka the Furry Jelly Beans mention in previous posts). They have a tendency to somother me with kisses anyway, climbing all over me and laying on me every chance they get, so they don’t need much encouragement to gang up on me and shower me with attention.
On a positive note, Danny turned 49 on the 18th, and after 30 years of health issues (being on renal dialysis more than off it) that’s quite an accomplishment, especially since he’s expressed the firm belief since his mid-20s that he’d never see 50. Just one more birthday to go, and we’ll finally be able to put that pessimistic idea to rest once and for all.