Days Between Rain

Dockweiler

Last Thursday, the 26th, I noticed that Buddy the Cat was was limping, favoring his left hind leg. Friday, the 27th,  I had my bestest ol' pal in the world at the vet.  County Line opens at 7:30. I was on the phone with them at 7:29, and in the office two hours later.

It scares me how much I love that silly beast.

When we lose a loved one, the grief and shock hit so hard that it leaves us numb. It's like a protective shield that rises in the face of devastating truth. Sometimes the first phase of it is a strange giddiness, almost euphoria, like a hit of speed to keep you from crashing out. The true pain leaks out slowly over many, many days.

There is no such shield with the loss of a pet. The pain is immediate, intense, and overwhelming. I've been reduced to a sobbing child more than once  by it. But the doc said Buddy the Cat will be OK. He's eleven years old. It looks like he didn't quite make a jump up, and fell on his butt; sore, but not injured. 

 Friday evening I got the news that Gerard VanderLeun had passed away. I knew it was imminent; nonetheless, it's a blow that still has me numb.

 Our lives are defined by love. The depth of love I feel for my wife, my friends, and family, and my pets is terrifying. There are times when I think I'd rather lose my own life than go through the pain of losing any one of them. The loss of our dear friend Gerard, has hammered this home like a nail through the flesh.

I had promised Troy,  president of our bicycle gang, that we could carpool out to Redondo Beach for a club ride 9:30 Saturday morning. Otherwise, I'd have stayed home. The South Bay beaches are a long, and often miserable drive from here. Troy got over to the house around 8:00 am. We loaded up the bikes, drove over to Molcasalsa for breakfast burritos ($2.39!) and hit the  freeway. National Weather Service had Redondo at 61 degrees for the day, with  clouds and wind. Penny, and Dave were  waiting for us on a side street off Coast Highway. We bundled up, and prepared to give ourselves Hard Core Prizes for a cold, windy ride.

Our coats were off within the hour. Friday had been cold and shitty.  Saturday was a jewel. Temps were somewhere in the mid seventies, the air as clear as January. Most people were out in shorts. Everyone was grabbing a chance to get out before the next storm rolled in, Sunday. We rode from Redondo north through Hermosa, Manhattan, and then the bleak Dockweiler, right under the take-off zone from LAX. 

Dockweiler

HT Penny for the pics.

We stopped at opulent Marina Del Rey. Time was, we'd have have continued up into Venice beach, and Santa Monica. Venice used to be crazy fun, but that was then. Time was. Now it's just dirty, depressing, and dangerous. We cleared just under thirty miles for the day. Not bad for old farts on fat tire bikes.

Sunday morning was cold and rainy. The cat was not OK.

When I turned on the coffee, Sunday morning, Buddy was in the living room, huddled under the coffee table. Didn't meow. Didn't want no fish. He doesn't usually sit on my lap in the morning.  I picked him up and sat in the big chair. He didn't object, just flopped, listless in my lap. I held the old cat close, and felt the pit drop out of my gut. Gerard is gone. American Digest is over, and the internet is a desert. And now, the cat? I just sat there in the dark, and wept. I had to wait for Mary to get up before I got my first cup. 

Let's end this rather pointless post on a positive note. This morning as I got out of bed, Ol' Buddy was clawing away at the rug in the hallway. He chased me into the kitchen, meow, meow, meow until he got his fish. Looks like he's going to be OK. We have cold, and rain again today, but by the end of the week I should be able to get back to the stone. Life goes on, right?

JWM