Stacy Horn

I’m thinking I can’t post about Buddy every day, although I want to. I keep coming up with different ways to torture myself, and today it’s about all the signs I must have missed which led to increased suffering and earlier death. I’m going to call my vet to go over everything, but I’m afraid he’ll think this is about what he missed.

But about Bunheads. Are you all watching yet? It’s on the way to becoming a really good show, and, more importantly, it makes me feel good.

The finale was positively enchanting. The quality of enchantment is my favorite in books, movies, tv, paintings, everything, and it is difficult to achieve without veering off into sentimentality or something overly romanticized. You have to be honest to get there, and you have to resist going a little too far in whatever direction you’re going. There were moments of enchantment all through the finale, but the best was probably Boo standing up at the microphone to apologize to Carl. The whole thing was an exercise in enchantment. She starts to go too far, and Fanny tells Michele to rescue her, and Michele jumps up. But Boo doesn’t go too far. She says all the right, honest things, and then she and Carl dance to a wonderful version of The Rainbow Connection (Weezer, I learned).

I made myself leave the apartment last night. I walked down to the river and stared out into the water, and for about five minutes it seemed like I’d made the right decision. I didn’t feel good, but it felt better to feel bad out there in the open, with life all around me, and the smell and the feel of the water, and the darkening sky.

But there were at least five different party boats out in the river playing at least five different loud, thumping, bad music and very quickly it turned into this horrible cacophony and I had to leave. I don’t know how I’m going to spend my weekend.

Some day in the next few weeks, in a more substantial way, I will thank everyone for all your support. Right now, I’m just sitting the couch watching the news, it’s all I can manage.

Today is as bad as yesterday, just a different kind of bad. Now it’s the undramatic ache of life without the creature I loved so much, enjoyed having around so much. He’s gone. Gone. We would have had a million different interactions between waking up this morning and now, and all of that is over.

I just sit here, unhappy, going over what I could have done better, opportunities lost. I’m remembering feeling so happy on Sunday, after taking Buddy to the oncologist. I had hope. I’m remembering the last time I felt over-joyed, when Buddy was eating with gusto.

It feels so much worse than the last time I lost a cat. Do we just get less resilient as we get older, or is it me?

I feel bad when people tell me someday I will just remember the good times. Because when I do that about Beams and Veets, for instance, I just feel sad and miss them. The sadness doesn’t hurt as much, but for me, it’s not like someday I will be okay about this. (Did I already post about this? Am I repeating myself now?)

I tortured myself for hours last night. Buddy had come to me yesterday morning around 5:30 for pets and to curl up. It was out of the blue because he has been hiding out and staying to himself (which helped confirm that it was time). I pet him but I hadn’t slept in days and I fell back asleep. It was my last chance, basically and I felt like I wasn’t there for him. I let him down.

Then, I couldn’t tell if he wanted me around him yesterday morning, he was back to hiding out. So I sat with him for some of the time, and some of the time not. Now I’m feeling like I should have stayed with him, talked to him, etc., etc., etc. That was also my last chance, my last morning with him.

I thought I might feel better posting about this, but now I just feel insane.

PS: I really really appreciate your comments, but I know that sometimes it’s hard to come up with things to say. What is there to say? It sucks. So please don’t feel compelled to comment. I understand.

I was feeding Buddy every 2 – 3 hours this last week. He preferred to hide out in the bedroom, but it was too hard and traumatic getting him out of his hiding spot each time, so I made him this hiding annex in the living room.

I’m in agony. I don’t know how to occupy this apartment, or my life. There’s a horrible Buddy-vacuum and it’s so painful being in it. I’m going to wait a few months, and then make a tribute movie to Buddy. I don’t think it would be a good idea to start working on it right away.

For now, the picture below is of Buddy resting after one of his favorite past times, eating books. Also, here are links to a movie of him beginning to destroy a book, and another, causing general desk destruction.

I sang to him this morning, before the vet came. The cats actually never really seemed to like my singing so I picked a small section from Randall Thompson’s The Peaceable Kingdom, and I sang it very quietly. But the words say exactly what I want to be true. It’s from the bible (but adapted by Thompson).

For ye shall go out with joy, joy, joy,
and be led forth with peace:
the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing,
and all the trees of the fields shall clap their hands.

That’s what I used to tell him (and Finney), that all the world and the universe celebrate and rejoice in their existence. Goodbye my little Buddy. I will love you forever.

He was always there. This is why losing pets is in some ways worse than losing people. They are much more present, weirdly. (Please note I am saying “in some ways.” Losing people is harder in other ways, of course.) Also, you feel so responsible for them. Oh God. Oh God. Another scar on my heart. I don’t believe life will ever be as good without him in it. (Yes, I know how that sounds. I know I will be happy again, but there will always be a hole, where he once was.)

I took this on November 17, 2011. I’m so grateful iPhoto keeps track of dates.

Unfortunately, I’m not seeing any improvement from the new chemo. He’s gaining a little weight, but that’s because I’m feeding him every 2 or 3 hours. The oncologist said it might take three days to see a difference, and that’s tomorrow.

I’m hoping against hope to see a change when I wake up tomorrow, but, well, his prognosis was never good. Honestly, I don’t know how I’m going to get through this. Ugh. I forced myself to go swimming, I haven’t left the house in days except to take Buddy to the vet. I had to stop after 25 minutes though. Obviously I was taking no pleasure in it. I feel better though, in spite of all the heart ache. Exercise really does make a difference.

This was my view on 11th Street thirty years ago, except I was looking across from the third floor and this is shot at street level. The family on the third floor had a rope swing in the middle of the living room and I remember seeing a little girl happily swinging back and forth. She also took ballet lessons and sometimes danced around in the same spot. Wow, so that little kid is in her thirties now. I wonder if she grew up to be a dancer.