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The empty corner
Nov. 24th, 2012 06:12 pmWhen I first got Oliver, I didn't want him.
I was in the middle of a divorce, and I already took two big black cats with me from the large double-wide trailer I left to my soon-to-be-ex-husband when we separated. We had split custody of the kids. He earned about two and a half what I did, so he kept the house and I took the car, the smaller expense. At first I stayed in a tiny single-wide in the same town, before moving to another town closer to work. I had just moved into a two-bedroom duplex, when he informed me he intended to leave as well. He could only take one dog with him, and he wanted to take Hope, his large dog.
He allowed the kids-two boys, both in middle school-to adopt the mongrel puppy in addition to the large dog he already had after I moved out. So he gave me a choice. I could take Oliver in, or he would take the half-grown puppy to the pound. I took him in so the kids wouldn't lose their dog.
Yes, the ex was a manipulative asshole. I never realized just how much of an asshole until he moved out of state and I no longer saw him frequently. He's on his third wife and has not changed at all. I don't even talk to him if I can avoid it.
Anyway, I took in Oliver against my better judgement. I don't like dogs much, not even small ones, but I looked after him, doing the feeding and all, and we developed a tenuous bond over time. Dogs need more attention than cats, and I always resented that extra care.
Time passed, and Oliver grew old.
He tended to lie on his dog bed and tilt his head to every sound between naps. He still went outside to pee, but would wind up at the front door instead of the back most of the time. He came to the door to greet me, stole the cat's food whenever he could (my oldest cat, 22, gets canned food instead of dry), and when he had warning and no door access, peed in the cat's litterbox.
He developed cataracts, and a skin condition where he constantly chewed on himself. We spent money on the vet-several hundred dollars-only to have it start up again less than a month later. I gave it another few months, went back, and requested that he stay on steroids. It was the only thing that stopped the itching. His weight skyrocketed, and he started having problems with incontience, but he wasn't constantly chewing on himself. We put a retired shower curtain under his dog bed, washed it when we needed to, and decided he was better off comfortable than thin or contient. I still don't regret that decision.
He seemed better, but the day before Thanksgiving, my elder son told me, "He's walking funny, Mom." As Oliver was due to go to the vet for kennelling and had an appointment for Saturday-a steroid checkup, basically- I went on with my holiday plans.
On Black Friday, after an early (three o'clock in the morning early) day of shopping, my niece, sister in law, and I sat at a nice restaurant to eat and I get a call from the vet. Oliver had died.
I am not going to miss cleaning up after him. I am not going to miss having to feed the old fart of a cat twice because I forgot to shet the door and keep Oliver out. I am not going to miss the vet's visits.
But that corner of the rooms seems very empty, and no one greeted me at the door today.
I was in the middle of a divorce, and I already took two big black cats with me from the large double-wide trailer I left to my soon-to-be-ex-husband when we separated. We had split custody of the kids. He earned about two and a half what I did, so he kept the house and I took the car, the smaller expense. At first I stayed in a tiny single-wide in the same town, before moving to another town closer to work. I had just moved into a two-bedroom duplex, when he informed me he intended to leave as well. He could only take one dog with him, and he wanted to take Hope, his large dog.
He allowed the kids-two boys, both in middle school-to adopt the mongrel puppy in addition to the large dog he already had after I moved out. So he gave me a choice. I could take Oliver in, or he would take the half-grown puppy to the pound. I took him in so the kids wouldn't lose their dog.
Yes, the ex was a manipulative asshole. I never realized just how much of an asshole until he moved out of state and I no longer saw him frequently. He's on his third wife and has not changed at all. I don't even talk to him if I can avoid it.
Anyway, I took in Oliver against my better judgement. I don't like dogs much, not even small ones, but I looked after him, doing the feeding and all, and we developed a tenuous bond over time. Dogs need more attention than cats, and I always resented that extra care.
Time passed, and Oliver grew old.
He tended to lie on his dog bed and tilt his head to every sound between naps. He still went outside to pee, but would wind up at the front door instead of the back most of the time. He came to the door to greet me, stole the cat's food whenever he could (my oldest cat, 22, gets canned food instead of dry), and when he had warning and no door access, peed in the cat's litterbox.
He developed cataracts, and a skin condition where he constantly chewed on himself. We spent money on the vet-several hundred dollars-only to have it start up again less than a month later. I gave it another few months, went back, and requested that he stay on steroids. It was the only thing that stopped the itching. His weight skyrocketed, and he started having problems with incontience, but he wasn't constantly chewing on himself. We put a retired shower curtain under his dog bed, washed it when we needed to, and decided he was better off comfortable than thin or contient. I still don't regret that decision.
He seemed better, but the day before Thanksgiving, my elder son told me, "He's walking funny, Mom." As Oliver was due to go to the vet for kennelling and had an appointment for Saturday-a steroid checkup, basically- I went on with my holiday plans.
On Black Friday, after an early (three o'clock in the morning early) day of shopping, my niece, sister in law, and I sat at a nice restaurant to eat and I get a call from the vet. Oliver had died.
I am not going to miss cleaning up after him. I am not going to miss having to feed the old fart of a cat twice because I forgot to shet the door and keep Oliver out. I am not going to miss the vet's visits.
But that corner of the rooms seems very empty, and no one greeted me at the door today.
