Connected by Crazy

I made a best friend the other day. Granted, the relationship only lasted about 30 seconds. Maybe it was a minute, I'm not sure. Nevertheless, for those few seconds we were the only two people in the world. The next thing I knew, she was gone.

Never underestimate the power of a chance encounter with a stranger.

(Source: Google Images) 

The day hadn't started off great. Well, actually the day started off just fine but shortly after waking it took a bit of a turn. As I was enjoying some early morning coffee and alone time, my peace was disrupted by a phone call from my beloved cat's veterinarian. The doctor apologized for calling so early but said that my Princess's blood chemistry revealed some fairly dire health concerns. My girl is quite sick and while we can't cure her, the vet felt the most compassionate thing we can do is make her comfortable so she feels better until the inevitable happens. That call and the subsequent trip to the veterinarian's office, with the unhappy cat in tow, changed the tone for my day. Although I'm not one for feeling sorry for myself, the truth is, I was decidedly sadder.

I couldn't just sit around and feel sad, though. There were things to do and life to be lived. I love my cat very much but she is, after all, a cat and not a human. I will do what I can to make her remaining days comfortable and when she dies I will grieve, but I've been through enough feline deaths and human deaths to know they aren't exactly the same. Life will go on and, in fact, on that particular day a lot of life needed to happen.

Anna was home for Thanksgiving break and she, Steve, and I set out to do a few errands. I needed to go to Costco. Of all things. Two days before Thanksgiving. Who in their right mind goes to Costco two days before Thanksgiving?  Apparently all of Denver.

And us.

The crowds were thick. Oodles of people were steering gigantic carts in front of others, cutting them off without warning, to grab a bite-sized sample of canned cinnamon rolls. People in motorized shopping carts weaved wildly through throngs of shoppers, as though they were being pursued in a high-speed police chase. Small children dawdled in the middle of the isle, dancing and singing to themselves while harried shoppers tried to navigate past them.

A typical day at Costco.

I wasn't overly bothered by all the mayhem. It comes with the territory. If you're gonna go to Costco two days before Thanksgiving, don't expect to shop alone. The problem wasn't the mass of humanity buying groceries, office supplies, and twerking Santa's. No, the problem was my very own darling husband who, for whatever reason, chose this time, this location, and this day to temporarily go insane.

I'm not entirely sure what was the actual problem. We were at the store to purchase food for an event he was attending. Right there, in the middle of Costco chaos, Steve's ability to make any decisions vanished. Along with losing decision making capabilities, he lost all capacity for hearing and considering my suggestions. Frustration, anger, and agitation all entered the scene as we stood, in the way of frantic shoppers, having a circular conversation about what to buy. Or not. Reasoning skills made a hasty, stage right exit. It went on and on and on. At one point Steve stepped away and Anna quietly said to me, "Is this weird, or is it just me?" My response...."So weird!"

I had no idea what was happening to Steve, but look, we all get nutty at times. I get it. He just happened to have chosen a very bad day and a very busy place. At some point in the ever deteriorating scene, he decided to purchase a pre-made Ceaser salad. Whew. We started making our way from the back of the store to the cash registers, navigating the human landmines grabbing samples like they had been deprived of food for days. When we finally got close enough to survey the lines and choose a lane to stand in, a man whom I'd never seen before in my life, sidled up next to me and said hello. I said hello back. He proceeded to stand there smiling at me like I should know whatever secret he held. I awkwardly smiled back.

OMG. Now what was happening??

Finally he said, "I see you have a salad there." Glancing into the cart I said, "Yes, I do." He proceeded to say, "I just heard on the news that there is an e coli outbreak and they are recalling ALL Romaine lettuce."  Seriously? We just spent 45 minutes in chaos deciding what to buy and now, just as we are about to pay for it you tell me it is contaminated?  I thanked the man for telling me, as Anna quickly looked up the information on Google and confirmed that he was right, the announcement had just been issued. Literally. While we were debating what to purchase, the CDC had put out a statement saying all Romaine lettuce was unsafe to eat. There hadn't even been time to pull Romaine from the store shelves yet. A defeated Steve muttered, "Well, I can't buy that now," and pulled the salad out of the cart to return it to the refrigerated shelves in the back of the store. Back to square one.

As we stood in the mass of humanity with endless lines to the cash register, I said aloud, "This is crazy." A woman about my age, maybe a little older, standing next to me, surveyed the crowd and offered, "Oh yes, isn't it?" I turned to her and gesturing to all the people said, "Oh, I didn't mean all this. This I can handle. I'm talking about my husband." A couple of seconds of silence hung in the air and then her eyes widened, she threw back her head and started laughing. Loudly. Her response sparked my own laughter and she grabbed my hands. There we stood, in a sea of harried Costco shoppers, two strangers, holding hands and laughing with abandon. Knowingly. Our souls connected.

We've all been there.

When our laughter finally slowed, she released my hands and off she went, immediately melting into the hundreds of people. Right then, right there. A stranger had changed the tone of my day.

My cat was still sick and my husband was still a temporary nut case, but in those few moments of laughter with a stranger, I knew it was all going to be okay. I'd deal with the cat issues as they came and my husband would eventually return to the sane, charming man he usually is. Spontaneous, unabashed laughter with a total stranger had been the release valve I needed.

Here's the thing. We forget how connected we are as humans. I didn't have to explain to my momentary buddy what had transpired with Steve. She just knew. Maybe not the details, but she knew. She had been there. That man who told me not to buy the salad cared enough to keep me from buying something potentially harmful. And that person who darted in front of me to get a tiny slice of ham, we had something in common too. Maybe not ham lust but...something. There is some experience or feeling we've both had that is a point of connection.

All it takes is a moment, a comment, or a small action to realize we are all in this together. Despite how it seems, there is more of love in this life than hate.

It is easy to get distracted by all the noise and fear and 'other-ing' bombarding us on the daily. Sometimes it just takes a burst of laughter with a stranger to remember.

We are all connected.

And our connection is love.

He Didn't Stop and He Went Blind

Turns out the notion if you don't stop you'll go blind is true.

Well...maybe.

My evidence regarding this claim is sketchy at best. Plus it's only based on one example, so reliability might be lacking. But still, the hypothesis is compelling and since I base this claim on the life of a cat, I'm thinking this probably adds to my credibility. 

A few weeks ago we added another name to our family's dead cat roster. To be clear, we don't acquire cats in order to add them to the list, it just sort of comes with the whole cat ownership thing. Willie was our latest fatality. When we took him in we named him William Alexander Jenkins the Third. I have no idea if there ever was a William Alexander Jenkins the First. Or Second. It just seemed a rather regal name for a cat. But old William had a...behavior quirk...we hadn't encountered in a cat before. In fact, I didn't even know a cat could do that. It sort of took away from the regality if you ask me. As it was, the shortened version of his name was rather apt.

Giving Willie a home wasn't my idea. As all of our cats have been, Willie was a shelter cat in need of a loving place to belong. He was old and sickly and had very little to offer as a pet. Anna had been taken in by his only real selling point; engaging, emerald green eyes set against a deep gray furry backdrop. She claimed he needed a home. I claimed he needed a different home than ours. She felt a deep conviction that we were his only hope. I maintained three cats were plenty. Steve remained quiet on the subject for a while. Eventually, though, Old Softy got involved in the conversation by stating that we already had three cats anyway, what was one more? It was two against one. I lost.

Several things became apparent as soon as Willie came home with us. One, Willie was old. Two, Willie was sick. Three, Willie only ate human food. Four, Willie hated other cats. Five, Willie had an awkward addiction.

It took a bit for us to catch on to what Willie was doing. Or maybe nobody wanted to admit they thought Willie was doing what it seemed Willie was doing. We'd never had a cat who did this before. At first there were uncomfortable moments when one of us would recognize what was happening and glance around the room to see if anyone else noticed. It was actually a little embarrassing. Eventually, though, we collectively concluded that yes, Willie was doing what we thought Willie was doing. We just had no idea what to do about what Willie was doing.

We tried distracting him mid-socially unacceptable behavior, but this only served to make him agitated and surly. Everyone in the family agreed they could understand Willie's response. But still, letting it just happen seemed weird. We couldn't figure out how to communicate to Willie that he should really only do that in private. Cats aren't the best about following social conventions. This had the potential to make things quite awkward when we had guests.

We discovered a few patterns that helped discourage Willie's activities a little. Nice soft blankets seemed to enhance the experience so we removed comfy throws from public living areas. Reducing Willie's stress seemed to help a bit as well. As for guests, we decided to be open about Willie when company was around, "Oops, Willie forgets his manners, let me just take him into another room." It was unusual to be sure, but what else could we do with our cat's unconventional proclivities?

Over time Willie seemed to moderate his own behavior a little. Either that or he just got too old and sick to do it as often. Either way he cut back to only several times per day. We started noticing a pretty rapid decline in his health in early spring and one day we saw him walk right into a table leg. His failing eyesight had been obvious for some time, but now it seemed Willie couldn't see a thing. He hadn't stopped and sure enough...he'd gone blind.

As time went on Willie lost weight and agility and except for a few sessions of personal satisfaction every day, his quality of life seemed to be slipping away. On Willie's last day we held him, told him we loved him, and then put him on a soft blanket and let him have some time alone. We figured it was the second most compassionate thing we could do that day. It was his obsession up until the very end.

I've never had a cat like Willie before. I'd be okay if I never do again. We gave him a good and loving home and more than once we looked away and just pretended not to notice. If Cat Heaven is the compassionate and understanding place I think it is William Alexander Jenkins the Third is there now with a nice soft blanket, a room of his own, and emerald green eyes that will never again fail.