After sleepless hours and constantly reassuring myself it will all be fine and the cats will accept it and my husband will see how happy I am and everyone will be happy… I realize that this is a lot of crap.

It wasn’t until we were talking with our couple’s therapist tonight that it came out that my husband really, really, really does not want a dog in the house. He can tolerate dogs, and even take some comfort in their company (when they are quiet and just lying beside you on the couch), but does not want one in his home. This means that, regardless of how happy I am, I believe that all he’ll see is how inconvenienced we are as a result of a dog being in our home and inconvenienced = unhappy husband. We came up with a lot of ways that I can get what I need from my husband when he’s home. Probably during my personal counseling session my doctor will try to help me come up with ways I can get what I need for myself as well.

However, I already loved the dog that was coming into my home, and feel much the same way I did when I got my period after a questionably-positive pregnancy test back when I was well and we were trying to have a baby 5 years ago. (It’s worse than having to go on disability leave and abandon my students because, honestly, a lot of those kids were being total jerks to me, personally.)  That space I made in my heart and nested and planned for is just going to go vacant. I will not have someone to drag out of their shell through patience, love, and understanding. I will not have a buddy to spend my days with. I will not have someone else for whom I have to take a walk and stay well (for my husband and my self and the rest of my family, I weigh pros and cons of any activity and accept the consequences in order to do things with him I may not feel up to).

I figure it’s for the best, because if a foster is easily frightened (like most) and my husband reacts to barking or accidents the way he reacts to our kitty Stewie shouting at night… well, it could do more harm than good. Maybe, one day when we have kids (or when we have empty nest syndrome) and a yard, the kids and I will be able to convince my husband to let me get a dog.

When it comes down to it, I want my husband to be happy and comfortable at home above all else. I guess it’s been long enough since he’s been comfortable, that he’s not really willing to accept this discomfort (which, to him, appears to be significant) for my potential happiness, if there’s any way that happiness could be achieved through other means, however elaborately multi-pronged and potentially exhausting they may be, as well as putting greater burdens upon him.

I already emailed the local person and said I cannot foster. I even stretched the truth:

I’m really very sorry, but after bringing our cats to the vet for their checkup and getting some disheartening news about each of them, and then going to see my doctor to find out my recent fibromyalgia flare-up was most likely due to a tear in my left shoulder blade/back muscle, I’m going to have to cancel my application to foster. Apparently I and my family are just not up to it.

Since there’s no going back, in honor of the dog I already loved and never met, here are a few LOLdoxies from ihasahotdog.com:

I’m starting to stress out over bringing a foster dog into my home, especially after reading “Dachshunds for Dummies”.

Today, the vet said it’s very possible the cats might get very stressed out. Although Leela handled it well, I don’t know if Stewie will. But I hope so.

My baby brother thinks it’s a mistake and will drain me.

What if it’s a destructive, stubborn dog that’s hard to housebreak and barks constantly?
What if it’s a sweetheart and just needs love and understanding and patience?
What if it’s both?

What if I don’t foster a dog? I’m pretty sure I’ll go insane over this summer, being alone all day with only having my husband for company most evenings and some days on the weekend. Even the cats are upstairs asleep all day and get very irritated if I try to engage them.

But I adore my kitties (they’re my babies!) and I would never, ever wish them a moment of harm unless there were a greater good that came of it… like an uncomfortable shot, or the potential for them and a doggie having a big cuddle all together.

I also need to continue to get better, and if fostering a dog drains me too much, I won’t be ready to work  2-4 hrs every day in the fall.

Decisions! They suck.

The way in which people love one another is as interesting and diverse as how they show their love.

Some people love in an abstract sort of way. I’m related to you, so I love you. But when it comes between their own comfort or routine and the more distant needs of that relative, the urgency would have to be great to impel them to do something outside that comfort zone.

Some people love so thoroughly it’s almost smothering, but very comforting. They want to be there for you so much that they practically want to crawl inside your skin and be there with you through the big and little ups and downs of every single day.

Some people love with their whole hearts and it doesn’t matter how long it’s been since you’ve seen or spoken to one another. There’s just always that instant connection of love and togetherness, a bond that just strengthens as you grow. If you need them they will drop everything, and vice versa.

Some people love insecurely, constantly afraid something could happen that would shatter the relationship.

Some people love with small gestures and just sharing their lives each day, being there for the ups and downs and the boring sameness that is most days.

They say animals can give unconditional love. Every day at 4:30 is a special time when the usually-self-contained Leela (who is more attached to Peter than myself) demands loving attention from me. When I sleep in, I also often find Leela curled up next to or on me. Stewie (who attached himself to me as a kitten) has a very needy, but companionable, love. When he gets cuddly, he will look up at me like I’m his world. When he isn’t feeling cuddly, but senses my need for it, he will curl up on the couch just barely within reach or stretch out on the ottoman. When I’m up late, he comes down with me, occasionally yelling at me to get to bed, and then eventually follows me back upstairs.

It’s amazing how many more ways people love that I didn’t even mention. But then, everyone and every interpersonal relationship is different.

My furbabies, Stewie and Leela, are now officially 8 years old.

In May of 2002, we found a lady with 3 siamese litters born within a 2-4 day period (13 kittens total)  in Schenectady, NY, and so we drove from college to select our little ones.  When we arrived, only 4 kittens were left: 2 boys, 2 girls. Leela, a tiny, opinionated, strong-willed, vivacious little blue-point selected us and then we asked her to select the brother she wished to bring with her. Of the two boys left, both were seal-point and both were nursing from Leela’s mother (the only blue-point mom, and the only voluptuous one, which is definitely Leela’s body type). Leela’s pounced on Stewie’s tail and we chose him.  Since we were graduating within a couple of weeks and they were barely 6 weeks old, we paid up-front, and the kittens as a writhing mass taking over the bathroom were basically gone, the nice woman held onto them for us, using a terry hair-tie as a collar for each. The day before graduation, we picked them up in one carrier and their little mews in the car for the entire hour drive were adorable.

Eight years and four moves later, their mews have turned into yowls, which is far less adorable on a 6-hour car ride, and Leela has gone from being the larger, voluptuous one to the larger, slimmer lady while Stewie has just gotten more peculiar and, although he was slim for years, still really likes his food and now has gotten chubby (although the licked-bare belly does accentuate it). Although they no longer fly several feet in the air to bat at a dangling object, they still have some very kittenish moments and are extremely loving and cuddly.

Cat products state that cats are in their “senior” years at age 7, which is a very scary thought considering the amount of time I spend worrying about, loving, arguing with, or talking to my fluffies. However, considering they are strictly-indoor cats and in fine health (especially if Stewie can slim down a bit and stop the belly-licking), I imagine they’ll be a part of our family for another 5-10 years.

Stewie & Leela together, age 4

Leela, age 4, getting into trouble

Proud Stewie, age 4

Stewie & Leela, age 8

All of my natural grandparents have passed away. Both my paternal grandmother, whom hereafter I shall refer to as Grandma, and my maternal grandmother, whom hereafter I shall refer to as Babi (the Czech translation), lived long enough to have a significant impact on my life, my values, and my views of how upbringing can shape a child’s growth and future choices.  I love both of these grandmothers a great deal. Because of the memory loss from my ECT, the loss of Grandma at the age of 96 in late Spring of 2008 is practically as fresh as the loss of Babi this past December.

Just as an aside, I am extremely lucky to have been so warmly adopted by my husband’s very active, talented, and loving maternal grandmother and her husband nearly 8 years ago (when Peter and I adopted two kittens together) as well as welcomed into the very large extended family of my husband, although I feel myself keeping my distance from the matriarch, who was beginning to show the first stages of Alzheimer’s when I first met her, and I just had too much experience slowly losing Babi to the same disease. I do feel very close to the family I married into, for which I am extremely lucky and grateful.

But the focus of this is on the two grandmothers who have so recently passed. The loss of these two strong women hits me at odd times. The oddest is when I joke about whom my cats inherited various traits from. When I thought about it, it became very clear that many of their most ingrained traits correlated to those of my grandmothers… so much so, that I decided to dedicate a post to it.

Leela and Grandma

Leela and Grandma are very alike. They take pride in their appearance and the image they show to the world. They also both have positioned themselves as Queen of their respective people. Be it a circle of friends or a family, they are the sun around which the others orbit. Both Grandma and Leela are extremely talkative, with large vocabularies, and have the astounding ability to complain or kibbutz while showing happiness or appreciation. They are both loving, but it is often a slightly more distant love. In Grandma because she lived so far away and was infirm for such a large part of my life and I was born so much later than her other grandchildren, and in Leela because I am, after all, just a servant.

Stewie and Babi

Both Stewie and Babi have issues with anxiety. Babi was always very concerned about social mis-steps and being destroyed socially by any minor mistake. This came out in many, many ways and touched me by my forming a long, long list of rules(which is constantly being updated and amended) for appropriate behavior (actions, reactions, and inaction) in various social situations. Stewie has anxiety over everything, often acting like a spy in enemy territory (I like to call it “playing Secret Agent Man”). When he’s in anxiety mode, he will jump at a moved shadow, will use a mirrored door to see around corners, has a special way of walking up and down our stairs so he doesn’t make it creak (which made me worry about his joints for a short while), will not allow himself to be touched, and will sit only in specific places. (Other times, he will lie in front of a window on his back with his belly exposed, purring as I walk by. He’s an enigma.) In addition, due to both stress and, possibly, allergies, Stewie has licked his belly and inner thighs completely bare. (Which I will come back to in the third major similarity.) In addition, both Stewie and Babi give of their whole selves when they do express their love which is occasionally overwhelming, but always deeply appreciated and reciprocated. Lastly, both speak with an accent.

Stewie’s Thighs and Both Grandmothers

Like most cats, Stewie often presents his butt to me at eye-level for no apparent reason. Also like most cats, he has extra skin at his thighs which allows for greater range of motion. Unlike most cats, however, this extra skin is not furry. Instead, looking at his behind, I see pale, pinkish wrinkly flesh starting at the knees and meeting at the middle (although he left that part untouched). It seems slightly inappropriate and reminds me way too much of all the times I saw my grandmothers naked and could not look away from what might one day happen to my body. (For this reason, I am looking into ways to clothe that part of his body. Chaps? A doggie shirt on backward, with cut-outs so he can use the litterbox? I will find a way!)

I hope this was at least mildly entertaining.