Thinking out loud: Pete

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Pete

I have this orange tabby cat named Pete. Pete just showed up at the Thursday night bluegrass jam last October, about the same time I did. He was just a little ball of fur then. In January, the jam's host, Bill, asked me if I would adopt Pete. Bill already had three cats, and Pete was turning into somewhat of a trouble-maker. I agreed to adopt him but only after he had been neutered. I have two other cats and didn't want to bring Mr. Trouble home to them without some sort of attempt to simmer him down a bit. Before he could be fixed, though, he got hit by a truck. One of Bill's neighbors witnessed the accident and said that Pete got kind of "rolled". He was paralyzed from just behind his front legs down. He was dragging his whole lower body if he moved at all. It was horrible! I put him in a box and brought him home.

He was so pitiful in that first couple of days. He just laid on a blanket in my bathroom and would cry so mournfully. He didn't eat much, and he didn't drink much, and he didn't pee or poop, either. He started doing this funky thing with his head, kind of shaking it back and forth. I was afraid he had a brain injury, too, and was going to go into kidney failure or cerebral edema (or both) and die a slow, painful death. It was a terrible thing to witness. So I decided he probably should be taken to the vet and put to sleep. It killed me. I didn't want to do that to the poor little guy, but I didn't want him to agonize for days either and then die anyway. Bill took him to the vet for me. I couldn't do it.

The vet said it sure did look like he had a broken back and she would need to put him to sleep, but she would xray just to be sure and let Bill know. Several days went by and still no word. We called to see if they'd put him to sleep, assuming that they probably had. "Oh, no!", they said, "Mr. Rogers is back in the back in a crate and is doing fine. He's eating and drinking and peeing. Dr. Paula is going to rehabilitate him and find him a new home." (Mr. Rogers is the name they'd given him - yuck - Pete would be so insulted if he knew! There's nothing at all Mr. Rogers-ish about Pete!!). I didn't want Pete to go to a new home!! They thought I didn't want him. I just didn't want him to suffer a slow and painful death.

So I went and got him and brought him home for a second time. Dr. Paula said that in six months, his recovery would be as good as it gets. But she doesn't know Pete!! It's been nine months now and he continues to make progress every week. He started out dragging everything behind him. I live in a big old farmhouse with hardwood floors so he learned to scoot and slide and actually slides like lightening when he's after something. It's hilarious to see! And he is so fast! He wasn't able to go up or down the stairs, and he wasn't able to even scratch his own ears (poor guy!). I'd see him sitting there, leaning his head to one side or the other and absolutely willing, without success, those back legs to do their job!! I'd pick him up and scratch away for him. I think doing that favor for him (many, many times) bonded us for life!

Now, even though he looks kind of funny, he's getting around really well. He's a testament to determination, that cat is. He can now get up and down the stairs (he started out doing a full body press on each step, now he kind of twist and lifts). He can get on and off the soft furniture in the house (if he can dig his claws into it, he can get up on it! but you got to watch him because he'll sneak up on you and do it to you, digging his claws into your leg so that he can get in your lap). His front claws go into the mattress (couch, chair, whatever), he kind of swings free for a second and then drags himself up. He will not be denied if he has any say in the matter! Outside, he walks (more like twists) in a kind of crab-like motion, but he's gotten very fast out there. I'm no so worried about his safety anymore. Inside, he still prefers to slide. One of his back legs kind of sticks out straight, toward his front paw, and the other kind of leans in toward his body, still a bit crumpled and atrophied. His back paws are still pretty much curled up, but, just last month, while I was watching, he started doing that tilting thing with his head again, and - low and behold!! up came his back foot to his chin and he was making that foot work - scratching away!! Amazing.

He can't climb trees (hence the reason my cat Buster has now become known as the cat that lives in the tree - he's terrified of Pete!!). He can't jump up onto your lap or onto the table or onto the counters. When he jumps off the bed, he still makes a terrible thud. But he was paralyzed!! He had one paw on the threshold of death!! He was a goner!

Now he rules the neighborhood here at the farm, such as it is. I love him. He's an inspiration. He's also a pain in the ass, but I love him just the same.

Peace.

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Song Lyrics of the Week (or maybe the day)

I've been walking down a solitary road.

Looking for some open door, some comfort from this cold.

And I have been afraid I'd lose my hope

But now I know hope will survive.

I've been searching for a heart that is like mine.

A little taste of peacefulness is all I'd hope to find.

So I looked into the eyes of my child

And when he smiled, I could see it shine.

I do believe the dawn will follow the night fall

And I will not have to walk this road alone.

In the voices of my friends, I hear a light call

And the sweetness of that sound will lead me home.

Love is waiting there for me, it's in the pictures on my wall.

I hear it in my grandpa's clock ticking down my hall.

It's underneath the quilt my grammy sewed

And the sweet songs that I've know since I was a child.

I do believe that joy will come to find me.

And I'll know again how that pleasure feels.

And the scars that I bear are here to remind me

That I may love and lose but I will heal.

-----yours truly, Hope Will Survive

Gratitude Journal (a New Year's Resolution)

I am grateful for the many times that I have survived depression.
I am grateful for the memories I have of Morganton and our house there - the house where Jacob and Daniel and I grew up, and the many great times I had in that lovely space.
I am grateful for the red maple leaves blazing in my front yard and the few short weeks I have left to say, "Oh! look at that!" when I step out the front door.
I am grateful that I have learned to be alone and at peace with my own company.
I am grateful for the book of Job. One cannot feel sorry for one's self for very long whilst reading Job. And for that I am quite grateful, as I'm feeling sorry for myself today.
I am grateful for the opportunity I had to play music with Scott and Ken and Mary. Our group was a wonderful thing.
I am grateful for patience.
I am grateful for my nephew Matt and for the man he became in his recovery. I am grateful for the relationship that we've developed and the love that we share.
I am grateful for the sound of my father's voice - the way it echoes still.
I am grateful for dreams of the mountains.
I am grateful that I knew a part of Scott that was good and true before all the other stuff happened. It gives me the place to start forgiving and letting go.
I am grateful for my friends Jon, Lorna, and Bruce.
I am grateful for the week I had to sit by the ocean and listen to that ancient, pounding sound.
I am grateful for friendships that span miles and years.
I am grateful for giggling! You should hear my sisters and my little brother and my sons and me - we all giggle the same!
I am grateful for love that came later in life, even though it would not stay here with me and even though it broke my heart. I am still grateful that I knew it and it knew me.
I am grateful for my music and the way it saves me.
I am grateful for tears.
I am grateful for the voices of my sisters. They sound so much like my own, it surprises me everytime!
I am grateful for the way my kids hug me - with love and intention, warmth and honesty.
I am grateful for the beautiful, warm day yesterday (2/8/09) and the opportunity to sit out in the sun with my dad.
I am constantly touched and amazed and humbled by the courage of others. Thank you for that. Thank you to the young man who waited on our table down in Chapel Hill. Your courage inspires my own!

Good Music

If you haven't heard these albums, have a listen. You'll be glad you did:

Jon Zachary, Turn on a Point ("The Ballad of the Piper Cub" is indeed a very very fine song and an artist rendering on forgiveness. Worth listening to about a thousand times or more.)

Mary Gordon Hall, Wine Glasses and Wooden Spoons (with Christmas coming, listen to "Babe Alone", incredibly beautiful song)

Danny Ellis, 800 Voices (listen to "800 Voices" or "Tommy Bonner" first and read the liner notes, this is powerful music and will heal you way down inside if you open yourself up and let it)

Gillian Welch and Dave Rawlings, The Harrow & The Harvest ("Hard Times" is my current favorite song!)

Patty Griffin, Children Passing Through ("Up to the Mountain" is a song that I play and belt out when I think that I can't go on anymore.)

I could go on for days!!

My thoughts on finding pathways to peace

I have found that lavender candles or vanilla candles help. I light them when the sun goes down and I blow them out when I go to bed. Especially in the dark of the winter, that soft light soothes me and helps me feel centered. The vanilla reminds me of my grandmother's house when I was a little girl and the cookies, cakes, or pies she would bake when we came to visit. Lavender reminds me of the fields of summer and sitting on the edge of Linville Gorge watching the sun set. I never smelled lavender there but every time I smell it, I think of summer and the Gorge and the many days in my nineteenth, twentieth and twenty-first years that I spent there.

It is often easy to set aside a hurt or an offense or a wrong doing that someone throws my way, intentionally or not. Most of us, I think, can set things aside, take a deep breath, control our tempers. The harder part is to leave it aside! To not allow ourselves to take it back up again and carry it around like some sort of blazing badge upon our chests. Letting go means leaving it behind. That's a hard task sometimes. I have found that taking things back up again or carrying them on and on and on significantly diminishes my peace potential. So how do I keep from picking things back up again? Injecting either humor or music into situations of conflict helps me a lot. i try to talk things out with someone I trust and I try to make it funny if I can. I love to tell a story and the funnier the better. I try to make big hurts into little hurts by breaking them up with humor. I also will send a little sound clip in most all the time. I have a constant, unending, soundtrack playing in my head. I have the remote to that soundtrack and I can switch stations whenever I want. There are particular songs that I play in my head that help me feel peaceful or calm or loving or generous or sensitive or, on the flip side, angry, combative, vengeful. You know what I mean? You have these too? Most of us do, I think. I use that music in my head. When I am tempted to fight, I flip a switch and turn on some internal music that either expresses that anger for me (here's an example - "No Bad News" by Patty Griffin. Awesome song. I turn that song up loud in my car on really really bad days when I feel like I might explode - and I explode into that song and wail it out!! and am much the better for it - without doing anybody harm!! 'cept maybe my poor ear drums!) or soothes that anger down (here's another example - "One Love" by Bob Marley, or from Playing for Change. "Let's get together and feel alright" or "Imagine" by John Lennon. "Imagine all the people living life in peace"). It might sound crazy. It might sound meaningless to you. But it works for me. Try it. Turn those songs on in your head and see what happens. If you don't have the right one, go looking for it. It's a powerful tool.

Gratitude has saved my life.

Service has saved my life. I wish that the Feds would give everybody a tax break for doing service work. Like you do some service work, you get a receipt from wherever or whomever, and you attach it to your income tax return and you get a 2% tax deduction or something like that. Plant trees around a local park, build trails on the Appalachian Trail, serve mashed potatoes at a local soup kitchen or bag groceries at a local food bank, write letters to an orphan in Somalia, volunteer to read to a kindergarten class, mow your elderly neighbors' lawn, clean cages for the Humane Society. There's a lot out there to be done. Big and small. Might be life changing. May just be something to do on a rainy Saturday afternoon. But helping others helps me. Helping others takes me out of my little solitary world and opens me up to the blessings that I have and puts my world into perspective.

Prayer is powerful. And it works. When I moved to the Eastern Shore in 2006, I rented this great big old farmhouse. It was beautiful and I loved it there. But the nights could be painfully long. The house made so many sounds and popped and creaked and groaned in the wind. I was sometimes quite spooked. And my peace seemed to run away and hide under the bed. Sleep was elusive. I found there were nights that I could not remember the 23rd Psalm, though I had learned it by heart when I was just a little thing. Sometimes I would simply say, "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want." Period. That was it. That's all my mind would let me remember. And so that became a mantra and a prayer and I would repeat it over and over. And peace would come stealin' over me, slowly, gently. And I would feel my heart slow down. And the popping and creaking and groaning of the house would fade into an ambient sound that did not startle me. And I would float on that prayer into a peaceful state where thoughts came clearly and my voice, the voice of my heart, would talk directly to my God. And my God would listen. I have to work at finding that place. It does not come easily to me. But I work at it and when I find that place of stillness, I find that talking to my God is as easy as talking to my own mother or my closest friend. And my prayers are a conversation that is left unended, to be continued. The peace that I find when I pray is a peace that stays with me as long as I am willing to acknowledge its presence. Because it is always there. I just only need to remember.

A dog, a cat, a horse, a cow, a bird. Study after study has shown what great benefit there is in having a pet: lower blood pressure, less pain, less chronic disease, higher self-esteem, lower rates of depression. I am a believer. I know it to be true in my own life and in my own house. Sitting quietly, listening to a book on tape, knitting or not knitting, with my dog curled up next to me, leaning against my legs. My vital signs stabilize and then mellow, my muscles relax, my heartaches ease, and everything feels alright. Just touching her soft furry head and listening to her sigh. Wow. What a simple thing.