I’ve talked about my rocky relationship with my parents before. Especially when it concerns my Arthritis.
Oh, how life suddenly throws you a curve ball.
He really was the best kitty cat in the entire world and I can’t tell you how much comfort he gave me during my school years when I suffered from depression and my Arthritis came back with a vengeance. He slept with me every single night and was truly my cat. I’ll never forget the moment he came home for the very first time, rescued by a friend from a bush near the Metro Rail. As soon as my mother walked in the door holding a cardboard box and in it this fuzzy, grey kitten with a missing toe, she said, “He’s ugly.” I, of course, protested, “No he’s not! He’s beautiful!” It was love at first sight.
The day I grew up and moved out of my parent’s house and in with my highly-allergic husband, I cried knowing I would have to leave him behind. I hoped he would be watched over and not feel replaced by my new sleeping companion. All those years before of broken hearts and puppy love, I had still always told him that he was “the only man in my life.”
|In Loving Memory of Kiki Bubba, 4/10/2005 – 5/4/2014|
|Hubby and I at our hotel, Disney’s Port Orleans Resort French Quarter|
—Based on true events—
My family and friends have accepted it as well. I don’t get the, “So today’s a bad day, huh?” comments anymore when they see me with my boat (aka: walker). They know. Everyday is a bad day. The pain is at a constant ‘9’ and the swelling means my favorite skinny jeans aren’t even an option anymore. People rarely make fun of me anymore. I guess this “invisible illness” is beginning to be visible. The only thing I had left was the ability to drive and now that’s basically gone too.