Wednesday, November 21, 2012

i need Marmy

so i think i may lose my right leg.  good morning!

it's not imminent, nor eminent.  as a leg, it achieved some fame in my teens and twenties, primarily on the tennis court.  and while i have several meltdowns a day and repeatedly schedule its amputation out in the Paisley Sheep pen (lots of clean straw and that fresh, cold air to make that outdoorsy party atmosphere -- we can pile pumpkins around and serve hot chocolate), i'm trying to get over some bronchitis.  you gotta prioritize.

i keep rediscovering that people are pretty nice, that most everyone is doing their damnedest.  some could use a little *focus* but everyone is trying.

ms. marmy fluffy butt (a cat) is, however, breaking my heart.  it's been months now that she'll have nothing to do with me.  i can take such treatment from human family, but my marmy dear?  i miss her.

[i'm sure you want to refresh yourself on my few and far between cat posts (yawn!) but this one does a good job of summarizing the topic, though it lacks details on our beloved Monaghan and Ms. Pruddy Prudence. I stole the video of Marmy from it, in fact, as she is notoriously hard to capture on film: Wednesday Morning Blahs. ]

it started out understandably enough:  i was dubbed the human who was to "goop" her eyes because she had a nasty ocular infection.  i would hate me, too, but i would get over it, i think.

then it got complicated.  somehow, territorial rivalry set in, with Dobby the Runt and Buddy the Freakishly Large Kitten, boys both, claiming me in the name of... well, Creature Comforts.  i am the source of greenies and belly rubs, grooming with kisses on the nose, and gourmet-grade bonito flakes.

Marmy Fluffy Butt has not reverted to the feral gal we first knew her to be, but she is more and more hiding
-- i look behind furniture for her, often missing her petite self staring sullenly my way just a few feet off.

the boys won't let her on the bed.  the boys won't let her eat until they're done.  sometimes -- lately -- she and i lock eyes, then do a simultaneous eye roll.

i've taken to rolling the wheelchair just to the edge of the Permissible Zone and just talking to her.  world events, politics, the local hullabaloo over proposed speed humps.  i am pretty sure she and i are on the same side on the speed hump thing.  we have a prototype set up -- thank you, Tante Louise! -- and already, three Cistercian monks have taken ungainly headers over the handlebars of their pre-WWII bikes.

sometimes Marmy gifts me with a squint of affection that will carry me through the day on a cloud of alrightness.  i make sure she has a clean warm blanket on the best chair in our living quarters here in the manor -- i change it twice a week under her watchful eyes, her infection-free eyes.

Dobby is her son.  Buddy spent his entire babyhood hiding from her.  we must return to filial fealty, we must return to respect for her speedy, speedy claws.

and we must return to Marmy glommed to my side, beautiful, warm, well-groomed, and opinionated.

i need Marmy.  happy thanksgiving, my dear.

   Ms. Marmy Fluffy Butt

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