My original plan for last weekend was to clean the house and put up a solstice tree for the first time in six years. Five years ago solstice came 3 months after my friend Ken was killed by a drunk driver. I didn't feel like celebrating anything. The next year it was right after I got divorced. The next three years were just weird. This year I felt good though. I was looking forward to finally having a tree.
That's all shot to hell. Maybe next year.
I woke up Saturday with my third cold of the season, so I felt like crap even before I realized that Rudy was sick.
His death was…so unexpected. He was fine the night before. I mean, I knew he wasn't going to live forever. He was 10, almost 11, which is very very old for a rabbit. I knew our time together was limited. But he never acted like he was sick.
But I guess that's typical of a prey animal. It's not a good survival strategy to show any sign of weakness or pain.
He was extra cuddly the last few weeks, wanting to be picked up more, wanting to be petted more, and I was happy to oblige. Looking back now, I think he knew he didn't have a lot of time left.
The house is so quiet now. It's not like rabbits are particularly noisy creatures, but I no longer hear his toenails on the kitchen floor, or his dishes clinking together, or him drinking water or hopping into or out of his cage. The only sounds now are the furnace running, and whatever sounds I make. Typing, coughing, blowing my nose.
I'm so used to talking to him all the time. Now there's nobunny there.
He used to comfort me when I was sick.
I feel like someone ripped my immune system out of my body and is using it as a punching bag somewhere. I've been home sick all week, sleeping 16 hours at a time, with hardly any energy when I'm awake and blowing stuff out of my nose the color of "hi viz yellow" conspicuity gear. Eew.
Maybe I can find enough energy to knit for a little while.
Thanks to everyone who commented or emailed after my last post. I really appreciate your kindness. [Except for StalkerBoy. Dude, what part of the police telling you never to contact me again do you not understand? (This is a rhetorical question. Do NOT answer.) I will not press charges THIS time (and this time ONLY) given the circumstances, but get it through your thick skull. I do not want to hear from you ever again. Your words do not bring me comfort because they remind me of your existence. I do not want to be reminded of your existence. Do not ever contact me again. This means leave me the fuck alone.]
Sorry to everyone else. I try to keep my dirty laundry off the blog, but it couldn't be avoided this time.