It was around this time last year Catie first started limping. We assumed the sporadic episodes were from a touch of arthritis, a sore muscle. In fact, for the longest time we thought the mysterious bouts of lameness originated from her left leg. It turned out the pain radiated from a tumour in the opposite shoulder.
Eight months ago today, Catie lost her right front leg and shoulder to osteosarcoma.
The time has gone so fast. She had her surgery on a white winter’s day. With Catie at the hospital, I sat with Riley at the livingroom window the evening of her surgery, watching the neighbourhood hares congregate on the front lawn.
I remember that well.
A lifetime ago, it seems. Some things remain the same; some have changed. The pads of her feet still make me think of popcorn; her ears are silky. She hates her nails being cut; she likes to tease her brother by taking his toy (they’re ALL his, by the way). She likes water and the dog park and snuggles in bed; she vehemently despises the mailman and people walking on the street (it’s HERS, by the way).
It’s just a little harder for her to get around. She’ll run if she’s inspired; she’s learned how to position herself to get in and out of corners and how to get up and down stairs. She still counter-surfs if no one’s looking and greets people at the door by jumping on them.
My gratitude this evening that she’s still here is tempered with sorrow for all those families who have lost their furry beloveds over the last eight months and those who are struggling with looming, too-soon departures.
Catie and Riley are having extra treats this evening for each and every one of you.
And Riley says, just in case it helps – and he admits stealing this from Walt Whitman:
Keep your face always toward the sunshine – and shadows will fall behind you.