5 thoughts on “2645”

  3. reposting to my FB has got some good commentary, Juice. I commiserate with you, pal. I had the self-appointed task of taking the daughter of the sealpoint siamese I brough through feline distemper just before shipping out for the winter semester at Univ. of SE Asia. Her daughter, Skeeter II, finally contracted a cancer daily injections did not bring good response, and I took her to her vet to be put down; Mom and Dad remained in the truck. Skeets climbed onto my chest and then walked, tugging at my tee shirt and pricking lightly my back as she wantered all over perhaps (at least I hope) saying goodbye as she waited for the vet techs to take her “back there.” I said to her as she left: “Good Dog, Skeeter. Good Dog.” Strange looks from the techs: I explained: she was raised with our family cur and thought at least at times she was in fact a dog: fetched, rolled over, and tried to each apple slices when the three of us – Tiger The Dog and Skeeter and I sat in the crotch of a low-slung camphor tree bough one hot summer day when I came by to visit and do mom’s heavy-lifting housecleaning chores and then go fishing with dad the next day. Cat always slept on my chest and would swat me on the nose when someone would walk past the house at 3 a.m. Her Mom, Skeeter I brought that darn cat from her litter box – a lined with shredded newspapers over liner papers in a cardboard box in my old bedroom, up to me in her mouth to introduce me from a litter (her one and only) the night I spent in Sanford after getting 30-day survivor’s leave from Vietnam granted by Jacksonville Naval Hospital. Whenever I was home the terror of claws on the furniture never left me alone. I feel for you Bruce.

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