I’m sure there are a million blog posts out there with the same exact title, but I felt the need to make another one.  This is due to the fact, that I’ve used the term in the past, heard the term in the past, but really felt that term in the present.

Like many of the Sixthman team, I am an animal lover.  I grew up with dogs, had my share of hamsters, lived a while with ferrets, and eventually let some cats into my life.  Little did I know, these animals would some how train me.  At the beginning of July, I had two healthy dogs and two healthy cats.  They are as follows:  one Labradoodle (which is nothing like a labradoodle should be, but that’s what she is and she is the sweetest animal ever) Penelope, one Miniature Poodle (a rescue who growls if you touch her, but must be allowed to sit in your lap at all times) Pistol, one Persian cat (from my boyfriend’s last relationship, he is like 20 pounds and pretty much a jerk, but we love him anyway) James, and one Tabby cat (who hopped into our truck while we were in East Atlanta one night and never looked back) Pizza Face.

So you’re thinking one of two things:  What crazy person has that many animals? or How cute, I want to see them!

Well, I am a little crazy, yes, but they are also cute.

Here’s where the saying kicks in.  A couple of weeks ago Pizza Face became ill very quickly over the weekend.  I took him to the vet first thing Monday morning to find that his bladder was blocked and he had become toxic.  A few hours later, I got a call from the vet explaining that he passed away.  This came as a shock, as he was not old, had not been a sickly cat, and had shown no signs until late Saturday.  Now, I’ve never been what you might call a “cat person,” but this cat was the shiz (for lack of a better term).  He was obedient, similar to a dog, and had a great personality.  You could always rely on him to be there when you needed him, and even when you didn’t.  After having him cremated, we haven’t yet decided what to do with his ashes.

Again, you might be thinking I’m a little crazy, but we couldn’t bury him due to the condo association regulations, and sending him to what they called a “group cremation,” did not sound very appealing.

Now, a few days ago, my boyfriend started to worry because James is losing hair is different spots.  He is having skin issues, and he’s been having the pukes more often.  He is much older, and his health makes more sense, but it’s another trip to the vet nonetheless.  And here we come to last night.  I arrive home from work to find Pistol with half her foot at a 90 degree angle.  I take her to the vet where I find she has fractured several bones and may be in need of surgery.  So, as you can imagine, I’m a bit out of sorts with my pet family falling apart.

So, when it rains, it pours.  Is that a scientific fact, an emotional state, a caveat?  I’m thinking all of the above.

However, having a time like this tends to put things into perspective.  And maybe that’s what a higher power is trying to teach me.  A broken foot, not quite as bad as a cremation; a cremation, not quite as bad as four cremations; four cremations, not quite as bad as burying family members; and so on.

Although I sure do miss that Pizza Face.

-Lisa