Again, not really feeling like writing as I am emotionally exhausted. Cooder is on steroids, eating, drinking, using the litter box, and even doing a little bit of stretching when I come in the room. She still lists and has trouble walking, but it seems as if she is doing better. I don't want to be too optimistic. And, well, we all know how this one is going to turn out, just hoping it is later.
As far me, well I'm shaken (not stirred) but able to be productive even if I am somewhat vacant. I even remembered to take my meds, vitamins, and got in a 20-minute walk although I really wanted to take a nap. And I made dinner (Carmelized Onions, Carmelized Shredded Brussels Sprout, Radicchio, and Apple Maple Chicken Sausage with Maple Syrup and Lemon Drizzle), so that showed some gumption.
After I posted this morning, Cooder crawled up the bed to lay down on my chest, something she does not do often, and there she finally fell into a deep and restful sleep, heart to heart, breath to breath. It was difficult not to cry and to sleep instead. We, old companions, communed.
Hey, and I was able to sleep without any sleeping medication. I wanted to be alert if she needed me.
And all I actually have to offer as a writer, is my version of life. — Anne Lamott
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