Caterwauling

Facebook Memories shows me that I saw Kenny Chesney at the Hard Rock Casino OTD last year.

Mom was bedbound by then. I hated leaving. We both hated that I had to forfeit my Tampa ticket to see him. So she said go and have fun.

I really had fun.

It was the last time Mom had her phone.

By this time, it was too heavy for her to hold. So it was crazy that she wanted it near her in case I called.

But, she wanted to be able to help me if I needed her.

I said I’d always need her.

Well. Fucking (phone brand) sent her an email today.

They are deleting her data because it hasn’t been accessed in 12 months.

Mother. Fuckers.

I have had her phones and chargers on her nightstand for 12 months.

Her job was Facebook. She curated thousands of images. She made the most creative posts.

She was the source of most of the memes that made Cindy whine loudest. (Not that she whined quietly.)

So that’s all going away.

Also, I didn’t tell anyone that she died. I told like two of her people, and at least two months after she was gone.

I want to think I properly grieved. I didn’t have to deal with relatives or other phony balonies.

But who knows who’s texted, looking for her.

I mean, I have a very good idea.

Not that I care about any of them. But it’s going to break me, seeing the messages I know await.

I had told the two friends, text all you want. I am not reading. I text her all the damn time. It helps. Try it.

I am not planning to read those. But I will not rule out NOT seeing something to make me cry.

I was always planning to log in eventually. Just not here at the Mother’s Day, my birthday and her death day Bermuda Triangle.

Of course, everything else is a mess. Why not add this to it.

I just read a post from a veterinarian.

She said someone brought in a cat who “wasn’t acting like herself.”

The tests came out fine. But the owner was still concerned. And the vet did some more work.

Turns out the kitty had arthritis. So they treated it and kitty returned to sleeping on the hoomin’s bed.

Man did that cheese me off.

Cokie was bright eyed and sweet and loved to eat. No one would think she was suffering.

But she practically lived under my bed in her final year. Only came out for food, or if I sat on my bed.

My baby didn’t have any meat on her little bones. Belly has really strong thighs and Cokie had no muscle whatsoever there.

So, really, none of the four vets we saw was worth a good god damn.

No one could have loved a cat more than I loved Cocoa.

No one would have spent more money or tried harder to save her kiddo.

I guess I should be glad no one tried to sucker me out of more money.

I’d have gladly parted with it, for my babiest girl to have had better days.