Hope. Hope.

My mamma refers to herself as “forever hopeful”.  

Hope is the happy anticipation that something good is going to happen. Expecting something good to happen. Hope hope hope.  

The archaic definition of hope is a feeling of trust. Mamma trusts God. She says God is a God of Hope.  Hope hope hope. 

Photo taken yesterday which I think came out pretty neat.

I did not do so well yesterday. Sunday morning was the first morning I did not greet her with kisses and paw pats. A morning ritual that began many many years ago – where I wake her before her alarm goes off just so I can get some cuddles in.  My breathing was labored.  Very heavy.  It made my ma  nervous. When she went to pick me up for a hug, it hurt so I yelped – scaring ma even more-so. I usually like being held, I like licking her face, actually, when she holds me. Years ago, she used to get impatient with all my obsessive licking, but I think now she is getting upset that I don’t feel like giving her those once numerous cat kisses.

Not only did I not wake her yesterday or today with cat love, but I also failed to come up to the bedroom two nights in a row. She woke this morning in a feared frenzy.  When she found me, she noticed right away that my breathing did not improve overnight, despite my many medications.

Her fear only worsened when I refused breakfast today. My mamma called the doctor this morning, and they are allowing me to take an extra dosage of one of my two diuretics, but only for a couple of days to see if my breathing gets better – otherwise, I will have to go back to the doctor’s for at least an x-ray to grasp what is really going on inside me. I know the doctor said more than that, as she was crying pretty hard, but she won’t tell me, she wants me to be free of pain, peaceful and happy. She left for work late, crying. Hated leaving me, it was very obvious.

This afternoon, I made a concerted effort to prove my happiness upon her return home from work. I barreled down the steps to greet her – let her scoop me up into her arms – and even though I did not feel like kissing her I did let her hold me for a long time and I purred.

Today after work, we hugged.

She has been oddly taking photos of me, more than usual, if that is possible. She also is recording me a lot. She adores my meow – since I am a chirper and I trill as I don’t have the common cat-meow, but one reserved for my distinct and superior breed. J I know she is trying to get it on video, but I have not been my talkative self these days. 

I know my mamma is trusting God, she is expecting this rough situation to change, expecting it to get better. She is trusting God, hoping for the best, wanting joy and peace for me despite my chronic condition which cannot be cured. It is pretty obvious to anyone watching me breathe that the weakness of my heart has led to a buildup of fluid in my lungs and surrounding tissues more than I think I can handle. She knows this. I know this. She is too sad to admit this to be true. Because she is hopeful.

Hope hope.

I do love her very much, she has given me a warm home to live in. She took me in, off of the cold streets of Searsport, Maine. She feeds me well, and grooms me often; she has taken care of me. It is not as though I don’t love her just because I don’t feel like cuddling or giving affection any more.  I will forever be her Purr-ball, Sweet Puffball, Boohbahla, Boohbah, Buddy, Bubbie and all the other sweet names she affectionately calls me. I think I am more sick than we all realized. Growing old is hard.

Tonight, I am thanking God for the power of hope.