Tears and Pee

Tears and Pee
Carol St Ann

I was wakened just after 12:30 this morning, by the agony of the Jerry-void. Whispered soft I love yous through bittersweet tears of regret and divine blindness until I couldn’t bear the longing. Slid out of bed to pace the length of the house as I tend to do when this unbearable emptiness overtakes me, lest my spirit takes wing on the energy the void creates. Grief has its way with me yet again.

Checked on wee Rosie who perked right up, tail wagging at Jedi speed, softly whimpering for a cuddle. And I, still worried about her because she hadn’t bathroomed since I’d picked her up at the shelter 12 full hours ago, obliged in an attempt, though it may have been futile, to reassure her she’s safe. I washed out her water dish and refilled it.

When I set her down, she stayed at my feet, looking up at me with brown eyes almost as soulful as Jerry’s. So precious are these moments.

She took her time and cautiously began to explore the house, scampering back to me when she’d realize I was no longer in her sights, as though to make sure I was still there, and then tail wagging slowly set off to explore a little further along. After a few minutes, she whimpered softly, and I, thinking she might have gotten lost, scurried to find her.

She’d peepeed on my floor and was sitting dutifully next to her mess, ears back, tail between her legs, trembling like a leafy tree in an October breeze. Was she waiting to be hit? Smacked? Worse? I spoke softly to her while I wiped it up and then cleaned the area with vinegar water. I set my hand down next to her so she’d know these hands will never hit “or worse” her. She ever so timidly stepped into my hand and lifted her wayward gaze to take me in. I lifted her and comforted her, humming a chant I’ll make her own for times such as these, and then spoke softly to her as I set her in her comfy crate. She laid right down and cuddled in.

I washed my hands and headed for my bed, only to find her phase 2, a number 2 in my bedroom. Haha. I guess this means she’s comfortable, at home here, and, thank God, not unwell!

Tomorrow we’ll work on outside bathrooming, but for tonight, a second dousing with vinegar water made everything right with the world. And it distracted me from the pain of the Jerry-void, if only for a little while.

I appreciated that love-me-tender mercy.
Amen. And Amen.