Friday, May 22, 2009

The progression of mourning.

Sage spent most of Monday moping in the cage. I picked her up at one point to give her a snuggle and we sat on the EZ-Chair together. She gave me a couple of nose bonks but when I put her down on the floor she immediately went back to the cage. Maybe she was happy to have the scent of Scout, I'm not sure. Everywhere else in the house had certainly been descented for my last showing.

I really wasn't up to spending time in the house alone. Wonda, being the pal she is, invited me out to the park with her and her son. We had a good long talk and I got hugs and I will admit I certainly felt less hollow with humans around me.

My Mum called for the fourth time in twenty-four hours, probably still quite worried about me since she knew well what Scout meant to me. She said I should come spend time at their place. It sounded like a pretty good idea to me, I'd had a darn hard time sleeping Sunday night without a little fuzzball under my chin. I'd dug "Dog" out of storage, a long sausage plush toy of a dog that I'd chosen on my six or seventh birthday. He'd been the same size as me at the time. But even sleeping with him didn't help much. Sage had slept near me, unusual, but understandable.

My parents being the wonderful people they are let me deplete their cookie supply, fed me dinner and let me mooch their wifi.

What was amusing and touching, to me anyway, was one of my Mum's ex-coworkers had phoned her. I'm not sure I was supposed to overhear the conversation, but I think my Mum forgets how good my hearing is at the best of times. She who grew up in N. Ireland hunting rabbits for dinner, explained to the other lady on the phone how special Scout was and how much she meant to me. How Scout had found me, and all that Scout did for me and she wasn't shocked I was grieving.

I watched a lot of NCIS in Scout's memory before going to bed since the History channel was having a marathon.

Tuesday morning brought breakfast with the parents. I am not supposed to eat fat since it has bad results at the other end of my digestive system. How ugly entirely depends on how much I eat. Being a cookie addict this is a balancing act between how crappy (no pun intended) do I feel versus what do I want to eat. My brother, by the by, calls cookies 'Little puddles of yummy fat.' So, being the sensible creature I am, had a nice fatty breakfast which included breakfast sausage. Yum! I'm generally okay if I don't mix bread products with my fat. And by okay I mean, I can still walk and talk and don't want to spend the day on my bathroom floor cursing my lack of willpower.

Mum then took me shopping. Mum whose budget is as limited, if not more so, than mine, insisted on spending entirely too much money on me. Watching my various friends with their kids, I know this is definitely a mother thing. Heck, I know I went without to buy hay and things for the furballs and they're not even from my womb or able to talk.

Then it was time to go home and bring Scout's body into the vet. Dr M is so awesome, not only was his price for cremation incredibly reasonable but he agreed to let me pay him at the end of the month when I get my disability cheque. I gave a quick and poor explanation of Scout's death, not really wanting to relive it. I can type stories and relay information without really thinking or processing, but to talk I need to think about what I'm saying or I trip over my own words. You can always tell when I'm not thinking about what I'm saying.

Sage had adventured beyond the cage a little, but she was still pretty mopey. She seemed to have accepted Scout was gone, but she didn't seem to know what to do with herself.

Wednesday was like a switch had been turned in Sage. She seemed to realize that the whole house was now her's and she could run around it as much as she liked. Maybe she accepted Scout's passing, or maybe it was just I was in a better frame. She flomped out in the spare bedroom and threatened to chew the wood bedside table whenever I came too close.

Sage likes kids, Sage likes vegetarians, Sage *puts up* with me. She is using the litterbox 100% and there's no territorial poops anywhere. They're just dried pebbles, but they still need to be swept up every morning .. or when the not-related-sister-bunnies were pissed off at each other, several times a day. I tried to tell Sage I should have kept Scout as an only bunny and saved myself a lot of housework, but she just gave me the ear.

She hopped up onto the bed a couple times through the night to give me a nudge and then hop off. I'm not sure if she was reassuring me she was still around or if she was checking the supplier of hay and treats was still alive. I'm sure I'm doing her a disservice in thinking its only one or the other.

Thursday Sage spent a great deal of time in the spare bedroom loafing beside the closet. I'm not sure why that spot. Scout didn't ever really hang out there and neither has Sage previous to today. Normally the spot of choice was at the end of the bed or under the bedside table. She still snuck back into the front room to use her litterbox, and was most offended if I dared notice her presence as she snuck across the room. Humans are just so clueless.

She was even less impressed when she got snuggled when she didn't hop out of my way fast enough. That's the price she has to pay for being so darn cute. She spent a good fifteen minutes trying to groom the human cooties off after.

Poor thing, so desperate for company she's lying on the couch with me. I'm sure her good sense will return soon enough!

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