You Can Run But You Can't Hide...

Recently I have been re-befriending an ex. Silly idea some may think, some have even said, but nooo, hardheaded me had to give it a go. An occasional check-in here and there wouldn't hurt, I thought.

Then, of course, things start getting intense. Snippy comments about how I might just walk out the door and not show up again for another two years. Sheesh! And the dog, the wonderful amazing Fred, now oh so greatly aged, (the horror of discovering what five years can do to an active, healthy large dog), and DYING.

Riddled with cancer dying, having "episodes" and being whisked to the emergency vet for expensive life saving treatment dying, bleeding out of his mouth and nose on occasion dying.

At this point it was becoming a morbid death watch. I would call every other day to see "how things were" (read: Is the dog dead yet?)
Finally after an excruciating episode while we were watching the closing ceremonies of the Turino Winter Olympics, Fred bleeding, the ex on the floor with him, sobbing, me kneeling next to them both, petting them both, crying, I had to make the suggestion- isn't it time? No, came the reply, I'll know when, he isn't in pain. AAARGH! The dog was in shock, plus bleeding internally, I repeat, AAARGH!

Too much for this kupkake to handle, I was beyond grief and into horror, with a stomach that didn't want to have much to do with food, much less any more emotion. So I disappeared, just like the man predicted. The next day I ignored the daily death watch debriefing, and hid behind a book on the couch, screening phone calls. None came from there, thank god, instead I got this phone call.

"K, it's Tanya from downstairs. I was just in the basement and there's a dead cat on the floor. It looks like Peace Kitty. Can you come down?"

Peace Kitty, her roomate's young, beautiful cat with the bad heart. Oh noooo...

Yep, it was Peace Kitty, deader than the proverbial door nail, by about, oh, just enough time to have started cooling. My poor broken heart, poor Tanya, as fragile as a bird's wing, poor Leslie, the roomate, still at work.

What to do? My rudimentary animal emergency training went into effect, get an old towel. Wild animal trapped in the house? dead animal in the basement? injured animal on the road? these can all be dealt with by the judicious application of an old towel. So we dealt.

So far so bad.

That night, just as I was finally falling asleep, I heard someone come into the apartment. What ?! I could hear this someone breathing and rustling about, so I turned on the light and crept around the corner into the front hallway. There was an old, drunk man standing at the bottom of my front stairs, blinking and reeking in the light.

The best response I could come up with was, "ahh, wrong apartment dude."

Brilliant! A drunk trespasser and I say wrong apartment?

His reply? "The door was ajar." Oh, so that makes it ok to just walk into some random apartment at 2 o'clock in the morning? FYI, the door WAS locked, I just forgot to give it that extra yoink earlier. He walked out, I ran down the stairs and threw the deadbolt. I heard him say, almost mournfully, as he tried the second floor door, " oh, it's locked...".

Whatever!!! I called the cops, but by the time they came he must have staggered off.

The lesson, the moral, as it were? You can run but you can't hide. If you're meant to have a sweet animal die, one will. If your're not meant to avoid dealing with difficult men, you won't. There is no hiding from life if you are trying to live it with any decency. Urgh!