Highlights from a stand-out day

 

Yesterday was a stand-out day because of two things. First was that friends Subie and Phil Green took me with them to get second booster shots at Tom Thumb grocery. What I dreaded turned out to be a pleasant experience. I woke in the night before worrying about it and couldn’t figure out why—in recent years I have been poked with more needles than I can even begin to count. I am not afraid of shots, so why was my antenna aquiver. When we got to the grocery, I realized it was a very long walk from the handicapped parking to the pharmacy. Told Subie I’d really like to drive one of the store’s motorized carts if I could figure out what to do with the walker. After she skeptically asked, “You know how to drive one of those things?” she volunteered to push the empty walker. So we paraded through the store—Subie with the walker, Phil led by his seeing-eye dog, and me bringing up the rear in my grocery cart. Don’t get Indy 500 ideas—they don’t go very fast at all

We got our shots after a wait that wasn’t too long. Today Phil has no after-effects, Subie has a sore arm, and my arm is tender to the touch but nothing more.

What I learned from this incident is that when I am anxious about leaving my secure little cottage, it’s anxiety about negotiating unknown territory. The walk from car to pharmacy would have taken me forever and left me breathless and exhausted. The motorized grocery cart made all the difference. In the spirit of recognizing that and planning ahead to take care of myself (yeah, that’s a hard lesson to learn), I have requested that we take the transport chair to church Sunday. It will be my first Sunday in physical church in two years, and I am mightily looking forward to it—but only because I won’t have to negotiate the walk from car to pew amid an Easter crowd. Thanks to Jordan.

The other thing that happened is that my longtime good friend in publishing, Fran Vick, sent me a picture of her with the only cat I’ve ever loved—Winona Juddley, so named by my son Jamie. I am a dog person who has never loved cats, exceopt this one who wormed his way into my heart. Jamie found him abandoned as a young kitten on a country road in Minnesota (please do not ask what Jame was doing in Minnesota) and brought him home. Wywy had an identity problem—born male, he identified as female. Or we identified him as female. For a year I kept telling Jamie not to let her out because she’d get pregnant. When Jamie finally had the money to take her to the vet, that good doctor said, “I can tell you why this cat isn’t pregnant.” When Jamie moved on with life, Wywy stayed with me—a beautiful, large, fluffy animal (part Maine Coon we think), and I adored him. I never knew until Wywy that cats could have such sweet dispositions.

This particular night, Fran had come from Dallas to support me at a program where I was being interviewed. Rather than drive to Dallas late, she spent the night. About one o’clock a stray cat came to our glass front door to taunt Wywy, who howled pitifully. So I picked him up—bad mistake. In his rage, he bit me (I am quite sure he ddn’t realize it was me), and when I lifted my arm, the cat came with it. Blood everywhere, and when I woke Fran she helpfully said, “Judy, that’s deep.”

We were in the ER until three or four, getting antibiotics and whatever. For Fran that ended that night. For me, it went on for days as I had to return to the ER for an antibiotic infusion—my hand was red and huge with infection. But it didn’t diminish my love for Wywy, though I swore if it happened again, I’d get a broom.

I had Wywy until probably 2015. When it was clear he was miserable, almost unable to breathe, Jamie came from Dallas to hold him while the vet put him to sleep. (I’m getting teary writing this). And then Jamie cradled him in his arms taking him out to the vet’s truck (it was a house call). I miss that cat to this day, and now I miss Fran because we’re older and our lives have gone separate paths.

She was director of UNT Press when I was at TCU Press, and along with Gayla Christiansen of Texas A&M Press, we called ourselves the three ladies of university publishing. We had lots of good times, plenty of sleepovers fueled by wine and good food, and now have wonderful memories.

The cat night is not one of our best memories. But both Fran and Wywy are memories I cherish.