Things are going well after the farewell to Nuala. Both my wife and I are dealing with Our Things in our own way, and that's OK. It will be a while before we hear (think we hear) a noise somewhere in the house and think immediately that it's the cat; Karen says she has gone through the house looking for the friend she can pick up and cuddle and... the little one isn't there. At least not in a cuddlable form.
The usual "final cleanup" things still get seen too, each in their own time. The cat food in the refrigerator, Nuala's bowls of water that haven't gotten picked up, washed, and put away. Yet.
As I told our vet on The Night, "I didn't cry over getting MS. I didn't cry about not being able to play, or even sit at and operate, organs any more. But I am crying about my poor little cat." It was a hard night, and continues to be hard, but gradually the "hard" is backing down.
And now, we return to the standard make-you-scream fights with the insurance company. The pill my doc wants me to take works far better than the one the insurer wants me to take, but of course I don't need the one doc prescribed. I need the other one. I'm gonna call doc's office today and see if he can do anything about it with them; he told me he has this kind of fight all the time.
What a great way to spend the fleeting moments of our lives, here on this little earth. Fighting with the insurance company that, apparently, cares not a whit of anything besides their bottom line. Which I understand a company cares about, but really? Telling me that I don't need the drug the doctor says I need and that is tested and proven to be a superior help.
I don't need it... Really. Do tell me, how do you know? Do you even know what I look like? Or what I look like when I have to deal with you people?
On we go.