I'm Really Hurtin' Today

Yeah, I know. It's been a few days/weeks since my last blog. Not that I haven't been tempted, but lots of things goin' on in life.

Today, instead of rantin' and ravin' about the things in life, the universe, and everythin' that has me hissed off, I'm comin' to the interwebz for a different reason.

Those of you who follow me on the Twitter and Facebook already know, or you may have guessed by the sad kitty picture. I'm doubly distressed by an apparent betrayal by my own husband. More on that in a moment.

The state of Indiana has been enjoyin' a warm spell of weather for March. Temps in the 70s and 80s, sunshine, breezes (OK, a few strong storms and the infamous Southern Indiana tornado that took out Henryville. BTW, if you're readin' this, and wanna help the victims - both two and four footed - be sure to donate to the American Red Cross, the Salvation Army, and the Animal Rescue site!).

Wednesday is the regular trash day in ouro neighboehood, and since the DH (and today, yes, it stands for DAMN Husband) was at work, I decided to use the garage door to return the trash can there, instead of leavin' it on the porch as we do in the winter, to be brought into the garage through the front door and then the house garage door.

Well, dumb me used the garage door opener remote in the car to lower the damn thing, and I watched it go all the way down. Honestly thought it did. It was on the ground and I pulled away from the house to get to the job. Little did I know that somethin' caught the damn door and it went back up a quarter of the way. The DH discovered this on his return to the house that night, just a bit before I got home.

Nothin' was taken from the garage, but two of our kitties got out. Hell, maybe all of 'em took the opportunity to get outside. I can imagine 'em eatin' grass, rollin' in the dirt, sniffin' the sproutin' daffodils and other flora in the yard, then returnin' to the safety of the house again.

Except for two of 'em.

They haven't returned since Wednesday. They've gotten out before and always come home. Hell, one night, I came home to find one of 'em clawin' at the stuff I put against the doorjamb to keep the cold from gettin' in! He wanted back in that badly.

I've called, shook the treat can, beat their food bowls with a spoon, but so far, nothin'. Yesterday, I went to our local pound, aka Animal Care and Control. That broke my heart for more reasons than one. First, all the missin' kitties were beggin' me to take them home (would if I could, but while I'm a crazy cat purrson, I'm not THAT bad yet)! Unfortunately, neither of my missin' boys were there. At least they're registered with 'em. One of 'em has a microchip, but the information on it is outdated. I lost the info as to where it can be updated.

I went into major grief mode then. ACC seemed like the last hope. Except for canvassin' the neighborhood with a their pictures and hopin' someone had seen them or taken them in. I printed up a mini - poster with their pic on it, and several letters to stick in doors.

Here's where the betrayal comes into play. I'm off work today, a rare Sunday off. So is the DAMN Husband. The idea was to split the subdivision in two - just our immediate one, maybe 100 houses if that. We take the pics around, ask if they'd been seen, leave the letter in the doors where there was no answer. Get the word out.

It made sense. Not use the cars to go from place to place. Less wear and tear on them, more cost effective (gas is nearly $4 a gallon here). Good way to meet the neighbors, too. Plus, my knees are 80+ years old, though the rest of me is 49ish. Walkin' long distances creates a great deal of pain. So, this seemed like a reasonable plan.

Right?

HA!

When DH came home Saturday night, I made the request.

"I'm not going around the neighborhood!" he whined.

The grief came afresh. It would've been understandable if he'd mentioned bein' concerned about potential dangers of goin' door to door or had any other objection. His response hurt my heart. He didn't seem to care about that.

The silence between us was loud the rest of the night.

This mornin', I decided to go ahead with the canvassin' idea without him. We didn't speak to each other at all until he asked if 'we' were goin' to the grocery.

Since I'd done that Saturday (if he'd bothered to look in the frackin' fridge!) and comin' when / how it did, the question wasn't dignified with an answer. I grabbed the mini poster and the letters and left the house.

It was difficult to talk to the neighbors about our missin' pets. They were sympathetic, and said they'd keep an eye out, but it seems like the two have vanished from the face of the earth. By the time I'd talked to the third neighbor (about five or six houses), I knew that doin' this wasn't going to work, it was takin' far too much outta me emotionally.

Now comes the massive betrayal by the DAMN Husband. I heard the unmistakble whine of his car engine. (One of the reasons it annoys me, plus it's not Mopar, which is another annoyance and it doesn't like me and vice versa). My first thought was that he might've been comin' to join me, and give me a place to rest when my knees hurt. That soon turned out to be a very false hope, as he backed that POS Hyundai from the driveway and DROVE OFF IN THE OTHER DIRECTION from where I was standin'!

The cell phone never rang to tell me where he was goin' or to ask if I was gonna be OK. He just stole off like a sneak theif in the night. I know exactly where he's goin', to have a pastry and a cinnamon dolce latte. That's more important to him than askin' the neighbors if they've seen our furbabies.

That, to me, was the last betrayal. If he'd bothered to look in his rear view mirror, he'd have seen my reaction to his cowardly retreat. Digital communications can speak volumes when words fail one. Yes, he got the bird. High flyin'.

After coverin' every house on our street, I couldn't do it anymore. That's about fifteen houses. I broke down into tears and came back to the other kitties and the quiet house to vent my frustration and pain in this blog.

Maybe it's not kosher to take one's marital discord to the interweba. Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. It hurts, and the DH's behavior has made that hurt worse.

In a couple of hours, I'm goin' in to work to help my team mates because there will only be two there due to us bein' short staffed. It'll get me away from the DH for a few hours, and from this feelin' of greif, frustration, betrayal, and disappointment I'm feelin' right now. If I'm' gonna be miserable, at least it's better to be miserable and be paid for it.

After that, I don't know what I'll do. The idea of not comin' home until very late is enticin'. Thing is, where to go at 11pm Sunday night?

What scares me the most is that the boys might be dead. The damn geese around here are pretty frackin' mean. There could've been a tangle with a stray dog. They could've been run over somewhere other than our main streets.

Or, perhaps they are still alive, and have taken shelter with a new family. I can only hope that might be the case. Either way, I'm in major grief mode, and it's worse that my own spouse can't or won't see the pain I'm in.