Thinking back, it’s so weird the amount of extra time that we added into our schedule for Abby. Feeding the cats used to be a Herculean, time-consuming task that required adding multiple medicines to Abby’s food, mixing it up and standing right next to her until she ate it (often requiring me to offer the food multiple times before Her Fussiness ate it), all the while keeping Sunny at bay with an outstretched foot because that sneaky cat bastard would purposely wait until I turned my back to jam her greedy little paw into Abby’s bowl and pull it toward her own overfed maw. Multiply this times four (Sunny only got fed three times a day because she is portly, so no “second breakfast” for her) and that’s a good hour a day we spent feeding Abby.

Now, feeding Sunny requires dumping some food into a bowl, walking away to refill her water dish, and then turning around to find her begging for food again, a scam I have almost bought into multiple times, doing the whole, “Did I feed her or not?” routine before catching myself.

It’s also much quieter around here. Much, much quieter. Abby was part Siamese and part obnoxiously chatty, so the lack of howling and caterwauling feels especially odd. We do get to sleep in until the alarm goes off though, which feels like a luxury. We joke that wherever Abby is now, she’s keeping everyone awake (plus, she’s probably hopped up on catnip and making out with the furniture, her typical response to catnip exposure).

A few people have asked how the other pets are doing, and I have to say I think Sunny knows what happened. The day we came home to find Abby, Sunny was abnormally quiet. She followed us into the bathroom where Abby laid, and then immediately high-tailed it out of there. She then saw us leave with Abby … and return with no Abby.

And, last week, we had to attend another wedding, so we boarded Shorty. Sunny saw us leave with Shorty … and return with no Shorty. You could almost see her tiny brain churning with fearful thoughts, which is why whenever we make a move toward the door, she bolts to hide on the top of the kitchen cabinets. It’s a very good thing she doesn’t have to go to the vet for another year, because I can only imagine how fun that drive would be.

Luckily, Shorty and Sunny (AKA the Orange Pet Brigade) get along famously. Based on the recent discovery of cat hair on the futon in Shorty’s room, Sunny must hang out in there when he’s in his crate to keep him company. And it seems that Shorty enjoys Sunny’s company as well, unless this happens:

Can I get a little help here, guys?

So we’re all adjusting and doing well.

The older Abby got, the more I wondered how we’d make the decision when the time came. Would there be a slow decline? Would we have to ask the vet’s opinion on whether or not it was time? Turns out, it was much faster and gentler than I thought.

On the Thursday before Memorial Day, I took both cats to the vet for their annual exam. That morning, Abby had refused to eat her dry food, but ate some wet food just fine. I mentioned it to the vet and he checked her teeth to make sure there weren’t any issues. All seemed fine. He said we’d just have to see if her test results revealed anything. That evening, she didn’t really want to eat, but finally did.

On Friday, we left to go to my brother’s wedding, but had a pet sitter coming twice a day, so we knew Abby was in good hands. The pet sitter kept us updated throughout the weekend; each day, Abby was eating less and less and starting to have trouble with her balance.

At one point, I tearfully told Jason, “I hope she makes it until we get home.” He assured me she would.

On Sunday morning, the pet sitter reported that Abby didn’t eat at all and was having trouble walking. We got home at 2:30 and immediately searched for her. Jason found her in the bathroom, lying on her side on the bathmat. She looked dead. I immediately burst into tears and said, “Oh, Abby!” She raised her head and looked at us and tried to stand. She couldn’t. She had no strength in her back legs. I sat down next to her, sobbing, and started petting her.

“She won’t make it another hour,” I told Jason.

He stood watching us for a second before asking quietly, “What do you want to do?”

In that moment, I knew. I said, “It’s time.”

He left us alone and went to call our vet (who was closed). He called the after-hours emergency number and got some information. Meanwhile, I scrolled through my phone to find the number of the emergency vet I had programmed into it after Abby’s health scare a year ago. Jason and I compared notes and decided to take her to the vet closest to our house.

We each took turns alone with Abby, saying our goodbyes. I told her what a great cat she was and kissed her head countless times. I called her by her nickname, bambino, and told her, “If you need to go, it’s OK.” Then I cried like I’ve never cried before, great big heaving sobs. I couldn’t believe that after 16½ years of seeing this cat nearly every single day, she was going to be gone.

As we got into the car, Abby carefully cradled into my lap, I said, “It feels like everything is happening so fast.” But we didn’t want her to spend another minute like she was, struggling to stand, unable to even meow.

We pulled into the emergency vet parking lot. The staff there was wonderful. As soon as they saw us in the lobby, they ushered us into a room so we wouldn’t have to wait, sobbing, in the waiting room. They offered their condolences and quietly explained the process: they’d need to take Abby out of the room to insert a catheter, but they’d bring her right back. They asked if we wanted to be present (yes), and had us fill out all the paperwork and pay so when everything was said and done, we could leave quietly.

After a few minutes, they brought Abby back in and said the vet would be along shortly. They had carefully wrapped Abby in a green fleece blanket. She looked so tiny. We got a few more minutes to say additional goodbyes, kiss her head for the hundredth time and pet her silky fur. Then the vet came in, expressed how sorry she was, and stroked Abby’s head. She explained the process: she would insert the solution into Abby’s catheter, and that would be that. She warned that there might be some twitching or urinating, but there was none of that. I stroked Abby’s side while Jason petted her head, and we both watched her eyes. I didn’t see anything. Not a twitch, not a blink, nothing. I even had to ask, “Is she gone?” And the vet said, “I’ll confirm by listening for a heartbeat, but yes.” It was entirely peaceful. I’m so grateful for that.

But the thing I’m most grateful for is that Abby waited. She waited for us to get home so we could say goodbye.

Goodbye, old friend.

I know we’ll meet again, and I know you’ll recognize me, but just in case, I’m bringing along the one thing I couldn’t bear to throw away:

“Awesome!” we said.

It was going to take place in Turks and Caicos, they informed us.

“Where in the world is that?” we asked. (It’s right here.)

The date would be the end of April.

“April?!?” we joked. “Why not during January when the weather is crappy?”

(HAHAHHAHAA. It is snowing as I type this — on May 3 — because OF COURSE IT IS.)

So we went, and it was lovely, and I already told Jason I am saving all of my money to go back because it was the best vacation I’ve ever had.

After months and months and months of looking out the windows to see white and gray and brown (accompanied by seething rage whenever I viewed the “spring” weather forecast), I was blown away by our view once we got to the island:

The first day, we toured the resort:

Is this a pawn? A knight? A rook? Who knows?! This is why I play cribbage.

Before the wind picked up in the afternoon, we spent our mornings at the beach:

Please note that I do not normally have cleavage, but I found the perfect swimsuit that makes me feel amazing.

The best part of the trip was swimming in the ocean with Jason and a few friends. All of a sudden, I heard a noise like someone flipping book pages. I turned around, and saw dozens of tiny, silver fish skipping across the surface of the water. So cool.

I went snorkeling twice. Jason had never snorkeled before, so I gave him a quickie lesson and we clumsily flippered our way past a coral reef. After awhile, we went our separate ways (because I kept inadvertently kicking him and he couldn’t understand my gurgled cries of, “There’s some fish right below us!”). I saw so many fish; the water was so clear, you could see all the way to the bottom.

My favorite was the stoplight parrotfish.

Hello, friend! (Photo from here.)

I followed a couple of parrotfish around the reef for a good 15 minutes, talking to them underwater the entire time (partly because I was so charmed by them and wanted them to like me, and partly because I was hoping my nonstop chatter would keep any sharks or barracudas away, especially since another snorkeler tapped me on the shoulder and said, “There’s a barracuda about 10 feet to your left!” To which I thought, “Then I will be swimming speedily to my right.” Also, word to the wise: If you are snorkeling, please do not tap another person on their shoulder, especially if they are having a weird tingly feeling that they are being stalked by a large, toothy, prehistoric sea creature.)

Tangent: Whenever I go snorkeling, I always manage to give myself a mini panic attack. This time, it happened after I saw a bunch of small fish go barreling past me at full speed. As I briefly wondered where they were going, and what they might’ve been swimming from, my brain helpfully supplied all kinds of gruesome scenes from the film Open Water. And that is when Mr. I Saw A Barracuda decided to tap me on the shoulder. I may still not be completely recovered.

At one point, my mask started to fog up, so I removed it, spit on the goggles and re-adjusted it. When I stuck my head back underwater, three yellowtail snappers were right in front of me. I could’ve touched them if I wanted to (I did not). I waved my hands to shoo them away and they sat there, floating silently and unblinking. That wasn’t creepy AT ALL.

BACK OFF, CREEPERS. (Photo from here.)

When I finally caught up with Jason on shore, he triumphantly told me that he saw a giant stingray with a tail that was at least six feet long. Grah.

In the afternoons, when the wind picked up and the sun became unbearable, we retreated to the pool with some friends:

Not pictured: the 300 strawberry daiquiris I consumed.

The whole vacation was incredibly relaxing. Because we didn’t want to worry about roaming charges, we shut off our phones before we arrived. And it was amazing to not have to worry about anything. We were unreachable! Suck on that, real life! I’m a ghost! My mind was completely, utterly blank. It was lovely.

Ahhh…

Surprisingly, even though I grazed at the buffet like a starved wildebeest, I didn’t gain an ounce. I assume it was because I always started with a plate of fresh fruit. My fruit intake seriously increased by 1,057%. (My Mountain Dew intake was zero, but I happily swapped it for those aforementioned strawberry daiquiris.)

Jason even tried some new foods. He discovered that he loves mahi-mahi, which we had at the rehearsal dinner, located at the perfect spot overlooking the ocean:

Please ignore my tan line and focus instead of what my stick-straight hair does when not confronted with temperatures that suck. Slight beachy waves from literally 4 minutes of work and no hair product! I desperately need to live in a warm-weather climate.

The wedding was beautiful. (I won’t post any photos of the bride & groom because it’s not my place, but trust me, they were beautiful as well.)

I highly recommend going on vacation with friends. It worked out well for us, because if Jason wanted to stay out later when I was tired, he could while I went to bed. Win-win.

Oh, yeah: I promised Jason I would nap in this before we left. I didn’t, so now we have to go back. Ha ha, a loophole!

At work, I’ve been hearing a few phrases more and more that irritate the everloving hell out of me. Please tell me you’ve heard this one before, because I hear it nearly every day, and it makes me feel instantly annoyed: How’s your bandwidth?

The first time I was asked this, (Shauna, how’s your bandwidth?) I proceeded to completely embarrass myself by saying, “What? You mean on my computer?” I had absolutely no idea — none whatsoever — that “How’s your bandwidth?” = “How busy are you?” And now that all of the writers here are completely stretched to our limits, I know this inane question is going to precede some asinine deadline and cause my blood pressure to spike. (Side note: I had my blood pressure tested at work Tuesday, immediately after three hours of stressful, last-minute projects announced by red exclamation-pointed emails, so my blood pressure was spectacularly high. Like, epic-fail high. Note to self: NEVER EVER EVER get my blood pressure tested at work. EVER.)

The other thing that I’ve been hearing more and more of lately is, “I’ve got a hard stop.” It’s said during meetings that are about to run long: “Sorry, but I’ve got a hard stop at 3:00.” It means the person has to leave right then because they have another meeting. I find the phrase supremely annoying in a corporate-speak way, but the good news is that whenever someone says it, the meeting abruptly adjourns and EVERYONE leaves, even if we’re not actually done. I love that.

Today, I’m in meetings from 1:00 to 5:00 (least-favorite thing: afternoon meetings on Fridays) so you can bet as soon as the clock says 5:00, I’m going to be the first person to pop up and say, “I’ve gotta go. I’ve got a hard stop at 5:00.” Because I have a meeting immediately afterwards with my husband, the couch and some pork chops.

How about you guys? How did you spend your time last week?