I'm dressed all in blue

Monday Monday. Three weeks in the rearview I found Suk, sans her head, on our front lawn. Three. That's how many times I had to run our sprinkler to wash away the bloody drag marks in the grass. I still can't look at my front yard without seeing my poor fat cat. It haunts me. Stu the realist tells himself, yes she was a part of the family, and yes, you had her for a long time, but she was just a cat. Get over it. Suck it up, man! I listen to that Stu, and try real hard, to walk the talk, and then something happens that brings me down, hard.

I'm smart enough to realize that I have what amounts to some sort of post traumatic stress over my poor dead cat. I get that. My problem is that I think that is pretty damn goofy. Internal struggle between how I feel, and how I think I should feel.

Mornings our hard. Ever since that Monday Monday, I have stopped getting up early. It doesn't take a nervous doctor to understand why. I used to always get up an hour or two before the rest of the Team to watch TV, DVD's or stuff I'd Digitally recorded. Stu time. Every morning, as soon as I hit the light in the kitchen to get coffee, Suki hit the back door, and started talking. She wanted to come inside, get some food, visit, etc. I wouldn't let her because she'd wake up the entire Team. So, she'd sit at the door and talk, as I sat on my throne of impotence watching TV. We could make eye contact across the room, and through the french door. I'd tell her to be quiet. She would ignore me and keep up her metronome like talking. Suk was so very persistent. She was a big part of my morning ritual, my quiet time. Only thing, now that she's gone, it is to damn quiet. So much so that on most mornings I stay in bed until one of the Boy(s) is ready to start their day. Our second is usually the first up-so I go and get Wy, fix him a milk, and we hit the recliner to watch Sesame Street.

That is what the pragmatic, realist Stu was doing this past Saturday. Sitting with The Little Warrior watching Sesame Street. I wasn't even watching it that close, that is, until one of those quintessential little Sesame Street cartoon learning tool segue things came on screen. What caught my attention was the cartoon of a cat on screen. It looked a lot like Suki to me. Sitting there, flicking it's tail, and talking. Above the cat was a chalk board where a little kid (which you couldn't see, only hear) is trying to spell out a statement.

So, with the fat little cartoon cat meowing and flicking it's tail, the little kid you can't see says as they are writing out on the chalk board.
My kat...
After they get cat wrong, the board erases, and the cat on screen meows, flicks the tail. The little kid says, that's wrong. They then starts over.
My cat iz
Same thing happens, that's wrong, cat meows, etc. At this point I'm thinking the final word is going to be fat. Something cute or funny like that. Wrong.
My cat is gone. Only this time there is no little kid voice. The little cat, gets up, meows and exits screen left at which point the little kid says, what is on screen.
My cat is gone.

Pragmatic Stu sitting there with Wy, tears welling up in my eyes, watching Sesame Street. Are you kidding me? Can I make this shit up? Talk about your synchronistic stick in the ass.

My cat is gone.
Indeed.

Until I BLOG again...F(Bomb) Jung!