I thought I would post some pictures I took yesterday of our trip to Red Mountain. This place is about 14.5 miles from our house, so when Amy and I biked there a couple of weeks ago, we actually logged 29 miles round trip. We are so awesome! People used to mine chromium there years ago, and now people in Seldovia recreate there. It's our mecca in the summer.
Here's Aidan threatening to shove Mark into the stream of icy water. Later they dared each other to jump in from this rock and ultimately succeeded in taunting me to do the same. It was family underwear day at Red Mountain. (Sounds kinky--totally wasn't.)
We hiked up this hill earlier too. My kid and I are both afraid of heights so rather than walk back on this skinny trail that wanted to suck us over the edge, we took the plunge and just came straight down on the boulders. Took us a long time, but Scully stuck with us.
That's Scully taking a swim over to Mark. She needed a bath anyway.
Next is the lovely and very disobedient Chloe. She's not so disobedient I guess as she is her own bitch. She does whatever the hell she feels like doing.
And here's a picture of me and the kid, who is so caught between trying to grow up into a cool teenager and still being his mama's boy. He pretends I'm torturing him, but really he loves to be close to me. Well to both of us really.
for all of your positive thoughts and prayers and hard work in helping me find Spaz. He is not home yet, but I am continuing the search. Because our town is so small, between 300 and 400 people in all, I think that almost everyone in town and out the road knows that he is missing. This means I have more eyes looking out for him, and it means that almost everyone stops me to ask about him. And of course this is both wonderful and sad at the same time. I sometimes make it through a day without crying, but most times I don't. One of our best friends and neighbors, Chris aka Lilly aka Scro' made me a lovely cedar box, in case Spaz never comes back. He said I can put Spaz's pictures and toys and a can of Fancy Feast in it and we can bury it in the Sacred Grove, at the top of our hill. Of course I am in no way ready yet for this. I don't even say the "d" word yet in relation to Spaz. But it was awfully sweet of him to make it for me/Spaz.
Chris and Amy's dog Stella has a special relationship with Spaz, who is not afraid of anything or any dog. They play together at our house lots.
Here's another older pic of Spaz hanging out with a bunch of orientals. That's his love Pop Pop that he's laying on. See him smiling? I looked for a pic of Spaz and Stella but couldn't find one.
The other thing I have been doing is playing stupid grieving games with myself. You know, like in college when you read Elizabeth Kubhler Ross's book on dying? She wrote that most people go through stages when dealing with loss: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. (I think that's right--it's off the top of my head.) I used to never understand bargaining. But now I live in bargaining. For instance: I would pay double Spaz's price from his breeder yesterday. In a heartbeat. Anytime anywhere. Just to have him back. Then I think what body part would I cut off? A finger? Probably. An arm. I don't know. Then I get pissed off that I'm even thinking this way. Who would I sleep with in town? That's a sick one too. But I've gone there as well. I won't speculate further. The point is, I wonder who I'm making deals with? And really, is this at all helpful?
So I'll just keep looking and listening and hoping.
That's a frequent refrain in one of my favorite books, The Cider House Rules by John Irving. I re-read it every few years. And I haven't read it recently, but that's the only thing I can think to say about my life now. I'm waiting and seeing if Spaz will show up here alive. I have put off writing this entry because it's so not real to me yet. And really I hope it never gets real. Last Monday on the 17th of August Mark came back in the house from the outhouse. When he opened the door, Spaz darted out, clearly plotting his escape. Mark tried to get him back in the house for awhile, making the meat noise he does when he gives the cats meat, and chasing him around the yard. He gave up, thinking I'd be home soon and Spaz would come back inside when I got here.
Well he didn't. In fact we haven't seen him since. I have spent hours and hours and hours on foot and bike and in the car, combing the neighborhood and hills around us for signs of Spaz. Nothing. All of the neighbors have helped search, from that first few hours he was missing until now. I have posters up all over town with his pictures and story of when he went missing. I have called friends and acquaintances within a couple mile radius, as well as the shelter in Homer and the vet's clinic there. I have had friends from out of the state and country consult psychics on Spaz's behalf to see if they had an idea about where he might be or what happened to him. The end result is the same though. He's not here. I don't know what else to do now except hope and wait and see.
I am heartbroken and obsessed. I cry at work and home. Some days I can't get out of bed. Other days I am still optimistic and continue the search for him. Pop Pop is sure confused and has started barfing. The other cats seem shocked in the mornings when they don't have to run for cover because Spaz is ripping through the house spilling coffee and leaping from the furniture. I miss him pawing at my hoodie, trying to get into his favorite napping place against my chest. I miss him sleeping on my pillow at night. I even miss him jumping on my back while I'm bent over cleaning the litter box. His is such a giant personality that it doesn't seem possible that he's not alive anymore. I know he's not my child, and it's not as bad as losing a human child, but he's still my baby man and a big part of this family.
Please think of him and help him get back home safely to me.
