So, My Cat Is A Ruthless Murderer, and other news

My husband and I were strapping my son in his car seat this morning, as we do, Chris (the devoted husband) was getting ready to leave for work. We were tired and bitchy and hadn’t had enough coffee yet, all was normal.

And then the screaming started. No, not my toddler, as is to be expected at 6 AM on a weekday, when he’d rather be asleep too (on the weekend he wakes up around 5 AM out of spite). My cat, Todd, tra-la-las onto the porch with the screaming thing dangling from his mouth. It takes us a minute to recognize what it is. Chris, confused and coffee deprived, calls out a few things he thinks it is

“It’s a rat! NO! Is that a squirrel!?” and then, “It’s a bunny!”

No, ladies and gentlemen, it wasn’t just a bunny. It was a tiny, helpless, screaming, baby bunny. An Eastern Cottontail to be exact. And we couldn’t let it become a tiny, helpless, dead baby bunny (that’s a day ruiner, and it wasn’t noon yet), so my frantic rescue attempt was on.

Because I am a superior, higher life form, after some flailing and chaos, I bested the cat and caught the then tiny, helpless, heavily breathing baby bunny and Chris and I preceded to exclaim that neither of us knew what to do with our new itty-bitty charge.

For an hour, I had a new baby, sort of.

So of course, after Chris leaves for work, I video chat my all-knowing mother, who turns to the internet. We research. I cuddle. Eventually I email the local wildlife rescue center. As it turns out, it’s illegal in the state of WA to keep wildlife as a pet, wild rabbits can carry diseases, and trying to care for a wild baby bunny almost certainly spells certain death (for the itty-bitty, this isn’t Monty Python, he was harmless).

Brilliant though I may be, I released the baby before receiving a reply, and then took a nap. I woke up to an email saying that my cat could have caused the bunny internal damage, and after feeling terrible for another hour, I went to check where I’d released him. Low and behold, he hasn’t moved. But then he bolted under the garage. JOY!

After some back and forward with the wildlife center lady, I went back outside, found the baby under the garage (he’d done a terrible job hiding, probably why Todd got him in the first place) and caught him again.

At this point, the rabbit has been captured out of the wild twice in one day. Let’s face it, people, he needed me.

So, I put him in a box with a comfy sheet we didn’t need anymore. I had a box of baby bunny to deal with at this point.

Now, the story has a happy-ish almost ending. I took the little darling to the local wildlife center. He’s being seen by veterinarians to assess how bad his little heart was damaged by his harrowing ordeal (as well as if he’s bleeding out internally).

I’ll check back tomorrow for the results, and to see if all my rescue attempts were for naught. If/when he’s good to be released, I will pick him up and let him go in the woods behind the house.

At which point I will be forced to cope with the fact that, even though I saved the damn thing, he will probably be eaten by the Giant Ass Owl that lives back there.

And that’s the story of how I fucked up the circle of life.

Yes, you were right, I am crazy.

I was going to film a video for YouTube today, talking about the things I’m going to end up typing here, but it’s 10:04 and I’m in a bathrobe. So, here we are. Me writing, you reading. Life as it should be.

My performance at the whole blog thing seems to have sucked for about two weeks now. I’ve missed a few deadlines. I’m not apologizing. Statement of fact is statement of fact. I’ve missed a couple of my self-imposed deadlines (I know how disappointed you’ve been). But I did think it high time we had an honest sit down and discuss things, very one-sidedly.

December 23, 2016, I found myself in the Urgent Care Clinic twice, once midmorning, once in the very late evening. After a traumatic year of miscarriages, death, family illness and injury; a mental illness that I had been battling mostly on my own for over a decade came to a head. I broke. I broke hard.

The nervous breakdown built up over the course of a week. Depression and anxiety set in. And it was at this point that I really started to want to die; even to feel like I deserved to die. I begged my husband to take me to UC. He asked me what they could do. I answered that they could commit me. But in my head, I was telling myself that they should kill me. I didn’t deserve to live. I thought that many times through the night. I felt dangerous, crazy, evil, and was clearly unstable.

I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Just not in the way that Hollywood portrays it. I do not wash my hands compulsively, my house is a disaster most days, I do not have a visible compulsion that you would readily recognize and say, “That chick has OCD.” I battle my demons in my mind. The form of OCD I suffer from is called Pure O. Cracked.com actually has a really good article about it that I recommend. Mostly because the details are still very painful and anxiety inducing to share, and I don’t want to.

Memorial Day weekend I went on a trip with my family. I forgot to pack my medication, and as a result, did not take it for three days. I was fortunate enough that this did not make me unstable, but I did spike in my, up till then, very well managed by medication and therapy, OCD anxiety symptoms. I also started a new job this week, so there’s a big change in my life. I’m still not feeling 100% (Like, 99%) myself yet (To people that take medication for mental illness, I do not recommend forgetting to take it for any length of time).

That’s where we are. That’s why I’m not sorry I’ve missed deadlines. There are nights when I have to make the choice to go to sleep and recover, or the next day gets out of hand. And I gotta tell you, spiraling is the worst hell that I can imagine. It’s the thing I am most afraid of writing about and describing in an honest way.

I love writing. I love blogging. But if there’s a night where I can’t transfer the thoughts in my journal onto the internet, it’s just not happening.

That being said, I have written about half a dozen poems in the last few days, expanded on The Convention, and wrote a dirty little song that I won’t be posting up here. So, I haven’t stopped writing. And next week will be better, and so will the next week after that. I hope you’ll keep taking this journey with me. I’ve loved seeing the outpouring of support, I cannot adequately express my gratitude that you all take the time out of your day to read my words and interact with me. It is the sweet balm to my heart that I live for.

I love you all,

Amanda Heiser