There Is Water

At The Bottom Of The Ocean!

Clap On, Clap Off

It's been awhile since my last post, so I thought I'd say some stuff. First, I was raised a Baptist, and tonight, I relearned a lesson that I've learned many times before. If you're in a Baptist church and have the urge to clap along with the music, it's probably best that you don't. Even if it seems like everyone else is. However, if you do decide to praise God via hand clapping, be prepared to be doing it by yourself within a few seconds. Furthermore, if you happen to be leading worship in a Baptist church, it's probably best not to ask them to clap. Maybe it's just poor hand-eye coordination, but Baptists just have a hard time clapping. On a side note, we had Jamie Smith as a guest worship leader tonight. On her last song, I happened to look over and see an older woman plugging her ears with her index fingers. :) I suppose electric guitars aren't for everyone. The way I see it, Pick'n and a grin'n is mighty fine on any breed of guitar.

My Little Whisky Bisky

I had to do what I feel is the hardest thing I've ever done. I had to put my little Whiskers to sleep. I got Whiskers around 6th or 7th grade, so she was around 18 years old. Our appointment with the vet was Friday at 3:30. I dreaded it all week. Most days it was hard for her to get around, but every now and then she had a good day. Friday was one of them...which made it even more difficult. I loved on her and told her good bye. It was so hard, because she was scared when we were at the vet. And I just couldn't comfort her to my satisfaction. I've fought and battled guilt the past few days. (You hope she knew how much you loved her. You hope those last few moments weren't horribly tramatic for her.) I never want to do that again. The pain is just too much to bare. My heart is broken.

I try to remember all the good times. This picture is fairly recent...around August or September. She was helping me change my spark plugs. :) I remember how when I was in middle school, and she was a tiny kitten, she would fall off my bed and meow until I woke up. I would pick her up, and she would want to play for a bit. As a kitten, she would gently pat your chest to wake you up for love or play. If you were setting down she would gently pat your leg to get you attention. She did this until the day she died. Throughout college she would always come say good bye to me as I left. (There was a scratching post there, and she would scratch it as I left. I'm not sure why, but that's what she did. Soon, she didn't get around like she once did. When she came out to say good bye, I would carry her back in and tell her bye. She seemed to understand, as she didn't follow me out again.) She had many nick names: Whisky...Whisky Bisky...Whisky Bisk...Whisky River...Wisk. (I remember how funny we thought it was that her nick name ended up being Whisky. We would go to the porch and yell, WHISKY! WHISKY!..... We would joke about how the neighbors must all think we're a bunch of winos calling out for some whisky.) She knew where my bedroom window was, and if she wanted in she would come to it and shake the screen with her paw until I woke and let her in. (I'm still not sure how she shook the screen like that. It was pretty strange.) Once, she even saved our home from burning down. I was the last one up. I was brushing my teeth when I heard Whiskers going crazy and hitting the door. She was doing her best to get my attention. I opened the door, and she looked straight at the laundry room as if something was in there. (Just like something out of an episode of Lassie.) I went for the laundry room thinking a cridder may have made its way into the house, but when I opened the door, I was hit in the face with a puff of black smoke. The laundry room was on fire! I ran through the house yelling, "FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!..." By this time the smoke was throughout the house, so the problem was evident as my family awoke. Not only did we all get out of the house, we were able to extenguish the fire before it spread. This was all due to Whiskers.

I'll miss her. I had already decided many years ago, that I wouldn't have another indoor pet. After this, I'm not sure if I'll ever have another pet. It's just too hard. After 18 years, I walked into a vet with my little kitty and had her put to sleep. I ask God to take my guilt. I hope it passes, but I can't help but to wonder if I did the right thing. Did I do it too soon? Did she know how much I loved her? I've even wondered if she would forgive me for taking her life...but I know animals don't think that way. She didn't know what was going on. All she knew was that one minute I was loving and petting her....and the next minute I was carrying her away to a strange place. She was scared and confused, and that haunts me. I've come to the conclusion that I need to forgive myself...not have her forgive me. It's awful, but I feel guilty if I laugh or have fun. I guess I took her life, and now I feel bad when I enjoy mine. I feel bad if I pet another if I should be petting her. I feel like I betrayed her I betrayed her love. I'm sorry for such a depressing post, but I suppose this might help my healing process. It just hurts. Many people would say, "It was just a cat. Move on." Not me. She was a blessing, and I thank God for the 18 years that she was a part of my life.