She Lost Her Arm!

Last night when I told Marissa (my pretty sweet niece) this story, she told me that this was a blog must. I'm taking her advice and sharing it with ya'll:

Two nights ago, I was a hot mess. Really, saying I was a hot mess is putting it lightly. I was a hormonal, chemically-imbalanced, batshit insane, premenstrual basket case.
And still.
That's putting it lightly.

Some lunatic thought it would be great fun to steal my prescription medication out of my car, (I had just picked it up from Costco) and he/she was undoubtedly hoping for goodies like painkillers or uppers. Sadly, as I only suffer from depression, they didn't get much more than Neurontin, Celexa, and Cymbalta. Hmmm. I wonder what the street value for those are?
But I digress.

So, because I have no pills, and because my psychiatrist, Dr Ferre, is out of town, (who I affectionately refer to as The Ferr Bear, but that's a whole other story for another day) and because I am too lazy to drag my ass forty minutes away to Provo to see my PCP to see if she would write a prescription, I decided that suffering was my best option.
And suffer I did.
After about two days, the withdrawals started to hit me hard-core: I had a horrible migraine, I couldn't handle any noise, I could barely form coherent sentences. And I was so depressed. Horribly. And my moods were all over the place. One minute I'm doing fine, and the next, I'm screaming at Brandon for looking at me wrong (Are you looking at me because I'm fat? You think I'm fat, don't you?!).

But well, friends, I think my low point came on Monday night. I was sitting (well slumping is more like it) in a chair, staring dully at the floor, unable to think clearly or speak or do anything productive. My Amazing Fur-Ball of Joy, Hairy, wandered into my line of sight and laid down on the floor. I thought about going over to her to pet her, but that seemed like too much effort, so I continued to stare. Then suddenly - suddenly...

ONE OF HER ARMS WAS MISSING!!!

So. I can look back now, and realize that I was wearing neither my glasses or contacts, and that things were rather blurry. She's also really fat and fluffy, so maybe her arm got lost in all that mess. But all I knew that evening, looking at my cat, was that she didn't have an arm. And I was horrified. My compromised mental state could not process what was obvious: that her arm was at an angle that kept me from seeing it, and coupled with the fact my vision was blurry, I should have been able to laugh and shake it off. But I couldn't. I could only freak out that my cat had somehow lost her arm. So naturally, I start sobbing.
Not crying.
Not sniffling.
SOBBING. Sobbing like I just lost a family member or something. I mean, crap, I'm thinking, I've got to look for the damn arm now, where do I start? Where would it be? What do I do with the arm once I find it? My poor kitty, without an arm! Brandon notices me sobbing then, (I was kinda hard to miss) and gets very concerned - what on earth could be wrong? After I explain to him that my cat was missing an arm - it took awhile, due to the sobbing and tears and snot, he (so kindly) tried to explain that she did in fact did have an arm, I just couldn't see it. And I didn't believe him. So I'm muttering to myself, "The world is a horrible, terrible place. It takes all the things you need like your arms and your joy. What's the point of even living?!"

And then, just like that, she jumped into my lap, all four limbs intact!! This started my sobbing up again full-force, and I couldn't stop hugging her, telling her she was so beautiful and pretty with all her arms, but that I would love her anyway, even if she were missing one. And I was happy again.

This is a pretty funny story now, folks, but wow. It sure wasn't then. I mean, what if I had a three-legged cat right now? That wouldn't be so funny now, would it?

This cat is actually missing an arm, (actually a leg, but let's not get technical here, people) like, for real.

This is Hairy, all limbs intact.

She just has a crazy mama (see picture).