Part 5 of 6: About to lose my shoulder, left alone with just the cats, I feel sorry for myself and get depressed

A short burst of cat combat - Royce vs. Pistol-Yero.

I grow tired of this "injured" series of my blog. I felt like I needed to do it, but I also knew that I would grow tired of it, so I decided to limit it to four segments. I thought that I would lay them out quickly, get myself out of the hospital for good and then move on with both blog and life.

Instead, it feels like I have been trapped in this series forever. I can't stay, I must get out of this place. And yet, I have expanded the series from four segments to six. Last night, I went through the pictures of the Kracker Cats that I had taken on June 19, the final day that I spent utterly alone with the cats. On that day, I sought to prepare my mind for the fact that early the following morning, I would undergo my second round of surgery in one week and I would lose my right shoulder.

So last night, when I looked at the June 19 pictures of the cats, me all alone with them, I felt that I must give them their own entry. That is why there are now six segments instead of four. And really, my four-day hospital stay deserves its own post as well. But I promise you, waning readers, that afterward I will get myself out of the hospital and will then move on for good. 

June 19, my final day with my natural shoulder, was a day of internal warfare for me, a day when I zig-zagged up and down between periods of near-suicidal depression and of soaring optimism.

During the depressed times, I felt that this was it for me, that this incident would destroy me - economically, physically and spiritually; that when the final toll came due, Sunflower and I would be forced to surrender this house in which we raised our children and all these Kracker Cats. I felt that our lives would forever after be grim and dismal until, at long last, life ended.

During the periods of soaring optimism, I felt that this accident was not an end, but a new beginning; that it was a message to that it was time to break the shackles that bind me and to at long last claim my freedom, to finally make good on the tremendous potential, largely squandered until now, that my creator has given me.

See the two cats at the top? Royce and Pistol? As I was trying to figure out how to photograph what looked to be a minor dispute between them, they suddenly leaped into vicious battle - more vicious than any dispute that I had ever before witnessed between them. That is the kind of battle that my soul did with my spirit, June 19, 2008.

Fortunately, the battle between Pistol and Royce lasted but a second and was then over. I think the battle of Grahamn vs. Grahamn will last much longer. I root for Grahamn. I believe Grahamn will win.

Martigny - at rest in the same battleground.

Three Kracker Cats observe me.

Chicago upon my lap. She does this often, but don't ever try to pick her up. She is not a pick-up kind of girl.

That's a clip of Tiger Woods, winning the US open with a severely injured knee. Jim seems pretty darn interested.

Royce wants outside.

Royce in the backyard.

 Jim comes out, too. He is a house cat who loves the outdoors. He can only come out when I can chaperone. Chicago never comes out. Were the door to suddenly open, she would turn away and dash deeper into the house. If she were to go against character and suddenly try to go out, I would do all within my power to stop her.

She stepped outside once - back in June of 2001. We never want her to go outside again.

Chicago and Jim. 

Jim licks his lips.

Pistol chills.

Chicago sure enjoys her watermelon! She also sure enjoys cantaloupe and corn - especially that corn that still clings to the cob once a human has gnawed the big, hard-to-chew stuff away.

Remember that watermelon, the one that thumped so good that I bought it? Here is a challenge for you:

Buy a good thumping watermelon and then, if you are right-handed, try to cut it with just your left hand. I had quite a time with that watermelon. I will not issue the same challenge, but in reverse, to the left-handed among you. Lefties tend to be more ambidextrous than us righties, so it might not be as a big of a struggle for you lefties.

By the time I get the use of my right hand back, I will be ambidextrous!

I also had a terrible time when I tried to cover the left-over pieces up in clear, cling-wrap plastic.

It could well be two days, possibly three, before I publish segment six. It will feature a preacher cat, a cat whose sermon has been delivered all across the world. That cat's sermon was even delivered to me, as I lay in my hospital bed during my final day at Providence, in Anchorage, Alaska.