This aging business, I tell you.
Linus hurt his shoulder last Thursday barking at the paper boy (we still haven't figured out how), and has been having an awful time since. The biggest problem is that he doesn't recognize his limitations, so tries to do things that just aren't in the cards and ends up hurting himself even more than he's already hurt.
Yesterday, for example, he tried to jump off the back steps, and landed with a thud--not on his feet, in other words. He's still paying for that miscalculation today (so far, he's been unable to get up on his favorite perch, the chaise).
I have been fighting to keep present through all of this, for denial is the default of my people. (Wasn't "Don't ask, don't tell" a Wisconsin boy's idea? Les Aspin, to be specific?) It is silly, for there are still things we can do to make him more comfortable--The End is far from nigh.
But then, my mother could have written the "Worst Case Scenario Handbook" in her sleep, so perhaps I should not be too hard on myself, eh?
Linda, bless her heart, has been propelled into action by her worry. This morning she made ingenious use of a piece of leftover fence to make Linus a wonderful ramp to the back yard.
What a gal!
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