Visitation

Sleep was like water this morning as I dove under its murky surface and came up for air only to submerge again. The regular breathing of the man who loves me lulled me back to some nether world each time I almost woke. At the moment of one almost-waking, Layla sat in the corner of my bedroom where the pink velvet dog bed used to be back when she was still able-bodied enough to climb the stairs. She was young in my almost-dream--sitting up straight and watching me with her ears cocked unevenly.

In our first nights at my new condo, I'd fill the CD player before Lola and Layla and I climbed the stairs. I had never lived alone, and the music gave a beat to my jangled loneliness. I can't remember how many weeks it took to get comfortable with the idea of no man to share my bed, no other humans breathing in my house, but the dogs came to expect the music. Lola would get into her bed as soon as I got into mine,  Layla, however, would pace as I  made some attempt to read. When I turned out the light, she would come to my side of the bed and settle her chin near my pillow. "Good-night, good dog," I used to tell her.

And here she was this morning back for a visit.

Population of Pleasure Palace and Pet Hospice Down to One

Layla the dog left this world today after two hours of lying in her bed and soaking up love love  love. It was often said that Layla could never get enough petting, and we sometimes joked that a petting marathon should be scheduled to see if she could be sated before being petted bald. The man who loves me and I did our best to honor that loving neediness of hers in her last hours. Sometimes known as “Love Sponge,” the love Layla gave actually exceeded the love she took. She made friends easily and endeared herself to anyone who became a regular visitor.

In her earlier years in the Clemen/Emanuel household, Layla seemed to be a dog with no middle ground. A three-mile walk was often followed by an afternoon on the couch. She did not enjoy toys, was afraid of balls and Frisbees, and professed little interest in bones. But give her a person to hang out with and there would inevitably be a conversation about love. Before becoming the minister of love in her adopted household, Layla, along with Lola, lived for a time on the streets of downtown Los Angeles before being rescued by Thumping Tails. It may have been her time on the streets that sensitized Layla to suffering. Easily startled and somewhat anxious, Layla was particularly upset by crying. On more than one occasion she mercilessly mauled a box of Kleenex, most likely blaming it for the tears of one of her beloved humans.

Layla was preceded in death by her litter mate Lola, and the cat Snowflake who both died in September. She is survived by Piper, Snowflakes’s sister, who will celebrate her 17^th birthday this month. Having endured failing health for many months, Layla met death peacefully and seemed almost to sigh with relief in her final moments.

Thank You, Everyone.......

for your condolences.
We're getting by.

Piper the cat, always reclusive, has come out of her shell since Snowflake left us. She has a whole new personality now that she's the only cat in the household.
And Layla is better than I imagined she would be. She's a high strung dog, and I thought she'd pace around endlessly looking for Lola. But she's sleeping more. And following my every move when she's awake.

I think she harbors some suspicion that I've allowed Lola to come upstairs (both she and Lola were/are confined to my downstairs due to their inability to cope with the steps.) She spends quite a bit of time time poking her nose through the cat door in the gate and  sniffing.

Piper and Layla have always been tolerant of one another's presence.  Maybe now they'll get cuddly.

Loss, Coincidence & Consoling

My condo complex is resurfacing its interior streets so, for the second day in a row, I had the choice of being held prisoner for several hours while the "slurry coat" dried or vacating the premises before 7:00 a.m.  and staying gone. Yesterday I let myself be held hostage. Today I chose freedom.
I had an elaborate plan--a sort of "me morning." Breakfast out with my laptop, jazzercise, a pedicure, and then downtown to spring my dogs from boarding, which I elected not to do yesterday due to fearsome visions of eight paws and a set of sneakers tracking fresh asphalt into my condo and simultaneously incurring the wrath of the H.O.A board.

Things were going well as  I took the last bites of my Starbucks veggie panini while emailing my attorney. Then the phone rang.

It was Stephen, the guy from the dog boarding place, telling me my dog Lola was completely uninterested in getting up this morning. Lola is old. She has a heart condition. She nearly died when I was out of town visiting my mom in August. But she rallied and had a great month at home with me before it was time to visit my mom again last week. I told Stephen I would meet him and Lola at the vet.

It so happens that the Starbucks I chose was the one in my old neighborhood--the suburb where I lived for twelve years with Mr. Ex.  It was difficult backing out of my parking place at 8:15 in the morning on the busy street that leads to the Freeway. But after several cars zoomed by someone gave me a break, and I proceeded to the onramp, calculating which route would get me to the vet the fastest. It was a second or two after I merged into traffic that I realized the big fat Acura TL in front of me was none other than Mr. Ex.

There we were, Mr. Ex and I, crawling west in tandem while Lola was in yet another car heading for the vet. I thought about calling Mr. Ex. "Hey, I'm behind you right now," I might have said. "I'm really sad. Please talk to me because Lola is dying, and I'm on my way to her." I was thinking about making that call. I really was. Mr. Ex was always the dog guy at our house. The walks, the feedings, the runs to Petsmart. Mr. Ex and our daughters and I went to the dog rescue place together and adopted Lola and Layla one February morning five or six years back.  Then the four of us drove back downtown to pick the dogs up after the rescue folks had groomed them for us. All six of us rode home together, the scent of fresh dog shampoo nearly inebriating us while we discussed names.  Helena and Hermia? Bianca and Kate? This was what I was thinking as I crept through rush hour behind Mr. Ex.  But my phone rang. Stephen again. Lola was dead.

I remembered then what had happened last month. I'd gotten the call that Lola was sick--very sick-- while I was at my mom's place. I sent Mr. Ex an email asking if he wanted to be there if she had to be put down before I flew home. No, he wrote back. I don't need to be there.  


So I didn't call Mr. Ex.  I called the man who loves me. He had said yes to my request last month. Of course he would be there if Lola had to be put down. But he didn't wait for that to happen. He went to visit her at the vet hospital. Hung out with her. I hung out with him this morning. Crawled into his big fluffy bed and cried.

Population of Pleasure Palace and Pet Hospice Declines

Snowflake the cat departed this world an hour before sunrise on September 10th after sixteen years of prowling the earth in the company of those who loved her.
Snowflake  and her sister Piper joined their family the summer of 1994 as a means of consoling two little girls who were distressed over the disappearance of former family cat, the much-loved Big Mac. To the surprise of all, Big Mac performed his famous re-appearing act and did a bang-up job as welcoming committee for the two small kittens who had just left their mother.
It's uncertain what Snowflake thought of her new life in the hills of Los Feliz with a family who already had three pets. Those who knew her often wondered if she mourned the loss of her former Hollywood life in the household of actress Drew Barrymore. Nevertheless, the hunting was good in the spacious grounds of her new hillside home, and in the years before she became an indoor cat, Snowflake terrorized the neighborhood lizards and doves with her talents as a huntress. 
Snowflake had more peaceable abilities as well. In addition to her piercing meow, she had a range of vocal capabilities that rendered her excellent at mimicry and conversation. When she channelled her opinions through the mother of the household, she was known to speak English with a French accent and sometimes French itself.
No doubt tutored by her predecessor Big Mac, Snowflake honed a stupendous disappearing act of her own much to the consternation of pet-sitters who often felt they'd failed miserably by letting the cat run away. In her most recent residence, her favorite hiding places included a bathroom cabinet, a cheese cake pan in the far corner of a kitchen cupboard, and behind the washing machine.
Snowflake pursued amazing athletic feats until the last months of her life. At the age of sixteen she was still able to leap from the railing of the loft over the living room, glide across a narrow support beam, and jump onto a 2-inch wide window ledge where she could watch the squirrels cavorting in the grevalia tree.
Snowflake is preceded in death by family dogs, LuLu and Freckles (who once tried to eat her),and the cats Big Mac and Little Guy. She is survived by her sister-cat Piper,dogs Lola and Layla, the two little girls who are now grown women, and their mother who no longer has anyone to speak French with.