A series of break-ins have occurred within a few miles of our house.  Thus far, the assailants have not been caught.  I don't know many details about the situation, but Janelle has been concerned enough to leave on our porch light throughout the night.

While I will leave questions about the effectiveness of this particular practice aside, I realized that my greatest concern isn't that they might take some of my valuables, but that they might break into our home while we are still in it.  Things are things, but the thought of something happening to my children has me wondering if we should invest in an alarm system, or at least some NRA stickers to put on the house windows.

When Annie was still alive, I felt a bit more protected.  Between her night-time prowling and Janelle's light sleeping, I believed that we would have plenty of response time should an intruder decide to enter our house.  Now that we don't have a dog (at least for the time being) and since Janelle's light sleeping has seemingly gotten deeper, I find myself a bit more anxious at night.  I have been waking up more often and feeling more tired in the morning even after a longer time in bed.

I suppose that it doesn't help that I still hold onto a bit of my childhood fear of the dark, particularly when I'm still in a dreamy haze.  Maybe keeping that outdoor light on will at least make it so I don't go bump in the dark as often.

Our dog, Annie [Princess Anastasia], died yesterday evening while I was teaching my grammar class at Baker.  She had been in a declining state of health ever since Domino (one of our cats who used to sleep with Annie) died a few months ago.  Annie's legs and movements had become much stiffer and she had lost a lot of weight lately.  This past week saw her condition deteriorate much more severely.  She often had to be lifted up to get from the sidewalk and into our house.

Despite her difficulties, she still wagged her tail for us up through Monday, the day before she died.  Yesterday morning, I found her trapped in the bathroom, lying under the toilet and breathing heavily.  Later that day, she collapsed in our yard after being let outside.  Janelle brought her in, but Annie was not able to stand after that without collapsing.  By the time I got home from Lincoln, Janelle had laid Annie on the dog bed because Annie had been sliding around the floor without a lot of control as she tried to stand again.

As I prepared to leave from my evening class, I heard Annie barking.  It was a weaker bark, but it had the tenor of the bark she used to give when chasing squirrels and rabbits (and skunks) when she was in better shape.  I checked on her, and found that she was quite asleep and dreaming, her legs twitching like they often have while she dreams.  She did not wake when I petted her, but continued her dreaming.

When I arrived from my evening class several hours later, I found Annie where I had left her, but no longer breathing.  Janelle said that Annie had passed away sometime during the time that she dropped the boys off at CCD.  We told Trevor and comforted him, and then decided to let the little boys know.  They had just gone to bed, so I woke them and gave them the option to say goodbye.  At first neither wanted to do it, but when I told them that they would not be able to see her tomorrow, they both went to see her.  Connor petted her tail before going back to bed.

Trevor and I then took Annie's body to my parents' house and, with the help of my father, buried her in their backyard near where we buried Domino and the family pets of my youth.  I had debated going into school today as I was crying almost nonstop since finding that she was dead.  I decided to go anyway, but only informed my carpool compatriot as we were limiting whom we told before letting our daughters know.  Katrina had to perform a solo today, and we wanted to wait until after that was over so she wouldn't have to worry about losing her composure.  Work ended up not being as hard as I thought it would be, and I made it through the day without crying again until I started writing this entry.

Annie was a great dog for our family; she was (and is) a part of our family, and is (and will be) sorely missed.  I look forward to seeing her again in the life beyond.  Hopefully she and Domino are keeping themselves company.

I've been more than a little weepy today.  I even had a bit of a breakdown on my carpool into work.  ... all for the sake of a dream.

Annie, my family dog, has been getting more and more ill in the past week.  She is spending most of her days and nights sleeping.  When she is up, her movements are slow and difficult.  She has lost a great deal of weight and is hardly eating.

I often dream of moving to a new home, spending time learning the ins and outs of a sprawling house and walking the length of a massive yard.  Last night in my dream, I took Annie on a walk along a stream that passed behind the neighborhood.  The walk started slowly as she was walking stiffly, but as we continued on she regained her vitality.  

We had passed several houses when suddenly there wasn't a leash and Annie took off, galloping around the yards, circling me.  I tried catching her in her game of tag, but I couldn't keep up.  It didn't matter as she kept coming back, daring me to chase her.

I woke and wept for the joy of the dream and the pity of reality.

One of our cats passed away a couple of weeks ago.  I wrote this as a sort of commemoration to her.

Memories of Domino:
When we first got her, she was a tiny, ferocious ball of fur that could fit in the palm of my hand with room to spare.  We first met her on our porch when April Bruce brought her and her brother over for us to see.  Initially, Janelle didn’t want to keep her because Domino, a terrified puffball, bit Janelle’s finger.  I convinced her that, as long as we were getting a cat, we should get a second one to keep the first company.  At the time, I thought her meow was endearing.  She was certainly more friendly than her skittish brother.

We named her Domino because the spots on her fur reminded me of both actual dominoes (I have a set of white dominoes with black spots) and the X-men character Domino.  Her name also seemed appropriate due to how much she dominated first her brother and then Satin.  

Domino quickly became the “fat” cat of the house.  She kept her brother’s exuberance in check and claimed the house as her own.  She meowed (often) for attention, and as she gained weight (becoming downright fat) it became more and more difficult to ignore her requests.

Ironically, when she was truly satisfied, her purrs would become so strong that, although she would open her mouth to meow, no sound would come out of her mouth except maybe a squeak.

Like many cats, she loved boxes, quickly laying claim to any box that might have just been cleared by the simple expedient of sitting in them.  Often, when we had trouble finding her, we simply had to check one of the nearest boxes to catch her sleeping soundly.  Janelle even filled one of her favorite boxes with woolly fabric which Domino would often use for a bed.

After she lost her bottom teeth and started losing weight, her dominance in the house also waned.  Even then, she had little fear of the other animals, sometimes going so far as to eat our dog’s food even while Annie was eating.  Granted, she and Annie had a special relationship, and both could often be found sleeping together.  In fact, often when Domino wanted to go to bed, she would follow Annie around the house, meowing at her until she finally settled down.

Two nights before she passed away, she hopped into my lap, as was often her custom, and worked herself into one of her meow-stopping purrs.  I could almost count her bones, although I thought that our recent switch to broth-feeding might have put a little more meat on her.  As I was petting her, the thought that this might be the last time I had this kind of moment with her crossed my mind.  I told myself that I needed to make certain that I appreciated those moments more.  I am glad that I did.

Due to the mounds of snow covering the frozen earth, Janelle has wrapped her in a soft towel and placed her in a box on a perch in our garage.  Her body will be put to rest the way that she liked to spend her life.

Domino, you annoying, whiny kitty, I miss you.