My Little Hissy-Fit

Hissy - 09.21.1998 - 12.25.2015

"Perhaps they are not stars in the sky, but rather openings where our loved ones shine down to let us know they are happy."

-Eskimo Saying

How strange that the last blog I wrote was about Hissy.

Hissy hugging up his brother Maurie.

On December 23,  Hissy stopped eating his special wet food. In the day that followed, he was still drinking water, however major weight loss occurred and let me tell you he was already thin. I did everything I could think of to get him to eat, to no avail.

Christmas Eve night somehow Hissy got into bed with me (he was very weak), climbed under the covers and slept next to me most of the night. When he jumped off the bed he was so weak, that he fell sideways onto the floor like a scarecrow less his stuffing. My heart at that moment was ripped from my chest. I knew I must do something, but was at a loss as to what...it was Christmas day and the vet wasn't open.

I was able to get him to drink some water multiple times. So I posted this question on FaceBook: "Does anyone know a vet that may have someone there today? Hopefully somewhere uptown or mid-city? It is an mental health and furkid emergency."

I went down the hall for a couple hours and when I returned Hissy had left the couch and was hiding and had urinated on the floor and was lying in it. I cleaned him up, but was struck with the realization that something far worse than I could imagine was occurring. Looking on FaceBook I saw many options from my friends. However, I knew I could not drive him anywhere by myself, I was loosing my mind with grief.  Maurie...his sweet brother was by his side the entire time, cleaning and cuddling him.

My friends, Linda, Stephanie, and Bob, came to my rescue and drove me where I needed to go, Southeast Veterinary Clinic. The people at the veterinary clinic were lovely and comforting.  After they placed the port in Hissy's paw and handed him back to me, he hissed at me for the last time, weakly, but a hiss none the less. He always had to get the last word in. I held him in my arms cuddling him like the sweet baby he is, as the drugs were administered. My sweet 16-year-old boy passed into the sweet forever lying in my arms.

My little gray boy taught me many things, but this stands above the rest:

Life can change with the snap of your fingers.  You have no control...  Live the love you feel.

Rest in peace, my beautiful Hissy (Hissy-fit, Hissy-boy, Chunk-of-Monkey, Monkey-man, Monk).

Is it Me or is it Hissy?

Hissy and Maurie

Recently, Hissy my feline gray ball of fur has been getting louder and louder.  It's a constant LOUD nightmare.  I have tried everything to discourage this behavior, as being hearing impaired myself - I am very sensitive to loud noise. 

Randomly, while at work I looked at the flyer for the Cat Daddy's new book and one of the things listed was that a cats hearing is much more sensitive than humans and dogs.  I found myself saying aloud,  "If that's true, how can Hissy stand to be around himself he's soo loud."  

At that very moment a light bulb should have popped on above my head.  I actually replied to myself..."Oh my god, Hissy can't hear himself.  He's deaf."

So when I arrived home that evening, I did a hearing test with my 16-year-old furkid.  He was laying on the bed and I put my hand behind his head and snapped my fingers...he did not move, nor did his ears.  My immediate thought was, oh no he'll never hear music again.  Oh that's right...that's my personal hearing fear.  Though Hissy does like when I sing to him, I make up songs with his name in them.  Nothing anyone else would want to hear.

Hissy

Now, when I'm home, he wants me to sit on couch with him constantly and do nothing else.   Or else he MEOWs  constantly at the top of his lungs.  Makes it quite difficult to clean the apartment.  No quite difficult is absolutely incorrect...it makes it impossible.

He knows "No" in sign language...but I need to make sure he's looking at me when I sign and sadly this often stops that loud voice of his, for half a second.

He is otherwise quite normal, eats, drinks, sleeps, uses the litter box - but he is 16-years-old and I suppose it's age.  I'm going to try an ear plug to clean the apartment ( I only need one, only one ear works).

Maurie

His brother (yes, really), Maurie, has recently decided he'll live under the bed.  This was after months of scratching himself obsessively until he bleeds (no fleas or disease, just OCD).  He'll answer me if I call him, but he will not come out (except to eat, drink, use the litter box).

So I am living with two curmudgeonly old men who may drive me insane, as I live on pins and needles daily because of their age.

For Mary Fitzpatrick

When David Spielman came into the book shop and told me Mary Fitzpatrick passed, I shouted at him in disbelief.  Later on Facebook I posted the story Chris Waddington wrote for NOLA.com with the sentence: I'm devastated and without words.  Without words was not exactly accurate...a million words were flying through my mind and I could grab not a one, to make sense of Mary's passing.  I have been thinking of her since.  I have know Mary since moving to New Orleans in 1998.  I have sold her books, chosen books as her gifts, written books with her, and sold her books at events.  

I recall Mary coming into the book shop when she had decided to publish her first book, New Orleans: Life in An Epic City.  She consulted with Deb and I on what size, price and various other details.  I have photographs in the first two books and a haiku along with one of my photographs in the New Orleans' Favorite Shotguns book.  As well as the pleasure of generating the idea for the shotgun book.  

Unfortunately, I do not have anything in the last book that Mary did and it wasn't from her lack of trying to entice me.  But I was stuck on photographs of parks as my favorite place and Mary said she had more park photographs than she could use.

Today while thinking of Mary, I read her new book, New Orleans: Days and Nights in the Dreamy City.  And came up with a short essay for her. Once someone asked what two things I would recommend someone do in New Orleans, if I could only choose two...mine: ride the St. Charles Streetcar and go to Preservation Hall. The streetcar did make it into the book, however Preservation Hall did not.  I had the most wonderful experience imaginable at Preservation Hall and here it is...

Mary, this is for you.

Copyright Sherry Justus

A couple good friends, Christiana and Joe,  were moving from New Orleans, they wanted to do a number of things prior to moving and one was to go to Preservation Hall.  So we went and waited outside for sometime, only hearing the magnificent music. But eventually making it inside, we stood in the back for the end of the first set.  Between sets many people left, so we were able to sit down.  In the front of the room, right in front of the stage about 10 kids, 12 or 13-years-old,  were sitting on the floor with a couple adults.  Between sets they didn't leave, but patiently waited for the next set to start.

When the band came back on stage, the band leader announced he'd heard there was an an incredible pianist in the audience and he'd like to invite him up to play with the band.  He then announced the name of one of the young teenagers sitting on the floor.  Apparently they were a band on holiday from I believe, Massachusetts.  The young man went onstage and played with the Preservation Hall Jazz Band and received a rousing round of applause.  He was an incredible pianist and I'm sure, to this day this is one of the unforgettable highlights of his young life. It is definitely a highlight of mine.  I tear up in happiness remembering the excitement that filled the hall.