He sleeps longer and longer each day and that worries me. No longer up at the crack of dawn and ready to face another day, he lays in his recliner with a towel over his face (if I am listening to the Today Show) Sometimes, I lean over and check that he is still breathing, that is how bad the diabetes is getting for us.

He goes to the gym today and I am sure he won’t be able to walk by the time he comes home. He can barely get to the back door without wheezing like a 90 year old. I can’t imagine what will happen once the personal trainer starts to work with him. I have told the trainer everything I can about Mike’s current health and left the number for FireMed just in case.

If he was a cat, I could help him, but he is a grown and stubborn old man. We had a huge and dumb fight the other day. We hardly have fought in the over 20 years that we have been married, but this one was a bad one, born of the struggle of living with the disease and sitting by watching him cram chocolates and puddings in his mouth when his blood sugar drops. I said some awful things even if they were truthful they should have never been said. But I wonder how someone who has been carrying around all this weight over half of his life can settle for that type of living? And that is what I shouted at him among other things. He no longer has the stamina to help me around the house and I barely have the energy anymore to do anything other than scoop litter pans and make the bed.

I am worried about so much, his health, possibly losing our home, staying alive in this economy now that he isn’t working his knives. The stress mounts and only recedes after a kitty visits me and purrs in my ear to tell me it will all work out.

I think of this gentle man and look at his struggles and wonder what God is trying to teach us here? As each day begins, his hands start to work less, his mind is slipping and he can barely hear me anymore. He went to get his hearing tested yesterday only to find out that hearing aids are out of our price range. So my major conversations are with the cats.

McKinley was out on the porch this morning, such a beautiful boy. He is so large now- as he is part Maine Coon. He is gray and white, long hair and he had berry bushes stuck in his fur. I brushed his soft fur and he growled but he allowed it. Most of the berry bushes have been removed and he is stretched out on the chair purring and kneading the pillow (last time I looked).

I am grateful for this life. For my best friend, my husband even with the health issues. The vows did say “in sickness and in health.” I am grateful for the cats who keep me calm and centered, I am grateful for the job I have even if I am “under-employed.” I am chasing good thoughts today trying to push the negative ones aside. I just wanted to put my thoughts somewhere else besides my head.

I hear a ruckus upstairs and something has fallen. I suspect Charlie and Baker are colliding. Two strong alpha purrsonalities, they often race up and down the stairs chasing each other knocking over anything in their way. From the sound of the crash, I suspect the baby gate I store upstairs has fallen over. Guess I better go and see if there are any casualities.