You know I should never watch movies like “Marley and me”. It was on TV the other night and I reacted in true me style. Come on I can’t really say I reacted, as I’ve seen this movie before and I knew what to expect. I knew that train was coming and like any good cartoon character I ran along the track right in front of the damn thing, then I just lay down and let it mow me down completely.
I should not have watched the movie and I should not have had old Hank on my lap at the time.
Okay the dog drives me nuts, I couldn’t have lived with the damn thing in the first place, but oh the ending of that film….
The minute that dog starts to fail and get sick I am a mess. No, correct that, I am a blubbing, snot covered wreck who is clutching her aging cat and sobbing hysterically all over him.
Two minutes more and I’m at that gulping for air stage, the face is red and I’m shreiking like a tantrum struck toddler.
With every moment I’m feeling Hank age on my lap. I feel his hip bones under my fingers and his bald patch where the bully cat got him a few weeks ago. By this time I have worked myself up into a frenzy, there’s no going back.
Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we watch these movies that just kill us emotionally?
The whole thing just had me lurching from emotion to emotion and wallowing in past losses and even anticipating that dreaded future loss before it has even happened.
Hank was having none of this. He had had enough, he’d played sponge to my tear-fest for long enough. He calmly got up, stretched and cuffed me with an unsheathed paw. “Huh, that’ll give you something to cry about”.
He walked with dignity into the kitchen. I lay on the sofa with my soggy tissues and felt my old pal definately had the upper hand.