So that’s the story.

June 28, 2024

Interesting morning.

Smoky, with the cone on, got stuck under the bed. It’s not a hard plastic cone, it’s softer and flexible so I didn’t think he could get stuck. But he’d crawled up inside the box springs through a hole in the cover, so he was stuck good. I could not lift the mattress myself, man I tried. But I could not do it.

Luckily, I have never been one to be afraid to ask for help. I started knocking on doors. I started with the men. One man I knew, one I didn’t, but neither of them answered. I went down the other end of the hall to a woman I’ve spoken with a few times in passing. She’s about my age and had complained once about chemo brain.

“It’s real, don’t ever think it’s not,” she admonished me as we rode up in the elevator a few weeks back. “It’s really horrible, really horrible.” My heart hurt for her.

I didn’t think it was kind to ask for her help, but we’re talking about Smoky here. Smoky deserves every opportunity for a stress-free pain-free life. I override my reluctance and knocked on her door. I also knew her girlfriend was over, because her girlfriend’s dog has a bell on his collar. It’s a happy tinkling bell, not at all annoying, and to top it off, a very nice happy dog. I hear him passing by in the hall just now, and I smile at the memory of petting him as his happy…