Christmas
Eve. For me it was always the most magical day of the year,
especially as daytime turned to dusk, dusk turned to dark, and the
dark would yield gloriously to twinkling lights everywhere, yummy
aromas coming from the kitchen, and a friend stopping by for dinner and
a movie. We would settle in for a night of wrapping presents, good
food and conversation, hot chocolate, and – if Suki was very, very
good, and of course she always was, even if her “help” at
present-wrapping made more work for me – a tiny crumb of a
Christmas cookie as a special treat. All was well with the world.
Now that picture is like a yellowed image from an ancient, crumbling
book, from a life I can barely remember anymore. The life “before”
– as we who have been through this nightmare refer to it – our pets were lost to veterinary negligence, malpractice, incompetence,
arrogance, stupidity, and yes, outright abuse, taking from us our
pets, our trust, our money, our jobs, our peace of mind, our sense of
safety, and in some cases, our futures.
There
is one tiny bright spot for me on this date. Guess
which day Edward J. Nichols of Crestway Animal Clinic in San Antonio
was notified by certified mail from the Texas Board of Veterinary
Medical Examiners that he was under investigation in Suki's case?
That's right – Christmas Eve. How's that for serendipity? I'd like
to think one very special Siamese had a hand in that, with a little
help from all the other defenseless souls harmed or killed by their own
monsters. I think of that every December 24, and smile at Suki's last
little gift to me for all those wonderful Christmas Eves that will be
no more.
Of course I will think of Suki tonight, overseeing
the decorating and cooking, yowling in the kitchen as she got a whiff
of her special baked organic chicken, pacing in front of the oven,
reminding me of those old Mervyn's commercials with a customer
pressed against the glass saying “Open-open-open.” I'll remember
her sitting in my lap, our eyes locked on each other's, with the Snow
Pas de Deux from the Nutcracker Suite playing in the background.
Remember this moment, I said to myself, etch this forever, take
this picture. And of course,
real pictures of her, countless of them, under the tree, by the tree,
in the tree (Suki was a climber), sitting in her little condo,
decorated with its own miniature tree and cat ornaments, cat toys,
cat everything, everywhere.
But most of all, tonight I will think of all
the others I have met along the way, going through the same neverending nightmare –
some for years, others just now arriving in a club that nobody would
choose to belong to. I get sweet notes from them, these victims from
everywhere. One writes, “Keep the faith. I will always have you
and Suki in my heart.” Another says, “I am grateful to have you
understand what it feels like to have your world shattered, your life
forever altered and I do not feel so alone it in knowing you are out
there.” And more, and still more. They keep me going on my darkest nights.
I am so grateful for my longtime fellow
advocates, plus a whole new wave of smart, savvy fighters putting up web sites, blogs, and Facebook pages to help make sure that
someday, eventually, there will be no place for the monsters to hide.
I started my site in 2000 so that nobody going through this
endless hell would ever feel alone. I am here to tell you that
you are not. Not ever. You and your precious companions – whose
names would take up this entire blog – are always with me, every
day, every night. Especially on this night. On this very Christmas
night.
Much love to you and your companions, and many thanks to all
who work so hard to make sure that our stories are never forgotten.
Suki and Julie, our final Christmas Eve, 1998. Her tree was never put up again.
YouTube video: Christmas Canon - Trans Siberian Orchestra
