Summer Stories

A "progress report" on my Summer Plans (as set forth here) is on deck after this post.  But as mentioned previously, I'm working on cleaning my home thoroughly and so far have tackled the dining room.  On the floor was a box of The Cat's few remaining things--mostly, her expired medication.

I know you're not supposed to just throw meds in the trash, and while my dad's work has a drop-off box he kind of demurred for some odd reason. . . starting to think my dad's getting to be an odd old man in general, honestly. . . so on the floor this box has sat.

Thursday, I cleared off the dining room table and when my eyes went from there to the floor, I remembered what was the box and that it needed to go.  I had a vague recollection that maybe the administrative office for my little boro had a drop-off box, so I added a stop there to my list of Friday errands--put gas in the car, get a new battery in my watch, go to the post office, etc.

It kind of hit me when I parked the car that it felt like saying goodbye again to The Cat.  That there wasn't much left around of her anymore.  Plus, it was stinking hot out.  Which makes me wonder how beat I looked when I walked into that office.  I was greeted by the secretary, a kindly-looking older woman who asked what I needed.

Me: "Um, is there a drop-off for old medication here?" (I didn't see a box.)

Secretary: "The police have one, next door."

Me: "Oh, O.K., I must have gotten mixed up.  Thank you."

Secretary: "You're welcome."  She picked up a bowl of candy that was on the counter. "Do you want something for the road?"

I did wind up taking a Dum-Dum taffy in a question-mark wrapper with the aside that "I could use a little mystery in my life."  She laughed a little in a surprised way--later, as I thought about it, I figured maybe she was trying to be kind because she'd noticed I was carrying two bags, one of which had pet photos and a veterinary logo on it.  Maybe I seemed a little bereft, because I was.

I went to the next door for the building.  No one was in the police's lobby, and I actually felt grateful for that so I could do this quickly and privately and get out.  The box looked a little like a mailbox, only with signage about what they could and could not accept.  When all was said and done, I put everything in the box except some liquid pain meds and a bag of sharps (from her steroid injections, ugh).  

The sharps went back into the cabinet; I'll figure out what to do with them later.  The liquid pain meds? Well, #sorrynotsorry but I put them in the dumpster.

I'm done with bringing things into my home that have no place there.


ccr in MA said…
I've found that the strangest things hurt, after a loss. I mean, father's day after my dad died? Of course that hurt. But opening a can of tuna when there wasn't a cat in the house to beg for the water? Just about killed me (and that was years ago, the last time when I didn't have a cat). Hang in there.

I'm looking forward to the progress report!
Rae said…
CCR is so right about the strangest things hurting after a loss.
As to the sharps, I have gestational diabetes and was told by the diabetes education center to put my lancets in a very hard plastic bottle (like a medicine bottle) with a lid and when it is full to put it in the regular trash.

I'm looking forward to the progress report too.

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