|sent from: London, UK. destination: London, UK|
A few years ago, during a tough personal time, a friend suggested I write as part of dealing with the situation. I was never very good at that, too blinded by what is immediately in front of me, needing the distancing of time to approach painful topics.
I’m trying to put that aside to write about what we’re dealing with right now – our cat is sick, possibly dying. I’ve faced this before; it is, after all, the ultimate responsibility you take on when acquiring a pet. He’s old, and has lived a full life starting in Hawai’i, to San Francisco, to Los Angeles and now to a quiet London suburb. He seems unable to walk, quite suddenly his back legs gave out and no treatment seems to help. We were treating him for arthritis but this seems to be something else. We fuss about him, bringing him food and water which he accepts happily. He purrs, a little, when we stroke him.
We lie on the floor and try to pierce the veil between us and him, if he could just tell us. But we know. He is tired.