Month: September 2020

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Next day, through the gauntlet.

We spent today busy. Rightly so, yesterday was a bad day. Today we painted the inside of the new shed. White. Christina had already given it a coat with some paint we had left over, but she didn’t have quite enough. This time we both went to town on it, and .. well, it’s white now!
She also painted the door (red). We have been cleaning up .. mementos as part of getting through that ‘punched in the gut’ feeling you get when you find an object that triggers a memory. Mostly that’s all cleaned up.
We’ve also both agreed that hell no, it’s too lonely just us. We’re going to see if we can’t adopt another pair of kittens. Turns out the rescue society we found Shamus and Bongo at still exists, and they’re still rescuing cats in need. We’ll go that route again.
That gives us something to look forward to, which is a heck of a lot better than sitting here looking backward and second guessing signs and clues, and regretting our losses.
That doesn’t mean regret doesn’t still happen, but at least it’s not the only thing.
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My poor Bongo.

I’m glad this is a long weekend, I don’t expect I’ll be good for much for a few days
Tomorrow afternoon we bring Boo back to the vet. Final trip. I am witness to how accurate the vet was. He said weeks, but in just a few days Boo has started limping more, drooling, and yowling. These are new things, and they highlight how goddamn fast this is moving.
Weeks, maybe. Horrible weeks.
It’s been 13 years and 3 homes. Of the 7 animals we started with, he’s the last. Our final bright spark. So much bigger than the tiny kitten who hid behind the toilet shaking in fear when we brought him home.
I will miss him.
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2020 is the worst year ever.

WordPress is being junky with this post.

It’s helping to replace my grief with rage.

Bongo has cancer.  We brought him in to get checked for rapid weight loss, but now we are looking at at most weeks before he dies of this shit.

We’re bringing him back on friday so they can euthanize him, which is a damn sight better than dying in agony, which is apparently the only other option.  He’s already been too sick for surgery, he probably wouldn’t make it through this, and if he did his immune system is suppressed (intentionally due to an autoimmune disorder), so the first infection he got would do him in.

I hate this.

I hate it.

My poor cat.