someone loved.

"What good are words?
I'm feeling that impotence which wants
a Lazarus to rise
everytime someone loved is sinking."

(Stephen Dunn, Letter About Myself to You)


The past weeks were hectic with finals and papers. By now I could write about lots of exciting things, like the motorcycle license I'm about to earn (and the phat ride I'm getting it for! Haven't taken it off any sweet jumps yet), or my brother's upcoming wedding in Michigan, or the fact that in a few weeks I'll pick up my first-ever therapy case - at a relatively early, borderline-premature point in my career. Which I'm super-excited about and will mention another time.

But I get to write about whatever stupid thing I want and tonight it's the purring critter curled on my knee. Yes, Shaniqua is just a cat. But she's been my little buddy for as long as I've lived alone, literally next to me almost every moment I'm home. Whether I like it or not.

Since we moved to Florida (again, Florida, whyyyyy) she's been ill three times, each worse than the one before. Sunday morning I found her hiding in the closet behind the vacuum, unable to walk or eat. My Amazing Friend Rae helped me bring her to the emergency vet, where they kept her alive overnight. Monday she was still "laterally recumbent": could only lay on her side glassy-eyed, and couldn't lay upright, or eat. I held her while we waited, and if I stepped away she'd cry and try to sit up and see where I went. I felt terrible leaving her at the vet again that night, but she needed care I couldn't give her.

The doctors can't tell what it is. The ER and primary vets agree (so do I) that she has some significant undiagnosed disease which is leading to chronic episodes. An IV perks her back up but it's no cure. The vet school could run diagnostics for $1000-3000 (ahem not in my budget for the next decade or so). It's obvious where that leaves us. Kitty's restored for now, but she likely won't stay that way. At this rate she'll be sick again in a couple months, and that's hardly a way for her to live, or a thing I can afford. So this last hospitalization has bought us more time, and that's all. I'm not putting her through all that next time; just bringing her in quickly to avoid more suffering.

That's sad. I will miss her (expect a rambling, tearful post which you can skip if you want). But she's not suffering now. After gorging herself on yummy prescription food and a lengthy nap in my lap, she faceplanted into my palm and rolled on her back in a fit of purring. How worthwhile, seeing a creature so happy to be alive. And you can tease her for being slow, cross-eyed and, frankly, weird, but she is always ecstatic to love and be loved. I'm glad she'll have that a little longer before she goes. In fact, until then, she can have it all she wants.