Heartbreak
Of the 8 cats I currently have, and I love all of them, I do have my favorites. Like people, they have their own distinct personalities. Frankie, also known as the Asshat Cat, because he is, is one of those favorites. Liam and I found him back in 1998 near my parents' house, on Halloween, being harassed by a bunch of trick-or-treaters. Liam chased them away and this cat, who was being affectionate to the kids that were bothering him, began rubbing himself against us. It was cold that night, very cold, and when we went home, Liam worried about the cat. I finally told him we should go back and look for him so around 10:00 that night we did. I remember standing in the street and whistling and out he came from under a car and came running over. I scooped him up in my arms and he purred all the way home. A trip to the vet told us he was a 4 month old male with double pneumonia and his chances were poor. That night, I prayed to my statue of St. Francis and asked him to save the kitten, saying that if he did, I'd name him after him.
So Francis, known affectionately as Frankie, recovered and joined the household. As it turned out we had another male kitten, also 4 months old, that I had raised from a day old, named Pewter, and the two become buddies pretty quickly. We dubbed them Thing 1 and Thing 2 because they were always crashing around the house, grab assing and chasing each other. Frankie quickly became known as the goof in the house, doing silly things, like climbing into paper bags too small for him, and became known as the Asshat Cat. He's still a very affectionate mush who likes to sleep on my pillow, with his head resting on my hand. He also likes to tease the other cats playfully, thwapping them while they sleep. He's my boy.
Even though he survived his double pneumonia almost 13 years ago, he's never been a well cat. He had to have eye surgery to correct ingrown eyelids and he's had more than his share of respiratory infections. As he's aged he's been getting more and more colds and having trouble breathing. I took him to the vet just recently because of such an infection and while the antibiotics took care of his runny nose, it didn't do anything for the wheezing he'd been suffering. So I brought him back two weeks later and the vet showed me the X-ray he had taken at the first visit. My Frankie is dying. He has a tumor the size of a walnut in his left lung. For now, he's mostly okay, as long as he doesn't run around too much. But soon, he won't be okay. I don't know when soon is but before I know it soon will be today and I will have to do what any decent pet owner who loves her pets would do. Tonight, he came and purred in my lap, just before I started writing this, while wheezing with his mouth open. Soon may be closer than I think. Fuck cancer.
So Francis, known affectionately as Frankie, recovered and joined the household. As it turned out we had another male kitten, also 4 months old, that I had raised from a day old, named Pewter, and the two become buddies pretty quickly. We dubbed them Thing 1 and Thing 2 because they were always crashing around the house, grab assing and chasing each other. Frankie quickly became known as the goof in the house, doing silly things, like climbing into paper bags too small for him, and became known as the Asshat Cat. He's still a very affectionate mush who likes to sleep on my pillow, with his head resting on my hand. He also likes to tease the other cats playfully, thwapping them while they sleep. He's my boy.
Even though he survived his double pneumonia almost 13 years ago, he's never been a well cat. He had to have eye surgery to correct ingrown eyelids and he's had more than his share of respiratory infections. As he's aged he's been getting more and more colds and having trouble breathing. I took him to the vet just recently because of such an infection and while the antibiotics took care of his runny nose, it didn't do anything for the wheezing he'd been suffering. So I brought him back two weeks later and the vet showed me the X-ray he had taken at the first visit. My Frankie is dying. He has a tumor the size of a walnut in his left lung. For now, he's mostly okay, as long as he doesn't run around too much. But soon, he won't be okay. I don't know when soon is but before I know it soon will be today and I will have to do what any decent pet owner who loves her pets would do. Tonight, he came and purred in my lap, just before I started writing this, while wheezing with his mouth open. Soon may be closer than I think. Fuck cancer.