House of Fewer Cats
When you're unemployed/working from home, every day is pretty much the same. There's not much I feel like I have to say lately -- I even bore myself in conversation. I'm home working on bread making, cooking for other people, hanging out with pescana, working on writing projects (and that's a hard habit to get into, but even though it's not paid, it's good for the resume), and listening to a lot of radio.
But there are other things that go on which are too hard to write about while they're happening. For the last three weeks one of our beloved and cherished cats, Ziari, has been very ill. It began in a small way, as these things do, and suddenly in the past week it accelerated into a rapid decline. When she first started getting sick I said to Cyn that clearly the reason I hadn't found any kind of job yet was that it was my destiny to be Ziari's handmaiden, following her around all day trying to tempt her with food, which you do for the Queen of Everything.
And then this morning brought the sad realization that La Cyn and I would be repeating the awful drive to the vet's office that we made fifteen years ago when Ziari was near death from an allergic reaction. Only this time, there was no allergic reaction, just old age and illness; that despite our best efforts, this time there wasn't an astounding comeback, and all the love in the world wasn't going to reverse the toll these past few weeks had taken. If La Cyn could have made her better by sheer force of will, Ziari would have been running a medium-sized country by the end of the day.
Ziari gave us some of the best cat stories during the years she was with us and she was a magnificent mellow manipulator, you would do what she wanted and think you wanted it yourself. I miss her benevolent dictatorship already. She was a good cat.
Y'know that's the best kind of cat to have, one who gives you stories and gets your love simply because it is her due. Cats like that, like Ziari, keep you humble, nothing you ever do will impress them. And that's as it should be.
But there are other things that go on which are too hard to write about while they're happening. For the last three weeks one of our beloved and cherished cats, Ziari, has been very ill. It began in a small way, as these things do, and suddenly in the past week it accelerated into a rapid decline. When she first started getting sick I said to Cyn that clearly the reason I hadn't found any kind of job yet was that it was my destiny to be Ziari's handmaiden, following her around all day trying to tempt her with food, which you do for the Queen of Everything.
And then this morning brought the sad realization that La Cyn and I would be repeating the awful drive to the vet's office that we made fifteen years ago when Ziari was near death from an allergic reaction. Only this time, there was no allergic reaction, just old age and illness; that despite our best efforts, this time there wasn't an astounding comeback, and all the love in the world wasn't going to reverse the toll these past few weeks had taken. If La Cyn could have made her better by sheer force of will, Ziari would have been running a medium-sized country by the end of the day.
Ziari gave us some of the best cat stories during the years she was with us and she was a magnificent mellow manipulator, you would do what she wanted and think you wanted it yourself. I miss her benevolent dictatorship already. She was a good cat.
Y'know that's the best kind of cat to have, one who gives you stories and gets your love simply because it is her due. Cats like that, like Ziari, keep you humble, nothing you ever do will impress them. And that's as it should be.