I would prefer not to

I think I’ll have to change the theme. It is gorgeous, but isn’t behaving or taking my code well. Or of course, my code is bad and it is rejecting it. Whichever.

So my sweet boyo, Bartleby who is in a tie for the kindest cat on the planet along with Mr. Teatime and Mr. Newguise , is very ill.

I’ve been very lucky , blessed (gack for the general use of that word) you could say in my life to have such kind and caring kitty folk. When I needed a protector who would bite and shit upon the pillows or in closets of those who were cruel to me, I had Hotspur. He was my father and fiercest protector all rolled into one. There was never a fiercer warrior next to my dad and he appeared immediately after my father’s death. Cardiomyopathy took him too soon. His heart and love for me was too big to be contained.

When things were safer Newguise stepped up. He was like if ice cream and whipped cream and sprinkles became a cat. He was kind and silly and snuggly and perfect in all his sweet ways. He looked after Bean as long as he was able, but sadly cancer took him not long after Em started walking.

Ninny was with us through all this. Her story is for another day I think. She left us not long after moving to Arkansas . My grief over our familiars is always great. indescribable really, though I try.

And now I have my sweet boyo on my lap and a glass of wine by my side. I’m in bed because he prefers to relax here or in his ‘bawx’ which is an ikea woven wood container filled with paper which makes the correct crinkly sound. And I’ve been told he has cancer. And god dammit 2020 what the fuck is wrong with you? 2019 took two kitties from us, Zack 20 and Mr. Teatime, 19. 2020 has taken my abusive mother (so much baggage) our daughter’s senior year and now Bart the kind, Bart the gentle, Bartleby who would prefer not to ruffle any feathers or fur (except for that one time, it was epic, when he grabbed a bird out of the AIR when it got into our house and we had to take him outside to convince him to release it) well Bart has what seems to be a fast growing tumor on his pancreas. It wasn’t there a few months ago when we had his geriatric kitty checkup. We can’t test because there is fluid which would cause problems. And oh just dammit I’m so tired of hurting. DAMMIT. He’s so sweet and kind and loves me and this isn’t fair and FUCK THIS.

So we just have to wait and watch and make sure he gets all the treats and everything he could ever want. Which we try to do for all our cats, but he’s had kidney issues so we put him on special food and belayed the treats. But fuck that, treats galore are now the name of the game.

And kick me if you must but I do not believe in chemo for kitties. Unless you can assure me that they will have maybe 5 bouts and be cured. Because otherwise you are forcing them to suffer for some fucking reason they do NOT UNDERSTAND. Or because you are too weak to let them go and have a lovely pampered last few months. I think I’m judging. Yeah probably. But fuck. I’m not going to make him hurt because I don’t want him to go away. Fuck.

And this hurts in a kinder and more loving way than my mother’s illness. Bartleby won’t die alone because he doesn’t deserve that. None of our ffolk are alone in their last moments, we are always with them. And I will spend every moment of however much time I have with my darling quiet Siamese (he would prefer not to) Bartleby with treats and talks and snuggles and gratefulness that Bastet has blessed me so often and with him.