“There is an end to everything, to good things as well.” ~Chaucer 1374

I’ma talk about my cat a little. It’s depressing though and probably without much substance, so “Read More” only if you want to.

Gossamer, January 31st:

Asleep on my lap. Which is where he more or less lived. I’ll probably
post more of these, since I have so many. And since he was adorable.

He was the best cat. He was a snugglebug, skittish, prone to sickliness. He was gloriously white and handsome. He lived a long life, especially for a sickly cat with a bunch of crappy internal organs. I am pretty positive he lived a happy one, especially when I decided that taking him to vets and specialists was the only thing negatively affecting his quality of life. Since then, it’s been antibiotics occasionally, or getting a lump looked at, but nothing else. For ten years! So I guess it was an okay decision.

He had a lot of weird rituals. He liked to crawl under the covers with me at night. His purr had a rusty, out-of-tune quality, and was always soft, but easy to evoke — a lap, some skritches. All his favorite foods and treats were seafoody, but he never would eat tuna. Almost everyone who met him thought he was awesome.

I loved him categorically.

Charles Schultz wrote about his dog once. He’d had several, but he wrote (from memory, errors mine):

[this dog] is the one who taught me about the fanatical love a man can have for a dog… there was a sign nailed to our tree that said, “please drive slowly; small dog does not see or hear well”. When he died I tore it down and angrily chopped it to pieces…

Gossamer was a pet, yes. He was also a companion in an important sense. He loved me, he met me at the door, and he was always happiest near me. Even when everything else was terrifying and shitty, he was always in my home, ready to snuggle with me and purr and generally make me feel like the terrifying, shitty world didn’t matter so much when I had this lump of fur and affection. I already miss him so desperately.

Putting him to sleep was terrible, but watching him suffer was unacceptable. When the time came it was very clear. I took responsibility for giving him a good and happy life, not necessarily a long one, and that was my commitment. I’m grieving for me and my life, which suddenly has this jagged and terrible hole in it… but not for him. He, I think, had the best life we could give him, a good life.

Sleep dreamlessly, little cat, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. No prince has ever deserved so much as thee, nor has any prince or king so well deserved my love.

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