My cats are sick. With a gazillion things going on in the world to be upset about, this is, apparently, my breaking point.
Oliver isn’t eating like he used to, has gotten extremely thin, and his bloodwork shows signs of kidney problems. Thus far, the vet has not been forthcoming with information and I don’t know what this means, what to do, etc. Clearly, I need to find a new vet.
Abigail is in perfect health, except for discomfort from her vaccinations yesterday. Are they normal? Should I panic? The web searches I’ve done indicate her symptoms are within normal range, but are they? She has pain at the injection site. Is it a normal degree of pain? I’m waiting for the vet to call me back.
I’m still unemployed, although job opportunities seem to be more plentiful within the last couple of weeks. I’m hopeful I’ll find work soon.
My health, both physical and mental, is quite good. Better than good, actually. I’m doing well and plan to continue my current habits.
Trump leaves office tomorrow. This, too, is something to feel hopeful about.
Better times are ahead.
And my cats, though? I don’t know. I’ve now been at home with them all the time for over a year. I can’t imagine how awful this time would have been without them. They make me laugh. They provide cuddles and companionship. They have, quite literally, become my everything. I have always loved my pets. Now, I rely on them.
They are getting old. I know they won’t be with me forever. And yet every sign of their decline throws me into a panic, pushes me into a state where I am teetering on the edge of a screaming, clawing, sobbing fit that I can’t imagine a recovery from.
I will be fine, I am sure. It’s the not knowing that causes the panic. I don’t know how much longer I have with them. I have no way of knowing this and likely won’t until the last hours of their time with me. As is the case with most things, the anticipation of the event is likely worse than the reality will be.
When they pass, I will be sad. I will be extremely sad, and it will continue for some appropriate period of time. Gradually, I will become less and less sad, and the periods of intense sadness will become further and further apart. This is how these things go.
Eventually, I will have to say goodbye. I’ve always known this. Cats don’t have the life span of humans. It’s a simple fact that someday I would say goodbye to them.
But as they get older I’m starting to recognize how different knowing this thing is going to be from feeling it. Logically, yes, of course, I know they’re going to die someday. Emotionally, I’m in no way ready and I doubt I ever will be.