Jul. 24, 2002 ~ Sick kitties, sad ponies, and green pastures
Normally at this time in the summer, we are filled with gut-wrenching despair at the sight of our pastures, all brown and crispy. Our cows get thin, we have to feed them hay, and we grow poorer and poorer. This has been going on for a number of years. But this year has provided a welcome respite from what seemed like a permanent cycle of drought, drought, and more drought.
The pastures are green and lush, the cows have plenty to eat without us supplementing the grass, and our biggest problem is keeping everything mowed. We aren't complaining. Rain, even a little rain, makes all the difference.
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Bucky is a sad, sad horse. He can't imagine what he's done to deserve such wicked bad treatment. He thinks evil thoughts about me; I know he does. Because the lush grass makes him ill, he has to stay in the pen while the other horses get to go out and play, and it just breaks his heart all over again every day. I wonder if horses have any real concept of time? Other than dinner-time, I mean. If they don't, poor Bucks must think this mean treatment is never going to end.
I'm sorry, Bucky, really I am.
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I'm tired of having a sick kitty. Cancer is a nasty foe. I've lost loved ones and friends to cancer, and I've certainly seen enough of it to know what to expect. But it's like I can literally see the disease taking Misha away from me, little by little. Susan says that he isn't in serious pain, and that's a comfort. He socializes; he purrs; he follows me constantly. It's like having a small child in the house, because I can't even go to the bathroom alone. He wants in there when I go. Wherever I am, he's there, too, just looking at me with those eyes. Cancer gives a certain look to the eyes. Do you know what I mean? Brighter, shinier. Haunting.
It's hard not to trip over him, because he's always RIGHT next to me, even if I don't know it. I guess I should know it by now, but still I forget. His body weight is shifting, and he's growing thinner, bonier. This affects his insulin levels and he has had hypoglycemic attacks (potentially fatal in and of themselves) several times in recent weeks. I will tell you that once I paused for a moment before doing the "rescue" treatment. Did it make sense to save a dying cat? I had to think it did, because a diabetic coma can't be a comfortable way to die. Shoot. Neither is cancer. Hard choices... we face them every day. It makes me sad to see my once-strong, formerly macho cat... becoming an invalid. It's hard. Pills twice a day, shots twice a day, brushing him because he no longer grooms himself, cleaing up after his accidents. Is it too soon to let him go? Or is it past time? I don't know. I struggle with this. I love my cat, and don't want to let him go. But I don't want him to suffer, either. I don't think it's time yet, for good-byes.
I just don't want to wait too long.
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