I have the painful duty of informing those who don't know yet, that as of approx. 1200 CST on 22 April 2015 my beloved died at St. Paul Vetrinary Clinic (who were very cool & not at all judgemental of my evils, at least to my face :)).
And yes, I did him evil, I was greedy and I let him suffer because I couldn't let him go. (And the lesson here kids is that evil is infant very easy to define: Doing harm to others for your selfish gains.) But little shit he was, he still in the end won & I took him because I love/d him & since he was urinating pretty much nothing but bright red blood, I took him and had him killed (because "Marty, I can't kill you. You're my friend. You, kill my friend!" a joke I had wanted to make, but I just couldn't). I did all those hypocritical things that we apes do when we suffer grief, I held him (and for the first time in weeks he let me), I cradled him, I tried to tell him how much he did/does/will always mean to me and that for all the evil I had just done, that I always have and always will love him and he was (I lied to him about this, I used to tell him he was only the almost center of my universe) my everything and yes indeed the center of my universe. I kissed his little soft footies, all four of them (he hated that, but I told him I was gonna and I did). I smooched him on the head and I listened to his last heartbeats (and now I know what arrythmia sounds like) that last rapid burst of small, little beats, a pause one small one, another short pause that last soft, weak, tiny beat and it stopped. He did not have agonal breathing, nor did he void his bowels or bladder. But then he did have his pride. :D
Then as I said I would did some completely hypocritical, little kid wishing and commended him both to the Old Mountain God of the Jews (who being a fellow tyrrant is a god I can deal with and he does love his deals) and of course to his god, She of the Oitment Jars, the Protector, Bast, Lady of the Cats, telling them both that was he was the most awesome of cats, a trooper to the last and probably the most considerate person I lived with (I am am at this stage willing to admit he did a lot of snuggling he probably did not want to because I did). Then I tried to leave, but I needed my last skunches and I took them and then I left his remains with the hope that Doctor Ben Seebart will find a good vet school that needs the body a 22 year old domestic feline with metastatic cancer. (EDIT: Dr. Seebart did find a place at the MCC Necropsy Lab, so science will be done with him.)
And as I am doing now and I suspect I will for many long, very lonely weeks and even now again years, I cried my fucking eyes because the hurt just won't go away.
I got through the first night alone with the aid of Mister Inguanadon Rawrr. Yep, I told you I went little kid and it doesn't get much more little kid than stuffed animals. Because they can't die.
Many thanks go out to Chad Vedder and Tim Evans-Strum for their love and money in helping let me keep him and then let him go. Special mention to David Brin, PhD, astrophysicist for helping name him, I hope he doesn't mind I nicked his styles.
I hope I am wrong and he awaits me yet.
But I am a grown up, so no matter, I will (after my 40 days of sackcloth and ashes) carry on and do good with the life he gave me.
He passed the Gom Jabbar too so, here I say goodbye to one of the best people, best humans I knew. My kitten fuzz, my son.
His Royal Highness Reznor ab Glesner
Prince of Thornwood of the House of Thornwood, Lieutenant Imperial Space Navy, Ship's Cat Extroidnare, True Companion, Twice Savior of My Life, My Best Friend, My Beloved, My Pridemate.
March 1993 - 22 April 2015.
