We received the worst kind of news.
What we thought was a sinus infection wasn’t. Our kitty has malignant cancer. Inoperable. Untreatable.
He will be five in December. He has grown up with my daughters. Made them laugh. Frustrated them. Been a part of the family.
I can’t believe we don’t have more time with him. He’s still so kitten-like in so many ways. Even now, he plays with his foil balls when he as the energy.
By the time you read this, he may well be gone. They have given us a week to six months for him, but I can already see the decline.
After losing our last cat, I didn’t want to get close again. Didn’t want to go through this again. I kept telling myself and my husband it was his cat. He was the one that got him, it was his cat.
But we both knew the truth as the cat curled up on my lap night after night. And denying it hasn’t helped lessen the pain at all.
I sit with him flopped across me, as he loves to do, with my laptop beside me. Wishing we had more time. Wishing it didn’t hurt so much. Wishing for answers that will never come.
