For a Loving, Furry, Orange Angel
I was ready to start writing and publishing some new posts last week. In addition to the Alice Miller pieces I want to do, there are several current news items that I find of considerable interest. But all that got knocked to hell when Cyrano took a major turn for the worse.
I thought I was going to lose him toward the end of last week. But he rallied -- for a very sweet, loving cat, he can be a pretty tough guy. He was better for a few days. But now he's having troubles again.
I always go through agonies when my cats reach this stage. I never know how much vet care I should inflict on them, and I do often feel that "inflict" is the operative word. I've put cats through lots of tests in the past, and the net result was that we knew almost nothing at the end of it all that we hadn't known at the beginning. I'm speaking here of old cats; my remarkable cat Elyot did have his life extended for about four years after the diagnosis of cardiomyopathy -- but he was only seven when that started. (And Elyot showed them: one vet predicted he would only last a year, if that. Another vet said nuts to that, and Elyot agreed. He was fine for three and a half years once he was on medication, but then it finally got him. He was a wonderful, superb cat, very much like a person, if you know what I mean.)
In any event, I have no money to take Cyrano to the vet at the moment. But I think he needs to pay him a visit. If you'd like to donate a little bit to help that along, we'd be tremendously grateful. I have a very strong sense that we're only talking about palliative care here, but I want to be sure Cyrano suffers as little as possible. I owe him at least that much, if I can manage it.
It's been an awful year here. Can't wait for it to be over. Given how things have gone in 2014, it would be horribly, morbidly appropriate if Cyrano finally left us on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. Yes, my mood is very bleak and dark.
He's such a darling boy. He's been with me since he was eight weeks old, and we've only been apart a few days in the ensuing many years. (When he was still a tiny kitten, he used to snuggle in one of my old sneakers, with just his orange behind sticking out. He was convinced he had rendered himself invisible. I played along. "Where has Cyrano gone? Where is he?") He's now exactly 16 years and four months old. For most of that time, we've had great and grand fun. He's been an absolute joy.
Thanks for listening. And I will try to get one or two posts done in the next week. Among other things, I have a few observations to offer about the Sony hack, and about that white, straight, rich, incredibly privileged asshole named Aaron Sorkin. (Yes, I realize that description is redundant. Can someone be white, straight, rich and a man and not be an asshole? Not in my considerable experience. I will allow for the theoretical possibility of the rare exception, say one in a million or two.)
Christ, give me cats any day. So far superior to humans in every respect. Same is true for dogs, of course.
Give them the world. It could only make it better.
I thought I was going to lose him toward the end of last week. But he rallied -- for a very sweet, loving cat, he can be a pretty tough guy. He was better for a few days. But now he's having troubles again.
I always go through agonies when my cats reach this stage. I never know how much vet care I should inflict on them, and I do often feel that "inflict" is the operative word. I've put cats through lots of tests in the past, and the net result was that we knew almost nothing at the end of it all that we hadn't known at the beginning. I'm speaking here of old cats; my remarkable cat Elyot did have his life extended for about four years after the diagnosis of cardiomyopathy -- but he was only seven when that started. (And Elyot showed them: one vet predicted he would only last a year, if that. Another vet said nuts to that, and Elyot agreed. He was fine for three and a half years once he was on medication, but then it finally got him. He was a wonderful, superb cat, very much like a person, if you know what I mean.)
In any event, I have no money to take Cyrano to the vet at the moment. But I think he needs to pay him a visit. If you'd like to donate a little bit to help that along, we'd be tremendously grateful. I have a very strong sense that we're only talking about palliative care here, but I want to be sure Cyrano suffers as little as possible. I owe him at least that much, if I can manage it.
It's been an awful year here. Can't wait for it to be over. Given how things have gone in 2014, it would be horribly, morbidly appropriate if Cyrano finally left us on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. Yes, my mood is very bleak and dark.
He's such a darling boy. He's been with me since he was eight weeks old, and we've only been apart a few days in the ensuing many years. (When he was still a tiny kitten, he used to snuggle in one of my old sneakers, with just his orange behind sticking out. He was convinced he had rendered himself invisible. I played along. "Where has Cyrano gone? Where is he?") He's now exactly 16 years and four months old. For most of that time, we've had great and grand fun. He's been an absolute joy.
Thanks for listening. And I will try to get one or two posts done in the next week. Among other things, I have a few observations to offer about the Sony hack, and about that white, straight, rich, incredibly privileged asshole named Aaron Sorkin. (Yes, I realize that description is redundant. Can someone be white, straight, rich and a man and not be an asshole? Not in my considerable experience. I will allow for the theoretical possibility of the rare exception, say one in a million or two.)
Christ, give me cats any day. So far superior to humans in every respect. Same is true for dogs, of course.
Give them the world. It could only make it better.
posted by Arthur Silber at 6:56 PM
<< Home