I lost my best feline pal early this afternoon. Her little body just couldn’t battle cancer any longer, so we released Luna to peace with the assistance of a very compassionate vet. Those folks and a local oncology team are forever in my debt for all their tender care. Today our vets’ office even wrote off the cost of a physical examination after we decided to let her go. Classy and caring, eh?
I must admit that Luna was not the best of writing buddies, typically demanding attention, often giving a painful claw poke inside my upper arm. But I wouldn’t have traded her for a bookshelf full of publications.
Yet now I have more time to write.
There are no more daily and weekly medication schedules. I no longer need monitor her food intake, making sure her two fellow felines eat only their share. Nor do the litter boxes require constant scooping to prevent toxic chemotherapy chemicals from spreading to others. I cancelled several pending veterinary visits and can even sleep without sharing my pillow or waking with fur in my hair.
So now I have more time to write.
This is my first, truly intimate pet loss. The darn cat actually picked me while living on local streets, visiting me in my burgeoning garden. She insisted on moving in despite my allergies, resulting in the salvation of our other rescued cats. They just happen to be happy without me as a human futon.
So. Okay. Yeah, now I have more time to write…
… and garden, for that matter.