It’s not funny, but it’s true. Little Bit is sick and she isn’t getting better. It’s time. Our regular vet, who’s awesome, gave me the name of another vet (I’m calling her Dr. Catvorkian to protect her identity.) who’ll come to our home to put her down. I don’t want the last thing Bit sees to be green clinic walls. I want her to die in the brown chair where she likes to sleep by the big window looking into the back yard. So, I sent the emails and it’s all arranged. I put a hit out on my cat.
I know what day and what time she’s going to die, which seems so crazy and surreal I can’t even explain. I can’t believe I just arranged for my cat’s death. It feels criminal, like I’m totally doing something against the laws of nature. It’s even harder now for me to imagine how people put out hits on other people! If I seem to be making light of the situation, I guess maybe I am – or at least I’m trying to. It’s how I cope. Inappropriate humor. It’s my friend.
In reality, I can barely breathe. I’m a snotty mess. In fact, it’s all I can do to write this small post to let you know where I am and why I don’t feel like writing much these days. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’ll keep updating the Facebook page, so you can keep in touch there if you like, but, in the meantime, please don’t forget my little blog.