December Will Be Magic Again

This morning I got a call from Momma asking for advice about a gift for one of my siblings, and more importantly, to tell me that Biggs wasn't doing too well.  He's been relentlessly sick overnight, and was throwing up blood.  Again.  She says he seems five pounds skinnier and that he goes to a boutique vet where you actually have to make an appointment if your cat is THROWING UP BLOOD.

Rest in peace, Dr. McCurdy.  I miss you.  You were an amazing vet who never made very sick pets wait so you could look good to others.  I, and my cats over the years, will continue to miss you.

So of course I got into the shower and cried and cried.  You might remember this, and that was almost two years ago.  I feel so badly for my almost-seventeen-year-old baby, who is supposed to be enjoying retirement and never getting older or sicker.

I cried so hard there were no tears - have you ever cried like that?  Like the wound is so deep and open that even your tearducts can't see it?  Like you can barely stay upright from the sheer force of pain?  I've not felt that kind of physical weight from the shear force of feelings in a long time.

But I'm trying to think on the more positive side, and I'm trying to accept help the way it's given and not the way I wish it were given.

But I will continue to worry about Biggs.