Belvedere (aka Belly Cat) died this morning after declining for the past day. We don’t know why he died; as he had been rejected by his mother, he might have had a defect incompatible with life. I don’t know.
In his five days on this earth, he traveled to work and back with me and resided by my bed at night so I could feed him every two hours (my husband took the evening shift so I could pre-nap). He squeaked and rumbled and squirmed, a delightful little creature.
As the days passed, though, he squirmed less. Last night he quit urinating, and I knew he wouldn’t make it to go to the vet the next day.
I was right. When I awoke this morning, he was limp and not moving. No heartbeat.
We did the best we could, buddy. I’m so sorry.
Tag: Belvedere
Happy 56th birthday to me
Today I’m 56 years old.
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| This is not me. This is Belvedere the kitten, who’s 4 days old |
For you younger people out there — time just chugs along and you hardly notice it until you get to one of those milestone years — 40, 50, 55. You’re too fixated on things like careers and children to wake up and think, “wow, I’m getting older.”
The grey hairs, the wrinkles, the thickening of the body come gradually, until you look in the mirror and see someone who looks older than you remember being.
You don’t even notice that the cultural touchstones — the music stars, the memes and jokes — flow and change around you, and you wake up one morning to find that the younger people around you don’t get your jokes anymore.
But you’ve survived so much! Everyday events that would panic you before — a flat tire, sleeping through the alarm — you now handle with aplomb. Your fears that you can’t handle crises have been proven wrong time after time.
And you have stories to tell. Middle age (late middle-age?) is a great time to start writing. Or find friends who like to tell stories and swap them.
When you’re older, you have the perspective of years, and that is your gift to the world.
Belly cat and updates
Update:
Belvedere the kitten (Belly for short) is still alive in his fourth day, slurping down syringefuls of milk and sleeping in happy milky drunkenness. He’s absolutely tiny:
I’m not quite getting enough sleep given his every two hour feeding schedule, but this too will pass.
Meanwhile, I’ve gotten a few more rejections from agents and I just don’t know what to do about “this doesn’t really grab me” comments. Still haven’t heard from DAW and it’s officially been six months.
I wrote another short story I’m thinking of posting here but, since my stories are the least read of anything I post (TL; DR?) I don’t know if I will.
Waiting for another idea to come my way.
In other words, I’d feel down except for the kitten. Kittens somehow exude happy chemicals.
Words Like Me 