About one of our three cats, who had to be euthanized last night after battling fast-growing cancer for the better part of the last two months. Tinker Bell was eleven years and six months old; Valarie and I inherited her in 2004 from Valarie's father (now deceased) and stepmother-to-be, who were about to move from Palmdale CA to South Carolina.
TINKER BELL IN TWILIGHT
you're familiar
with the scent of soft cat food
dispensed via small-to-medium syringes
three times a day
plus the two to three doses
of morphine-derived pain medication
given by tiny syringe
>
you want to maintain daily routines
even though the tongue cancer
makes it almost impossible
to eat regular cat or human food
>
you wish the last five weeks
of weight loss and mouth pain
and trips to the vet and back
and being lifted up
and held over the kitchen sink
to be fed and watered and relieved
temporarily from ache and pain--
all of this misery--
never had to happen
>
but nonetheless,
you know you're loved
and make the most
of every chance
to sit next to
and lay on the bed of
your favorite humans
in the entire world
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