Dying.

Today it feels like everything is dying… the summer, my beloved cat.

Like the summer sun, he is waning; thin and sometimes leaving an uncontrollable trail of hard little Hershey’s Kiss turds behind him, like a tree dropping leaves.

We watch him closely, waiting for signs of pain or distress to tell us that “it’s time,” that we need to “do it.” Using euphemisms instead of euthanasia, unable to say the word out loud.

The impending loss of both the season and my pet leave me listless, exhausted and weepy.

I’ve long known that I am a moody person. I experiences ups and downs of spirit sometimes with alarming frequency.

I’ve heard that people tend to think me even-keeled, calm and collected. I wonder if that makes me a good actress or means that no one really knows me.

But this is more than moodiness, nothing that can be solved by a therapist or a pill. It’s grief. I’m already mourning for my sweet boy cat.

I worry what will happen if (when) I experience a greater loss, something truly life changing. The loss of a good (human) friend, my livelihood, my home or, the unspeakable, my mother.

Will I be stronger then than I am now, when the dipping temperatures and a cat’s sad eyes almost reduce me to irrepressible sobs?

I hope so, but I doubt it.

For now I simply continue the hospice care for my furry patient, a skinny old cat, a dear friend.

I take solace in knowing that summer will come around again but fervently wish the same could be said for him. Perhaps it is enough to know that I have loved him well.

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