So in early May 1997, I bought a cat from a pet store. I had been living in Los Angeles on my own for a year and I guess I wanted something alive in my apartment. I felt uninspired in naming choices and eventually named her Carol after the Youth Director of our church when I was in high school. Over the years, she's been a constant companion. She's lived in four apartments and two houses, she's gone on several round-trip Seattle to L.A. trips and even went camping once. She's met Morticia when Lori and I got married, welcomed in Tinsel when we found her as a stray (at Christmas time. The Tinsel/Christmas Carol thing is more of a side-thought.) The endured the tiny puppy Barkley and then the monster kitten Cash who now has her beat by 10 pounds. She saw Tinsel and Morticia pass away and Barkley go to live on a farm (for real). And now, she's on thyroid medicine and a special diet because she's got severe kidney failure, probably next in line. Her weight has dropped to 6, but it's been improving slightly.
I feel bad because I feel like in some ways, I'm already mourning her, but also thinking that when she does pass, that there will be some relief. She has some bad habits and/or medical problems that means we can't let her wander around the house unsupervised and therefore, she and Cash end up spending a lot of time in our laundry room. And even then, it takes more work to keep that room clean because she gets sick and throws up quite a bit.
So for a few hours each night, we do spend some time with them while we watch TV and exercise, but I feel bad.
But I wonder if I'm going to properly mourn and miss my friend of so many years when she goes. Which could be several years with this new diet, which is good, but it's still something that's weighed upon my mind.
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