Cats. All cats really, but specifically my cats. They are so much work, and there are days when I’m very frustrated with them, and the stress they can sometimes add to my life, but on the whole I adore them, and I couldn’t possibly imagine my life with them. Currently, between me and my mother, we have eight of our own cats, plus three strays we are fostering for the “Trap-Neuter-Release” program (we also have my brother’s two dogs, who were dumped on us, but they don’t make me so happy so we’re not going to think about that right now).
We had nine cats, but my oldest, my baby, my Old Man, died the last week of June. I’m still not over it. I’m not sure I ever will be. His name was Sebastian. I got him when he was only six weeks old and I was in seventh grade. I’m not entirely sure how I came up with the name. I think perhaps it was a combined inspiration from the main character of The Neverending Story (Bastian Balthazar Bux) and Saint Sebastian (I did mention my early obsession with hagiography).
He was one week shy of 18 years old when he died. He had hyperthyroidism, he had a stroke, he had kidney failure, and then his liver failed, and that was the end of it. I sat with him while the vet put him to sleep. He was my baby boy. I couldn’t let him die alone.
But I’m making myself said again, let’s talk about my other babies. The ones still with me. Every single one is a rescue: out of the rain, off a highway in rush-hour traffic, from a shelter about to be put-down, etc. In order of when we get them they are: Mieko, Grady, Bobbi, Seiya, Freya, Loki, Toulouse, and Lucy. (And we temporarily named the strays Little Mama, and her two kittens Merry and Pippin).
And now, what we’ve all been waiting for since I mentioned the word “cats”, pictures!: