2006-03-15 - 1:36 p.m.

So I was sitting outside sipping coffee. It’s restful today. Beautiful. Perfect. It’s a sitting outside sipping coffee and leafing through magazines kind of day.

Out walks Squishy Cat.

Squishy Cat is my darling. Of course, I adore all my cats and would never say, “favorite” because all of them are my favorite. They all have certain aspects of their beings that are like none other. Smitten is my favorite when he sits by my bathtub every night and paws at my face for me to dump water on him. Bear is my favorite when he tears across the house from door to door and skids to a stop and waits patiently for me to let him out. Fish is my favorite when she curls up next to my ear every night. Bubba is my favorite when he sees something unfamiliar and is terrified of it. Smudge is my favorite when he rolls over on his back and gnaws at my hand. But Squish…well, he is my Squishy Cat. I’ve had him the longest, he is the only cat of mine that has lived with me in four different houses. Squish follows me around all day, always has. He isn’t annoying about it, he just follows me. Wherever I am is Squish. So it is really difficult for me to see him getting older. And it’s especially difficult because for the last six months or so he has had this chronic mouth ulceration thing going on. The vet will give him a steroid shot and then put him on antibiotics. This has happened twice now. The first time Squish got so sick from the treatment that he had to be put in the hospital for a week. It took a good three months to get him back to a place where I was starting to feel better about him. Then the ulcers came back and now he is doing that antibiotic thing again. He’s slow, a little lethargic and just looks older. I know it will be another few months before he starts to show signs of vigor and health again. I have to find a way to prevent the ulcers from coming back.

So anyway. It’s restful today. Warm and wonderful. I was outside sipping coffee. Out walks Squish.

He sits next to me, slowly looking around. He sees one of those little white butterflies. And he takes off after it. I think, “well that’s awesome, he’s interested in something, I’ll let him chase it.” For a moment I feel good, I feel like Squish will be okay. Then he knocks the butterfly out of the air and pins it to the ground. The other cats gather. They’ve murdered the little butterfly and I’ve willingly let it happen.

And now I just feel despicable.

I can never have cats again. Here I am, cooking meat for my cats and letting them murder butterflies. Why is it that we become contradictions for beings that we love?


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