Red Water (Thanksgiving Mourning)
Nov. 28th, 2003 01:31 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
uberreinigerThe actual title of the Type O Neg. song is "Red Water (Christmas Mourning)" but this is more appropriate.
Today was not the Thanksgiving I wanted it to be. It was a Thanksgiving with the shadow of death in the house. One of our three cats is very sick, you see. I don't think she has very long. You may say it's just a cat, but it's not that way for me. Dogs and cats have always been more than just animals to me. I wish I could say why, but they have been. It's hardest on my mother, which in turn makes it harder on me. Just when I left home for college a stray cat showed up and had a litter on our back patio. Me being an only child, it was obvious those cats filled up the void that had been left for my parents. Plus, the mother cat died just a few weeks after having her babies. It was almost like she had given them to us to take care of.
Eight years passed. One of the cats died of lukemia, another was killed by dogs, so now we're down to three. Cali, the only female, is the smallest and the weakest. We think she's developed lukemia too and now she's developed a skin disease we've had other cats die of and that no veterinarian has been able to diagnose or even help. I think it's something that's contagious and lies dormant for years until the immune system weakens, but that's irrelevant. The point is, she's a walking skeleton now. There's practically nothing left but fur and bones. She's dying and today I just finally made everybody talk about it because everyone's been avoiding it. So in the morning lucky me gets to call an animal hospital and make arrangements because my mom can't handle it. And I don't blame her for that. Doesn't mean I'm looking forward to it, though.
I try to tell myself we have eight years to be thankful for with Cali, but it doesn't help. Today's Thanksgiving was sorrowful and subdued. It was just hard to be in the spirit of anything even though I knew we should be, come what may.
We think Cali's momma might be waiting for her. We've all seen glimpses of a strange cat in the house, but when we turn to look there's nothing there.
Today was not the Thanksgiving I wanted it to be. It was a Thanksgiving with the shadow of death in the house. One of our three cats is very sick, you see. I don't think she has very long. You may say it's just a cat, but it's not that way for me. Dogs and cats have always been more than just animals to me. I wish I could say why, but they have been. It's hardest on my mother, which in turn makes it harder on me. Just when I left home for college a stray cat showed up and had a litter on our back patio. Me being an only child, it was obvious those cats filled up the void that had been left for my parents. Plus, the mother cat died just a few weeks after having her babies. It was almost like she had given them to us to take care of.
Eight years passed. One of the cats died of lukemia, another was killed by dogs, so now we're down to three. Cali, the only female, is the smallest and the weakest. We think she's developed lukemia too and now she's developed a skin disease we've had other cats die of and that no veterinarian has been able to diagnose or even help. I think it's something that's contagious and lies dormant for years until the immune system weakens, but that's irrelevant. The point is, she's a walking skeleton now. There's practically nothing left but fur and bones. She's dying and today I just finally made everybody talk about it because everyone's been avoiding it. So in the morning lucky me gets to call an animal hospital and make arrangements because my mom can't handle it. And I don't blame her for that. Doesn't mean I'm looking forward to it, though.
I try to tell myself we have eight years to be thankful for with Cali, but it doesn't help. Today's Thanksgiving was sorrowful and subdued. It was just hard to be in the spirit of anything even though I knew we should be, come what may.
We think Cali's momma might be waiting for her. We've all seen glimpses of a strange cat in the house, but when we turn to look there's nothing there.
