So yesterday before work I went back to the vet to get Elvis.

When I got there the vet told me that he was very bad, that they checked his liver and it might be liver cancer than moved into his lungs, and he didn't actually want to send him home, he wasn't well enough and hadn't eaten, but I knew that I didn't want to leave him there. I took one look at him when they brought him to me, so traumatized, that I decided right then and there that he's not going back again. He's dying at home, I'm not putting him through any more of this.

On the ride home, I had my arm in the carrier in order to catch him if I had to suddenly stop or if the car bumped, and he had his head on my arm and he was so trusting, and I was just weeping because I love him so much and he trusts me to take care of him and I can't fix this. I'm supposed to be able to, he's my responsibility--for fifteen years I've taken care of him but now I can't do anything to make him okay again.

With Milo I never took him to the vet and he died at home and I felt guilty about it, with Elvis I've taken him to the vet twice and I feel guilty about that, too. How do you know the right thing to do? It must be a hundred times worse with children.

When he got home, he did eat, and then lay down by his bowl again. I called Omar, crying and sobbing and not making much sense. We are going to Lancaster in March, and I told him that I can't leave Elvis, that we'll have to take him with us. Except that he probably won't be alive in March.

I carried him to his spot and he lay there, staring and panting, and I decided that I wasn't going to work. I did have to go in to do something quickly, but I was not going to stay, so I did that, ran in for half an hour, then ran home.

I tried to keep him on my lap, but he'd only stay a little while and then go back to his spot in the bedroom on the pile of clothes. I went over to him every so often and lay down with him and kissed him on the head and told him how much I love him, and apologized for leaving him overnight at the vet and having him go through all those tests and he purred and purred, but it was so hard for him to breathe.

The vet called and left a message that they got the blood work back and it's definitely cancer, and I could do chemo if I wanted, but that mostly the best we can do is try to keep him comfortable. Which is exactly what I'm going to do.

He's such a good, good boy. January through March is the death time. Daddy died in January, Milo died in February, so did Rhubarb and Uncle Bob, Diane and Bill died in March. This is the bad time, the dangerous time.

There was rehearsal at night, and I had to go. Not to rehearse my scene, but because we were doing the fight choreography and Cynthia couldn't be there, so I was fight captain, and I really really couldn't miss it. I wanted to go over with Omar, but he wasn't going from home, he was running an errand at the library. But when I was sitting on the bus going to Larry's, we stopped at the bus stop, and he got on! It was as though I needed to see him so badly that he appeared.

The good thing was that the thing that I needed to do more than anything was to put my head on his shoulder and drip tears onto his pea coat, and I was able to get that out of the way and be relatively dry-eyed by the time we actually got to the rehearsal.

I told Larry that I was not going to do my scene, that I didn't so much have the strength, that I was just there for the fight, and he was quite sweet about it. The fact that I looked as though I would fall apart any minute helped, I'm sure.

The fight rehearsal ended up being really great in terms of taking my mind off things. It was like I remember right before I went home when my father was dying, I had a really intense rehearsal for Naked Mole Rats and it was exactly what I needed--well, watching this fight being staged and helping with suggestions that Matt took seriously was just what I needed last night. And then afterwards, I actually was able to do my scene after all.

The show sure sucks rocks as of this moment, though. No tension, nobody knows their lines and if they do, they don't know their cues, and the ending is abysmal. One might imagine that they will pull it out of their asses in time, but we shall see.

When I went home, walking down the street, I was sure he was dead. Positive. There was no doubt in my mind that I was going to walk into my room and either he would have crawled off somewhere like Milo did, or he would be lying on his spot, stiff and cold.

But when I got there, there he was, blinking at me. I was overwhelmed with happiness, I had been so certain that he was going to die yesterday that the fact that he was going to live one more day was like the greatest gift. I tried to feed him, but he didn't want anything, food or water, though he did get into the cat box.

I don't want him to go, and I do not want to take him to the vet to be put down, I do not want his last moments to be on that cold metal table in a strange place, I want him to die at home with me and his brothers where he is comfortable.

Today's horoscope:
Virgo gets in the middle of the action. Be careful of assuming who's the good guy or bad guy until you understand what's going on. All bets are risky propositions for the rest of the week.

One year ago today:
"The difference between happiness and despair is four crackers."
"Really? Then I need four crackers."

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Last Updated Fri 7 February 11:40:09 2003