. : Black Hearts Inc. : .
. : About me : .
Name::New York City's Watchdog
From::New York City, New York, United States
View my complete profile
. : Fresh Meat : .
To Hell With Everyone Else...
. : Old Bones : .
. : Daily Reads : .
. : Links : .
. : Awards and Accolades : .
. : Blog Roll : .
. : Credits : .
. : Visitors : .
Saturday, September 30, 2006Be One With The Milk
So this morning I buried my kitty Oreo. She was 14 years old and has been sick now for at least a year. To say she was mine isn't really true. Officially, she was my brother's. You know the whole sibling thing of what's mine is mine and yours is yours? Yeah, we were petty like that growing up. She was a good kitty, always giving us squishy paws and licking the remnants of the detergent from our clothes whenever she could. She was a jumper and climber... perching herself as high as my father's grandfather clock (awarded to him for spending 25 years working at Citibank... and all he got was that fucking clock) and unleashing an air assault on anyone silly enough to walk by below... including our other cat Kit.
After a number of trips to the vet no one could tell us why she was perpetually eating but continued to lose weight. Bloodwork had come back normal, a sonogram has come back normal, and a bone marrow sampling also had revealed anything. Of course I've been around sick people long enough to recognize cancer when I see it.
So since Sunday she really hadn't been moving around much. She hadn't been jumping, climbing, or even meowing at the food bowl at the ungodly hour of 5am as usual. I made the suggestion more than once that we should put her to sleep. I felt she was suffering, but being a cat couldn't voice it. My brother of course would have nothing to do with it. Maybe he's better than I am... but I'm also pro-euthanasia for the elderly as well so maybe it's just my natural political stance.
So Thursday night when my mom came home, Oreo couldn't walk at all. She couldn't lift her head up and was barely moving. So my mom wrapped her in a blanket and took her to the vet against my brother's wishes. Of course, as luck would have it, a Rottweiller came in with a broken paw and so Oreo got bumped to behind the Rotti. While waiting for the doctor to come in, she passed away in my mother's arms.
This morning we buried her in the backyard along with the rest of our extended pet family. The 13 goldfish, 7 parakeets, 97 hamsters (yes, 97... it's a long story), and Kira my boa. The only two pets missing from the menagerie are Pepper, my dog who Oreo actually replaced the day we put her to sleep as a companion to Kit who had become a mopey little fuck, and Kit because... well... he's once again being a mopey fat fuck (he ain't so little no more).
So sleep tight my little cookie... and be one with the milk.