Time Away

No, it's not unplugged week for me, or vacation time, just some me time away from writing and revising. I'll still check in on the blogsphere and comment here and there, perhaps do a post, then again, maybe not.

My sixteen year old cat Tasmyn has been having a rough time of it lately, and the end - unfortunately - is probably near. So, instead of writing/revising, I'll be spending some quality time with her on the couch and catching up with some reading.

You see, she somehow, after 16 years, wrapped herself around my heart. She was supposed to stick around a bit longer, especially after her brother Jordy (he was 17) journeyed to the great catnip field at the end of December. Unfortunately, no matter my wishes, she just doesn't seem able to stick it out.

So, in these potential last days of her life, I'm going to take time from my life for her. I'm going to pet her, cuddle her, and give her whatever she wants to eat until her vet appointment at the end of the week.

I wish . . . she could tell me what was wrong so I could fix it. She can't. Age happens. This little Tasmanian (thus her name Tasmyn) Devil was trouble from day one. She was eight weeks old when I first brought her home. The first thing she did was find a hole beneath the kitchen cabinets and crawl in there. I had to remove the quarter round and baseboard to get her out. Then, there were the venitian blinds she loved to shred. Oh, and her first Christmas with me she decided to knock over the Christmas tree. For all the trouble she caused, she's been a great cat.

I wish . . . I didn't have to make the ultimate decision of life or death for her.

I wish . . . if it's her time, she would just pass quietly in her sleep.

I wish . . . I didn't hurt so much thinking about what must be done. Quality over quantity.

I wish . . . for so very much right now, but most of all I just wish she was happy and at peace.

I wish . . . I could soothe all her troubles, take away her aches and pains, and make everything all right.

I cannot do all the things I wish. I can only do what's best for her based on the advice of the vet, and what I know in my heart.

We've had quite a few talks, Taz and I, over the last few days, as she's stumbled a bit, and fallen with age. I told her it was all right. I told her I would be okay. Well, in time, perhaps, after my shredded heart begins to heal once more.

I wish . . .

S