There’s two where there should be three.
There were three where there should have been four.
The house is too quiet. Less fluffy. And my heart hurts.
We lost Cheddar today. A trip to the vet yesterday revealed advanced feline leukemia, a likely tumour on her liver, and a thyroid problem. At 16, there was nothing we could do. She was in pain, but refused to show it even to the end – purring and happy to see us. We had to say goodbye, and it was so hard.
Cheddar was with us for 14 wonderful years, and remains the best kidnapping decision I’ve ever made. Everyone who ever met her loved her, and she loved them all in return.
I hope we did right by you, Cheddar. You are so, so loved.
smoked cheddar cheese
the happiest, least photogenic cat that ever was
There needs to be a universal “opt out” clause for things you don’t want to be reminded about. I say this for every person who’s ever lost a parent, or has a dysfunctional relationship with them, or hell even has horrible children who never call or write: we are tired of being reminded to buy mom or dad the perfect gift on their day. For two months out of every year, we are inundated with tv commercials, site ads, email from every site we’ve ever visited, and more – all reminding us not to forget mom on Mother’s Day, or dad on Father’s Day. We don’t forget. We remember every single day, even without you shoving it in our faces. Cut it out.
Every year, I think I’ve finally come to terms with my father’s mysterious death. I get to a point where I feel I can live without knowing what TRULY happened, but all my hard work is undone in June when every form of media seems to exist simply to tell me that dad really would have wanted the complete Stargate franchise on DVD or 43% off a set of self-correcting golf balls or perhaps this keychain with a tentacle on it. I’m sure he would much rather have those things that being dead – who wouldn’t; that tentacle is pretty cool – but since we took extreme precautions to ensure dad would not rise when the dead walk the earth, it’ll never happen. And that sucks. And I don’t appreciate the reminder every fucking year.