The nights are cooling. The shadows are lengthening. The back-to-school sales are in full force.
Yes, summer's nearly over. And I have no idea where it went, save that I'm not nearly ready to give it up. Unfortunately, what I want carries no weight with the orbit of the Earth, let alone the greater universe. Time only moves in one direction, at least in the human experience.
In the feline experience, too.
Domino's tooth issues have gone beyond antibiotics... and, to be honest, I'm not sure it's just his tooth that's been bothering him. Nevertheless, the old boy's been hanging on, each downturn countered by a sudden upswing. He'd skip food for a day or two, then wolf it down and demand more. He'd doze so deeply one could barely see his sides move, then jump up and demand attention. He'd lose weight, then gain it back. I'd figure he was finally throwing in the towel, but before I could call the vet for final arrangements he'd rally once more.
Until this week.
There's been a shift in his behavior, subtle but distinctive - the sort of things that mean little to an outside observer, but which glare after 17 years together. A difference in the way he sits. A harder edge to his curl as he lays down. A shakiness to his steps that wasn't there before. A lethargy. An overall air of letting go. At this point, he's not eating cat food at all, and can barely be tempted by anything else - not even tuna oil. (And, yes, I know tuna isn't great for cats, but I was getting desperate.) Though his stomach rumbles so loud I can hear it halfway across the room, he only stares at his food, looking at me as if asking what he's supposed to do with this peculiar substance I've placed before him. Then he curls up again - too sharp of a curl - and falls asleep.
I called the vet this afternoon. He goes in tomorrow at 11 AM, to find out if there's anything more to be done, but I'm afraid his summer is going to be ending early this year.
(The moth was sitting on my windshield one morning. The sunset was just a few nights ago. It's been a good summer for sunsets... reassurance, I suppose, that even endings can be beautiful things.)
I am a 41-year-old beast, passably resembling a human being, with no clue what I'm supposed to be doing with my life and no money to do it with even if I knew.
In the meantime, I review books, daydream too much, write and draw too little, and generally waste space by existing.