Shaking My Fist At God
Jul. 14th, 2016 06:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lydyArwen is still alive. That's close to the end of the good news, Arwen-wise. It's very hard to tell, with cats, how much pain they're in. I feel quite confident in saying that the amount is not zero. But I am unsure of anything other than that. She is having trouble breathing. I suspect the tumor is occluding her airway. She makes raspy exhalation noises, like she's trying to clear her throat. She is still able to move around, get up and down stairs, get on the bed. She is still drinking water, and occasionally getting into small fights with her waterer. She lets everyone but me pet her.
I think she's angry with me. A couple of times, she's given me that meaningful look that she has, and made a complaint noise. She walks away from me if I approach, and will not let me pet her. I think she blames me for all this. And, really, why shouldn't she? For almost her entire life, I've been responsible for making her life happy and comfortable. I've been responsible for food and water and petting and putting step stools in places that let her get to where she wants to go. When things weren't right, she'd complain, and if I could figure out what she was on about, I'd fix it. Well, this is not right. So, why am I not fixing it? I'm pissed off at God for the current situation, and I don't even think he exists, so why should my cat not be pissed off at me? (In case you were wondering, no, I don't feel guilty. I just feel awful. I don't feel responsible. I just feel miserable.)
She continues to try to do things that she likes, or finds comforting. But increasingly, they aren't sufficient. She will get up on David's shoulder, but doesn't stay for long. She will let Pamela or Raphael pet her. Occasionally, she looks at food a bit wistfully, but no one's seen her eat in many days, and she's very, very skinny. She appears uncomfortable, but not in great distress. But as I said, it's always hard to tell.
If God existed, and I could get him to talk to me, man would I give him an earful about better design. Seriously, graceful failure is a fucking thing.
I think she's angry with me. A couple of times, she's given me that meaningful look that she has, and made a complaint noise. She walks away from me if I approach, and will not let me pet her. I think she blames me for all this. And, really, why shouldn't she? For almost her entire life, I've been responsible for making her life happy and comfortable. I've been responsible for food and water and petting and putting step stools in places that let her get to where she wants to go. When things weren't right, she'd complain, and if I could figure out what she was on about, I'd fix it. Well, this is not right. So, why am I not fixing it? I'm pissed off at God for the current situation, and I don't even think he exists, so why should my cat not be pissed off at me? (In case you were wondering, no, I don't feel guilty. I just feel awful. I don't feel responsible. I just feel miserable.)
She continues to try to do things that she likes, or finds comforting. But increasingly, they aren't sufficient. She will get up on David's shoulder, but doesn't stay for long. She will let Pamela or Raphael pet her. Occasionally, she looks at food a bit wistfully, but no one's seen her eat in many days, and she's very, very skinny. She appears uncomfortable, but not in great distress. But as I said, it's always hard to tell.
If God existed, and I could get him to talk to me, man would I give him an earful about better design. Seriously, graceful failure is a fucking thing.
