Scabbers did not get better. She started getting worse again, they rushed her back to the vet, and further testing revealed that she had a large tumor in her abdomen. She passed away gently in their arms. We never knew how old she was, she was a stray cat who followed my mother home every day on her evening walks, and finally came inside and stayed. I called her the "imaginary cat" because I had never seen her, but sometimes I could hear her snoring from wherever she was hiding. Evidently she was pretty old, and had lived a hard life, so I'm glad she had food and comfort for the last couple years. While we were doing DIY, she came out and stood staring at me, looking pretty pissed off. I felt like I was seeing a unicorn. A notch-eared, patchy-furred unicorn with murder in its eyes. I'm glad I got to see her at least once. I'm so sorry, Scabbers. (My mother nicknamed her that years ago because of her recurring skin problems, and tried to change her name to Moani more recently, but it was too late.) At least Gavin knows there were compounding factors, and it wasn't entirely his fault she died.
Aaaaand it turns out that coming home and immediately having a pet tragedy does not make a person happier about not being able to find any of their stuff. I am in trouble. Bringing a cake from the new Hebridean Baker cookbook as an offering for family dinner this evening. Hold me in your thoughts.
Edit: my mother didn’t flip out, my son was exaggerating how annoyed she was. She’s really happy about the cleaning and repairs. However, the man and I unexpectedly had a nuclear fight and at this moment I am one foot out the door. Buckle up, therapist.
Poor Scabbers but it sounds as if she was living the last of her best life. I hope Gavin can come to peace with that.
ReplyDeleteDon't know how I'd feel if my kids put my things in different places but if they cleaned and repaired as they were doing it, I think I'd be fine with it.