For Each Man Kills The Thing He Loves
A month ago one of my three cats, Shelly, aged around six, was poisoned either purposefully — although that is dubious — or accidentally. After a stay at the vets she recovered; then went out on a spree and I saw her only at odd meals. Last week she came in limping and this developed into a full neurological disorder: perhaps a virus released by the earlier sickness, or toxoplasmosis — it remains unresolved; but the vets felt she could be released home on Monday. By then, though, she was immobile on a glucose drip and unable to eat, despite having lost weight. The next morning she had a seizure and, despite the light in her eyes, there was no prospect of recovery. I held her paw as the vet released an overdose that ceased her heart. Fortunately this lasted only a minute or so without distress: and… hopefully without foreknowledge of this betrayal.
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June 19th, 2008 at 2:27 pm
[...] Permanent link toFor Each Man Kills The Thing He Loves For Each Man Kills The Thing He Loves Wednesday, 18 June 2008 at 2:30 am (Animals, Correctitude, Melancholy, Self, The King of Terrors) A month ago one of my three cats, Shelly, aged around six, was poisoned either purposefully — although that is dubious — or accidentally. After a stay at the vets she recovered; then went out on a spree and I saw her only at odd meals. Last week she came in limping and this developed into a full neurological disorder: perhaps a virus released by the earlier [...]