I had a quiet weekend planned, involving quality time with the cats and getting my apartment finally settled. Then god said ha and I had to drive right from work to Pittsburgh, with a ten minute pee/ feed and water the cats/ grab some clothes stop.
We lost Biscuit. Life really sucks sometimes. He had a reasonably long life and a consistently happy life, but that doesn't really help at this point. I don't like the vets and I'm insisting that my family stop using them, between what I felt was overpriced but far from adequate care for Biscuit and their go-to diagnosis of pancreatitis for everything. But that also doesn't really help. While I'm horribly sad and had to pull myself together at work, it's nothing compared to le frère.
I'll never forget the first time he saw the ocean. He had to taste the beach-- the sand, the water, the flotsam, and the jellyfish. I just barely managed to keep him away from the latter.
He was always hamming it up. Most of the time, he just about posed for his picture.
God, this house seems empty. He almost always slept by the couch where I slept, making his gross little noises and nosing over for some ear scratching so I could never sleep. Now it's far, far too quiet. Once more, "home" feels a little less like home.