…..

Sneezles (the cat) hasn’t eaten anything in nearly a week. Or, at least about a week.

He barely moves. Barely drinks. I think he mews when he doesn’t see anyone for a while or just when he has strength to do so.

Quite clearly, he won’t be around for much longer.

And there’s nothing we can really do.

Sneezles is the latest in a line of pet cats that extends over thirty years. First, there was Mister, an insanely outgoing and exceedingly intelligent black and white cat. He totally owned Jason from day one.

Cutie, the want-to-be mommy, who loved hamsters. She didn’t harm them but treated them as babies.

There was some orange cat that lasted for about a day before it decided it didn’t like us.

Then, along with Sneezles, there was Liquorish Stick. Both of them came together but had pneumonia from the shelter. Liquorish died but Sneezles survived.

We’ve been a one cat house for probably about twenty years.

And now that time is clearly coming to an end. He’s just old.

And there’s nothing we can do to help. Not really.
We can’t force him to eat or drink. We try to comfort him when we can and he calls. We’re just trying to make him comfortable.

But it’s heart-wrenching. It’s sad.
And it’s caused a lot of reflection. Well, for me it has. I’m sure it has for Jason as well.

As Sneezles grows increasingly weak, his calls become more desperate. His bones become more prominent, even underneath the fur. Dried tears cover his eyes.

And… to be selfish… I keep thinking that’s me. That’s me as a full blown anorexic. That’s me in January when I was hauled into St. Francis for two weeks and, later, to the IU Methodist psyche ward.

That cat is me and I imposed all of these scary and insecure feelings on those I cared about. Not just once, but multiple times. Not just over a week but over years.

I need to ‘do better.’ And I’m trying. I had a piece of bread, It’s my second today. I was feeling a bit hungry. It was starting to distract me although I had lunch with Amanda some three hours ago. Less than three hours, honestly. Probably more like two.

But that’s not important…. I did eat something instead of trying to reason my way out of it. Does that count?

It’s gotten to the point where I made a formal announcement to the two classes that Sneezles is close to death. The cat has been my Blacboard profile picture for years and I introduce him as my boss in the initial ‘getting to know you’ post at the beginning of every term.

I don’t know if I’m a good adjunct, despite my years…. probably not…. but I have a personal goal of being transparent on issues that could impact classroom interactions, and this certainly could. So, I told some sixty odd strangers. Why not?

I didn’t tell them about my lung nodule though. I considered it and might but not after the PT scan. That’s just next Tuesday. I’m actually looking forward to knowing if it’s cancer. I’d rather know that not know.

…….. I think I understand why dad didn’t like to visit Grandma Apple when she was in the hospital. At the time, I felt it was a bit silly. Love is love, rather they are tall and proud or sick and weak.

But love is selfish.

If I could toss Sneezles outside to finish his journey, I don’t think I would although I would strongly consider it. Selfishly, despite love, I would rather pretend that he’s just hiding from strangers in the closet never to be seen again instead of crying in pain.

Selfishly…. perhaps… I injured myself over and over again with anorexia, my thoughts, and ideas instead of considering others. I think I try to be wise through reason. But reason and wisdom aren’t related.

Fortunately for me, they’re just as stubborn and selfish as I am or I would have perished a long time ago. Hiding from strangers in a closet never to be seen again.

Please let me be wise.
— and please let Sneezles pass – happy – secure – and knowing that he is loved.