When I was a Critical Care Nurse, I recorded “TOD” more than I’d like to remember.  I never worked OB, and I’ve therefore never recorded a “TOB”, but that sounds more fun, doesn’t it? Time of Birth, Time of Death…these things MUST be Memorexed.  So I think it’s only appropriate that I record Sunday, October 21st, 8:20 pm, as Max’s “TOL”: Time of Life.  I’m no longer waiting for him to die, feeding him hot dogs, or rocking him to sleep, covered in my tears.  Sometime during his Hospice, Max forgot to die.

I didn’t call our Vet, because I can’t see the sense in paying for labs to prove what I already know: this cat ‘eh hard to kill.  Unfortunately, this brush past death came at a price: he’s lost a majority of his personality.  He won’t play with Syd or Cy, and only occasionally cuddles with me.  The human food has created a horrible habit of him crying at my feet when I cook. But he doesn’t seem to be in any pain, he still enjoys a short, daily romp in the yard, and he’s put back on a few of his lost pounds.  I don’t think he’ll get chunky again, making my Little Bear now a Somewhat Smaller Bear, (and he looks pretty beat up), but all said and done, I’m glad he’s here.

Thank you again for sending so many good vibes our way this summer.  Sara’s convinced those vibes, paired with her many, many wishes, made all the difference.  I love that my girls learned the value of hope through this ordeal.  We talk so much about the strength of the human spirit, but why aren’t we talking about the strength of the Cat Spirit?  It’s notable. We’re sincerely looking forward to another chilly winter with dead Max lying by the fire.  And just like all the other years of not dead Max playing dead…he’ll still be undead. Oh sweet un-dead-ed-ness.  I look for that in my pets.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.