It seems I can’t escape an awfully emotional week of animal sadness. I’ve been suffering a bit, having trouble sleeping, seeing that dog crossing the street over and over again every time I blink or let my mind wander. Then there were those exotic animals let go by their suicidal owner, and how the town had to kill most of them to save themselves, which just made me cry and cry. Then I caught a segment on the news of a hawk caught in the grill of a truck, and even though that hawk lived, the image haunts me, makes me feel so ill. Then something even closer to my heart—my rotund fatty P2 mysteriously broke his femur. His dad is taking great care of him, and the day was spent worrying while he was in surgery. He’s home now where he has to live in the bathroom for a week away from his brother Horchata and big brother Mattress. He looks so morose, and I’m just sitting here crying, because he’s in pain, and because there is nothing I can do about it, and because I can’t go see him. I’m invited, of course, but he is terrified of me, and it seems highly rude to watch a crippled cat run from me.
And the worst seems to be that he has decided to start wearing Uggs. God.
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