Sweet

I have cat I will nickname Sweet, for I want to respect my cats’ privacy and will not name them by name.
Sweet is sweet, undemanding, easily frightened, shy, discreet, and amiable. He’s Fatso’s twin brother but they grew as different as could be. Although Sweet is only three years old, he has been diagnosed with kidney failure. There is no cure. There are treatments, but one costs $350 and its effects don’t last, and the other necessitates daily subcutaneous injections. I did that for a while but Sweet suddenly started violently objecting to them, behaving as if in great pain and distress during the shot, and vanishing under sofas for days afterwards, looking at me like I was the abominable snowman and running from me.
So I stopped subjecting him to that and he is wasting away before my eyes, but not in pain, apparently, and not unhappily. He’s quieter than ever, he’s skin and bones. But he still rubs around my ankles like I’m the only love of his life.

I have to face the fact that I will lose him soon. As I hold him now, light and soft, I have to accept that I will soon hold him inert and lifeless. I have decided where he will be buried in our garden. I’ve chosen the stone that will mark his grave. I nearly dug the whole already. I am desperately trying to come to terms with the fact that he will soon be dead. I am failing miserably.