My problem with having a blog that pretty much takes nothing seriously is that when something serious DOES happen, it turns my blog into a useless piece of crap dying a slow death on the interwebs. Unlike before when it was just a useless piece of crap dying a slow death on the interwebs.
Welcome, loyal readers, to exactly what happened during the past few weeks here around the Um...What?? headquarters. And by loyal readers I mean those of you who logged on day after day for three weeks straight to keep reading the same post about Jared. And by those of you who logged on day after day for three weeks straight to keep reading the same post about Jared, I mean Jared.
As many of you already know, Team Um...What?? recently suffered a heartbreaking blow when Moses The Cat suddenly got sick and passed away. In one right hook that dropped us to the floor, fate all at once stole away our accountant, our Chief Executive Officer, our CSS expert, our web designer, our legal counsel, our personal stylist, our nutritionist, our receptionist, our executive assistant, our head chef, our spiritual adviser, our cleaning crew, our office manager, our public relations director, our data analyst, our customer service representative, our personal trainer and –– worst of all –– our heart and soul. Because fate is a bitch like that. And so is feline diabetes.
I mean, geeeeez: How was I supposed to write about such an awful thing? In such an anything-but-serious blog whose target audience seems to have accidentally become really immature 12-year-olds? Who like stupid pictures with Photoshopped hats? And who –– preferably –– can barely read? OOPSIE! But on the flip side, how was I supposed to write –– where write equals OMG I'M GOING TO PHOTOSHOP SH*T –– about anything-but-serious things when I was feeling...so seriously crappy?
As a result of my dilemma, this blog sat around collecting dust while I sat around trying to collect myself. I knew I had to write something here about what happened to Moses, if for no other reason than because he's been a big part of so many posts on Um...What??, and because he's also been so front and center on Twitter where many of you seemed to genuinely enjoy his semi-regular tweets. But I also wanted to write a little something because, dammit, he lived. And his life was brave and spectacular and full of dignity and the passing of such a life deserves to be noted.
So after much puzzling and fretting and pondering and wondering about how to write something that was appropriate but at the same time didn't stick out like a sore thumb on a blog whose idea of literary genius includes things like Photoshopping a picture of Maureen and me snorkeling around inside a giant martini, it suddenly dawned on me: Oh for the love of God, woman. Post like you always post or you'll never, ever post again because you are completely constipated with this post. Gahhhh. Besides: It's not like I could possibly have more than two readers left by now. And besides part two: Moses had an excellent sense of humor and he totally loved Photoshop. I'm not even kidding. Who do you think taught me how to use it? Chris?? Hardly.
Sadly, now I'll probably never learn how to use Final Cut Pro.
So, with all of this in mind and in the interest of pulling Um...What?? off of life support, I'm just going to forge ahead and offer up the following brief look back at my time together with Moses, who was rescued near death but was so filled with life. And by brief look back I mean OMG I'm going to Photoshop sh*t:
In the beginning (Part 1): Moses and I first got together back in December 2007 when he found himself in need of a permanent place to unpack his bags and I found myself in need of a reason to exist beyond being a miserable mope.
I'm not even kidding about that pee tester thing.
In the beginning (Part 2): Moses and I fell totally in love and quickly become our own ragtag version of a teeny tiny family.
Love is blind. And rhymes. AND –– as if I even need to point this out –– is very, very good looking.
In the middle: Moses got healthy. Diabetes –– regulated. Bad teeth –– extracted. Ringworm –– beaten. TAPEWORM killed. (This last one is so many kinds of gross you do not even want to know JUST TRUST ME.) And as Moses got healthy, I got happy. And as I got happy, I also got to be an expert in feline diabetes and insulin injecting and glucose curving and urine level testing and –– this part is my most favorite of all –– in worrying way more about what Moses needed and worrying way less about what I needed. This is a little something I like to call getting my head out of my a$$.
Be glad I didn't put a picture of ringworm, either.
In the end: The irony of it all is that Moses got healthy just in time to grow old enough for his system to give out from the diabetes. Damn. He went out like he lived –– fighting hard –– and he made it through so many more days longer at the end than we expected him to. But ultimately it was just too much for him to battle. His pancreas gave out. His kidneys gave out. His heart arrested twice. He had a stroke. And even after all of that, he still didn't go on his own. Even after all of that, I still had to make the call to help him go.
I knew when I adopted him that between his health issues and his age (which turned out to probably be even older than initially thought) we were living on borrowed time. But 16 months? Only 16 months? Fate is a bitch like that. And so is feline diabetes.
And so is love. Which snuck up on me the way that it tends to do and left me as attached to him as if he'd been with me 20 years.
With eyes like the sky, a belly like a football and a snore like your grandpa.
Always with the dying and the death. It's a cat not a Tyrannosaurus Rex.
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P.S. In other news, my next post will be about a cow. Seriously. And trust me: You will not be disappointed. Unless you're usually disappointed when you come here, in which case you'll be totally disappointed. As usual.
P.S.S. Finally, I'd like to send a big shoutout to this blog's favorite Ryan, who actually cared enough to count the exact number of days since my last post and then go so far as to say he was starting to get depressed over the lack of activity here. Of course he did DM this to me on Twitter, which might mean he doesn't really want anyone else to know he feels this way, in which case I am totally kidding about it being Ryan who said this. HAHA! Of course it wasn't Ryan. Obviously. It was actually Prince Charles. Who, even though I haven't mentioned it in a while, still faithfully reads this blog. For reasons I am confident I don't even need to explain to you people.
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