The kittens are so adorable I’m gonna die.

They come running to see me, except the tan one, but they’re still clumsy so it’s kind of a weird wobbling-flopping waddle. They meow very very loud up at me and tug at and climb on my shoes. They like me to snuggle down with them and envelope them with my hands. Especially one of the calicoes, who likes to have both her shoulders rubbed at the same time. She gets very quiet and relaxed when I do it, so much so that she fell over when I stopped, and I tickled her fat belly.

The one that looks like Goofy, she rolled on her back and pawed at the air when I stated talking to them while they were napping/feeding with Mama. Then she started chewing on her paws and on the tan one’s ears, in that cute way that babies do.

They have teeth, ya know, and they like to nibble sometimes. You can really feel their jaw muscles going to work when they try and really chew on you. It’s cute now but when they lose their baby teeth it won’t be so cute.

Her name was Winja, they called her Clara.

His name was Tannith Tannerson the Tan, they called him John.

Speaking of squee, Mama brought the kittens down from the tree.

Oh my god guys they are so adorable and fucking gorgeous. There’s five. There are three dark calicoes, a dark tabby, and a tan tabby. I haven’t checked their sexes yet but I’m going to guess the calicoes are all females.

The weirdest thing, though, is that the dark calico who has the most obvious white spots on her, has a facial shape just like Goofy’s (who we put down last year, if you’ll remember). I saw her and instantly thought of Goofy. It made her as precious as emeralds in an instant.

So far, despite not knowing us very well, they respond almost immediately to our voices (except when sleeping) and aren’t terribly shy - except for She-Goofy, she’s a little shy.

You know, I always hate when people say, “they look like they’re sleeping” when they see a corpse. Am I the only person who does not in any way think dead people and animals look anything like they’re sleeping?

And so today, before I got to go to bed, at 9:00 AM I had to go to the vet.

A few years back, our cat Crookedtail (Crookie) was hit by a car in the alley.

What motherfucker was going so fast to hit a fucking cat in an alley, I don’t know. But if I ever figure out who did it, I won’t hesitate to attempt to kill them. I swear this with the utmost severity. It’s not likely I’ll succeed but my fucking god I would try so much and so often I’d be arrested and sentenced away. Whoever it was doesn’t deserve life anymore… I don’t care if you think I’m a horrible person for that. Because I really don’t give a shit what people think of me for being like any normal person and wanting justice and vengeance, demanding blood for blood. It’s primitive, but what do you expect of a Scorpio filled with the genes of traditionally aggressive folk.

…Anyway… she was hit by a car…

When she was born, she had several fused vertebrae, and her tail was excessively crooked and kinked. Hence her name.

She was hit by a car, and wouldn’t stand. X-rays were done, and no fractures or damage was found, so the vet assumed that her problem was that her odd spine wasn’t a problem until she was hit, that the jarring made it go out of whack. So long as we exercised her legs, she would be relatively normal.

And she was, for years. She walked funny, definitely had a weird lope… but, she jumped, she ran, she fought, she climbed trees, she was a very active and loving and proud cat, asserting herself as our alpha female, and eventual total alpha once Goofy’s mind and motivation declined due to age. The amount of times I remember seeing her shoot across the yard to bowl over an unsuspecting stray…

But then, around mid last fall, she was getting less active. We thought the chilling weather was starting to get to her, since it was unreasonably cold. We brought her in… but she started having several accidents. Many accidents. We couldn’t let her stay in, so we let her in the garage. But she just got worse. Her legs were obeying less and less and less. She wasn’t cleaning herself. She wasn’t eating or drinking. She struggled and kicked a lot, showing signs of discomfort often. We didn’t understand; what was happening? Why was she suddenly getting weaker, she was suddenly becoming depressed and miserable.

We tried so hard, we washed her and gave her warm food, we cuddled more, we played more, but she was just… wasting. And then dad announced she had maggots…

We knew what they would say when we brought her in. But… maybe they wouldn’t, I hoped. She was aware, she was still proud, she fought hard against any washing and restrictions, she meowed and she purred and she demanded attention. She was so alive, despite everything. She wanted to live so badly. She wanted to keep going. She was trying just like we were.

But, the new vet… she looked at her, and when we said what had happened years ago, she knew exactly what the problem was. And that everything would be useless. Even years ago, no surgery would have prevented this. It was going to happen, no matter what, and would only get worse. She was doomed from the start. What was going on, was that she had spinal cord damage or fractures… something, that would have been hard to detect unless you were looking for it… And it would seem like everything was fine, and you would feel so inspired, because the cat would be doing so well. But then it would stop, arthritis would develop and reach severe levels, and the nerves would stop responding and deaden, and because of that all muscle mass and ability would cease, which would stop organ function, including the shutting down of the bladder, kidneys, bowels, and all sphincters and control of release and of course digestive backup.

And while we heard this, she was snuggled down in her crate, looking at us with her bright pale green eyes, purring, her fur around her chest and head still so soft and fluffy, and kicking her legs uselessly…

I don’t know why I looked inside the crate when they were finished with her. I will hate myself for this for as long as I will remember. She was so alive, she was so alive, she was dying but she was so alive and she wanted to live and she wasn’t complaining and it’s not fuckng fair in the slightest and I feel like I betrayed her so badly. I looked in that crate and saw her dead. She stank of rot and filth, but she wanted to keep trying.

And then mom said she looked like she was sleeping.

I wasn’t crying yet, although I could feel it coming after seeing her. And then mom said she looked like she was sleeping, and I grit my teeth hard together, painfully together, and in the car I suddenly screamed at her.

BECAUSE SHE DID NOT AND DOES NOT FUCKING LOOK ANYTHING LIKE SHE’S FUCKING SLEEPING. SHE’S FUCKING DEAD. WHY DOES ANYONE THINK IT LOOKS LIKE SLEEPING, IT ONLY LOOKS LIKE DEATH. How can you not see how unnatural and void and still IT FUCKING LOOKS? IT’S NOT A FUCKING THING LIKE SLEEPING.

I cried so hard in the car. I hadn’t cried this hard since mom had hit Scoop with the car, and I held him in my arms wailing so loud that he himself had stopped crying and started purring to comfort me, even as he bled from eyes and nose and mouth. But Crookie couldn’t purr for me anymore. She was purring when they took her away from us, and I didn’t get to hold her close and let her purr until she couldn’t anymore. She was alone and dying, and then dead. She was fucking dead in that crate and I don’t know why anyone thinks it looks like sleep. It never has, and it never will. I wish I never looked at her.

Peeing outside has become a tad bit easier but still due to the openness and the uncomfortable leaning positions it still takes me a minute to pee once I’ve dropped trousers.

But anyway, what’s most amusing about it is that for some reason Molly seems to think she MUST come over and see what I’m doing every time.

“Meow? Meow? Meow? MEOW?”

“DAMN IT WOMAN I’M PEEING GO AWAY.”

I look out the window and all the cats are staring at me from various places in the yard and I’m not sure why.

It’s kind of unsettling.

They’re all like directly looking at me.

With the same sort of expression on their faces that I can’t describe.

Like I interrupted them during something important but they’re not mad they’re like looking at me with some sort of look like I caught them doing something bad.

But… how do they know I’m seeing them through the window and what could they have all been possibly doing at the same time?

Also on TV there was Must Love Cats on, and there was this tattoo parlour that specialized in cat tattoos and many people were getting tats of their cats and omg

I have decided

that the tattoo I would get if I ever stopped being a chicken

would be a memorial tattoo of my babby Goofy. He was always such a handsome and proud-looking kitty. I think I would feel powerful if I had a tattoo of him on me somewhere.

You know, our current vet clinic has sent us cards the two times we’ve had cats pass away since switching to their service.

The clinic in town has never once done this, nor have they said sorry when our animals died in their care, there was no emotion from them. We went to them with days-old kittens in desperate need, and they pushed us away with disgustingly false smiles, saying “Oh, they’re too young for us to work with.”

So on a day of desperation, we sought out another clinic, and ended up in our new clinic.

And we couldn’t have been happier with their service.

We have two cards from them, about Goofy and Scoop. Scoop died at the clinic, and so they took his paw and dipped it in ink, and on his card is his little pawprint.

So I had Sissy on my lap and suddenly snuggled her up going “I love my Sissy meowmeowmeowmeowmeow!” and smooshing my cheek into her face.

And then I glanced at her face

And saw this hideous DIRT CLUMP GROSS WET THING on her face.

And went “BAGH SISSY WHATTHEHELLISONYOURFACE” and jerked away from her.

She is wandering around casually with this thing on her face that I put my face on.

And then I realized dew claws are actually ON THE INSIDE SIDE

HERP DERP MOMENT but Mori did not lose his dew claw after all.