vituperation

January 28, 2004

I wish I could return to the time when life was so boring there wasn’t anything to write about.

You know, sometimes there’s just no easy way to write something. So, I apologize in advance for my characteristic bluntness, but this isn’t something about which I want to spin a drawn out story, because it doesn’t have a happy ending:

Tubby died yesterday morning.

The vet suspects his heart just couldn’t handle the strain of his weight — which pushed close to 25 pounds — coupled with the diabetes, and simply gave out. Robyn found him on her way to shower after her workout, and called me with the news. He was lying in his favorite spot, curled up in the cat bed next to the window where he could watch birds in the back yard and cars passing out on Busy Street.

He looked asleep.

It’s ironic, really. Six weeks or so ago we were agonizing over whether or not to put him to sleep because he peed everywhere. Then, his blood sugar finally regulated with two shots a day and we thought all was well.

Obviously, we thought wrong.

In retrospect it’s apparent that something was amiss with him. He rarely came downstairs any more, where before he spent more time down than up. He stopped bitching all the time, too, remaining silent except when the kitty treats were brought out. He had ringworm, like Spot, Stanley, and Miz Poo, but unlike them his wasn’t responding to the medicine.

I drove him to the vet’s office — “Windy” by The Association was playing on the radio, and I tried to whistle with it but couldn’t — and he confirmed what Robyn and I already knew. We’re having him cremated, and we’ll most likely put his ashes under the tree he liked to lay under in the back yard.

We miss you, little buddy.