if things keep going in this direction, pretty soon we are going to be like the kitten version of six feet under.
Ducky had a cold, and unexpectedly, passed away last night, en route to the emergency vet. We tried hard to give him the best chance we could, but I guess he was just not meant to be with us for very long. We fed him by hand and held him and cuddled him for as long as we could, but in the end his poor little heart just gave out and he just stopped breathing.
The cynic in me feels as if I should almost take the stance of being surprised when my kittens *actually* live, these days. I know it's not my fault and there's nothing I could have done to change things, but man, do I ever feel guilty that I couldn't have done more, and sad, and so sad for Iris and Olive who have been wandering around our apartment trying to figure out what happened to their brother - I am pretty sure they have decided that he somehow got under the door they *can't* get under and is secretly exploring the kitchen....by himself...because Iris and Olive SO BADLY want to explore that kitchen and the world on the other side of the french door. Give them somewhere they can't go, and they want it. So much so that they will sleep crammed up against it in the hopes that they'll know *whenever* you move the door the slightest hint.
I drove around for a long time last night, listening to my favourite albums really loud and alternating between weeping and feeling lucky to be alive. This city is a different place at 4 am. Serene and unimposing, and well, kind of beautiful. Maybe it's best seen through sad eyes, sometimes.
We are going to miss this little one and his nose nibbling antics.